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You dropped to your knees on the rug, clutching your hands tightly to your chest as you looked up at the ceiling. "Please, God," you whispered, your voice cracking with terror. " Just let me survive until the sirens get here." Rising to your feet, you slipped your bedroom door open and stepped out into the silent corridor. You peered over the grand lower floor. The house was unnaturally quiet, but a faint, rhythmic chopping sound echoed.

You peeked into the kitchen area Margaret was completely occupied, her back turned as she prepared breakfast, her painted fingers holding a large silver knife.This was your only chance. You sprinted silently across the master wing straight to Margaret’s bedroom. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you burst inside, darting directly to her wardrobe. Your hands shook violently as you slid the panel open, reached past the silk scarves, and snatched Eleanor’s personal diary.Clutching it desperately to your chest, you bolted back down the corridor, slipped into your own room, and slammed the deadbolt into place. Breathless and trembling, you collapsed onto the edge of your mattress and yanked the cover open, your eyes scanning the faded, elegant handwriting.

The early pages were filled with heartfelt, beautiful entries about Jungkook. She wrote about his deep, quiet warmth, how fiercely he protected her, and how much they loved each other. It made your chest ache with that familiar, stinging wave of jealousy, but you forced your eyes to keep reading.Next, she wrote about Margaret. Eleanor described how they had become incredibly close friends. She wrote about Margaret’s calm demeanor, her sweet smiles. There were even a few lines about Cecilia how loud, bitter, and difficult she was, but fundamentally harmless.

But as you flipped the pages toward the final week of Eleanor's life, the handwriting became erratic, shaky, and smudged with dried tears. The tone of the diary shifted into a living nightmare.

{October 14th. Margaret found out about the baby today. I thought she would be happy for us, but the look in her eyes made my blood run cold. She didn't shout. She just smiled, that horrifying, empty smile and touched my stomach. Later, I found my bedroom door locked from the outside. She is restricting my movements. She keeps telling me a broken womb cannot allow a whole one to thrive in this house. She thinks if I am gone, Jungkook will belong only to her forever. I tried to tell Kook, but he thinks Margaret is just being protective of my health. He doesn't see the venom behind her calm face. If anyone finds this diary, please know that if I don't survive the week, it was Margaret who shut the lights out.}

The book nearly slipped from your trembling fingers. You turned the page of the diary one last time. What you read blew your mind in sheer, unadulterated terror. Eleanor had written that Margaret wasn't acting alone she had a history of staging accidents in the house, and she had already prepared a quiet burial spot under the old oak tree in the garden.

Bam! Before the horror could even settle into your bones, your bedroom door was violently kicked open. Margaret lunged into the room like a feral animal With a terrifying shriek, she snatched the diary right out of your hands, and she delivered a brutal, stinging slap across your face that knocked you hard onto the floorboards.

"You meddling little bitch!" Margaret hissed, She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a heavy black gun. She click and aimed it directly between your eyes, her hand remarkably steady. "You think you're clever? I know all about it! I knew you saw the diary last day and just like Eleanor, you won't survive the week!"

Meanwhile, the iron gates of the Jeon mansion were violently rammed open. Jungkook had just landed back . Your final, desperate words over the telephone—“Come back when I'll die !”—had completely broken him. He had abandoned his vital European negotiations, boarded the fastest private transit across the Channel, and rushed home. As his black motorcar screeched to a halt on the gravel driveway, he saw a police cars already parked outside, blue lights flashing against the grey brick. Armed officers were already running inside.

"Y/N!" Jungkook roared, throwing his car door open and sprinting past the guards into his own mansion, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

Upstairs in the bedroom, you were on your knees, tears streaming down your face as you looked up at the barrel of the gun. "Margaret, please! Don't do this, I beg of you!" you sobbed, raising your hands in terror.Margaret’s face was stone. "Goodbye, darling."

BANG! The deafening gunshot shattered the air. But you didn't feel the bullet. In a split second of pure, selfless bravery, Cecilia burst through the doorway, sprinting across she lunged directly in front of you, using her own body to block the path of the bullet. The heavy lead projectile tore directly into Cecilia’s chest, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as her blood instantly stained her silk nightgown.

The police force flooded the room, their weapons drawn. Before Margaret could aim the gun a second time, three officers tackled her to the ground, pinning her arms behind her back and yanking the revolver from her. Cecilia’s weak, bloodied body began to tilt, about to collapse heavily onto the hardwood floor. But before she could hit the ground, Jungkook lunged forward. His briefcase dropped, and he caught her securely in his large arms, pulling her tightly against his chest as he dropped to his knees.

"Cece! Cece, look at me!" Jungkook choked out, his chest heaving as his hands instantly became covered in her blood.Cecilia’s eyelids fluttered open, her gaze glassy but locking onto his face with a sudden, heartbreaking warmth. A soft, breathless smile touched her lips.

"Handsome..." she whispered, "You're back. I love you, honey. I love you a lot."

"No, no, no," Jungkook sobbed, hot tears finally bursting from his dark eyes, spilling down his cheeks as he held her closer. He had never shown this much vulnerability to anyone since Eleanor, but seeing Cecilia bleeding out for his family completely broke him. "Don't talk like that. Nothing will happen to you, I promise you, Cece. Just stay with me!"

Cecilia shook her head slightly against his shoulder, her breathing turning shallow and ragged. She reached up with a trembling hand to his cheek one last time before looking over at you. "Take care of Y/N... and your child," she whispered, still completely believing the pregnancy lie. She looked back at Jungkook, her voice fading into a final, possessive purr.

"In the next life....I will again become your wife and only me, Koo. Not anyone else."Her hand slipped from his cheek, falling limply onto the carpet. "Cecilia! No!" Jungkook roared in pure agony.Refusing to let her go, he gathered her heavy, pliant body into his arms and lifted her up. He sprinted out of the bedroom, his long coat billowing behind him as he rushed down the grand corridor toward the stairs, entirely bypassing the police and the horrified staff.

You ran right behind him, your heart lodged in your throat. "Cece, wake up, darling!" Jungkook pleaded frantically as he rushed down the grand, sweeping staircase, his voice cracking with a desperate, heavy sorrow. "See, I brought everything you asked for! I have the emerald bracelet! I have the lists! Just don't leave me, please, Cece!"

But halfway down the grand stairs, the final, faint breath escaped Cecilia's lips. Her head lulled heavily against his shoulder, her body completely losing its remaining tension. The sharp, vibrant, and fiercely protective woman who had ruled this house for years was gone.Jungkook froze on the mid-stair landing, the crushing silence of the mansion settling over him his throat as he rocked her back and forth, clutching her body to his chest.

You rushed down the steps and threw yourself over him, wrapping your arms securely around his broad, shaking shoulders, holding him tightly as his tears soaked into your clothes. The mansion felt hollow, haunted by the sudden silence of the woman who had just died to keep you alive.

In the police station Margaret sat behind the iron bars of a dim holding cell. Jungkook stood outside the cell, his tall frame rigid and tense, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He refused to look her in the eyes, staring blankly at the stone floor as if looking at her would cause him to lose his mind entirely. You stood beside him, clutching your arms around your frame, staring at Margaret with an unexplainable expression ,a suffocating mix of horror, betrayal, and deep, aching sorrow.

"Why?" you finally broke the silence. "Why, Margaret? How could you do all of this?"

Margaret looked up, her expression melting into that same serene, terrifyingly gentle smile she had always given you. She gripped the cold iron bars, "I never faked anything, darling," Margaret murmured, "The love, the maternal care I gave you... it was completely real. I truly loved you, darling. But I love my husband more. I simply couldn't bear to see him with anyone else."

Jungkook’s hand balled into a tight fist at his side, but he still didn't look at her."Eleanor was so good to me," Margaret continued, "She was my dearest friend. Truly, my best friend. But things between her and Jungkook weren't really good back then. Yet, the moment she became pregnant, I knew everything would change. I thought Jungkook would only look after her forever, that I would be cast aside. So....I finished her. I took her out of the equation so he would belong only to me."

She tilted her head, her gaze shifting down to your stomach, her eyes widening. "And then the exact same thing happened with you. You said you were pregnant. The panic came back. I wanted to finish you too, just like I did to Eleanor, to protect my place with him."

Jungkook froze. The words finally pierced through his grief, a sudden, sharp realization slamming into his chest. His dark eyes snapped open as his head whipped around to look at you, his face completely pale.

"What?" Jungkook murmured, his voice dropping as he stared directly at you. "What did she just say? You....you're pregnant?"

Panic seized your throat, "I'll explain everything, Jungkook, I swear," you stammered breathlessly, your heart hammering. "Just not here."

"Are you pregnant, Y/N?" Jungkook demanded, his hands catching your shoulders, his grip tight and desperate as his protective worry flared back to life. He looked down at your flat stomach, his mind spinning with the terrifying parallel to Eleanor's murder. "Is it true?"

You couldn't breathe under his intense, heavy gaze you pulled back slightly, your eyes wide with a desperate plea."Can we go out from here, please?" you whispered, tears welling in your eyes as you tugged at his sleeve. "Please, Jungkook. Let's just leave this place."

The rain lashed violently against the windscreen of the motorcar as the doors slammed shut, sealing you and Jungkook inside a suffocating, freezing silence. The guards stood outside in the downpour, leaving the two of you entirely alone.Jungkook gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned a ghostly white, his chest heaving with a terrifying, raw fury. The air in the vehicle was thick with his explosive anger, a storm ready to break at any second.You couldn't carry the crushing weight of the lie for another moment.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands trembling violently in your lap. "I faked my pregnancy," you whispered.Jungkook’s head whipped around instantly, his dark eyes flashing with a cold rage that made your breath hitch.

"WHY?!" he shouted, "Why on earth would you play a sick, disgusting game like that?!"

Through frantic, choked sobs, you poured out everything. You explained the trap, how Eleanor had been murdered the exact week she fell pregnant, and how you had used Daphne’s forged report as live bait to force the killer into making a clumsy mistake. You told him how both wives wore the red nail polish, and how you had been desperate to smoke the monster out of the shadows.But your explanation only stoked the flames of his fury. Jungkook slammed his fist hard against the steering wheel, a broken, angry growl escaping his throat. You flinched.

"Why you did that?!" he roared. "Look at what your brilliant little game has cost us! Because of your reckless lies, I have just lost one more wife! Cecilia is dead because she threw herself in front of a bullet meant for a fake baby!" The mention of Cecilia’s sacrifice pierced straight through your heart, a sharp wave of guilt crashing over you. Tears poured freely down your cheeks.

"I am guilty for Cecilia, Jungkook!" you wept openly, your voice trembling with your deep, profound love for him. "I will carry the weight of her death for the rest of my bloody life! But please...you have to look at what I was facing! Everyone in this county, every rumor in that house, said you were the one who murdered Eleanor! I was trapped in a house with a killer, and I was trying to find the truth to clear your name because I love you! If you were thinking your husband was a killer when it was actually Margaret all along...please, Jungkook, just keep yourself in my shoes!" The words hung heavily in the damp, freezing air of the car, the silence that followed stretching out like a tight wire as Jungkook stared at you, his rage suddenly colliding with the shocking realization of why you had risked your life in the first place.

The endless, suffocating night had finally passed. Jungkookgave divorce to Margaret, stripping her of the Jeon name forever Margaret confess each things she did. Earlier that morning, the bleak sky had wept a steady drizzle over Cecilia’s funeral. Jungkook had stood like a statue as she was laid to rest, his jaw clenched, his dark eyes hollow with an unreadable grief.

Now, the heavy front doors of the mansion swung open. You walked into the cold, grand, flanked by your parents, who had rushed to the estate. Jungkook walk slightly ahead, his back completely rigid as he refused to look behind him. As you stepped onto the marble threshold, you paused and turned your head toward the garden . Mrs. Whitmore was standing there the old maid was dressed in her vintage uniform, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She was staring directly at you, her face completely pale, carrying that same knowing, ancient expression from the day she first told you about Jungkook and Eleanor's tragic past.

"Mrs. Whitmore..." you breathed you took a step towards her , but your mother’s hand snapped around your wrist, pulling you back with a firm, worried grip.

"Y/N, sweetie, where are you going?" your mother asked, her voice laced with deep concern as she looked at your pale face. "We need to get you inside."

"There," you whispered, pointing a trembling finger. "Look. It's Mrs. Whitmore. The old maid. I need to speak to her." Your mother turned her head, squinting through the grey, before turning back to you with a deeply unsettled expression.

"Sweetheart... what are you talking about? There is no one out there. The garden is completely empty." Panic seized your chest. You violently whipped your head back around to look at the tree.The lawn was entirely bare. There was no old woman, and no footsteps in the mud. Before you could scream or protest, your mother tightly pulled your freezing hand, guiding you inside.

In master bedroom Jungkook sat back against the headboard, He looked entirely hollowed out by the grief of losing Cecilia and the horrific betrayal of Margaret. You moved slowly across the mattress, sliding your thighs beside his hip, and gently reached out to take his hand. His skin was freezing. He didn't pull away, but he didn't squeeze back either. After a long, agonizing silence, his deep, raspy voice broke the quiet.

"Who told you about Eleanor, y/n ?"You leaned in closer, you raised your hands and gently cupped his cold face, your palms resting against his sharp jawline. "Mrs. Whitmore," you whispered softly, your eyes locking onto his with absolute honesty. "The old maid. She’s the one who found me in the house, Jungkook. She guided me through each step. She told me about how much you loved Eleanor, she told me about the master wing... she even told me where to look for the keys."

The moment the name left your lips, Jungkook’s entire body went completely rigid beneath your touch. He stared at you, his pupils dilating as the color completely drained from his cheeks. His breath hitched sharply, his hands coming up to grip your wrists, his fingers turning white with sheer panic.

"What did you just say?" Jungkook choked out, his voice a terrified, breathless whisper that made the hairs on your arms stand up. "Who did you say spoke to you?"

"Mrs. Whitmore..." you stammered, cold panic in your chest. "The old woman, the servant, Jungkook, what's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?" Jungkook’s hands shook violently against your wrists as he looked into your eyes, his chest heaving with a heavy, frantic rhythm.

"Mrs. Whitmore died twenty years ago," he whispered, a tear of pure horror spilling over his lashes. "She was the head housekeeper when I was a boy. She passed away long before I ever met Eleanor....long before I ever brought any of you into this house." The words slammed into your brain like a physical blow.The entire bedroom seemed to tilt wildly on its axis. Your vision blurred at the edges, and your lungs suddenly felt completely crushed, refusing to take in any air. Twenty years ago. The woman who had touched your shoulder, the woman who had whispered secrets to you, the woman you had just seen standing beneath the old tree—she had been dead for two decades.

A sharp, suffocating gasp escaped your throat. Your hands tore away from his face, clutching frantically at your own chest as your breathing turned into rapid, shallow, erratic pants.

Jungkook immediately yanked you into his lap, wrapping his massive, powerful arms around your trembling frame and burying his face in your hair. He held you so tightly it felt as if he were physically trying to keep your soul from breaking apart.

"Breathe,Just breathe. I’ve got you," he commanded, his deep, raspy voice vibrating against your chest as he rocked you back and forth on the mattress. "Look at me. Focus on my voice. You are safe. I am right here. I am not letting anything touch you."

You clutched the heavy wool of his shirt, your fingernails digging into his chest as you sobbed."I don't want to live here!" you wailed, hot, desperate tears soaking straight into his collar as your chest heaved in gasps. "Please, Jungkook... please, can we leave this mansion? I can't breathe in this house anymore! Every corner is haunted, every shadow is a nightmare! Please, if you love me, just take me away from here!"

Jungkook closed his eyes, a heavy exhale escaping his lips as he tightened his grip around your waist. He looked past your shoulder toward the dark, empty corners of the master bedroom He leaned down, pressing a deep, lingering protective kiss against your temple, his hands smoothing down your back to anchor your shaking body.

"We are leaving," Jungkook whispered, "Tonight. I will have the guards pack a single car, and we are turning our backs on this place forever. I don't care about the estate, and I don't care about the family name. You are my only priority now. We are never coming back."

The midnight air was freezing as the final leather suitcases were loaded into the boot of the sleek black motorcar. The rain had completely stopped, leaving the grand Jeon mansion slick, wet, under the pale moonlight .

You stood by the open passenger door, your hand trembling slightly as you turned around to look back at the massive brick structure one last time. Nine months of your life were woven into those walls. The memories pooled in your chest all at once—the midnight seduction in your emerald satin robe, the terrifying layout of Eleanor's room, the explosive arguments with Cecilia, and the genuine, warm laughter you had shared with Margaret before the mask shattered. It was a beautiful.

As your eyes drifted upward, tracking the grand stone staircase visible through the massive glass windows of the foyer, your breath hitched.

Standing right at the top of the stairs was Mrs. Whitmore, dressed in her pristine housekeeper's uniform. But she wasn't alone anymore. Standing right beside her, bathed in a soft, ethereal silver glow, was a young, beautiful woman with dark, flowing hair and a gentle smile. It was Eleanor , the two women stood shoulder-to-shoulder, looking down at you with an overwhelming sense of peace. Slowly, gracefully, they lifted their hands and offered you a soft, lingering wave. They weren't there to haunt you. They were saying goodbye.

You didn't cry out in terror. The fear that had paralyzed you all evening suddenly melted into a quiet, profound understanding.Instead, you reached out and clutched Jungkook’s broad arm hard. Jungkook felt the sudden tension in your grip and looked down at you, his dark eyes fiercely protective as he wrapped his large hand over yours, grounding you completely. He didn't look back at the mansion. He only looked at you.

"Ready, sweetheart?" he murmured, his deep, raspy voice an absolute anchor in the dark. "Ready," you whispered softly.You stepped into the car, and Jungkook slid in right beside you, closing the heavy door and shutting out the chilling silence of the estate forever. As the motorcar roared to life and accelerated down the long, winding driveway, the grand iron gates groaned closed behind you. You leaned your head against Jungkook's shoulder, your fingers locked tightly with his he kiss your head, finally leaving the haunted mansion and its secrets buried deep in the past as you sped away into the quiet night.

CONTINUE IN NEXT PART

‘Shit fuck cuntbucket,’ hisses Min Yoongi, running a hand through his already dishevelled, wavy, thick, hair, calling your attention to it. Like his stunning face isn’t enough.

You level a glance at him. ‘What’s got your boxers in a twist, Yoongi?’

‘Kim Seokjin’s on his way in. Right now.’

Yoongi’s already tucking in his shirt that he put on just over 24 hours ago, running a hand through his hair again, straightening his tie.

You brush his hands off, they’re jittery from the gallons of straight black he’s consumed since this time yesterday anyway.

‘Holy shit, sound the bat signal, he’s here,’ you murmur, dropping your hands.

Kim Seokjin strides into your office, a vision of stylish perfection in bespoke Savile Row, hair beautifully coiffed.

Behind him, a man you’ve never seen before. Younger. Facial piercings and tattoos peeking out from his sleeve. Gorgeous. 

‘Who’s the millennial biker?’ you ask, watching as both men head straight for the Secretary of State’s office.

‘I never have any interest in minions,’ Yoongi says, dismissive, already on his phone. ‘I’ve told Namjoon to straighten himself out, just in case.’

Namjoon is your boss, the Assistant Secretary of State, the youngest man ever to hold that position in 50 years. 

You doubt Namjoon needs to be told to ‘straighten himself out’. He’s political catnip. As Yoongi keeps telling you, he’ll be President in 15 years.

‘Also I don’t wear boxers,’ Yoongi says, brewing himself another coffee he really doesn’t need.

You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘Have you been freeballing in front of the Secretary of State, Yoongi?’

Yoongi gulps his coffee and doesn’t answer.

‘Jesus we met the goddamn war widows committee this morning Yoongi,’ you say, mildly scandalised. ‘You irreverent fuck.’

You’re still marvelling over Yoongi’s nihilism when Namjoon emerges from his office. 

‘I heard Kim Seokjin was here.’

‘I just texted you that,’ Yoongi mutters, not looking up from his phone.

Namjoon catches you gaping at him and nods like he’s satisfied.

‘I use your reactions to me as a barometer of how I look,’ he says.

You close your mouth. 

‘You look very smart, Namjoon.’

Namjoon smooths back his hair, forearms flexing under his rolled-back shirtsleeves. The waistcoat he’s got on over his shirt shows off his trim waist, the broadness of his shoulders.

‘Incoming,’ Yoongi says, smirking at you.

You turn to see Kim Seokjin heading straight for you, his minion trailing a little behind him.

‘Mr Kim,’ says Namjoon politely. ‘What an honour.’

Kim Seokjin’s official title is aide to the president, but he’s much more than that. He’s the president’s enforcer, with the entire cabinet at his mercy.

He wields his power like he wields his beauty - sharp and deadly.

‘Choi is out. You’re Secretary of State,’ says Kim Seokjin, without preamble.

Namjoon takes this in his stride. 

‘It would be my pleasure to serve the president,’ he says, without missing a beat.

You flick your eyes to the minion only to find he’s looking back at you.

He smiles at you, and with the silver ring threaded through his lower lip it shouldn’t look as sweet as it does.

The sincerity in his eyes makes you think he can’t have been working for Kim Seokjin long. He’s still got humanity in him instead of being a crusted over shell.

You’re smiling back when Yoongi clears his throat, loudly. 

‘Stop eye fucking the minion,’ Yoongi says, not bothering to keep his voice down. He glances at you. ‘That applies to both of you.’

Thankfully, Kim Seokjin and Namjoon have gone into his office to talk details.

‘My name’s Jeon Jungkook,’ the minion says, stepping forward, holding out his hand.

‘Y/N L/N,’ you say, returning his handshake. His palms are smooth and dry.

‘This is Min Yoongi,’ you say. ‘He has social communication difficulties.’

Yoongi snorts, still typing furiously on his phone. 

‘While you children are playing happy families, I’m putting out a press release about Namjoon’s promotion.’

Jungkook holds up his phone. ‘The president’s releasing a statement of congratulations.’

You unlock your phone. ‘I’ll get Namjoon an interview on the 6pm main news.’

When Namjoon and Kim Seokjin emerge, your new friend steps forward so quickly you get whiplash.

‘Mr Kim,’ he says, shaking his hand. ‘Jeon Jungkook. I’m with the president’s office, I’ve got ideas for your new youth policy if you’ve got the time?’

Kim Seokjin steps back, lips quirking at Jungkook’s boldness.

Namjoon takes in Jungkook’s lip ring, his tattoos and his pretty face, and nods. ‘Sure. I’m free now.’

Yoongi laughs to himself as he watches Namjoon and Jungkook go back into the office. 

‘The minion has ambition,’ he says, looking at you.

You’re staring bitterly at Jungkook’s back as the office door closes.

‘Didn’t see that coming,’ you mutter.

‘He’s the most ruthless intern I’ve ever had,’ Kim Seokjin says.

You’d forgotten he was still there.

‘They call him the barracuda,’ Kim Seokjin says.

‘What do they call you?’ you ask, curious. 

‘Oh me? I’m a great white. We eat barracudas,’ explains Kim Seokjin, smooth as silk. He gives you an angelic smile and walks out.

‘Why don’t we have aggressive animal nicknames?’ you grumble to Yoongi.

Yoongi barely misses a beat. ‘We do. Namjoon and I call you the possum.’

You glare at him. ‘Shut up.’

‘We even have a symbol for you in the groupchat,’ Yoongi goads.

You sweep in and steal the coffee out of his hand. 

***

You’re waiting at the youth centre, for Namjoon to meet a group of teens as part of a focus group for his youth campaign. 

‘Where’s Namjoon?’ you ask, sighing with relief when you see Yoongi. ‘These teens are getting restless.’ 

‘Yeah, you’re gonna need to find something to distract them for another hour. Namjoon got pulled into a cabinet meeting.’ 

‘Wait. Why me?’ 

‘Because you are a teen?’ Yoongi suggests, deadly serious. 

‘Fuck you, Yoongi.’ 

‘Just take your top off,’ he suggests. 

You step forward, ready to tear him off a piece of your mind, when a familiar voice says, ‘I can take them through a warm up.’ 

Both you and Yoongi turn to gape at Jeon Jungkook. 

‘Why are you even getting involved with this?’ you ask, huffing in annoyance. ‘Also why are you here?’ 

‘Namjoon wanted me to be involved in this campaign,’ says Jungkook, smoothly. 

Both you and Yoongi watch as Jungkook slips his suit jacket off and rolls up his sleeves. 

The tattoos you’ve noticed on his right hand carry on up his forearm. His very muscular, veiny forearm. 

He laughs softly, and you realise he’s watching you stare at him. 

‘I’d love to show you where my tattoos go up to, but we have a gymful of teenagers to entertain, so close your mouth and let’s do it,’ he says, so cocky your right hand itches to slap him. 

Yoongi snorts. ‘Have fun, kids. I have a journalist to distract.’ He’s off, walking in the opposite direction down the school corridor, before you have a chance to reply. 

When you turn back to Jungkook, he’s pulled his long-ish hair into a man bun. 

Shit why is he so fine? 

You remind yourself he’s not called the barracuda for nothing. 

‘Come on, let’s go,’ you say, feigning impatience. 

He laughs softly again and follows you to the gym. 

There’s a silence as Jungkook arrives at the gym, as the teenagers clock how pretty he is. 

‘I’m going to show you how to do some basic self-defense until the Secretary of State gets here,’ he says, clear, authoritative, to the group. 

‘Y/N here is going to be my assistant.’ 

Your eyes fly to his. ‘Jungkook I really don’t think —’

He ignores you. ‘So if you’re walking along, and someone tries to grab you from behind —’

He stops, stepping close. ‘I’m going to put my arms around you,’ he says, quietly so only you can hear. ‘Is this ok? If not, just say.’ 

‘As long as you don’t mind me kneeing you in the balls,’ you reply sweetly. 

Jungkook laughs. Then his arms close around you, one around your neck, the other across your breasts and upper arms. 

In an instant you’ve turned in his arms and angled your shoulder into his chest and your hip into his, hard, in a throw you perfected doing judo growing up. 

Jungkook lands on the floor with a grunt, and stares up at you, wide-eyed and winded. 

‘Does anyone else want to learn this throw?’ you ask. ‘I’m sure Jungkook won’t mind being thrown.’ 

The entire class looks at Jungkook, then, tentatively, a girl with space balls in her hair steps up. ‘I’d like to learn.’ 

‘Perfect,’ you purr. ‘Come on up. Jungkook, ready for another one?’ 

By the time Namjoon arrives, most of the group have had a go at throwing Jungkook. His man-bun’s long escaped from the tiny hair-tie he put it in, his shirt’s lost at least one button if not three, and he’s gleaming with sweat. 

His expression as he looks at you is murderous, but that doesn’t change the fact that he looks beautiful when he’s sweaty.

Namjoon and Yoongi eye both of you warily. 

‘Mr Secretary,’ you say, smoothing your hair back. ‘Jungkook and I were teaching these guys some judo whilst we waited.’ 

‘A useful skill,’ Namjoon says. There’s a hint of a smile on his face, a flash of dimple as he asks, ‘did you mention to Jungkook that you were once the state judo champion?’ 

‘Jungkook knows now,’ Jungkook says, rueful. 

Yoongi says, ‘why don’t you guys get going to the next venue? We’ll be right behind you.’ 

Once you’re outside the school you hand Jungkook his suit jacket. 

‘We’re going back downtown,’ you tell him. ‘It’s a meeting with Han Minseok from the press society.’ 

‘Thanks,’ Jungkook says. He shrugs his jacket back on, and you both look at the expanse of his chest bared by all the buttons he’s lost.

‘I’ve got a spare shirt,’ he says. ‘I’ll change on the way.’

Jungkook climbs into the car after you.

‘What’s Han Minseok’s angle?’ he asks, casual.

‘Well everyone knows he’s trying to push through the tender for redeveloping Samo Hills,’ you say, carelessly. You’re not telling him anything that isn’t common knowledge.

You turn to Jungkook, and stop dead. 

His shirt’s off, he’s unbuckling his belt. 

You turn back to the window, trying to get his washboard stomach and muscular shoulders out of your mind.

‘It’s fine, you can look,’ he offers. 

You can hear the smirk in his voice.

‘But what’s his angle, why is Namjoon even giving him the time of day?’ muses Jungkook.

‘He isn’t really, in fact after this meeting I’m going to suggest to Namjoon that he doesn’t meet him again,’ you say. ‘Are you done changing?’

‘I’m decent,’ Jungkook replies. You can hear him rebuckling his belt.

You turn back warily and turn away again. 

‘You’re not decent!’ you squeak.

‘It’s only a bit of nipple. You can show me yours if you want,’ Jungkook replies. 

He sounds amused. This fucking guy.

You stare pointedly out the window the rest of the way.

By the time Namjoon and Yoongi arrive, you’ve read every single notice on the posterboard outside the press society meeting room, have answered all your emails and are drafting Namjoon’s speech for the media address tomorrow.

Jungkook’s mainly been taking selfies of himself, as far as you know.

He spots Namjoon and Yoongi before you do, getting up to greet them. ‘I think there are quite limited returns to meeting Han Minseok,’ he says to Namjoon. ‘I think it would be prudent to not schedule any further meetings.’

The bastard stole your suggestion!

Even worse, Namjoon’s nodding agreement. ‘I thought the same on the way over,’ he says, low voice thoughtful. 

Jungkook blinks at you after Namjoon and Yoongi go in, feigning innocence.

‘That’s for getting all the teenagers of this community to throw me onto the floor for an hour,’ he says, smug.

You burn with the fiery rage of a thousand suns, but you do your best to wipe your face of all expression.

‘Oh Jungkook,’ you say, voice dripping with honey. ‘Is that all you got?’

He stares at you, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Oh it’s on. 

***

After the success of Namjoon’s youth campaign, Jungkook was hired to be on Namjoon’s permanent staff. 

You’ve grown used to seeing him opposite your desk every fucking day, but so far you haven’t butted heads again.

You’re sitting across from him at a meeting, trying not to stare at the way his sky blue shirt strains across his chest and shoulders, when Namjoon clears his throat. 

‘The clean energy bill’s causing a bit of a stir. We need Ramona Lee to sign off on the panel for the water amendment,’ Yoongi says.

‘We know Ramona Lee is oil, right?’ Jungkook asks, raising his brows in confusion.

‘Thanks Captain Obvious,’ you say. 

‘I’m more of a Captain Korea.’

‘Captain Crunch?’ you suggest.

Yoongi snickers but hides it in an exaggerated clearing of his throat. 

‘We’ve got to find something she wants,’ Namjoon says. ‘Come back to me with solutions before panel tomorrow.’

You file out of his office. 

‘Should I order something in? We’re gonna be here all night,’ Jungkook says, over your shoulder.

‘I have a date,’ you reply, briskly.

‘Wow. Is it a cousin?’

‘Ha.Ha. Ha,’ you say, sourly.

‘Text me so I know where to send the police if you go missing,’ Yoongi says, already heading out the door.

‘It’s like he cares,’ marvels Jungkook. 

‘He just wants to know in advance before he calls my replacement in,’ you say, absently, as you straighten your dress. 

‘See ya tomorrow, JK.’

***

You swipe your badge on the door and blink blearily as the green light flashes.

The office is dark, but you spend so much time here you don’t need to see to make it to your desk.

You’re fumbling with the light on your phone when you sense movement out of the corner of your eye.

‘Jesus fucking Jungkook!’ you yelp.

‘I’ve been told I make women see God,’ Jungkook agrees. He pats his hand on his desk, turning his lamp on.

You stare at each other in the pale light.

‘What are you doing sitting here in the dark?’ you ask. 

He yawns. ‘I fell asleep trying to solve the Ramona Lee problem. I thought you had a date?’

‘He was a douche. Remind me to never date anyone who works for finance ever again,’ you reply. 

There’s a pause. 

‘You must be pretty good at dealing with douchebags,’ Jungkook observes. He smiles at you. ‘You deal with me pretty well.’

‘You’re level zero douche,’ you tell him. 

He laughs. ‘Level zero?’

‘Yoongi trained me. He’s mastered the douchebag game. Killed the big boss. Conquered all the levels, even the bonus ones.’

You smile. ‘He’s a sperm whale.’

Jungkook laughs. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘He’s not scared of a barracuda. Or a great white.’

You pluck your apartment keys off your desk. ‘See you tomorrow JK.’

‘Wait. Let me give you a lift,’ Jungkook says. 

You look at him suspiciously. ‘Why?’

‘Because you’re tipsy,’ Jungkook says, holding out his arm.

You frown at it for so long he laughs. ‘Because you’re cute and because I’m only a level zero douche.’

‘If you give me a lift you’ll fall even further down the douche scale,’ you say, worried.

‘I can stare at your tits the whole way if you want,’ Jungkook offers.

‘There you are,’ you say, affectionate. ‘Sure, give me a lift in your chariot, douchebag.’

Jungkook’s car is flashy, kind of how he looks but with wheels on.

He turns on the underseat heating and sets the gps to your address.

You stare out the window as he drives.

‘She has a son around our age,’ you say, thoughtfully, as the car glides though the darkened streets.

Jungkook puts some music on, soft, unobtrusive. ‘Yeah?’

‘Edison Lee,’ you muse. ‘He played football in college.’

‘I know an Edison Lee,’ Jungkook says, frowning a little. ‘We played football together for a bit.’

You sit up. ‘Got a picture?’

Jungkook tosses you his unlocked phone and you scroll through his contacts to find Edison Lee. 

‘Jesus fucking Jungkook,’ you breathe. ‘That’s him. Are you on good terms? Can you call him?’

‘Yeah. We dated the same girls a few times.’

‘Jesus fucking Jungkook. Those are nice tits,’ you say, as a message flashes on his screen.

‘Stop swearing my name,’ Jungkook complains, grabbing his phone back.

‘Looks like Hyejin wants to meet up,’ you observe, dryly. ‘Do you have to send her a dick pic to reciprocate?’

Jungkook looks offended. ‘I don’t send dick pics, what do you think I am?’

He parks up outside your apartment building.

‘Call him,’ you say. ‘Get him to speak to his mom. That’s our in.’

Jungkook’s already dialling. 

***

You wake up the next morning to a pounding headache, a mouth that feels cottony and a duvet over your head.

You shove the duvet off and fear chills your bones when you see how light it is outside.

You bolt upright, trying to think.

You’re searching for your phone when Jungkook walks in, fully dressed, fresh as a daisy.

You stare at him, then both your gazes fall to the torn condom wrapper on the floor at his feet.

You close your eyes. ‘Joseph Mary and little baby Jungkook. Please tell me this isn’t happening right now.’

You think furiously. What’s the last thing you remember?

You massage your temples.

There’s a weight on the bed, a cool glass of water pressed into your hand.

‘As much as I like to see you spiral, I think I need to do some damage control.’

You open your eyes to Jungkook’s very pretty face.

‘One, we didn’t fuck.’

‘Two, Edison’s gonna convince his mom to sign off on the environmental protection amendment before the panel.’

‘Three and arguably most importantly, I didn’t know you had a tattoo.’

You suck in a breath, and Jungkook gets up. He tosses your fully charged phone onto the bed next to you.

‘If you want a ride into work you’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready.’

You let out the breath you were holding, slow, and look him straight in the eye.

‘You have three seconds to get out of my apartment before I castrate you,’ you vow.

Jungkook just laughs. ‘A dolphin, huh? I didn’t think you were the type —-‘

You’re still fumbling around your bed for something to throw at him when he smirks at you and strolls out of your bedroom.

Your phone rings as you’re on your way in. Jungkook had waited for you despite saying he wasn’t going to.

You cast a sidelong glance at Jungkook as you answer.

‘Yoongi,’ you say politely.

‘I don’t know how you kids managed it, but Ramona Lee’s signing off on the EPA as we speak,’ Yoongi tells you in his dry, deep voice.

‘Turns out Jungkook used to play football with her son,’ you say. 

‘Ah, so it was the barracuda who did it,’ Yoongi says.

‘It was my idea. Also I was the one who put the two together,’ you tell Yoongi.

‘Where the hell are you? Jungkook’s late too. I had to speak to a magazine editor this morning and frankly, that’s below my pay grade.’

‘We’re on the way in,’ you say, before realising your mistake.

Yoongi starts to say something, then cuts himself off. ‘Just. I don’t want to see any fucking hickeys, ok? Jungkook seems like the kind of guy who’s into that shit.’

Jungkook’s looking at you enquiringly, and you gulp back the response you wanted to give, instead settling for a ‘yes, Yoongi.’

‘We work for the fucking highest department for this despotic and corrupt clusterfuck of a government, Y/N, we have a reputation to uphold,’ Yoongi warns.

‘How many coffees have you had already?‘ you ask, sliding out of the car as Jungkook parks up.

Yoongi hangs up on you unceremoniously.

***

You’re editing a press release on the environment protection amendment when a shadow falls across your desk. 

Yoongi taps your laptop screen. ‘Checked your emails lately?’

You look up at him. ‘Could you one day just tell me what you’re gonna say without the passive agressive overlay of also telling me I’m inadequate?’ 

Yoongi laughs. ‘Fair. We’re —-‘

He breaks off as Jungkook comes up to both of you. 

‘There’s a problem with a few local councils on the clean energy bill,’ Jungkook says. He brings up a screen on his phone.  ‘Should I call my friend in treasury?’

‘Don’t fucking call treasury,’ you and Yoongi say at the same time.

Jungkook blinks. ‘Wow. Did you rehearse that?’

‘Treasury live to make other peoples’ lives as miserable as theirs,’ Yoongi explains. ‘Any two bit just out of college embryo who works for this staff knows that.’

He grabs Jungkook and leads him away.

You consider hoping Jungkook’s had lunch because once Yoongi goes off on one of his rants he can talk for literal hours. Then you decide you don’t care about Jungkook’s empty stomach. And now you’re thinking about his abs. 

And the mystery of the condom wrapper on your floor. You hadn’t found a condom, used or otherwise.

You go back to your press release and are distracted again, this time by a smart-looking older couple. 

‘Excuse me,’ says the woman. ‘We’re looking for Jeon Jungkook’s desk, we were told he works in this office?’

You stand. ‘Yes of course, I’ll text Jungkook and let him know he has visitors.’

‘We’re his parents, we were hoping to take him to lunch,’ Mrs Jeon tells you, rather sweetly.

‘Sounds lovely,’ you reply politely, smiling. 

Her gaze falls to your desk, the manila folder with your name on because the department for social affairs insists on hardcopies instead of moving into the 21st century. 

Her expression changes. She beams at you, and in that moment you see where Jungkook gets his prettiness from.

‘Are you Y/N?’ 

‘Yes,’ you say. 

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ says the smartly dressed man, stepping forward to shake your hand. 

‘Jungkook’s told us all about you, how you’ve started to date,’ Mrs Jeon says.

You choke on air. 

‘What?’ you ask.

‘Don’t be embarrassed. We’re very happy he’s got someone to confide in who understands his job,’ Mrs Jeon says.

You look around wildly and spot Jungkook coming back in the door.

His expression when he sees you standing with his parents tells you all you need to know.

***

‘You told your parents you were dating me?’ you ask Jungkook, incredulous.

‘They wouldn’t get off my back about settling down!’ Jungkook protests, like it’s your problem too.

‘So you made up a relationship? With me?’

‘I was trying to be vague on the details,’ Jungkook mutters. ‘It took me by surprise when my mom asked what my girlfriend’s name was.’

You blink at him.

‘We work together every day! You’re the top contact on my phone! It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ Jungkook says. He almost sounds reasonable.

‘And now they’re expecting us both at dinner tonight?’ 

‘You don’t have to go,’ Jungkook says. ‘Look, I’m sorry I pulled you into this.’

He smiles at you. ‘Thanks for not blowing my cover when you met them earlier.’

‘They seem nice,’ you say, truthfully.

‘I’ll just tell them you had to work late,’ Jungkook says.

You look at his face, backlit in the light of his phone, and sigh.

‘Where are we going for dinner?’

***

Jungkook looks good in casual clothes, you think to yourself, as he pulls up outside your building.

He’s in a soft looking jacket over a loose tee, his hair falling around his face instead of styled back like it is for work.

You slide into his car, and he turns to you.

‘You look very pretty. And I mean that in a non douchey way,’ he says.

You can feel your skin warming at the frank admiration in his eyes.

‘Thanks, you look nice too, Jungkook.’

He smiles at you and prepares to pull out onto the road.

‘We’re going to this restaurant my family likes,’ he tells you. ‘They do great seafood, is that ok?’

‘I like seafood,’ you reply.

‘Also.’ 

Jungkook reaches in the back and presents you with a small bunch of flowers.

‘These are for you to say thanks.’

You search his gaze. 

‘They’re lovely. Thank you.’

He nods and goes back to concentrating on driving.

Mr and Mrs Jeon are big fans of seafood, and by the time the main course is served, big fans of you.

You’re talking to Mr Jeon about fishing when he asks, ‘did you ever go with your parents?’

‘I went with my dad, before he died,’ you reply. ‘He had his own boat and everything.’

‘Ah I’m sorry,’ Mrs Jeon says, putting her hand on yours.

‘It’s ok. He died a long time ago,’ you tell her.

You look at Jungkook in surprise when he puts his hand on your back. 

Is he trying to comfort you or stab you in the kidneys?

You give him the tiniest frown and he chuckles.

‘Should we get dessert?’ Mrs Jeon suggests.

***

Jungkook drops you off at your apartment after dinner.

‘Thanks for dinner,’ you tell him. ‘Your parents are very nice. How did you turn out like this?’

He smiles, lip ring flashing in the slanted beam of light from the streetlamp just above.

‘Hey, I really appreciate you doing this for me,’ he tells you.

‘Not a problem, I had a great time,’ you say, unbuckling your belt, hand on the door handle.

‘I just appreciate it a lot. There’s not a lot of people you can trust in our jobs,’ Jungkook says.

He says, ‘just. Wait a sec.’

He fishes out his phone, teeth in his bottom lip as he scrolls quickly.

A moment later your phone pings.

‘I already have your number,’ you say, jokingly.

He looks a little nervous now. 

‘Just. To show you how grateful I am.’

You open up your message thread with him and look quizzically at the video.

‘Jungkook?’

‘You can watch it here, with me.’

‘This better not be a sex tape,’ you say, rolling your eyes.

‘It’s a sex tape,’ Jungkook confesses. ‘But not just any sex tape.’

You stare at him. 

‘Just watch it, you’ll understand.’

You hit play and turn up the volume to be greeted by a grainy video of Jungkook and a female figure. 

It’s dark, you wouldn’t be able to make out it was him if you couldn’t see the distinctive pattern of his arm tattoos. You can’t make out any of her features. 

There’s heavy breathing, some giggling, as they kiss and cuddle, some murmured words you can’t quite catch.

Then, Jungkook sits up abruptly. ‘But we are privileged,’ he says, in the irritated tone of voice you know so well.

You glance at Jungkook and shake your head

‘We’ve worked hard to get where we are,’ the woman replies, trying to pull him back down.

‘Yes, we did but that doesn’t deny our fundamental privilege,’ he insists.

There’s quiet for a moment, then the sound of kissing and gasping breathing starts up again.

‘Is this your USP?’ you ask laconically. ‘Sex and politics?’

Jungkook rolls his eyes. ‘Just keep watching.’

You almost laugh as video Jungkook rears up again. 

‘It’s the fucking capitalist society we live in,’ he protests.

You can’t believe your ears. ‘Wow. Really JK? You don’t quit even when you’re balls deep?’ 

There’s the sound of a slap, and you see video Jungkook’s face snap to one side.

‘Ooh,’ purrs the woman in the video. ‘You liked that huh? Your big fucking dick just got so fucking hard.’

‘I didn’t ask her to say that,’ Jungkook tells you, unable to hide the smugness in his voice.

You drop your phone in your lap. 

‘Wow. I do you a favour and in return I get —-‘

‘A preview of my stroke game?’ Jungkook suggests.

‘A fucking socialist sex tape,’ you counter.

Jungkook cringes. ‘It’s my thank you. If you ever showed that to anyone my political career would tank.’

‘I think you’re overestimating how much impact a sex tape of you spouting anti-capitalist views would have,’ you say, dryly. ‘But I appreciate the gesture.’

You’re about to get out of the car when you remember something else.

‘Hey, I did have a question though.’

Jungkook waits, hands still off the steering wheel.

‘Where’s the condom?’ you ask.

Jungkook’s eyes are wide, innocent. 

‘What condom?’

‘The condom that was in the wrapper I found on my floor,’ you say, patient. ‘You said we didn’t fuck. So where’s the condom?’

‘I’d stretched it,’ Jungkook says, tight-lipped.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean it was already on my dick —-‘

‘We got that far?’ you ask, surprised.

‘Yeah I’m sorry. We were both pretty drunk after we went to meet Edison, and you started kissing me, and then you felt up my tits and then —-‘

‘Then what?’

‘Then I realised how much more drunk you were than I thought,’ he finishes.

He looks at you. ‘I’m sorry. I stopped the instant I realised, I promise.’

‘So where is the condom?’ you prompt.

He laughs, running a hand over his face. ‘I tossed it in your neighbour’s geraniums. The ones he has on his balcony.’

‘Fuck. Jungkook!’

‘There wasn’t any cum in it!’ he protests. ‘Although it was close, the way you kept touching me.’

You lean back against the seat. ‘Wow.’

‘Yeah.’

He smiles. ‘So now you know everything.’

‘Well I mainly know that you cockblock yourself,’ you tease.

He laughs. ‘Hey don’t forget your flowers.’

You accept the bouquet he reaches into the back to hand to you.

‘Hey, Jungkook.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Wanna make a sex tape?’

***

Jungkook’s clothes are soft, but his body underneath is all hard planes, flattening the curves of you.

He laps at the skin of your neck, grazes it with his teeth.

God he’s so warm and he smells so good.

He pauses in the middle of kissing a spot near your ear. 

‘Are you sniffing me?’ he asks, amused.

‘No. Yeah. Shit you smell good.’

‘You just made my dick jump. Damn, your voice.’

You slip your arms around his neck, pulling him close. He comes willingly, nuzzling your neck, seeking your lips. 

He’s good at this, you think distantly to yourself, pleasure melting through you as you kiss. 

He slips a hand over the fabric of your dress, rucked up around your thighs.

His hand slides over your bare thigh, then he stops, leaning his forehead against yours. 

He takes a shuddering breath.

‘Can I touch you?’ he asks. 

You pause with your hand palming his cock. ‘Shit. Sorry. Yeah. Can I touch you?’

He nods. ‘Please don’t stop.’

You help him hike your skirt up, baring your panties. 

He tugs your panties off, giving your ass a squeeze as he does.

Your yelp makes him smile. 

‘You make so many noises,’ he observes.

You stop in the middle of uncovering his dick. You’re so close, you’ve got it down to his thin boxer briefs.

‘You can shut me up if you like,’ you say, suggestive, stroking over his cock. 

Jungkook laughs darkly as he tugs his boxer briefs down for you, freeing his cock.

‘It’s fucking cute,’ he tells you. His fingers slip between your legs, thumb going confidently to your clit. He strokes over your clit, moves his hand. His fingers slide into your cunt, and he groans at the feel and sound of you.

‘Wet,’ he grunts.

Your fist is tight around his cock, his pre cum slickening the glide. You run your thumb over his slit, and to your pleasure he groans again, spurting a little more onto your hand.

His hand leaves your cunt, comes back with a condom. ‘Can you put it on me?’

‘Have we done this before?’ you ask, jokingly.

His grin is lazy, devastatingly gorgeous. 

‘Don’t worry, baby, you’ll remember this time.’

He grinds his cock into your hand. ‘I’ll make sure of it,’ he promises.

His cock’s hard and full enough that you’ve got high hopes.

He nudges it into your hand again. ‘Ready, baby?’ His thumb finds your clit, and he leans forward a little to kiss you. ‘Your little clit’s all swollen for me.’

You unroll the condom onto his length, and he bucks it into your hand again for good measure. 

He slaps your thigh. ‘Spread.’

He sinks into you with a groan deep in his chest, the stretch of his hardness exquisite.

He nudges your clit with every stroke, encouraging you to ‘just take it, baby, you’re good at it.’

You’d be infuriated if he wasn’t making you feel so good. 

As it is, you’re wet, slick for him, and two tiny steps from cumming on his cock.

He knows, the asshole.

Jungkook uses your body like he knows exactly what you like. The sweat he’s worked up gleams on his bared throat, exposed as he arches his head back, finding traction on the mattress to fuck you deep into it.

‘Jungkook!’ you cry, breathless. 

‘Yeah. That’s who’s fucking you like this,’ he agrees.

He reaches down, runs a finger over your rim. He presses, teasing, eyes sparkling as you moan and dig your heel into his back.

‘Like that?’ he asks. ‘Shit, I knew you would, dirty girl.’

‘Jeon,’ you say, in as stern a voice as you can muster when you’re within reach of the biggest orgasm you’ve had lately.

‘Yeah. Hurry up, baby, I’m gonna cum and I don’t think I can wait for you.’

He speeds up, fucking you hard, fast. 

You cry out, and he pushes a finger into your ass. ‘Gonna fill all of you,’ he grunts.

You want to protest but you’re cumming all over his cock, so hard you can’t even see him for a few blinding seconds.

Jungkook pulls out, voice breathy, desperate. ‘Can I cum?’

‘Yeah.’

You can hear him ripping off the condom.

‘Where can I cum?’ he asks, voice slurred in his hurry.

‘Anywhere,’ you mumble, floating in a haze of pleasure.

Half a second later you feel a hot spurt of cum across your cheek. 

Jungkook groans, loud, fist working over his flushed cock as he cums all over your face.

You want to tell him he’s an asshole but he’s kissing the cum off your lips, pulling you to him, and you don’t quite manage it.

***

Jungkook’s got your skirt hiked up over your ass, slapping it leisurely as he fucks you over your kitchen counter.

He pulls out and drops to his knees, pressing his face into your ass, licking up your slit.

‘Jungkook!’ you moan. 

He snickers into your cunt and laps again, tongue firm against your folds.

‘I think you can cum like this,’ he taunts, ‘but I think you need my cock more.’

‘God, Jungkook, just fuck me,’ you complain.

‘You’re not as adversarial in the bedroom as you are in real life,’ he remarks.

You turn around and glare at him. 

‘You want angry sex, Jungkook?’

He’s got his cock in his hand, angled like he’s about to try and enter you again.

‘How bout we table this for after work.’

Jungkook stares at you, aghast.

‘Don’t be like that, baby, I’m just teasing you.’

You’re still wet, cunt throbbing, but you shrug, nonchalant. ‘Or maybe not. I have another date.’

Jungkook looks thunderous. ‘What?’

You shrug again, refusing to let your eyes drop to his pretty cock. 

If there’s one thing you know above anything else, it’s how competitive Jungkook is. 

You’ve been competing with him for the past few months, after all.

You reach down to tug your panties back up, and a second later Jungkook’s hands have grabbed your hips, spinning you around so fast you’re dizzy. 

He flicks up your skirt and enters you in the same movement.

You can feel how hard he is, pressed against your walls, and you moan. 

He pulls you tight to him, arm around your torso, dick pulsing hotly inside you. 

‘Are you challenging me?’ he asks, voice velvety against your ear.

You moan again in response, and he bucks his hips against your ass, hard. 

His free hand slides between your legs, fingers splitting into a ‘v’ over where you’re joined, palm against your clit.

‘I’m gonna make you cum in less than ten seconds,’ he tells you. 

He pinches your nipple with the arm around your torso. 

‘Count for me, baby.’

His fingers work you over as he slams his cock into you again and again.

You lose track counting down to six, and he pinches your nipple again.

‘Come on,’ he goads. 

‘Jungkook,’ you moan. You look down at his hand over your cunt, his other forearm pressed hard against your tits, curved flesh spilling over, and count down the rest of the way.

He gets you to cum before you get to two, damn him.

Then he spanks your ass, hard, and cums all over it for good measure.

You can’t say you didn’t enjoy it.

***

You’re on the phone to a journalist from the Herald when you sense a commotion from the main annexe. 

You look up as Kim Seokjin sweeps into the room, this time flanked by two staffers.

You grab your phone to text Yoongi and realise he’s already next to Seokjin, along with Namjoon.

You reach them just in time to hear Kim Seokjin say, ‘the President favours you as his deputy.’

Namjoon nods like he hadn’t expected any less.

‘They’ll announce the resignation today,’ Kim Seokjin says. He sighs. ‘Fucking vice presidents these days - less longevity than a goddamn head of lettuce, and less personality too.’

Whilst you’re all formulating appropriate responses to that, the staffer next to him nods at you, all slicked back hair and glass skin. His ID badge says ‘Park Jimin.’

You’re nodding back when Jungkook steps between you. 

Kim Seokjin’s gaze falls on you, Jungkook and Jimin. He raises an eyebrow, murmuring something about ‘the possessiveness of children’ as he turns and exits your office as quickly as he entered it.

Yoongi turns to Namjoon. ‘Congratulations, Joon, looks like you’re in.’

Namjoon tilts his head. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’

‘You’re the most viable candidate for vice president,’ Yoongi says, matter of fact.

‘Seonghoon’s a buffoon and Kijung —- well,’ Yoongi breaks off, and he and Namjoon nod.

They do this a lot, half sentences and loaded pauses. You think it’s a side effect of having worked together their entire lives.

You’re still thinking about it when Yoongi says, ‘put your alpha pheromones away, Jeon, we’re not in a young adult romance novel.’

He turns to you, and you brace, but all he says is, ‘I’m gonna need a rundown of all of Namjoon’s current causes and how they’ll fit into his vice-presidency campaign.’

‘Sure. Jungkook and I will get right on it,’ you say, quickly.

Yoongi nods. ‘We’re in the big leagues now, grasshopper.’

‘Wow. Bastardising a Karate Kid quote. That’s a new low, even for you,’ you observe. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but his lips curl slightly. ‘Get out of my sight, don’t come back until you have quality.’

***

‘Fuck,’ Jungkook breathes. 

You bolt upright. ‘What? Now?’

Jungkook looks as tired as you feel. Work’s ramped up since Namjoon was announced as a candidate for the vice presidency. 

You can’t remember the last time you slept in a bed, let alone fucked in one.

Although there was that little encounter with Jungkook in the unused office yesterday.

Jungkook turns his screen to face you, and you both sigh as the faulty cable to his monitor fizzes out again. 

‘I thought you had that replaced,’ you complain.

‘Yeah, me too,’ Jungkook replies. He slaps the flat of his hand against the screen and it comes back to life.

‘You can always come sit on my lap and we can watch it together,’ he suggests.

Tiredly, you shuffle over and plant your ass in his lap as you wait for the video to load.

‘Mmmm,’ murmurs Jungkook into the back of your neck.

‘Don’t fall asleep again,’ you warn.

‘But you’re comfy,’ he says, muffled.

As the video loads, you read the rest of the blurb. ‘An expose on the future VP? What’s your source?’

‘I used to fuck someone at the Herald,’ he mumbles into your neck.

‘Date?’

‘No, fuck,’ he clarifies. 

‘Like we’re fucking?’ you ask lightly.

‘No, we’re dating,’ he says, drowsy, whiny. ‘You’ve met my parents and everything.’

You’re thinking about his words when the video finally loads.

Oh fuck. 

Behind you, Jungkook’s sitting up, awakened by the throbbing beat, by the laser lighting, by the low rhythmic growl of a man spitting out a verse.

Your boss, current Secretary of State and Vice Presidential candidate Kim Namjoon. 

‘This is ok,’ you say, trying to convince yourself.

I’mma beat that pussy like you never ever felt before.

‘Fuck. I’m calling Yoongi.’

***

‘This better be good,’ Yoongi says, terse. ‘I woke up Holly on the way in.’

‘Ah sorry how’s Holly? Kiss her for me,’ you say. 

At Jungkook’s confused look you explain, ‘Holly’s his dog.’

‘Holly’s my life,’ corrects Yoongi. 

‘I didn’t know you were capable of caring for another,’ Jungkook says, in an attempt at humour.

‘Let’s put it like this, junior. If you and Holly were in a fire and I could save both of you I’d save Holly twice.’ 

Yoongi pauses, meaningfully. 

‘And then pay the fire department to let you keep burning.’

You wince. 

Jungkook pouts.

You say, grimly, ‘anyhow, Jungkook’s source sent us this. It’s going out with the news first thing.’

Yoongi watches, straight-faced, as the video plays. 

‘Can we squash this?’ he asks.

‘Negative.’

Yoongi runs a hand over his face. 

‘Damn. That’s a banging tune but the lyrics aren’t gonna play well. And that’s not even the most scandalous of his songs.’

‘Fuck, there’s more than one?’

Yoongi picks up his phone. ‘I’m calling Namjoon. Both of you, start drafting a reaction to this.’

‘It’s 2am!’ protests Jungkook.

Yoongi doesn’t even dignify him with a response.

***

A muscle in Namjoon’s jaw ticks as he watches the footage.

‘You’ll get totally drenched, so bring another pair of panties’

‘Bitch I’m your man, 10 out of 10’

‘Good flows,’ mutters Yoongi.

Namjoon shakes his head. ‘Fuck. They’re tearing apart my lyrics, calling me a misogynist.’

‘They’re also calling you on cultural appropriation,’ you say, quietly.

Namjoon sighs. ‘I’ve moved on since Rap Monster.’

You don’t doubt it.

You’re scrolling through the comments on the news clip. 

‘Hey, check this out, it’s not all negative reactions,’ you say.

Jungkook frowns over the screen.

Yoongi reads, ‘I have three holes and two hands and they’re all ready for Kim Namjoon’s dick.’

‘Thirst tweets don’t count,’ Namjoon says. 

You’re sitting up. ‘Don’t they?’

‘He can choke me with those arms,’ you read.

You all look at Namjoon’s biceps, flexed with his elbows on the desk.

‘You still have that magazine editor in your contacts?’ Yoongi asks. 

‘Even better,’ you reply. ‘One of my exes works at Esquire.’

***

The issue of Esquire with ex-college rapper, lyrical genius (their words) and certified thottie vice presidential candidate Kim Namjoon sells out within 12 hours.

The Esquire site registers a spike in hits exceeding their top-selling January bumper issue.

The phone won’t stop ringing, emails are pouring into your inbox and Kim Seokjin’s already visited you once today and it’s only 9am.

Yoongi strolls in and looks, disgusted, at you and Jungkook sprawled over your desks.

‘Jesus fuck, when’s the last time either of you had a shower?’

‘With water? Or with baby wipes?’ you ask blearily.

‘I just keep layering deodorant on,’ says Jungkook. 

Yoongi runs a hand through his beautifully fluffy, clean-looking hair. 

‘Go home. I’ll man the fort. Don’t forget the Christmas party tomorrow.’

You say, concerned, ‘I don’t know if my key still works. I haven’t been home in a while.’

Jungkook pulls you into his arms. ‘Come on we can go to mine. If my car’s still here that is, I can’t remember the last time it left the car park.’

Yoongi shakes his head. 

***

It’s the evening of the office Christmas party. 

Your door buzzes and you press the button to let Jungkook in. 

When you open your door, he’s standing in your doorway, shoulder braced against the frame. 

His black suit’s fitted beautifully, the hardware in his face gleams in the harsh hallway lighting, and his smile is as devastating as it ever was.

What really stops you, though, is the look in his eyes as he gazes at you.

‘Hey,’ he says, voice low. ‘You’re going to have to do all the talking tonight, because I’m gonna be picking my jaw up off the floor all night long.’

‘Yeah?’ you ask, flattered despite his cheesy line.

‘Yeah,’ he affirms. ‘You’re kind of fucking perfect.’

You step forward, and he lowers his head to meet you in a kiss. 

His hand drops to the small of your back, low, and he murmurs to you. ‘Ready, baby?’

‘Yeah,’ you say, looking up at him.

He looks at you for a moment, thumb coming up to brush over your cheek. ‘I feel like jizzing on your face right now.’

‘And there he is,’ you say, affectionate.

Jungkook laughs. ‘You look good with my cum on your lips.’

‘Your aim is shit,’ you inform him.

‘Let me practice until I get better,’ he returns.

You give him a quelling look.

‘Shit, I love it when you get stern with me,’ he says, unrepentant.

‘Shut up or I won’t let you see my underwear.’

He mimes zipping his lips and locking them with a key. 

You can’t help it. You laugh despite yourself. 

‘Come on. We’re gonna be late.’

***

Jungkook’s gorging himself on mini chicken potpies and salmon blinis whilst you sip your wine.

‘Where’s Namjoon and Yoongi?’ Jungkook wonders.

You glance at the clock on the wall. ‘Well, it’s midnight, so they’re in the situation room. Which reminds me, I need to check on them.’

Jungkook looks confused.

‘They do this every Christmas. They lock themselves in the situation room and get lashed. I just pop in on them once and leave them to it.’

‘Want me to come with?’ Jungkook asks. 

‘Yeah. Bring the potpies. Sometimes they get the munchies.’

Outside the situation room, you turn to Jungkook. 

‘You never saw this.’

You pull out your second ID badge and swipe in. 

‘You have clearance for the situation room?’ Jungkook says, amazed.

‘Yoongi got it for me. He said, and I quote - ‘you’d be better than Namjoon at covering all our tracks if anything happened.’’

You push open the door to a blast of deafening hip hop and find Yoongi and Namjoon on the oval mahogany table, rapping.

Namjoon croons a verse, Yoongi following up with a rap so quick you’re a little impressed.

Jungkook watches open mouthed, tray of chicken potpies in his arms forgotten, stars in his eyes.

You’re trying to gesture to him to leave the fucking potpies and back out of the room when they notice you.

‘Shit in a bucket,’ you hiss, grabbing Jungkook’s arm.

Jungkook’s confused but he puts himself between you and Yoongi anyway.

‘It’s the children!’ slurs Yoongi in the kind of jovial manner you only see when he’s three sheets to the wind.

‘We brought you potpies,’ you say cheerfully. ‘And a magnum of wine.’

‘I’ve got a magnum for you,’ Yoongi says, lifting a brow, and you don’t know whether you’re aroused or terrified. 

It’s both.

‘We’ll just be going!’ you trill. ‘Don’t forget to drink water!’

‘Why did you let Jungkook come inside?’ Yoongi asks, frowning.

‘I bet she asks herself that every day,’ Namjoon snickers.

You hear a sound from Jungkook that sounds suspiciously like a laugh that he quickly muffles.

‘As much as I enjoy your drunken humour,’ you say, sternly, ‘I just came to check you were both still alive. Now say thank you and I expect apologies in the morning.’

‘Thank you,’ Namjoon and Yoongi chorus. You try not to shiver at how sexy their voices sound blended together.

You grab Jungkook’s arm. ‘Come on, baby, take me home.’

Yoongi and Namjoon fall on the tray of potpies like starving animals. 

‘She’s sexy when she scolds us,’ Namjoon observes, between mouthfuls. ‘I like it.’

You shut the door firmly behind you before you hear Yoongi’s response.

The next morning your desk is covered in peonies when you arrive, your favourite flower. There’s a card stuck into them but you don’t have to read it to know who they’re from.

Yoongi and Namjoon approach you warily.

‘Were we terrible?’ Namjoon asks.

‘Pretty bad.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Yoongi says. ‘For what I said about your ass.’

You stare at him. ‘You didn’t say anything about my ass.’

‘For what I was thinking about your ass,’ Yoongi amends, quickly.

‘I’m sorry too, for all my misbehaviour, both verbal and in my head,’ Namjoon tells you.

You sigh. ‘It’s fine. This wasn’t your worst year.’

‘Yeah,’ says Yoongi a little dreamily. ‘2019 - the year of the shrooms.’

‘That was bad,’ you agree. ‘Are we done here?’

You stare at their backs as they leave and wonder what the hell Namjoon meant by misbehaviour in his head.

You decide you’re better off not knowing.

***

Jungkook’s on the phone when your inbox pings.

You wave at him as soon as you read it. 

‘There’s a red situation in the entry hall,’ you tell him. ‘The building’s gone into lockdown.’

Jungkook frowns. ‘A red situation? That’s only for terror attacks.’

‘It’s a bomb threat,’ comes a voice from the door, a uniformed guard. ‘Stay put until you get further instructions.’’

‘Damn I really wanted a wrap from the deli for lunch,’ mumbles Jungkook.

You roll your eyes. ‘Guess that stale croissant’s gonna be your last meal then,’ you say, referring to the breakfast you’d picked up on the way into work.

‘So what do we do?’ Jungkook asks, leaning back in his seat.

‘Wait for the bomb squad?’ you suggest.

Jungkook grins at you. 

‘Want to blow off some steam in that office again?’

Which is how you find yourself, back against the wall, Jungkook unbuttoning your blouse, feeling up your tits plenty as he does it.

‘Love your tits,’ he tells you, leaning down to kiss the tops of your breasts exposed by your balconette bra.

He tugs a cup down, and you watch as he fastens his lips over your nipple. He sucks until your nipple’s full, perky and hard for him. 

You moan as he does the same to your other nipple, laving with his tongue, suckling.

He comes off your breast with a pop, hands squeezing gently, plumping your tits until you’re so wet you think you’d cum at the faintest pressure on your clit.

He unzips your skirt and kneels in front of you.

The sight of his dark head poised at the apex of your thighs, coupled with the bright sunlight streaming in through the window, arouses you even more.

Jungkook slips a finger under the crotch of your panties, humming his approval when he feels how slick you are.

‘Your clit’s so swollen, baby,’ he croons. ‘You need relief, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll help you, ok?’

He tugs your panties to one side, thumbs spreading your cunt, and licks up into you, slow, warm.

Fuck. 

Your legs tremble as he suckles at your clit, jaw working, mouth opening wide like he’s feasting on you.

‘Touch your tits for me,’ he says, muffled by your cunt.

He waits until you’re moaning and flicking your own nipples before he continues.

Fuck, his tongue.

Jungkook licks up into you like he’s ravenous for you, lips smacking, tongue delving deep inside. 

When your legs shake even more he lifts your thigh to his shoulder and buries his face even deeper in your cunt.

He knows you’re close without you having to say it.

Jungkook slides his fingers into you, curling them, pressing hard as he suckles your clit, 

You cry out into your fist as you cum.

Jungkook keeps going until you’re sagging against him, hands on his shoulders.

He hoicks you onto the desk, hand on your sternum, pushing you down flat. 

‘Fuck,’ he says, breathing hard. He stares at your tits, nipples still hard, at your glistening cunt, and his hand closes around his cock. 

‘Spread for me, love,’ he says, voice so thick you can barely make out the words.

You tuck your hands behind your knees and spread yourself for him.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Jungkook groans. His hand, furiously working his cock, stills, and then he’s spurting his cum onto your cunt, streaks of white against your swollen folds. 

He leans over the desk, breathless, pulling you to him, whispering praise with his lips on your neck.

By the time you get back to your office, you can hear Yoongi’s voice, terse, furious.

‘Where are the children?’ he demands of a hapless intern. 

You run up to him. ‘We’re here!’

He turns to you, relief blooming on his face. 

He pulls you into a hug. ‘Thank fuck you’re ok.’ 

He holds out his other arm to Jungkook, pulling him into the hug too.

‘Hyung,’ says Jungkook, emotional.

‘I’ll allow it just this once,’ Yoongi warns, but there’s no heat in his voice.

***

It’s election night. Namjoon’s vice presidential campaign’s gone swimmingly, his numbers are promising, and you have every reason to believe he’ll triumph tonight.

He’s promised you and Jungkook positions on his team, under Yoongi as his chief of staff.

You’ve been watching the numbers for hours, so you leave the office for a break. 

You’re sitting on a grassy slope outside the office, enjoying how the city looks under the night sky, when you hear footsteps approach.

Jungkook flops onto the grass next to you, arm behind his head.

The night sky’s stunning, but Jungkook’s not bad to look at either.

His hand reaches for yours. He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it.

‘I can’t wait to get into bed with you later,’ he says.

‘Me either.’

‘Do you think Namjoon’s got it?’ he asks. 

‘If he doesn’t then he’ll get it next time,’ you say. 

You’re pretty sure he’ll be all right whatever happens.

You’re pretty sure you and Jungkook will be all right too. 

‘Everything goes,’ you say, optimistic.

Jungkook looks up at you, eyes twinkling. 

‘Everything goes,’ he agrees.

He holds your hand until the fireworks begin and then, you go back inside.

You [01:55]: Going back to the hotel fyi

Sophie [01:57]: Alone????

You [01:57]: …not alone 😇

Lila [01:57]: Oh SHIT !!

You [01:57]: Is this the dumbest thing i’ve ever done? Be honest

Lila [01:57]: Definitely not

Sophie [01:57]: Girl go get you some

Sophie [01:58]: Time to live 

Lila [01:58]: Have FUN. You deserve it!

Lila [01:58]: 🍆💦🔥🥵

You [01:59]: Ew

Sophie [01:59]: Lila’s emoji privileges revoked 

You [01:59]: Seconded

Lila [02:00]: 🍆🍆🍆🍆

Lila [02:00]: Like to see y’all try

Lila [02:00]: Fr tho, climb him like a tree!!!!

Sophie [02:01]: And call us if you need us

You [02:01]: Best girls ❤️

*****

JK [01:57]: Heading out. Don’t wait up.

JM [01:57]: With someone??

JM [01:57]: You were with that woman most of the night

JK [01:58]: … :)

JM [01:58]: Fuck

Hobi [01:58]: No way

Hobi [01:59]: Maybe a little dangerous?

JK [01:59]: She doesn’t know who I am

JM [02:00]: Rude

JM [02:00]: But prob for the best

Hobi [02:00]: Still… 

Hobi [02:00]: Sure about this?

JK [02:01]: Yea

JK [02:01]: One time thing

JK [02:01]: Don’t worry

JM [02:03]: You better wrap it punk!!!

*****

The hotel you’d booked hadn’t felt that close when you’d ridden to the club earlier, but now it felt like you were there in a matter of seconds. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t focus on anything else except exploring more of the ways Jeongguk could move his mouth in sync with yours. 

The poor driver. If they minded, they said nothing. Or maybe they did and you weren’t listening. How could you give attention to any of your other senses, when touch was the one taking total control?

What felt like a flash and then you were in the elevator, his hands clutching your waist steady as you desperately fisted his hoodie in your greedy hands. 

“What room,” he gasped, leading the two of you closer to the buttons so he could push the right one. 

Oh, right. You weren’t even in the room yet. Maybe you should slow down. But then again… who the fuck would decide that when the man before them looked like this?

“Nine-oh-four,” you managed to gasp between nips across his jaw. The salt of his skin was addicting. You could barely focus on anything else. 

“Card?” Jeongguk was suddenly breathing into your ear.  

“Huh?” 

“Key card, baby,” he murmured, tugging your clutch’s strap down your shoulder. “For the door.” 

“Oh, yeah.” You pulled back from him far enough to rummage inside. He made himself busy, worrying a spot near your clavicle. Enough so that distantly you thought you were sure it would bruise come morning. A second more of rooting around and then the card was there, plastered against one side of the purse.

A quiet beep of the door’s security system, bypassed at last, and you were in the room. The foyer sconce gave dim but invitingly warm light. Door locked once more, and then it was a blur of clothes falling toward the floor. 

“Fuckkk,” you heard Jeongguk whine, taking in your backside as he unzipped your dress with a practiced swiftness. 

You twisted back around, the remaining alcohol in your system making you brave. “Please,” you laughed. “I should be the one saying that, not you,” you argued, lifting the elastic waistband of his hoodie off of his slender hips and up, up, up, until his face was disappearing and he was helping you shuck it off. 

“I’m serious,” he huffed as he gripped the dip of your waist and dragged you closer. “Didn’t think I’d win the lottery tonight.”

“Me either,” you sighed into his mouth, your tongue meeting his once more. “Lucky us.”

“Lucky us,” Jeongguk agreed, lifting you all at once by the back of your thighs and walking you both to the bed. A gentle dip and you were horizontal, ass at the edge. His face between your legs. 

“What’re you doing?”

“Can I?” 

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed. “Are you for real right now?”

He said nothing, just tongued his lip piercing and nodded. His eyes were round and innocent, but the situation was anything but.

“You already got me off. You don’t have to.”

“Who said it’s just for you?” 

“Fuck.” Your head smacked against the mattress. “Then yes. Yes, times a thousand.”

“Thank fuck,” he murmured. In the span of an exhale, your thong was down to your ankles and tossed across the room. 

A delicate kiss against your thigh, a pause, and then his tongue was licking deep. Inside you, up your center and finally circling around your clit. Your back was arching off the bed of its own accord, your whine carrying obscenely throughout the suite. 

His puffs of impish laughter against you only spurred you on. “Yeah, you like that?” he hummed in between kitten licks. 

“Love that,” you moaned, hands seeking purchase in his hair like a survivor desperate for a life vest. Your hips were bucking against his tongue like it was their only job. “What the fuck.”

“Wiggling so much,” he teased, giving your clit a slow suck as he sheathed two fingers inside you. His other hand clamped around your hip bone to keep you still. “Is it really that good, baby?”

“It really is,” you panted, nodding at a rate that in any other situation would have had you mortified. “So, so good, Jeongguk, shit.”

“Good. I want it to be good for you.” You could feel his lips smiling against you. A grin that only widened at the absolutely obscene whine racing out of your open mouth as he curled his fingers inside, hitting a spot that you’d never been sure you actually had. 

But, oh, you did. You really did. It was a crime you hadn’t known sooner than now, but holy fuck were you grateful. Which you apparently expressed when his fingers scissored inside you at the same time he was flattening his tongue against your clit. 

“Thanking me already?” you could barely attach meaning to his words in the rush of an impending climax. It was growing, growing, growing. Curling your toes against his shoulder blades. Electrifying every nerve, pulsing in time to the blood pounding in your ears. “You needed this so bad, huh.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you wailed pathetically. His dirty mouth had you wetter than you had ever been in your life. You could tell by the smacking sounds emanating from him as he ate his fill. It was downright nasty. But you couldn’t find an ounce of shame. 

“I’m gonna fucking cum if you keep going,” you mewled. You barely recognized this fucked out voice of yours. 

“So cum, baby.” His voice, though muffled against you, was huskier now, pitched lower than before. Thank God all of this was affecting him, too. “Cum on my mouth. Show me again how good you can cum for me.”

His permission was all it took. The damn inside you collapsed in a sudden clench and release of tension, your hips rutting into his face as he flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue, his fingers pumping in and out of you with delicious force. 

There was no time wasted on a come down. The second he felt you relax, he was up off his knees and ridding himself of his remaining clothes. You opened bleary eyes just in time to see his cock bobbing free from his shorts, the length of him making your mouth water. 

“Let me taste you,” you managed, moving to get on your knees before him. Your legs were weak from the orgasm, but you’d be damned if you didn’t get your mouth on him just once. 

“You don’t have to,” he smiled, suddenly boyish as he was fisting himself in one hand. How he could flash from domineering to bashful so quickly was baffling, but somehow it worked. It made you want him even more. You said as much, tacking on a breathy “please” as you sidled closer. 

“You want to suck me off that bad?” He scrunched his nose, teasing. 

“I want you halfway down my throat.” The words shocked a distant part of you, but it was quickly forgotten when you saw the effect they had on him. How his eyes, already large enough to hold galaxies, widened. The flex of his forearm as he gripped himself tighter. The sudden slack in his jaw, tongue prodding at the lip ring.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pumping himself harder. You watched with unconcealed lust. “How are you so perfect.”

His words goaded you on now. “Let me taste you, baby,” you pleaded. “Show you how perfect I can be.” 

“Yeah,” he rasped, releasing himself. “Show me. Fuck me with that pretty mouth of yours.”

“Happily,” you sighed, the final syllable greeting his head as your mouth sheathed him in one go. He was thick. Thick in a way that had your pussy clenching from the anticipation of what it would be like to have him filling you there. Your throat stretched in protest as you dived to take him all in, and the tears it brought to your eyes were a welcome warmth on your cheeks. 

“Fuck. That’s it, so good,” Jeongguk managed through gritted teeth as you found a pace that was comfortable without needing your hands. “Taking me so well. Look so pretty with my dick in your mouth.”

His words. His taste. Your thighs were slick—you could tell when you squeezed them to ease the ache that was already building once again. You liked him being in control, but you found yourself wanting to shut him up, if only to keep yourself in check. 

You released him with an obscene pop before moving to suck on his balls, taking them in your mouth one by one. Stuffing them both in your mouth, tonguing them each in turn. You felt like a slut, loved feeling like a slut. Were a hair’s breadth from deranged as you opened your eyes and took in his pained expression. His guttural moan, which ended more like a whine, was all the encouragement you needed to run your tongue up the seam of him in the limited space of your crowded mouth. 

“Fuckkkk,” he sighed. “You keep going like that and you’re gonna make me cum.” 

You hummed happily before freeing him at least. “Is that what you want?” you murmured, painting a wet kiss against his inner thigh. 

“I’d rather fuck you raw,” he breathed, clutching you by the chin and drawing you up to plant a sloppy kiss across your lips. 

You couldn’t help the whine that escaped your lips. “I want that too,” you sighed. 

“Yeah? You sure?” His eyes were boring into yours, meaning heavy behind them.

The last rational neuron in your brain had the wherewithal to pause. You drew back enough to manage some reasonable distance between the two of you. “I’m clean, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

He tongued his lip piercing, considering. “Yeah?”

You huffed a laugh. “Yeah. It’s a long story, one that would really kill the mood,” you admitted, looking away, eyes landing on the curtained window. Thank God you’d thought to close the blinds before leaving earlier tonight. “But I just got tested. Because of my ex. So, I’m for sure clean.” 

“I’m sorry.” His hand moved to cup your cheek, but you still didn’t turn to meet his gaze. “I didn’t mean–”

“S’okay,” you interrupted, looking back at him, a soft smile around the corners of your mouth as you touched a finger against the plush of his lower lip. “Even so, Lila left me a condom if you’d prefer to wrap it. If you’re clean too, then I don’t care either way.”

He took you in, eyes darting across your face. Considering. “I’m clean, too. Got tested last month, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he managed, shivering as your hand gripped the base of him, beginning a slow, torturous rhythm. 

“Did I mention I’m on the pill, too,” you murmured, drawing closer to his face as your hand kept him in its grip. 

“You hadn’t actually,” he swallowed, eyes fully trained on your mouth. 

“My bad,” you smirked. “Should’ve said that earlier. But, yeah. Clean and consequence free.”

“Lucky fucking me,” Jeongguk managed, closing what little distance existed between you and latching your mouths once more. In the span of a breath, you found yourself flat on your back, Jeongguk leaning over you. He was slotted between your legs like the space had been meant for him. “You sure,” he panted, meeting your eyes seriously.

“So sure,” you nodded. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

You reached for him desperately, guiding his length to your open center. The feeling of his head dragging against you was ecstasy in its purest form. “Good. Because I need you inside me right fucking now.” 

“Say less,” he managed, sheathing himself inside you in one fell swoop. 

You saw white. Frequency overload. Heaven and hell all combined, smashing together until it was nothing but static noise, intense pressure, absolute euphoria.

“Easy, easy,” you heard him coo in your ear, the words hurtling you back down to earth, back into your skin. You could feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, the burn a welcome sensation as he filled you past the point of coherence. “You’re doing so good. So, so good.” 

You whined, unable to form any sounds that could be deemed coherent. Above the feeling of absolute fullness, you registered the desperate way your fingers were clutching his hair. The rigidity of your legs as your ankles locked just above his bum, like you were trying to meld your bodies together. Damn anyone or anything that tried to take him from you. 

Not that he had any plans of going anywhere. “I know. I know, baby. Stretch for me,” he urged. And you did, holy fuck, you did. Your body was acquiescing to him before your brain could even register the words. “That’s it, such a good girl for me.” 

“Wanna be so good for you,” you finally managed to sigh. You wiggled your hips, causing him to sink a bit deeper. He was pushing up on your cervix now, you were sure of it. And yet, if it were possible, you knew you would have had him burying himself even further. 

He was still as a statue apart from his ragged breathing, the errant kisses planted across your temple. He was giving you time to adjust. But it was driving you mad, all the fullness without any momentum. You need him to move, needed him to fuck himself into you until there was no question the space was only meant for him. 

“Move, please,” you pleaded. “I need it.”

“Yeah? You need it?” He parroted. Bucked just enough to give you a taste. “How bad?” But even that little bit had you melting into a breathy mess. 

A hand gripped your chin. “Look at me. Tell me. How bad?” Your eyes opened, and you took in the expression on his face. 

Hungry. Greedy. Powerful. Those doe eyes you’d admired before were nowhere to be seen now, replaced by a gaze so demanding it made you shiver.

“So bad. So, so bad,” you whined, clutching at his shoulders desperately. You had never submitted this easily; it defied logic why you were so pliant now. “I’m aching.”

“Aching, huh.”

“I’m gonna die if you don’t move.” 

At your words, he pulled back. Almost out of you completely. And paused. The absence of him was visceral. So much so that your face was collapsing into a grimace—

—Just as he thrust back in. And then you were full, blissfully full, once again. Your cry of ecstasy only goaded him into a pace that had you clinging to what little shred of awareness you had left. It was otherworldly. Magical. Life-changing. Your brain short circuiting to a rhythm dictated only by the man fucking into you with a ferocity that could rival gods of old. 

“Fuck,” you heard him groan against the dip of your neck. “You’re still so tight. And wet. What the fuck.” 

“J-just for you,” you stuttered, clutching him closer against you. That seemed to energize him further, remapping his movements so that he was grinding deeper, slower, against you. Into you. 

“Just for me, huh?” he panted, hitting a spot inside you that you’d only read about in those silly BookTok novels.

“Yessss,” you whined, but your voice was keening higher and higher. “Yes, yes, yes.” 

“So sweet,” he praised, lifting his head to plant languid kisses against your neck. “You just met me and you're slutting it out this good?”

Was this real life? Your disconnected brain managed to wonder. How was he this good at dirty talk? You could have never imagined words like this making you this feral. “Can’t help it,” you managed to respond. “Wanted you all night.”

“You did so good getting what you wanted,” he praised. “Perfect. So perfect. Doing so good for me.” You clamped him between your legs even tighter at that, locking your ankles together more firmly so that he couldn’t wriggle loose even if he tried. 

The movement had him chuckling into the crook of your neck. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he murmured, leaning up to bite the shell of your ear. “Don’t worry.” You reveled in the way he rocked more forcefully into you, how you could feel him bottoming out right against your cervix. How his pelvis was pushing against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you edging toward release once again. 

And he fucking knew it. 

How he could be so perceptive during all of this was a mystery to you, but you thanked the stars for his ability to notice your impending release once again. “Again?” he teased, rocking into you with purpose. “Already?”

You whined your assent, nodding rather pathetically. “Can’t help it,” you managed, hiding your face against his collarbone and worrying a spot there for him to remember you by. “You feel so good.”

“Aww, poor thing. Let me help you then,” Jeongguk smiled. Deep enough that the dimple in his cheek popped. If you weren’t in the middle of the most obscene sex of your life, you might have pinched his cheeks from the cuteness aggression he triggered. But the feeling was quickly lost as he flipped you over easily in his grip.

You were face down, ass up, his hands greedily gripping you at the dip of your waist. “Hold still,” he cautioned before driving back into you in one go once more. The fullness of him had you mewling. Egged on by the way his hand was now reaching around to clutch your pussy, his middle finger circling your clit in a patient, methodical sort of way that had your toes clenching. 

“Come for me again,” he whispered against your spine, kissing his way up your tattoo. “I know you can do it. Come on my cock. Let me feel it. Wanna feel you grip me even tighter.” 

Again, his words were like a siren’s call. You were at the brink once more, circling the drain, peering down below. Any and every metaphor was racing through your mind until finally, finally, you were breaking. Crashing. Spiraling. He was the push and the rocks beneath to break your fall. So good it was nearly painful. 

“That’s it,” Jeongguk praised. “So good, so good for me. Pretty girl.” But your pulsing must have pushed him to the edge too, if his next words were anything to go by. “Fuck, I’m close,” he managed through gritted teeth. The sound of his voice, so affected, had you leaking even more. His teeth were grazing across your shoulder blade now. Like he was fighting the urge to clamp your skin between his teeth. “Where can I?” 

“Wherever you want,” you whined, your voice still high and breathy despite the comedown. “I’m safe, I swear.”

“Fuuuuck.” He panted, rutting into you with an enthusiasm that only came with an impending orgasm.

“Cum inside, baby,” you rasped, doing your best to goad him. You didn’t know how you found it in yourself to speak the words aloud, given the intensity of your release. “You know you want to.”

“I really do,” he whined, the boyishness of him making a brief comeback as he fucked into you with abandon, teetering on the very edge. “So bad. So, so bad.”

“Do it,” you crooned, craning your neck to meet his eyes behind you. “Be a good boy.” 

How had the power dynamic switched so fast? You had no idea, but you were riding the high. Judging by the slack-jawed look on his face, Jeongguk was too. “Be good for me,” you praised. His doe eyes widened, entranced. He nodded. Bit his lip.

“Fill me up, I wanna be leaking.”

The words were like a key unlocking the safe. Once freed past your lips, given to his ears alone, Jeongguk faltered in his frantic pace. A single, desperate whine. A final thrust. And then he was spilling himself inside you. You could feel it in the way he was crowding against you with renewed energy, as if his hindbrain couldn’t bear the thought of a single ounce of cum escaping from inside you. The animal part of your brain answered in kind. You backed up against him, unwilling to cede even a single millimeter of space to the open air. 

“Fuck,” he panted, curled over you, lips resting against the top notch of your spine. “Don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard.”

“Ditto,” you hummed. You were too high in the clouds to say something more meaningful. Your mind was filled with stardust. Orbiting somewhere far above the bed like a damn comet. You wobbled with the weight of his torso leaning atop you, knees threatening to buckle. Seconds later, they made good on it. 

Outside the heat of the moment, it was probably comical, the way the two of you collapsed in a heap atop the bed. Though you hated the emptiness that came from him pulling out, the way Jeongguk gathered you in his arms before lolling onto his back was a special surprise. 

You knew it was the oxytocin rush, the hormonal cocktail pulsing through your bloodstream that said this was more than what it was. But lying there with him, on him, listening to his heartbeat? There was still a sliver of your brain, probably the part still orbiting the solar system, that swore this was something truly special.

*****

“What?” you hummed, at Jeongguk’s sudden puff of laughter. His chest rose and fell, jostling you from the half-sleep you’d been enjoying on his chest. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes since you last fucked, but the orgasm comedown and his trailing fingers had left you in a sleepy, syrupy blissed out state. Like a cat curled in the sunshine, you were content to soak it all in. 

“Nothing,” he murmured, fingers carding through your hair. “Just thinking.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s really cliche.” 

“Tell me anyway,” you insisted. 

“Just… thinking how wild it is that hours ago I was dreading leaving the house.” He drew lazy circles across your shoulder as the words poured from him slowly, weighed down in the post-sex haze. Still dulcet, but with just a hint of gravel. “And now I’m kind of dreading going back later.”

You hummed understandingly. 

“Just weird,” he continued. “Like I’m still that same guy, but I’m also different now.”

It was your turn to laugh now. “You’re really philosophical after you cum, huh?”

His shoulders shook with laughter. “Not usually. But I’ve been thinking pretty heavy today, though. Reminding myself a lot of my friend.” 

“Jimmy?”

“No,” Jeongguk scoffed. “And his name’s not Jimmy. I don’t–”

“I knew there was some joke I was missing,” you blurted, popping your head up fast. Too fast. The hotel walls were slow to orient to your new position. “Oh fuck. Spins.”

“Careful,” he said, cupping your cheek. “You good?”

“Yeah, just a little drunk still,” you huffed. “Or maybe this is just me after I really cum.” 

“After you really cum?” he teased. “As opposed to not really cumming?”

You prayed the dim light of the room could hide your blush. “I mean, well…It’s, uh, been a while. Generally speaking. But like that?” You hesitated.

“Like that…?”

“Um. Maybe the first time ever.”

“Fuck,” Jeongguk grinned. His knuckles skimmed the curve of your ribs, grazed the swell of your breast. Your breath snagged in your throat at the touch. “You’re really trying to gas me up, huh.”

“It’s not on purpose, I swear,” you tried to assure, albeit distractedly. Your eyes lowered to watch his trailing fingers, the way they traced the whirls of thorny vines and lush petals of your tattoo. “That feels nice.”

“Does it?”

You hummed your assent. It turned into a breathy sort of whimper as he began to play with your nipple. 

“That feel nice, too?” He was being facetious. The mischievous grin plastered on his face as he toyed with you was as endearing as it was exasperating. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to call him out on it. It felt better to lean in and give him the praise he deserved. 

“Really nice,” you murmured, turning to give him better access. You caught the way his eyes locked on the florals inked along your other side. His free hand lifted to trace that piece, too. 

“Every angle I get you in, I feel like I find my new favorite tattoo.” His voice was soft, but it was maybe the only soft thing left about him–if the rising sheets that were slung low around his hips were anything to go by. The awareness of his growing erection, so soon after your last go, did funny things to your tummy. Had you clenching on nothing, slickness beginning to coat your thighs. Thighs that hadn’t had time to dry from the previous round. 

“I have a lot of tattoos,” you whispered. “Lots of angles you can see me in.”

“That so?”

“Mhm.” 

“Hm. Good thing I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” Both of his hands were fully busy playing with your tits. It turned you on more than you cared to admit, watching him watch himself touch you exactly how he wanted. 

“Really good thing.” Emboldened, you swung a leg across his waist so that you were straddling him. You pushed the sheets down, bore down as he angled his cock easily between your folds. “Might just keep you forever,” you breathed as you sank onto him. There was little resistance—in a blink, he was all the way in. The nudge of his head against your cervix once more was a more than welcome feeling. 

“Might just let you,” Jeongguk groaned, pupils blown wide as you began to ride him with the fire of a woman possessed.

*****

The alarm clock on the bedside table read 7:07 in vibrant red. It was the second thing you registered as your eyes fluttered open, the first being the sensation of Jeongguk’s body weight shifting the mattress. You peered over your shoulder, watching his naked form rise carefully from the sheets. 

You’d only known him for a few hours, but in that time you thought you’d become very well acquainted with his body. You’d lost count on the number of orgasms, his and yours both. This man had the stamina of a god, and your core still felt the delicious consequences of his presence. Jeongguk had wrecked you, for better or worse. 

Right now, it certainly felt like it was for the better. 

But the morning had arrived. Cinderella’s carriage had turned back into a pumpkin. And you were waking to the reality that your bed was becoming host to one less body. 

“Heading out?” you murmured. You heaved a sleepy sigh as you flipped to face his side.

He gave you a soft smile, pulling on his boxers. “Afraid so. Gotta get back for work.” 

“‘Nothing gold can stay’,” you mused. 

“What’s that?”

“I think it’s a line from a poem.” You hugged the covers closer to you. “Not sure why it popped into my head.” Paused. Yawned. “It was my lame attempt to find something to say.”

He laughed as he reached for his jeans. “You don’t have to make conversation. I didn’t mean to wake you up. Get some more sleep, yeah?”

“Right. Yeah, sorry.” Your eyes slipped shut of their own accord. “It’s probably easier to leave if the other half of the one night stand stays asleep.”

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he chuckled. “Believe me, I would stay if I could.” 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to do that,” you smiled. “I’m glad I’m awake to say goodbye, though. Would’ve felt weird not to, even if it is easier, y’know?”

Your eyes opened again as the mattress dipped near you. Jeongguk’s knee, you realized. He was leaning over you, one hand moving to brace beside your head.

“I had a really, really great time,” he said, his expression serious as he met your gaze. His free hand smoothed a lock of hair back from your pillow-creased cheek. 

“Me too,” you grinned, catching his hand. You planted a kiss against his palm. “I have to say, you gave me some really fantastic memories. Thank you.”

He said nothing at that. Kept studying you in with those enormous starry eyes of his. 

“What?” You scrunched your nose. “Too much? It’s my first time, go easy on me.” You’d said something quite similar to that just hours ago. Now his eyes creased fondly, making you fairly certain that he realized this, too.

He shook his head. “Not too much.” His name on your lips sounded so sweet it almost hurt. “I’m glad I met you.” 

“Likewise,” you laughed. “Okay, go. Before I try to keep you forever.”

His shoulders wiggled upwards, buoyant from his cute little puffs of laughter. “And before I let you.”

You shook your head ruefully. Still convinced he was such a problem. But the very best kind. “Bye Jeongguk. Get home safe.”

Jeongguk nodded. Made to rise from the bed but paused. A moment of hesitation and then he leaned down to plant a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. 

It was the type of kiss that, in another world, you could imagine he would give you every morning before leaving for work. The type that said he would see you later. The type that came with promises too weighty for this reality, far too serious for a one night thing. But you hummed happily nonetheless, returning it easily before you were parting again far too soon and he was finally walking out into the suite’s living area. 

It was a kiss sweet enough to keep thinking on long after his footsteps were no longer audible, and visions of that other world carried you back into an easy sleep. 

******

You’re an idiot, the voice in his head asserted. Actually, certifiably stupid, Jeon Jeongguk. He picked up the pen anyway. 

Honestly, despite the fact he was doing the very thing that was stupid, he couldn’t argue against his voice of reason (that, to no one’s surprise, sounded a lot like Namjoon’s). It was probably stupid. So, so stupid. But every step that brought him closer to the door, closer to the reality of leaving you for good, had felt wrong on a thousand different levels. He needed some sort of contingency plan if he was going to be able to leave this room with any semblance of peace. Just a possibility of another future. That would do. Even something that meager was better than the finality of shutting your room’s door and not having a chance in hell of finding you again.

This wasn’t his first one night fling. Not even close. But, as he realized mid-thrust on round four with you a little while ago, it was his absolute worst. Worst in the sense that it now felt like a gut punch, the idea that he wouldn’t have at least one more night with you. That was certainly new to him. As he’d grown older, he found he actually preferred situations like one night stands, because it meant he didn’t risk getting too attached. And, as anyone in the band and their staff would freely admit, Jeon Jeongguk was notoriously bad at being unattached. 

He had sobbed on the floor of their dingy dorm at the possibility of Hobi leaving the group before their career had really even taken off. Sure, he had been a kid then. But over a decade later, things still hadn’t changed that much. Why, just last week, he’d cried during a particularly heated group discussion about the comeback album, when Namjoon had voiced doubts of whether it was even worth it, resuming the group’s climb to fame after all these years. Rejection of that possibility had shown on everyone’s faces, even Namjoon’s after he spoke the words, but it had been Jeongguk bursting into tears that shocked them all back to their senses. Recentered them. And sure enough, moments later they were reaffirming their commitment to the group, to each other. He had never meant to weaponize it, but little Jungkookie crying seemed to forever be the group’s kryptonite. 

Perhaps it should have bothered him a little more, that he felt too much, cried a bit too easily, wore his heart on his tattoo sleeve. But, in truth, it really didn’t. He’d learned to appreciate that part of himself, learned to focus it almost entirely into his performances, and protect it from situations that could cause more harm than good.

Which was why he enjoyed semi-frequent trysts with others (those others having been approved by the company, of course), but never the same person twice. No matter how great they seemed, he couldn’t afford to get distracted. Get tangled up in the feelings of someone else. The minute he did, it could all be over. He knew his heart. It could lock on to something, or someone, and never release. There couldn’t be room for anyone else, especially now. Not when the band was about to make its comeback. Not when they needed him singleminded, hypertrained on the goal. 

And yet.

And yet, fate had seen fit to place someone like you directly in his path. Someone who, in a matter of hours, had breathed life into his lungs in a similar way that his bandmates, his music, his performances, did for him. Surely that had to mean something, right? Sure, he was still reeling from the fucked-out bliss you’d catapulted him into, but this couldn’t be just his dick talking. Right? Surely you had felt it, too?

He needed more time. Craved it, honestly. In more respects than just time with you. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the Jung Kook of BTS mantle once more. Sure, he wanted it more than anything. But he was also terrified of it at the same time. It was such a heavy thing. Was he still strong enough to carry it? Was he so strong that he could carry it even further? The possibility was as intimidating as it was thrilling. 

Maybe, if he just had more time, he could come up with a better answer. A more solid answer. Come out of this post-discharge summer with more confidence than he was currently feeling. Were you a part of that solution? Had the universe sent you to him? 

Only one way to find out, he supposed. 

His decision solidified when his eyes snagged on the pen and pad of paper lying on the entryway table. It was innocuous enough, but also teased a sense of meaningfulness. The pen was scrawling a hasty note before he gave himself a chance to second guess it. He stared down at his work, satisfied. 

An impulsive thought darted through his mind, and what the hell, he thought. Might as well follow it. He added an extra note at the bottom of the paper. Admired his work with a satisfied smile. Then, with a nod, he was finally slipping out your hotel door. 

******

The alarm clock read 12:15—rather judgmentally you thought—the next time you opened your eyes, roused by thumping on your suite door.

“Hellooooo? Anyone alive in there?” A muffled voice carried through the room. Lila’s, most definitely. 

“Coming,” you croaked, forcing your body into an upright position on the edge of the bed. But the pounding continued. Guess she hadn’t heard you.

“Give us a sign of life, or we’ll start to think you’re dead in there!” 

Nope. Definitely hadn’t heard you. Bleary-eyed, you began making your way to the door. Your ears pricked at the sound of Sophie’s voice. 

“Lila!” she chastised.

“What? Hey–don’t smack!”

“Don’t joke about things like that.” It was the tone of voice that heralded an impending lecture. You, Lila and Ari knew it far too well. “It’s not like her not to answer. I’m going to try calling again–”

“No need,” you assured with a yawn as you swung the door back to reveal yourself in all your hungover glory. 

“She’s alive!” Lila cheered. 

“Just barely.”

“Oh, thank God,” Sophie sighed, a hand to her chest. She and Lila shuffled past you into the suite’s foyer. “I was getting really worried. You never miss a call. Well, I guess that’s not true. But you always call me back asap.” 

“I don’t when I barely slept and am horrendously hungover,” you grumbled, taking to the couch in a dramatic face plant.

“Oo la la, somebody got some action last night,” Lila purred. You flapped a hand at her. 

“Let’s not make a big deal of i–Hey! Get off!” You rasped as Lila plopped her ass unceremoniously onto your back. 

She giggled as you squirmed to buck her off. “I definitely want to make a big deal of it. Make some room, or this’ll be my seat for the whole story!”

“How can I when you’re parked on top of me?”

“Hm, fair.” She moved to sit on the floor, criss-cross style. “Soph? Care to join? Our girl’s about to give us all the steamy details.”

“I said no such thing–”

“Right, she actually said slutty details, sorry.”

“I did not!” 

But Sophie wasn’t indulging either of you. Her eyes were focused instead on the hallway side table. “Did you see this already?” 

“See what?” you and Lila said at the same time.

“This note. And the watch?” Sophie held it in her hands, examining the face. 

“Shut up.” Lila bounded toward the table with a swiftness you found enviable. Your body was in no shape to go anywhere quickly. “Shut UP!” She was practically vibrating on the spot. “Get your ass over here and look at this!”

“This is really nice,” Sophie mused, still inspecting the watch. Her ability to tune you both out when she wanted was a skill that could only come from motherhood. “Hublot? That’s, like, a major luxury brand.” 

“I’m barely functioning,” you whined. “Can’t you bring it here instead?” 

Lila sighed. “The things I do for you, I swear.”

“You’re the best,” you cooed, worming your way into a sitting position. “Now what’s all the fuss.”

“This is the fuss.” She handed you the notepad. “You must’ve rocked his world, queen.”

You stared at the clean script, hardly comprehending the words before you.

Turns out I suck at one night stands. Call me sometime? XX

And, beneath that, his number. Followed by a postscript.

P.S. Think I might’ve left my watch? Be a shame to lose it forever. :) 

“I–” you began, but your voice caught in your throat. Mouth still agape, mind short-circuiting. 

Sure, you’d drifted off to sleep this morning with dreamy what if scenarios clouding your head. But, you hadn’t imagined them having even a fraction of a chance outside the confines of your imagination. The knowledge that Jeongguk had left your bed, left your suite, not with any sense of finality but with a hope that you’d contact him. Had even given you a reason to, leaving his watch like that. As if you might need another reason other than simply wanting to see him again. 

But everything boiled down to the truth presented before you in a neat scrawl. He liked you so much that he wanted to see you again.

It was silly, how that simple thought could have your stomach doing somersaults, your lips lifting into a dumbstruck little grin. Only hours ago he was literally inside you, and now you were quietly losing it over a simple message on a hotel-branded notepad. But it was the implication of it that meant so much more. You couldn’t stop your mind from conjuring the image of him writing it as you were still curled in the sheets, drifting back to sleep with visions of a reality in which he’d come back to you later that day. But, in a way, he kind of was. 

“Holy shit, your face.” You knew Lila was talking to you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to meet her gaze. “You’re down baaaad. Soph, look at our girl cheesing.”

“Okay but look at the watch, too. He’s gotta be loaded, right?” Sophie insisted, moving to join the two of you on the couch. She paused as her phone began blaring the chorus to “Golden” from KPop Demon Hunters. “Shit, Ari is calling. Here, hold this, would you?” 

Sophie dropped the watch into your lap. Your gaze moved slowly from the note to the accessory. It had the weight of something expensive. The intricate face gleamed back at you, detail heavy and sophisticated. The kind of watch Parker would have probably drooled over seeing, now casually resting atop your thigh. 

“Hi, sweetie,” Sophie’s voice faded into the bathroom. “We’re good, Lila and I were just checking in on your other crazy auntie.”

“Talk to me,” Lila nudged your ribs. “Otherwise I’m gonna think you’ve gone catatonic.” 

“Sorry,” you murmured reflexively. “Just kinda stunned. I didn’t think… when he left this morning, I kinda thought…” 

“It was just a one night stand?”

“I mean, yeah,” you laughed. “Like, obviously I was super into him. But he seemed like the type who did this often–”

“Ew, the fuck?”

“No, no, not like that,” you amended. “Just that, he was super charming and, well, almost everyone I meet is going to have a higher body count than me. I just, I don’t know. I just assumed he was gonna walk out the door this morning and that would be it.”

“Well, it still can be,” Lila tried. “If that’s what you want?”

You laughed again. A desperate, awestruck kind of thing. “I don’t know. I didn’t think I could want anything else. I’m just a little stunned.” 

“Breathe, babe.” She slung an arm around your shoulders, squeezed your arm reassuringly. “I know you, and your mind is probably running a mile a minute. But don’t make it overly complicated. It’s actually pretty simple.”

You gave Lila a dubious stare. Of the three of you, she had a tendency to oversimplify things. Sometimes it came in handy, other times not so much. You were hoping this was a case of the former. “You really think so?”

“I know so! It boils down to two really simple questions. First, did you like him?”

You felt the blush tint your cheeks faster than your brain could form the reply. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Then second: did you like him enough to want to see him again?”

You thought back to the last twelve hours. Failed to hide the stupid smile tugging your mouth back up. “See previous response.” 

“Looks like you know what to do next then,” Lila proclaimed. 

You knocked your forehead against hers with a fondness that only came from years of friendship. “Thanks for being you.”

“I accept tips in cash or Venmo.”

“Punk,” you huffed. Lila’s allergy to sappiness had been a running joke since college.

“Bitch! Stop getting mushy on me and text him!”

“Okay, Jesus, I’m going to,” you laughed, pushing off of her and punching in his number on a new message chat. 

You [12:25]: Found something I think belongs to you… missing a watch by chance? :)

“Cute,” Lila approved as you read it aloud. “Very cute. Now hit send!”

“You’re so pushy, oh my God.” But you did as she said. In a blink, the message marked itself as delivered. 

“It’s the professor in me, can’t help it,” Lila laughed.

“Okay okay,” Sophie’s voice gained in volume as she made her way back out to the living space. “Hang on, I’ll let her tell you about it.” She pressed the speakerphone button. “Okay, you’re on speaker.” 

“Aunties!” Ari’s chipper voice projected. 

“Babygirl!” you and Lila replied in near unison.

“Mom said you met a guy?”

“Me?” Lila teased. “Still single as a pringle, sweets.”

“You know I wasn’t talking about you.” You didn’t need to see Ari’s face to know her trademark deadpan expression was on full display. 

“Ice cold.” Lila smiled approvingly at the phone. “We’ve raised you so well.”

“Auntie,” Ari chastised. You knew it was you she was referring to. “Spill.”

You did, albeit the PG-16 version. Of course, Ari had had the sex talk—you and Lila had helped Sophie in delivering it—but that didn’t mean she needed to know any of the seedy details. The rooftop, bathroom, and hotel scenes would be kept far from the light of this child’s day. In fact, you omitted the taking-him-back-to-the-hotel sequence entirely from the story, painting the evening instead as a very chaste occasion—much to the snickering of your best friends. 

“Wow,” Ari replied rather dreamily when you finished the abbreviated version of the night. “What was his name? Because he was definitely probably someone. I looked up the place Mom said you were going to, and there’s a lot of chatter about celebrities going there—like even international ones. There’s been BTS sightings this summer apparently!"

“Who?” the three of you chirped in near unison.

“Oh my God,” Ari sighed. “Seriously? Y’all are hopeless. B. T. S. You know, the biggest band in the world? Dynamite, Butter, Boy With Luv?”

“Oh, right,” Sophie nodded. “Right. You used to be obsessed with them.”

Ari tsked. “I mean, yeah, in middle school.”

“Which one was your favorite? I can’t remember now,” Lila said. “What did she call him? Her bias, I think?”

“Okay, number one: yes, it’s called a bias, and mine was Jimin. Number two: My music interests have evolved, though.”

“Okay, number one,” Lila mimicked, “that wasn’t that long ago. And number two: liking Fleetwood Mac now doesn’t make you unique, girlfriend. Hate to break it to ya, but we were all there at one point in time.”

You giggled as Ari blew a raspberry into the phone. “Moving on,” she loftily declared. “Auntie, what was his name?”

You opened your mouth to answer but paused as your phone vibrated in your lap. Peering down at the screen, you recognized the number immediately. You had only just texted it a few minutes ago. 

UNKNOWN [12:31]: was hoping I’d hear from you :) 

“His ears must’ve been burning,” you murmured, a foolish little grin pushing your cheeks up. It was a silly Southern phrase you remembered your grandmother saying so often when you were growing up. That if someone’s ears were burning, it meant they were being discussed. You wondered if Jeongguk’s were feeling warm right now, or if it was just the universe having some fun, that he would reply as you recounted meeting him. 

“What? Whose ears are burning?” Sophie interjected. 

“Hellooooo?” Ari’s voice trilled over the speakerphone. 

“Did he text back?” Lila said in a stage whisper. 

“Sorry, sorry!” You laughed, a little more breathlessly than would be normal. You forced your phone back to sleep. “My mind’s kinda all over the place this morning. What did you ask again, sweets?”

“His name!” Ari implored almost as soon as the words left your mouth. 

“Right,” you nodded. “Jeongguk.”

There was a long pause. Radio silence from the other end of the phone. 

“Babygirl, you still there?” Sophie called.

“Sorry,” Ari’s voice sounded strained. “Can you repeat that?”

“I said, his name’s Jeongguk,” you repeated.

The three of you jumped at the ear-splitting scream that emanated from the speakerphone. 

“Ari?” Sophie shouted.

A break, then an audible inhale of air came from the other line. 

“Hello? Earth to Ari?” Sophie tried again. 

“Auntie.”

“Yeah?”

“You mean, Jung Kook of BT fucking S?”

“Excuse me, language!” her mother scolded. 

“Uhh,” you began. It truly had been several years since Ari had been obsessed with the kpop boy band. Their names and faces had all blurred together into one unidentifiable mass of teen girl fanaticism. 

“Google him right now and tell me if that’s who you mean,” Ari demanded.

So you did. Unlocking your phone, navigating away from the message you had just received, you opened the search engine and began typing. “How do you spe–” you tried, but she answered before the question was fully out.

“J-U-N-G-space-K-O-O-K.”

Search suggestions populated as soon as you’d finished the first half of the name. You hit enter. And your stomach hit the floor of your pelvis as the image results were rendered on the screen. Jeongguk, the man you’d just had the night of a lifetime with, was Jung Kook. Of BTS.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed out. 

“Language!” Ari chided in her best impression of Sophie. 

Your phone buzzed before you could speak again. The banner dropping at the top of the screen showed a new message from him. 

UNKNOWN [12:33]: when can I see you again?

“Holy fucking shit,” you spluttered. 

“You have got to stop cursing in front of my daughter,” Sophie cautioned. 

“Baby, I think we got way bigger problems at the moment,” Lila laughed. 

She was right. Way, way bigger problems.

###

Before starting here, please re-read the note titled please read me. The full interactive work is on my website via this link.

You knew nothing as you entered the infamous Jeon Publication’s building for your first interview. You had no idea that the city’s most well-known and connected socialists and media executives obsessed over every single detail the magazine had to offer. For the first time in your life, you were met with identical copies of the girls you saw on Instagram, and Pinterest. You had never seen a real pair of designer shoes in your life, shoes that you could bet cost more than your monthly rent. 

You had never laid your eyes on such beautiful men. Perfectly toned— but not overly muscular, the type that resembled the male models you saw on magazine covers when you stood in a checkout line. 

You check your phone, it was exactly eleven A.M. You stand in line to board the elevators, taking in a deep breath. The variety of women you encounter remind you of runway models: skinny and poised. Their lips never stopped moving, and their gossip was punctuated by the sound of their stilettos clacking on the floor. You were sporting an unflattering “guest” sticker on your thrifted black blazer as you boarded the elevator.

You allow yourself to relax for a moment during the swift, quiet ride. Deep, sultry, and most important of all— expensive perfume mixed with leather fills the metal box encompassing you all. The doors opened silently, reverently to a variety of stark white reception areas. All filled with chic furniture and slim bodies.

“I can’t believe he’s actually dating Suzy. She. Is. Such. A Bitch. I mean, really— how can he put up with her?” Chattered a twenty-something girl in a leather blazer and thigh high heels sprinkled with Louis-Vuitton symbols, looking more suited for a late night in Soho than a day at the office.  

“I know. Total bitch. She’s not even that pretty,” agreed her friend, with an empathetic shake of her head.

By the will of whomever, you arrived at the sixteenth floor and the elevator slid open. You were on time. Interesting. If you’re comparing your potential work environment to an average day at a high school, that is. When you slither out the elevator, you’re presented with a sign that reads ‘Jeon Human Resources Office’ in glowing white letters. 

The human resources receptionist eyes you carefully as you saunter closer to her desk. She introduces herself as Jennie and without another word she points toward a space encompassed by chairs and scattered magazines. You sit down, eyeing the pieces that are closest to you. 

You look down at your cheap, mismatched suit and very wrong shoes and wonder why you even bothered. “So dear, you’re looking to break into magazines, are you?” The woman from the desk asked, eyeing the magazines beside you. 

You nod, rubbing your sweaty palms against the rough texture of your worn out pants.

“Dear, can you tell me the name of the editor in chief of Runway?” She begins, looking pointedly at you for the first time since you sat down.

Nothing. Completely and totally blank, you couldn’t remember a thing. You’d never read an issue of Runway in your life. Who cared about fucking Runway besides supermodels and people who can flush one-hundred dollar bills in the toilet? It was a fashion magazine for fucksake, you weren’t even sure if it even had any writing in it at all. 

You stammered for a brief moment, different names of editors you just forced yourself to remember moments ago all swirling in your head, dancing in mismatched pairs. Somewhere deep in the recesses of your mind, you were sure you knew his name— after all, who didn’t? There was only one man as prominent in this industry as him.

“Uh, I can’t quite remember the name. But I know I know it, of course I know it.” Your hands flapped around in an attempt to make your words more believable. “I mean, everyone knows his name, I just, I can’t recall-“

The receptionist stared at you for a moment, her dark eyes fixated on your reddening face. “Jeon Jeongguk,” she near-whispered, with a mixture of reverence and fear. “His name is Jeon Jeongguk.” 

Silence ensured. For what felt like hours, neither of you spoke, but then, Jennie must have made a decision to overlook your crucial fuckup. You didn’t know then that she was desperate, aching, to hire another assistant for Jeongguk. Desperate to stop him from calling her day and night, grilling her about potential candidates, schedules and quite literally everything else. 

Jennie was tired, overworked, and desperate to find someone, anyone, who Jeongguk wouldn’t reject. And if that meant in the tiniest near-impossible possibility that you would get hired, it’s a chance she would take. 

Jennie smiled tersely and told you that you were going to meet with Jeongguk’s two assistants. Two? Who needs two assistants?

 “Yup,” she confirmed as if she read your thoughts with an exasperated look. “Of course Jeongguk needs two assistants. His current, senior assistant, Namjoon has been promoted to be Runway’s beauty editor, and Irene, the junior assistant, now has Namjoon’s old position. Which means, the junior position is open for someone!” Her pointer finger lightly poked your chest, “Someone like you.”

“Listen, __, I know you’re fresh out of college and probably not completely familiar with the inner workings of the magazine world.” She paused dramatically, searching for the right words to not offend you with. “But, I feel it’s my duty, my obligation to tell you what an incredibly magnificent opportunity this is. Jeon Jeongguk…” 

She paused again, just as dramatically, as if she were mentally bowing to the man. “Jeon Jeongguk is single handedly the most influential person in the fashion industry, and, obviously, one of the most prominent magazine editors in the world.” She ecstatically flailed her arms around the office. “As you can clearly see.”

“The chance to work for him, to watch him edit and meet the famous writers and models, to help him achieve all he does each and every day, well, it’s a job million girls would die for.” 

Jennie was now grinning ear to ear, her hands found their way into a death grip around your shoulders. “Not to mention, he’s gorgeous.” She finished her monologue with a wink, releasing you. 

“Well- I mean, yes, it sounds wonderful.” You expressed, briefly wondering why Jennie was trying so diligently to talk you into something that a million other girls were apparently dying for. However, there wasn’t time to think about it. She picked up her phone and sang a few words, and within minutes she was escorting you to the elevators to begin your interviews with Jeongguk’s two assistants. 

You were beginning to think Jennie was starting to sound a bit like a robot, but then came your meeting with Irene. You were now on the seventeenth floor, waiting in Runway’s unnervingly white reception area. 

It took exactly forty five minutes, you were counting, before a tall, thin girl emerged from being one of the glass doors. A calf-length tight black skirt hung from her hips, and her long black hair was curled and completed with a pearled pin that read ‘Dior’ attached near her temple. Her skin was flawless, even from where you were sitting you could tell there wasn’t as much as a single blemish on it. She didn’t smile. 

She sat beside you, looking you over, earnestly but with little actual interest. Then, unprompted, whom you presumed to be Irene launched into a description of the job. Her voice monotone as if she’s gone through this a dozen times already. As if she had little faith that you were any different from the rest, and as a result wasn’t planning on wasting much time on you. 

“It’ll be hard, no doubt about it. There will be fourteen-hour days, you know— not often, but often enough,” she rattled on, not looking at you. “Plus, it’ll be important for you to understand there will be no editorial work. As Jeongguk’s junior assistant, your only responsibility is to accommodate his needs. From ordering his favorite coffee to going on shopping trips with him. Which are, always fun. I mean, you’ll get to spent time with this marvelous and gorgeous man. And gorgeous he is,” she breathed, looking as if she was in a daze, staring at the ceiling in awe. 

“Sounds great,” You said and meant it. Half of your friends immediately began working after graduation and had already clocked in half a years worth into their entry-level jobs. It didn’t matter what they were doing, banks, advertising firms, it all sounded like shit to you. And on the slim chance they had free time to meet up all they would do is whine about their long days, their coworkers, and above all, their utter boredom. 

While you weren’t particularly ecstatic about fashion, you’d rather do something you loosely deemed “fun” than get sucked into the life all your friends were dealing with.

“Yeah, it is great. Like really great. Anyway, nice to meet you. I’ll get Namjoon for you to meet, he’s amazing.” As quickly as she finished and departed behind the glass, another figure appeared.

The striking man introduced himself as Namjoon, Jeongguk’s senior assistant who’d just been promoted. But you couldn’t focus at all, why did everyone who worked here look like supermodels? Namjoon was wearing a tailored black suit, from the shirt underneath to the blazer that hugged his muscles as if it was destined for him. His dyed-grey hair was parted to the side, combed but not completely slicked down with gel. Black rimmed glasses that had ‘Prada’ engraved onto the side of them rested on his soft nose bridge. To say you were in awe of the man was an understatement. 

“I’m Namjoon, as you’ve probably already been told,” he started, pushing his glasses upwards with his middle finger. “Nice to meet you, I was just promoted to an editor position, which is one of the bonuses of working for Jeongguk.” Namjoon’s lip quirked up, eyes bright with adoration. 

“Don’t get me wrong, the hours are long, and the work is tough, but Jeongguk is amazing. You’ll get to skip years and years of working your way up the ladder with just one year for him; if you’re talented, he’ll send you straight to the top.” Namjoon rambled on. You were beginning to get the impression that everyone here had a hard on for Jeongguk.

“We probably won’t see each other often, but, feel free to stop by my office if you need any assistance.” His eyes loosely scanned over your attire, not in a demonizing way but with pity?

When Namjoon wrapped things up he went to notify yet another interviewer. So what if you didn’t know who Jeon Jeongguk was? Everyone else certainly seemed impressed enough. You figured having the prestige of Runway on your resume was sure to give you more than enough credibility when you eventually applied to work for other companies. Besides, weren’t millions of girls dying to get this job?

After another half an hour of ruminations, a slender woman came into the reception area. She said her name, but it didn’t register in your brain. You were busy trying to process the abundance of information that's been lodged in your brain within these few hours. 

After another look-over, the girl led you to Kim Taehyung’s office, Runway’s executive editor and an office favorite, apparently. Your first thought upon meeting Taehyung was— why was he working in an editorial magazine when he could very clearly be on the actual Runway. He was tanned, brown hair covering his eyebrows, yet, his face didn’t lose it’s expressiveness. Taehyung sported a deep crimson suit with a white button up underneath, and a black vest on top of it.

Taehyung talked to you for hours. When you weren’t busy drooling over how gorgeous he was, you listened to what he was saying. Taehyung seemed like he genuinely loved his job, excitedly speaking about the “word” aspect of the magazine. 

“I know it's surprising but, I have nothing to do with the fashion side of this place,” he declared proudly, winking at you, “crazy I know. So, save those questions for someone else.”

When you told him this job sounded appealing, and that you had no particular interest or any background in fashion, Taehyung’s smile only grew wider. “In that case, __. You might just be what we need around here. I think it’s time for you to meet Jeongguk, and if I may offer a piece of advice? Look him straight in the fucking eye and sell yourself. Sell yourself hard and he’ll respect you.”

Taehyung bent forward, “Jeongguk is hard to please, but he respects honesty. Just make sure you don’t pass out, he has that affect on people.”

As if on cue, the nameless girl from before swept in and escorted you to Jeongguk’s office. It was exactly a forty-second-walk from Taehyung’s, but you could sense all the eyes on you. They peered at you from behind the frosted glass of the editors’ office and from the open space of the assistants’ cubicles. You didn’t want to imagine what they were thinking of you. How you had the balls to saunter into the worlds most prestige fashion magazine’s building in your thrifted, non-designer clothes: expecting to be hired.

And then you were standing in his office, a wide-open space of huge windows and bright light encompassing it. No other details made an impression that day; you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. 

You’d never seen a picture of Jeon Jeongguk, you didn’t know he even existed till a couple hours ago. But, fuck, was he a looker. Jeongguk was wearing an off-white cream colored suit. Unlike Namjoon, who had a vest and tie underneath, Jeongguk wore a button-up that matched the color of his blazer exactly, no vest or tie in sight. 

The first two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, leaving glistening collar bones for you to ogle at. A variety of rings covered his hands, you noted briefly that his right hand was covered in what appeared like tattoos. When your eyes moved upward, you sharply breathed in. 

Jeongguk’s hair was jet black, parted similarly to Namjoon’s, but much longer. His bangs were curved, giving the appearance of volume in his hair. While the other side was slicked back, tucked behind a pierced ear. Is that an eyebrow and lip piercing?

Jeon Jeongguk was fucking gorgeous, and that was putting it lightly. 

He had turned his heard upward to look you in the eye, but he did not stand to greet you. Jeongguk did not smile, and your brain was finally beginning to register why Taehyung warned you to not pass out in his presence. 

Jeongguk’s eyebrows were lightly knitted, and that’s when you noticed: he was staring at you, intently, mentally noting your mortifying attempt at grace with what seemed like amusement. Condescending and awkward, yes, but, not, particularly mean-spirited. He spoke first.

“Who are you?” 

Your name stammered out of your mouth.

“And what brings you to Runway, __?” He asked, dragging out the ending syllables of your name, never taking his eyes away from yours. 

“Well,” you stammered, awkwardly moving your legs to cross the other, “I interviewed with Jennie and she told me that you’re looking for an assistant.” You began, voice shaky. When he nodded, your confidence increased slightly. “And now, after meeting with Irene, Namjoon, and Taehyung, I feel like I have a clear understanding of what you’re looking for in an assistant, I’m confident I’ll be perfect for the job.” Jeongguk looked amused for a moment but continued to seem unfazed. 

It was in this exact moment you realized you desperately wanted this job, in the way people yearn for things they know are unattainable. It might not be law or doctoral school, but fuck, it felt like a challenge— a real challenge. Because you were an imposter here, you knew you didn’t belong, had known that from the moment you stepped onto the Runway floor.

“Yet, you don’t read Runway?” Jeongguk leaned over his desk, peering at you even more intently than before.

“No.”

“And before today, you had never heard of me?” 

You bit your lip, the confidence you boasted minutes ago diminishing into nothingness. He had set you up with the first question, elevating your confidence just to crush it with the reality that you were nothing more than a phony. 

“Uh, well, no.”

“And you have no style or sense of fashion.”  Jeongguk was no longer looking in your direction, eyes focused back on whatever catalog he was looking at before you barged into his office.

“Well— that depends on-“

“That wasn’t a question.” Jeongguk’s eyes bounced from the model on the paper to you, then back to 

the paper.

“As I said before, I’m confident that I can be-“

Jeongguk released the magazine from his fingers, letting one side flap back onto the desk. He widened his legs and leaned back into his chair, elbow resting on the arm rest. He then raised his pointer and middle fingers in the air, and with an unchanged expression, he spoke, “That’ll be all.” 

You blinked, mind drawing a blank. Did he just kick me out? That easily? That’s it? You lightly scoffed, taking one last good look at Jeongguk before turning around, heading for the door. What a fucking asshole. Sure, you didn’t fit in. Fuck, you really didn’t fit in. But, to not give you a chance? You just wasted god knows how many hours talking to everyone around here, essentially being taught how to work the damn job before you even got it. Just for him to dismiss you like a piece of lint on his designer suit. 

You stop. Might as well give him a piece of my fucking mind.

“Listen, you’re right. I don’t fit in here. I’m not glamorous, covered in designer from head to toe. Fuck, I bought this watch off of Depop.” You lift your arm, pointing at the Seiko watch you haggled off a teenager on Depop. “And as you’ve so generously mentioned, I clearly don’t know anything about fashion.” 

You take a hesitant step forward, this is depressing. You were begging at this point, for an ounce of recognition from a man you knew nothing of hours ago. From a fucking stranger. “But, I’m smart. I learn fast and if you hire me, I will work hard.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t respond, but you notice the quirk in his brow. His eyes dismiss you when you hear a voice drawing closer from the hall. 

“Jeongguk, we got the exclusive on the red silk for Seokjin, the piece with the huge feathered arm.”

 You don’t hear the remainder of the unknown person's sentence because you bolted through Jeongguk’s glass doors and toward the elevator without a glance back.

What the fuck?

Nothing. Completely and totally blank, you couldn’t remember a thing. You’d never read an issue of Runway in your life. Who cared about fucking Runway besides supermodels and people who can flush one-hundred dollar bills in the toilet? It was a fashion magazine for fucksake, you weren’t even sure if it even had any writing in it at all. 

You stammered for a brief moment, different names of editors you just forced yourself to remember moments ago all swirling in your head, dancing in mismatched pairs. Somewhere deep in the recesses of your mind, you were sure you knew his name— after all, who didn’t? There was only one man as prominent in this industry as him.

“Uh, I can’t quite remember the name. But I know I know it, of course I know it.” Your hands flapped around in an attempt to make your words more believable. “I mean, everyone knows his name, I just, I can’t recall-“

The receptionist stared at you for a moment, her dark eyes fixated on your reddening face. “Jeon Jeongguk,” she near-whispered, with a mixture of reverence and fear. “His name is Jeon Jeongguk.” 

Silence ensured. For what felt like hours, neither of you spoke, but then, Jennie must have made a decision to overlook your crucial fuckup. You didn’t know then that she was desperate, aching, to hire another assistant for Jeongguk. Desperate to stop him from calling her day and night, grilling her about potential candidates, schedules and quite literally everything else. 

Jennie was tired, overworked, and desperate to find someone, anyone, who Jeongguk wouldn’t reject. And if that meant in the tiniest near-impossible possibility that you would get hired, it’s a chance she would take. 

Jennie smiled tersely and told you that you were going to meet with Jeongguk’s two assistants. Two? Who needs two assistants?

 “Yup,” she confirmed as if she read your thoughts with an exasperated look. “Of course Jeongguk needs two assistants. His current, senior assistant, Namjoon has been promoted to be Runway’s beauty editor, and Irene, the junior assistant, now has Namjoon’s old position. Which means, the junior position is open for someone!” Her pointer finger lightly poked your chest, “Someone like you.”

“Listen, __, I know you’re fresh out of college and probably not completely familiar with the inner workings of the magazine world.” She paused dramatically, searching for the right words to not offend you with. “But, I feel it’s my duty, my obligation to tell you what an incredibly magnificent opportunity this is. Jeon Jeongguk…” 

She paused again, just as dramatically, as if she were mentally bowing to the man. “Jeon Jeongguk is single handedly the most influential person in the fashion industry, and, obviously, one of the most prominent magazine editors in the world.” She ecstatically flailed her arms around the office. “As you can clearly see.”

“The chance to work for him, to watch him edit and meet the famous writers and models, to help him achieve all he does each and every day, well, it’s a job million girls would die for.” 

Jennie was now grinning ear to ear, her hands found their way into a death grip around your shoulders. “Not to mention, he’s gorgeous.” She finished her monologue with a wink, releasing you. 

“Well- I mean, yes, it sounds wonderful.” You expressed, briefly wondering why Jennie was trying so diligently to talk you into something that a million other girls were apparently dying for. However, there wasn’t time to think about it. She picked up her phone and sang a few words, and within minutes she was escorting you to the elevators to begin your interviews with Jeongguk’s two assistants. 

You were beginning to think Jennie was starting to sound a bit like a robot, but then came your meeting with Irene. You were now on the seventeenth floor, waiting in Runway’s unnervingly white reception area. 

It took exactly forty five minutes, you were counting, before a tall, thin girl emerged from being one of the glass doors. A calf-length tight black skirt hung from her hips, and her long black hair was curled and completed with a pearled pin that read ‘Dior’ attached near her temple. Her skin was flawless, even from where you were sitting you could tell there wasn’t as much as a single blemish on it. She didn’t smile. 

She sat beside you, looking you over, earnestly but with little actual interest. Then, unprompted, whom you presumed to be Irene launched into a description of the job. Her voice monotone as if she’s gone through this a dozen times already. As if she had little faith that you were any different from the rest, and as a result wasn’t planning on wasting much time on you. 

“It’ll be hard, no doubt about it. There will be fourteen-hour days, you know— not often, but often enough,” she rattled on, not looking at you. “Plus, it’ll be important for you to understand there will be no editorial work. As Jeongguk’s junior assistant, your only responsibility is to accommodate his needs. From ordering his favorite coffee to going on shopping trips with him. Which are, always fun. I mean, you’ll get to spent time with this marvelous and gorgeous man. And gorgeous he is,” she breathed, looking as if she was in a daze, staring at the ceiling in awe. 

“Sounds great,” You said and meant it. Half of your friends immediately began working after graduation and had already clocked in half a years worth into their entry-level jobs. It didn’t matter what they were doing, banks, advertising firms, it all sounded like shit to you. And on the slim chance they had free time to meet up all they would do is whine about their long days, their coworkers, and above all, their utter boredom. 

While you weren’t particularly ecstatic about fashion, you’d rather do something you loosely deemed “fun” than get sucked into the life all your friends were dealing with.

“Yeah, it is great. Like really great. Anyway, nice to meet you. I’ll get Namjoon for you to meet, he’s amazing.” As quickly as she finished and departed behind the glass, another figure appeared.

The striking man introduced himself as Namjoon, Jeongguk’s senior assistant who’d just been promoted. But you couldn’t focus at all, why did everyone who worked here look like supermodels? Namjoon was wearing a tailored black suit, from the shirt underneath to the blazer that hugged his muscles as if it was destined for him. His dyed-grey hair was parted to the side, combed but not completely slicked down with gel. Black rimmed glasses that had ‘Prada’ engraved onto the side of them rested on his soft nose bridge. To say you were in awe of the man was an understatement. 

“I’m Namjoon, as you’ve probably already been told,” he started, pushing his glasses upwards with his middle finger. “Nice to meet you, I was just promoted to an editor position, which is one of the bonuses of working for Jeongguk.” Namjoon’s lip quirked up, eyes bright with adoration. 

“Don’t get me wrong, the hours are long, and the work is tough, but Jeongguk is amazing. You’ll get to skip years and years of working your way up the ladder with just one year for him; if you’re talented, he’ll send you straight to the top.” Namjoon rambled on. You were beginning to get the impression that everyone here had a hard on for Jeongguk.

“We probably won’t see each other often, but, feel free to stop by my office if you need any assistance.” His eyes loosely scanned over your attire, not in a demonizing way but with pity?

When Namjoon wrapped things up he went to notify yet another interviewer. So what if you didn’t know who Jeon Jeongguk was? Everyone else certainly seemed impressed enough. You figured having the prestige of Runway on your resume was sure to give you more than enough credibility when you eventually applied to work for other companies. Besides, weren’t millions of girls dying to get this job?

After another half an hour of ruminations, a slender woman came into the reception area. She said her name, but it didn’t register in your brain. You were busy trying to process the abundance of information that's been lodged in your brain within these few hours. 

After another look-over, the girl led you to Kim Taehyung’s office, Runway’s executive editor and an office favorite, apparently. Your first thought upon meeting Taehyung was— why was he working in an editorial magazine when he could very clearly be on the actual Runway. He was tanned, brown hair covering his eyebrows, yet, his face didn’t lose it’s expressiveness. Taehyung sported a deep crimson suit with a white button up underneath, and a black vest on top of it.

Taehyung talked to you for hours. When you weren’t busy drooling over how gorgeous he was, you listened to what he was saying. Taehyung seemed like he genuinely loved his job, excitedly speaking about the “word” aspect of the magazine. 

“I know it's surprising but, I have nothing to do with the fashion side of this place,” he declared proudly, winking at you, “crazy I know. So, save those questions for someone else.”

When you told him this job sounded appealing, and that you had no particular interest or any background in fashion, Taehyung’s smile only grew wider. “In that case, __. You might just be what we need around here. I think it’s time for you to meet Jeongguk, and if I may offer a piece of advice? Look him straight in the fucking eye and sell yourself. Sell yourself hard and he’ll respect you.”

Taehyung bent forward, “Jeongguk is hard to please, but he respects honesty. Just make sure you don’t pass out, he has that affect on people.”

As if on cue, the nameless girl from before swept in and escorted you to Jeongguk’s office. It was exactly a forty-second-walk from Taehyung’s, but you could sense all the eyes on you. They peered at you from behind the frosted glass of the editors’ office and from the open space of the assistants’ cubicles. You didn’t want to imagine what they were thinking of you. How you had the balls to saunter into the worlds most prestige fashion magazine’s building in your thrifted, non-designer clothes: expecting to be hired.

And then you were standing in his office, a wide-open space of huge windows and bright light encompassing it. No other details made an impression that day; you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. 

You’d never seen a picture of Jeon Jeongguk, you didn’t know he even existed till a couple hours ago. But, fuck, was he a looker. Jeongguk was wearing an off-white cream colored suit. Unlike Namjoon, who had a vest and tie underneath, Jeongguk wore a button-up that matched the color of his blazer exactly, no vest or tie in sight. 

The first two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, leaving glistening collar bones for you to ogle at. A variety of rings covered his hands, you noted briefly that his right hand was covered in what appeared like tattoos. When your eyes moved upward, you sharply breathed in. 

Jeongguk’s hair was jet black, parted similarly to Namjoon’s, but much longer. His bangs were curved, giving the appearance of volume in his hair. While the other side was slicked back, tucked behind a pierced ear. Is that an eyebrow and lip piercing?

Jeon Jeongguk was fucking gorgeous, and that was putting it lightly. 

He had turned his heard upward to look you in the eye, but he did not stand to greet you. Jeongguk did not smile, and your brain was finally beginning to register why Taehyung warned you to not pass out in his presence. 

Jeongguk’s eyebrows were lightly knitted, and that’s when you noticed: he was staring at you, intently, mentally noting your mortifying attempt at grace with what seemed like amusement. Condescending and awkward, yes, but, not, particularly mean-spirited. He spoke first.

“Who are you?” 

Your name stammered out of your mouth.

“And what brings you to Runway, __?” He asked, dragging out the ending syllables of your name, never taking his eyes away from yours. 

“Well,” you stammered, awkwardly moving your legs to cross the other, “I interviewed with Jennie and she told me that you’re looking for an assistant.” You began, voice shaky. When he nodded, your confidence increased slightly. “And now, after meeting with Irene, Namjoon, and Taehyung, I feel like I have a clear understanding of what you’re looking for in an assistant, I’m confident I’ll be perfect for the job.” Jeongguk looked amused for a moment but continued to seem unfazed. 

It was in this exact moment you realized you desperately wanted this job, in the way people yearn for things they know are unattainable. It might not be law or doctoral school, but fuck, it felt like a challenge— a real challenge. Because you were an imposter here, you knew you didn’t belong, had known that from the moment you stepped onto the Runway floor.

“Yet, you don’t read Runway?” Jeongguk leaned over his desk, peering at you even more intently than before.

“No.”

“And before today, you had never heard of me?” 

You bit your lip, the confidence you boasted minutes ago diminishing into nothingness. He had set you up with the first question, elevating your confidence just to crush it with the reality that you were nothing more than a phony. 

“Uh, well, no.”

“And you have no style or sense of fashion.”  Jeongguk was no longer looking in your direction, eyes focused back on whatever catalog he was looking at before you barged into his office.

“Well— that depends on-“

“That wasn’t a question.” Jeongguk’s eyes bounced from the model on the paper to you, then back to 

the paper.

“As I said before, I’m confident that I can be-“

Jeongguk released the magazine from his fingers, letting one side flap back onto the desk. He widened his legs and leaned back into his chair, elbow resting on the arm rest. He then raised his pointer and middle fingers in the air, and with an unchanged expression, he spoke, “That’ll be all.” 

You blinked, mind drawing a blank. Did he just kick me out? That easily? That’s it? You lightly scoffed, taking one last good look at Jeongguk before turning around, heading for the door. What a fucking asshole. Sure, you didn’t fit in. Fuck, you really didn’t fit in. But, to not give you a chance? You just wasted god knows how many hours talking to everyone around here, essentially being taught how to work the damn job before you even got it. Just for him to dismiss you like a piece of lint on his designer suit. 

You stop. Might as well give him a piece of my fucking mind.

“Listen, you’re right. I don’t fit in here. I’m not glamorous, covered in designer from head to toe. Fuck, I bought this watch off of Depop.” You lift your arm, pointing at the Seiko watch you haggled off a teenager on Depop. “And as you’ve so generously mentioned, I clearly don’t know anything about fashion.” 

You take a hesitant step forward, this is depressing. You were begging at this point, for an ounce of recognition from a man you knew nothing of hours ago. From a fucking stranger. “But, I’m smart. I learn fast and if you hire me, I will work hard.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t respond, but you notice the quirk in his brow. His eyes dismiss you when you hear a voice drawing closer from the hall. 

“Jeongguk, we got the exclusive on the red silk for Seokjin, the piece with the huge feathered arm.”

 You don’t hear the remainder of the unknown person's sentence because you bolted through Jeongguk’s glass doors and toward the elevator without a glance back.

The week after your dinner with Jungkook passed strangely quietly. No dramatic family interventions, awkward conversations, or emotional catastrophes.

Just work.

Long meetings, endless paperwork surrounding the merger, investors breathing down everyone’s necks, and approximately fourteen missed calls from your mother every single day.

The only genuinely irritating part was how naturally Jungkook had slipped into your routine over the past week.

Your phone now contains an unfortunate number of painfully dry conversations with him.

Running ten minutes late

Your team forgot attachment 4

Taehyung is harassing me again. Tell him to stop sending me shark memes.

And you hated how he managed to catch your attention, everytime.

Which was exactly why, one week later, you walked into the headquarters of Kim Industries already mildly irritated before the day had even properly begun.

The atmosphere inside the building felt different immediately, sharper somehow.

Today’s merger meeting involved shareholders, senior executives, legal advisors, and enough board members to financially ruin several countries combined, meaning, everyone was stressed.

You stepped out of the elevator without slowing your pace once, heels clicking sharply against the marble floors as employees immediately moved aside.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

“Morning.”

“Conference Hall A has already been prepared.” Your assistant followed beside you quickly, holding a tablet against her chest. “Also, the Jeon Group arrived around twenty minutes ago.”

Of course they did.

You pushed the glass doors open moments later, instantly greeted by the low murmur of conversations filling the enormous conference room.

Several heads turned toward you immediately. And so did Jungkook’s.

He sat near the center of the long table, dressed entirely in black again, sleeves rolled neatly past tattooed wrists while silver rings glinted beneath the overhead lights as he flipped calmly through financial reports.

You hated how composed he always looked. Like nothing in the world had ever managed to shake him properly. His eyes lifted fully toward you as you approached the table and paused briefly,

“Glad to see punctuality still runs in the family,” you spoke dryly while pulling out the chair directly across from him.

A few executives chuckled nervously but Jungkook didn’t even blink.

“You’re three minutes late.”

Your jaw tightened instantly as you controlled the urge to roll your eyes at his audacity.

Before you could respond, one of the senior investors cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Right,” he smiled tightly, already stressed. “Shall we begin?”

The next hour disappeared beneath projected revenue charts, acquisition strategies, shareholder negotiations, and enough corporate terminology to physically exhaust most people.

Thankfully, neither you nor Jungkook were most people.

And somewhere during the middle of the meeting, the atmosphere around the table shifted subtly. Because, despite your personal irritation toward each other, you and Jungkook worked disgustingly well together. And it happened naturally.

You’d begin explaining a strategy; Jungkook would continue it without interruption, like he already knew exactly where your thoughts were heading.

At one point, a board member questioned one of your expansion proposals, only for Jungkook to dismiss the concern before you could even open your mouth yourself.

Another time, you reached toward the presentation remote at the exact same moment he slid it silently across the table toward you without once looking up from the reports in front of him. Like he already knew what you needed.

Which, judging from the increasingly disturbed expressions around the room, everyone else had started noticing too.

“Impressive synergy,” one of the shareholders commented eventually, sounding slightly caught off guard.

Beside you, Jungkook remained entirely unfazed.

“Years of experience,” he replied simply.

The meeting finally ended nearly two hours later with exhausted executives, unfinished coffee cups, and enough signed paperwork to give everyone present stress-induced migraines.

You were halfway through gathering your documentswhen your phone buzzed loudly against the table.

Taehyung, your brother. You declined the call instantly. But then you recieve a text,

Taehyung:

Pick up right now, or I'm coming upstairs.

Ughh he's so extra, you think. Another message arrived immediately after.

Mom told everyone that you and Jungkook went on a date, btw.

Okay, what the fuck?

Across from you, Jungkook finally stood from his chair, slipping several documents into a black folder before glancing briefly toward your expression.

“You look irritated.”

You looked up immediately. “I’m always irritated.”

“Hm.”

God, that stupid response again.

Before you could continue verbally assaulting him, the conference room doors suddenly swung open.

And chaos entered instantly.

“UNCLE JUNGKOOK!”

A tiny blur launched itself directly toward Jungkook at terrifying speed.

Your eyes widened slightly just before Seojun, Seoah and Jimin’s son, collided dramatically against Jungkook’s legs.

Jungkook looked down calmly at the small boy clinging to his leg before sighing quietly.

“You’re supposed to be at school.”

Seojun ignored him completely.

“Appa said we’re getting ice cream.”

Another voice entered moments later. “And appa was lying.”

You turned instinctively toward the doorway. Jimin walked into the conference room looking deeply exhausted already, dressed far too casually compared to everyone else present, while Seoah followed behind him.

And suddenly, the terrifyingly professional atmosphere of the merger meeting completely collapsed. Seoah noticed you almost immediately.

“Oh, thank God,” she sighed dramatically before walking over. “A normal person.” You stared at her blankly.

Beside him, Jungkook quietly removed the child still attached to his leg before setting him down properly beside him.

“Uncle Jungkook said a bad word yesterday,” Seojun announced proudly to absolutely nobody.

A horrifying silence followed.

Jimin slowly turned toward Jungkook. “You’re teaching my son bad things now?”

“He heard Taehyung speaking.”

“That actually tracks,” Seoah admitted immediately.

You snorted quietly before you could stop yourself.

“Where is Taehyung anyway?” Seoah asked as she helped her son fix the tiny backpack that was slipping off his shoulders.

“Probably somewhere flirting with girls at my office,” you replied absentmindedly while organizing your files.

“Hey!”

The familiar offended voice echoed through the conference room barely seconds later.

Speak of the devil.

Taehyung walked in carrying two iced coffees and approximately zero professional energy, sunglasses hanging lazily from the collar of his shirt despite the fact that the man was literally indoors.

Behind him followed Jin, looking significantly more put together as always.

“You people started without me?” Taehyung gasped dramatically while placing one of the coffees in front of you.

“You weren’t invited,” Jungkook replied flatly.

“And yet here I am. Beautiful, thriving and victorious.”

“None of those words apply to you,” you muttered.

Jin laughed quietly before pulling you into a quick side hug anyway.

“You survived the merger meeting?”

“Barely.”

“She threatened homicide twice,” Jungkook added casually.

Your head snapped toward him instantly. “You are SUCH a liar.”

“You threw a pen at Director Choi.”

“He deserved it.”

“He asked one question.”

“He asked it incorrectly.”

Seoah burst into laughter beside you while Jimin looked deeply unsurprised.

“Anyway!” She then clapped loudly, gaining everyone's attention. “Field day this Saturday.”

The young boy immediately cheered beside her.

Jimin groaned softly. “I still don’t understand why elementary schools require parental athletic participation. I pay tuition specifically to avoid physical activity.”

“You lost the dads’ relay race last year,” Seoah reminded sweetly.

“Because Jin cheated.”

“I was fast,” Jin defended calmly.

“You shoved me.”

“That sounds like a skill issue.”

“Ughh, you're all so annoying,” you muttered.

Seoah ignored you completely before turning toward both you and Jungkook.

“You two should come over after field day.”

Absolutely not.

You already opened your mouth to reject the idea when Taehyung spoke first.

“Oh, they’ll come.”

“No, we won’t,” both you and Jungkook answered immediately.

“Looks like…” Taehyung pointed dramatically between you and Jungkook as he’d just uncovered government corruption. “They’re developing a couple telepathy.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

"OHNOOO Y/N NOONA SAID A BAD WORD TOO!!!" Seojun gasped infront of everyone, the room now breaking a fit of laughter.

Seoah sighed dramatically before crouching slightly beside the younger boy, fixing the tiny collar of his uniform while speaking.

“Listen, I’m serious. You both work too much.”

“It’s one afternoon,” she continued, “The boys love you guys.”

The Seojun nodded enthusiastically beside her. “Uncle Jungkook promised to race this year.”

Your gaze shifted toward Jungkook automatically, and he looked mildly betrayed.

“You were not supposed to say that out loud.”

The boy gasped dramatically before hiding behind Jimin’s leg. “Sorry.”

“You race?” you asked before stopping yourself.

Jungkook glanced toward you briefly while slipping his watch back onto his wrist.

“I lose peacefully every year.”

“That is somehow significantly harder to believe.”

“Hm.”

Again with the hm. You couldn’t help but let out one of those big ass eye rolls, which truly gets on Jungkook’s nerves.

One day, you genuinely planned on fighting him over that response alone.

“Anyway,” Seoah stood again, clapping once decisively, “field day ends around four. Everyone’s coming over afterward.”

“No promises,” you answered immediately.

“Same,” Jungkook added.

Seoah narrowed her eyes slowly, then smiled.

“Okay.”

That alone should’ve concerned you more.

But your attention got distracted by Taehyung stealing your iced coffee directly out of your hand like the financial menace he was.

“Did you just—”

“Yes.”

“You son of a bitch”

“We have the same parents.”

Across the room, Jin quietly shook his head while Jimin laughed under his breath.

And through all the chaos, all the overlapping conversations and exhausted adults and screaming children running around a corporate conference room worth more than most apartments in Seoul—

Your eyes drifted unconsciously toward Jungkook again.

He stood near the table listening absently to the younger boy ramble about relay races, one tattooed hand resting lazily against the child’s head to stop him from running directly into furniture.

There was something strangely gentle about the way he stood there, calm despite the chaos around him.

The image suited him far too well.

“Alright,” Jin spoke eventually, glancing at the time on his watch. “Mirae’s probably waiting for me”.

The conversation dissolved into overlapping conversations almost immediately after that, everyone naturally slipping into the kind of comfortable chaos that only existed between people who had known each other too long.

And somewhere during the middle of it, you realized something.

Jungkook smiled more around them. Not enough for most people to notice. But the sharpness around him softened slightly whenever the boys dragged him into conversations or when Jimin said something particularly stupid.

“By the way,” Seoah spoke suddenly, turning toward you while helping the younger boy put his tiny shoes back on properly, “field day starts at nine.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Why are you telling me like I already agreed to attend?”

“Manifestation.”

“That’s not how consent works.”

“It does in this family.”

Fair point.

Before you could continue arguing, Taehyung’s phone buzzed loudly against the conference table. He glanced at the screen once. Then immediately looked deeply entertained. Which was never good news.

“Oh no,” he grinned slowly. “Mom texted.”

Oh God, absolutely not. Jungkook visibly sighed beside you.

“You told them already?” he asked flatly.

“I tell mom everything,” Taehyung replied proudly.

“Traitor,” you muttered.

A second later, your own phone buzzed.

Then Jungkook’s. Then Jin’s. Then Seoah’s.

Slowly, you pulled your phone out.

Mom:

Saturday field day sounds adorable 🥰 You and Jungkook should absolutely go support the boys together!!!

You closed your eyes immediately.

Beside you, Jungkook looked down at his own phone before exhaling quietly through his nose.

The kind of exhale people released moments before committing crimes.

Another buzz hit your phone almost immediately.

Mom:

Don’t embarrass us by saying no.

Dad:

It would be good for public image.

Across from you, Jungkook’s expression somehow flattened even further while reading whatever message his own parents had clearly sent him.

Mrs. Jeon:

Wear something nice. 😊

Your soul physically left your body.

“UUGHHH,” you groan in horror.

Taehyung immediately started laughing so hard he nearly dropped his coffee.

“This is the funniest thing that’s happened to me all month.”

“You are no longer my brother.”

For a brief moment, silence settled again while everybody waited for either you or Jungkook to reject the situation entirely. Unfortunately, both of you already knew exactly how this would end.

Years of experience, he said, didn’t he?

Slowly, your eyes lifted toward Jungkook across the room. He looked back almost instantly.

“We’re really being forced to attend a children’s sports event together,” you said flatly.

Jungkook slipped his phone back into his pocket calmly.

“Hm.” Your eye twitched.

“I’m going to kill you one day.”

“That seems excessive.”

“And yet deeply deserved.”

By 8:47 a.m. on Saturday morning, you had already decided elementary school field days were a form of psychological warfare.

“This is so cute!” Seoah gasped beside you while adjusting the little cap sitting crookedly on her son’s head.

You stared blankly at the chaos unfolding across the massive school field.

“Cute isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Your heart is black.”

Unfortunately, despite your complaints, you still showed up. Mostly because your mother had threatened emotional manipulation so intense it bordered on criminal activity.

And also because somehow everyone else had shown up too.

Jin and Mirae stood near the snack tables, arguing quietly about sunscreen. Jimin was currently attempting to convince a group of second graders that stretching before races prevented “premature knee destruction.” Taehyung had somehow already gotten banned from helping organize games despite only arriving twenty minutes ago.

The only genuinely irritating part was Jungkook. Or more specifically, the amount of attention Jungkook was receiving.

Several mothers nearby had already looked at him enough times to physically concern you.

And honestly? Rude.

Because, unfortunately, the man looked unfairly good even at a children’s sports event. Black hoodie, blue Calvin Klein jeans, and sleeves pushed slightly upward, revealing tattoos beneath the morning sunlight. His silver piercings glinted whenever he looked up from his phone.

“You’re staring again,” Seoah sang quietly beside you.

Your head snapped toward her immediately. “I’m literally not.”

“Mhm.” You hated this family.

Across the field, Jungkook looked up suddenly. And immediately caught you looking with his traitorous eyes. For half a second, neither of you looked away.

Then Dohyun, Jin and Mirae’s son, came crashing directly into Jungkook’s side, screaming something about relay teams.

“Okay!” one of the teachers announced loudly through a microphone. “Parents’ relay race participants, please gather near the track!”

Jimin physically recoiled. “No.” Seoah smiled sweetly beside him. “Yes.”

“I pay taxes. Why am I running?”

“Character development.”

Meanwhile, Taehyung looked disturbingly excited already. “This is my Olympics.”

“That sentence alone should disqualify you,” Jin muttered.

You watched the group move toward the track lazily before spotting him.

Jungkook was walking with them too.

“You’re participating?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Jungkook glanced toward you briefly while rolling the sleeves of his hoodie slightly higher. “Unfortunately.”

“You voluntarily agreed to run around with children at nine in the morning?”

“The boys asked.”

Your eyes flickered briefly toward Seojun and Dohyun, currently holding onto each of  Jungkook’s hands proudly as if they’d personally recruited him into the military.

“Uncle Jungkook runs really fast,” Dohyun informed you proudly while fixing his tiny jersey.

And somehow, standing there beneath the warm morning sunlight surrounded by screaming children, exhausted parents, and people who had become family long before any companies merged—

Jungkook looked strangely... human.

“Line up properly, please!”

The teacher’s voice echoed uselessly across the field while parents continued ignoring basic instructions in favor of arguing over relay positions and bribing their children with post-race ice cream.

Honestly, the entire event looked a single minor inconvenience away from complete societal collapse.

Taehyung, meanwhile, had somehow taken the existence of a parents’ relay race as a direct attack on his pride.

“You’re stretching way too seriously for an elementary school event,” you informed him while watching him aggressively rotate his shoulders like he was preparing for a national championship instead of running beside exhausted fathers in polo shirts.

Taehyung looked offended immediately. “Athletic greatness requires preparation.”

“You cried after losing bowling last month.”

“Wow,” he muttered dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “The lack of support in this family is actually heartbreaking.”

Beside him, Jin quietly adjusted Dohyun’s cap back onto his head for what had to be the fourth time in the last ten minutes while Mirae stood nearby looking deeply unsurprised by literally anything happening around her.

Meanwhile, Jungkook stood a little farther from the others now, Seojun and Dohyun still attached to either side of him while Dohyun explained the relay rules with the kind of terrifying seriousness only five-year-olds possessed. Most people would’ve nodded distractedly or pretended to listen while checking their phones. But he didn’t, he listened properly.

Occasionally nodding, occasionally correcting Seojun when the boy exaggerated parts of last year’s race story dramatically, his attention remained fully on them despite the noise surrounding the field.

The teachers finally started organizing parents into proper relay positions. Children immediately erupted into screaming chaos again.

Taehyung pointed dramatically toward Jungkook from across the track. “If I lose because of you, I’m cutting all business ties permanently.”

“You contribute nothing to the business,” Jungkook replied without even looking at him.

The relay race started with significantly more screaming than necessary.

Children had climbed onto benches to yell encouragement loud enough to rupture eardrums while several parents looked moments away from pulling hamstrings before the race had even properly begun. Somewhere near the snack tables, Taehyung was already arguing with another father over “track positioning ethics,” whatever that meant.

“You’re all taking this way too seriously,” you muttered while Seoah handed you an iced americano she’d apparently bought ten minutes ago.

“We’ve been coming to these for years,” she replied easily. “Eventually, you either become competitive or emotionally detached.”

“And which one are you?”

“I’m very much married to my husband, what do you think?”

Fair enough.

Across the field, the participants finally moved into position while teachers struggled to regain control over the increasingly chaotic crowd. Jimin looked deeply regretful already, stretching his legs beside Jin while Taehyung bounced lightly on his feet with the energy of a man who desperately needed healthier hobbies.

Jungkook, meanwhile, stood near the outer lane looking completely unaffected by the madness surrounding him.

One hand rested lazily against his hip while the other adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie slightly higher beneath the morning sunlight, exposing more ink winding across his forearm. Besides other fathers dressed in athletic wear and school caps, he looked strangely out of place. Too composed. Too sharp around the edges.

Like someone had accidentally dropped a luxury campaign model into a school sports event.

And somehow, despite standing perfectly still, he still drew attention naturally.

Several mothers nearby had already started whispering amongst themselves while pretending not to stare. You understood the urge though.

The whistle blew loudly enough to cut through the noise seconds later, immediately sending the first group of parents sprinting forward while children erupted into absolute hysteria.

“Oh my God, appa run faster!” Seojun screamed from beside the fence, nearly climbing over it entirely.

Jimin looked seconds away from collapsing already.

“He’s losing to Jin,” Seoah gasped dramatically beside you.

“That’s actually embarrassing.”

“HE PUSHED ME,” Jimin yelled from somewhere across the field.

“I’m literally in another lane!” Jin shouted back.

By the second round, Taehyung had somehow turned the entire thing into a personal mission to defend the family honor while Jungkook remained infuriatingly calm through all of it, jogging forward with barely any visible effort despite the fact that every other father looked one breath away from cardiac arrest.

Taehyung suddenly pointed aggressively toward Jungkook from across the field while trying to catch his breath.

“STOP RUNNING AS IF YOUR COMPANY'S STOCKS DEPEND ON IT.”

For the first time all morning, an actual laugh escaped Jungkook.

Small and brief, but real enough that it visibly startled half the group.

By early afternoon, the field day had dissolved into complete chaos.

Children were covered in grass stains and sugar, exhausted parents had started occupying shaded benches like survivors of a natural disaster, and Taehyung was still passionately arguing about relay race corruption to anyone unfortunate enough to listen.

Honestly, you were beginning to understand why teachers looked permanently exhausted.

One of the teachers approached the group holding several participation ribbons and certificates while trying to control a cluster of overly excited children.

“Seojun!” Seoah called immediately. “Come say thank you before running away again.”

The boy sprinted over dramatically, Dohyun following close behind, while Jungkook walked several steps behind them at a significantly calmer pace.

And somehow, despite the noise surrounding the field, your attention still found him first automatically.

“We’re going home now?” Dohyun asked sadly while clutching his tiny ribbon.

“After lunch,” Jin promised while fixing the child’s messy hair gently.

Seojun gasped suddenly before turning toward Jungkook with horrifying excitement.

“Uncle Jungkook! You promised!” Jungkook’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

“You promised what?” Jimin asked immediately, already suspicious.

Seojun looked delighted by the attention. “That they’d come over today!

Seoah, however, looked moments away from celebrating victory publicly.

“You manipulate children now?” you asked flatly.

“I didn’t manipulate anyone,” she defended immediately.

“Liar,” Jimin muttered.

“It was strategic emotional persuasion.” Seoah shrugged.

You rubbed your forehead tiredly while Seojun continued looking between you and Jungkook with the kind of hopeful excitement only children could weaponize successfully.

And unfortunately?

Nobody in the group looked remotely interested in helping either of you escape.

After a long moment, your eyes lifted toward Jungkook automatically, and he was already looking at you again.

A quiet sigh escaped you eventually.

“Fine.”

Seojun screamed loudly enough to concern nearby parents.

And beside you, Jungkook exhaled once through his nose before muttering quietly:

“We’re never hearing the end of this.”

Unfortunately, both of you already knew he was right.

By the time everyone finally reached Seoah and Jimin’s house later that afternoon, the children were already halfway asleep, and the adults looked emotionally exhausted from prolonged exposure to elementary school energy.

The second the front door opened, Seojun immediately kicked his shoes off somewhere near the hallway and disappeared deeper into the house while Dohyun followed after him significantly slower, still clutching the participation ribbon tightly in one hand.

“Do not run!” Seoah yelled automatically before sighing tiredly. “Actually, whatever. Break a bone if you want.”

“That feels irresponsible parenting-wise,” Jin noted while stepping inside.

“I’m off duty mentally.”

You slipped your shoes off near the entrance beside Mirae, while Taehyung immediately collapsed face-first onto the living room couch like a man returning from war.

“I think I pulled something.”

“You pulled absolutely nothing,” Jimin replied while walking toward the kitchen.

“My dignity then.”

“That was gone years ago.”

The familiar warmth of the house settled around you almost instantly. Soft music somewhere in the background, the faint smell of food still lingering from earlier lunch preparations, sunlight filtering lazily through wide windows overlooking the backyard.

You’d been here dozens of times before.

Movie nights. Birthdays. Random dinners that stretched until two in the morning because nobody felt like going home yet.

Familiar.

Comfortable.

And yet today, something felt slightly different around the edges.

Which was deeply inconvenient.

Loud footsteps suddenly thundered across the hallway before Seojun reappeared holding a Nintendo controller dramatically above his head.

“Uncle Jungkook!”

Jungkook had barely stepped fully into the living room before the child crashed into him again.

At this point, the attachment honestly looked permanent.

“You promised Mario Kart.”

“I said maybe.”

“That means yes.”

Jungkook exhaled quietly through his nose while Seojun already dragged him toward the television without waiting for an actual answer.

You moved toward the kitchen island slowly, reaching for one of the water bottles left there earlier while the noise from the living room blended together naturally behind you.

For a moment, you simply leaned against the counter quietly, letting the familiar atmosphere settle around you.

Your eyes drifted toward the television unconsciously as Seojun’s horrified scream suddenly echoed across the room.

“UNCLE JUNGKOOK CHEATED.”

“I literally didn’t.”

“You used shortcuts!” You couldn’t help but yell from the kitchen.

“That’s the point of the game.”

“NOOO THAT'S EVIL!!” Dohyun shrieks beside him.

A laugh escaped Jin immediately. “Some things never change.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jin continued, “You and Jungkook used to fight over Mario Kart literally all the time.”

“OHH yeahhh, I remember you threw a controller at him once,” Taehyung reminded you from the couch.

A horrifying amount of old memories hit you at once.

Summer vacations spent screaming at each other over Mario Kart. Taehyung and Hoseok  acting like sports commentators while you and Jungkook fought over shortcuts and blue shells like national enemies.

Jungkook quietly smirking whenever he won.

And you actually throwing a controller at his head.

Honestly, childhood should’ve come with therapy reimbursement.

“In my defense, he deserved it.”

Across the room, Jungkook finally glanced up from the screen toward you.

“Why? Just because I won?”

“No, because you cheated.”

“I was just good at it.”

“You used shortcuts. And that is pretty evil.”

The response came so quickly, so naturally, that the room went quiet for half a second before Seoah burst into laughter.

“Oh my God,” she wheezed. “You’re literally having the exact same argument even after so many years.”

Before you could think too deeply about it, Dohyun suddenly appeared beside you near the kitchen entrance, holding a Nintendo controller carefully against his chest.

“Y/N noona,” he called softly.

You looked down immediately. “Hm?”

The child lifted the controller toward you with complete seriousness.

“Can you help me beat uncle Jungkook?”

The competitive energy in the room had already fully shifted now.

Dohyun climbed beside you proudly while Jungkook picked up another controller across from you, sleeves pushed slightly upward again as he adjusted the settings one-handed without looking away from the screen.

And maybe it was pathetic how naturally all of this came back.

The familiar competitiveness.

The instinctive irritation.

The way your attention narrowed toward him automatically the second the game started.

Like some deeply embarrassing part of your brain still remembers exactly what it felt like trying to beat Jeon Jungkook at fourteen years old.

“Ready?” he asked finally.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “I’m going to ruin your ego in front of children.” A quiet scoff left him.

“We’ll see.”

The game became violent almost immediately.

“You hit me on purpose!”

“You drove into the banana peel voluntarily,” Jungkook replied calmly without once looking away from the screen.

“That was sabotage.”

“That’s not a real thing.”

“IT SHOULD BE.”

Seojun was practically bouncing beside the couch at this point while Dohyun sat pressed against your side, clutching a juice box with the kind of intense concentration usually reserved for national sporting events.

Meanwhile, every adult in the room had completely abandoned normal conversation to spectate the disaster unfolding on television.

“You’re losing,” Taehyung informed you happily from the couch.

“Shut up.”

“You’re getting humbled in front of children.”

“Shut the fuck up Kim Taehyung.”

“ Y/N noona said a bad word!!!” Seojun gasped beside Jungkook, who remained infuriatingly calm despite the fact that the rest of the room had descended into complete chaos around him.

One hand rested loosely around the controller while the other lazily pressed buttons with unfair precision, tattoos shifting beneath rolled sleeves every time his fingers moved.

And somehow, despite years passing since the last time you’d properly played against him, nothing about his habits had changed.

Your eyes narrowed toward the screen. “You’re saving the shell intentionally.”

Jungkook glanced toward you briefly. “You noticed?”

“You always do that before the last turn.”

The response slipped out before you could stop.

Even after years of barely tolerating each other, your brain still remembers the way Jeon Jungkook played Mario Kart when you were kids.

Humiliating information honestly.

Then Seojun screamed loudly enough to physically shake the atmosphere.

“NOONA HIT HIM NOW.”

The realization barely had time to settle before Dohyun suddenly gasped beside you.

“You’re winning!” Your attention snapped back toward the television immediately.

And sure enough:

Final lap.

First place.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Jungkook muttered quietly for the first time all game.

Victory surged through you instantly.

The same familiar competitive thrill from years ago was rising embarrassingly fast as you leaned forward slightly, fully focused now, while the finish line approached closer and closer.

“MOVE,” you yelled dramatically at the screen.

“Y/N noona is scary,” Seojun whispered loudly.

“She’s always scary when she plays this game,” Taehyung replied.

Then finally the screen displayed the words FINISH along with a FIRST PLACE written in an exagerating font.

Silence hit the room for exactly one second before the chaos exploded.

“I WON.”

Dohyun looked genuinely emotional beside you while Seojun screamed as if his football team had just won a championship.

Meanwhile, across from you, Jungkook stared at the screen for another second before leaning back slowly against the couch. “You used shortcuts.”

Your jaw dropped immediately. “Oh, now shortcuts are cheating?”

“They were strategic when I did it.”

“That is SUCH hypocritical behavior.”

For the first time all evening, a real smile appeared properly across Jungkook’s face.

A small crooked smile, just like the ones he gave you when you were kids, which was now gone almost immediately.

But somehow, the image stayed with you long after the laughter around the room faded. 

And that felt far more dangerous than losing ever could’ve.

Taglist:

@haniiii @myr-sam0 @annpeachy @ggukcosmos

She was asleep, her face relaxed in a way he’d rarely seen back when they were still figuring each other out.

Peaceful.

Safe.

He traced his thumb lightly across her back, taking in the simple reality:

She was his wife now.

He had vowed love before.

Vowed forever before.

And lost it in the most painful, humiliating way.

But when he looked at Y/N… nothing about her felt like a replacement or a second chance.

She felt like fate that arrived late, but right on time.

He remembered the early days — how guarded she was, how she tried to pretend she wasn’t hurting, how she dodged his concern with a laugh that didn’t match her eyes.

He saw himself in her then.

The fear of loving again.

The fear of trusting again.

Maybe that’s why they fit — not because they were perfect, but because they were both cracked in the same places.

Jungkook leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“When I lost everything,” he whispered, though she couldn’t hear him, “You were the one thing I never expected.”

Y/N shifted in her sleep, curling into his chest.

And he held her like he’d never let go.

⸻

Y/N POV

Warm, emotional, healing.

Y/N woke slowly, the way someone wakes after a dream they don’t want to leave.

The first thing she felt was warmth — Jungkook’s arm curved around her, his breaths steady, grounding. His heartbeat thumped softly under her cheek.

She smiled before her eyes even opened.

For years, she had slept alone.

For months after her broken engagement, the silence of her room swallowed her whole.

She remembered crying into her pillow, wondering if she was unlovable.

Too flawed.

Too complicated.

Too much.

Now, lying here wrapped in Jungkook’s arms, she felt none of those things.

She felt chosen.

She lifted her head slightly, studying his face.

He looked younger in sleep — softer, boyish, peaceful in a way that made her chest ache.

“You deserve this,” she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You deserve happiness that stays.”

He stirred, eyes fluttering open.

When he saw her, he smiled that slow, sleepy smile that always made her heart trip.

“Morning, wife,” he murmured.

She laughed, cheeks warming.

“Morning, husband.”

Jungkook pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck as if trying to memorize her all over again.

And she let him.

Because if she was being honest, she needed the reassurance, too.

Loving him wasn’t a fairy tale.

It was slow, patient healing.

Two broken people learning that love could be gentle.

She kissed the top of his head and whispered:

“I’m glad we found each other.”

He tightened his arms around her.

“So am I.”

Taehyung moved through it all with his usual bright, easy smile, clapping Jungkook on the back as they joked about something you couldn’t quite hear from across the room. Your fiancé looked happy— genuinely happy and a sharp pang twisted in your chest at the sight. You loved him. You truly did. He was safe, kind, and had built a beautiful life with you. But love wasn’t the same as the all-consuming fire that burned in your veins whenever Jeon Jungkook was near.

No one noticed when you slipped away from the bustling main hall, your heels clicking softly against the polished floors as you made your way down a dimly lit side corridor. Seconds later, the supply closet door opened and closed with a quiet click, and Jungkook was on you. The space was small and intimate, barely large enough for the two of you, filled with the clean scent of fresh linens, lemon furniture polish, and the faint woody notes of his cologne that always made your head spin. Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with folded tablecloths and spare glassware that trembled slightly as he pressed you back against them. His hands were everywhere at once, cupping your face, sliding down your neck, gripping your waist with a hunger that had been building for far too long.

His mouth crashed against yours in a heated, desperate kiss, tongues tangling instantly as years of suppressed longing poured out between you. You moaned softly into him, fingers threading through his dark, silky hair and tugging just hard enough to draw a low growl from his throat. The kiss was messy, breathless, all teeth and tongue and raw need. One of his large hands trailed down your body, bunching the soft, flowing fabric of your rehearsal dinner dress higher and higher up your thighs until the cool air kissed your skin. He hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your panties, yanking them roughly to the side without bothering to remove them. You felt the thick, hot length of his cock pressing against your entrance, already slick and aching for him after just one heated look across the room earlier.

“Jungkook…” you whispered breathlessly against his lips, but the name came out more like a plea than a warning. You tried not to think about how long this had been going on; one entire year of stolen touches, secret meetings, and nights where you told yourself it would be the last time. You tried not to think about Taehyung waiting just down the hall, about the vows you would speak tomorrow, or the life you had so carefully built. But then Jungkook pushed inside you in one slow, powerful thrust, stretching you open so perfectly that all coherent thought shattered.

A choked gasp escaped your lips as he filled you completely, his cock buried to the hilt, your walls fluttering around his thick girth. He was so big, so deep, the delicious burn of it making your toes curl inside your heels. Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his hands gripping your hips with bruising strength to hold you steady in the cramped space. “Fuck, baby… so tight, so wet for me already,” he rasped, voice low and wrecked, barely above a whisper. He began to move then, deep, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the angle perfect in the tight confines of the closet. The shelf behind you rattled softly with each measured pump of his hips, the quiet, wet sounds of your bodies connecting echoing obscenely in the small room.

You clung to his broad shoulders, nails digging into the crisp fabric of his black button-up shirt as you tried desperately to stay quiet. Outside, the rehearsal dinner continued, laughter rang out, glasses clinked, someone called your name faintly in the distance, but in here, it was just the two of you. Your leg hooked around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper as he fucked you with controlled intensity, grinding against your clit with every thrust. Pleasure coiled hot and tight in your lower belly, building faster than you could handle. Sweat beaded along your skin, your dress sticking to your back, while Jungkook’s breath fanned hot against your neck, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered filthy praises.

“You feel so fucking good… always take me so well,” he groaned quietly, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles over your swollen clit. His pace quickened slightly, hips snapping forward in short, powerful strokes that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the desperate whimpers threatening to spill out. The scent of him, clean soap, faint sweat, and pure Jungkook— overwhelmed you, making your head spin. Every drag of his cock sent sparks of ecstasy racing up your spine, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around him as you neared the edge.

He could feel it, knew your body better than anyone. “That’s it, baby. Come for me,” he murmured, voice strained with his own impending release. “Let go… I’ve got you.” The coil inside you snapped, pleasure crashing over you in powerful waves. Your thighs trembled violently as you came hard around him, a broken sob muffled against his skin while your pussy pulsed and fluttered, drawing him even deeper. Jungkook followed right after, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan he tried— and failed— to silence. You felt the hot rush of his release filling you, his cock twitching deep inside as he rode out his orgasm, hips grinding lazily against yours until you were both spent and shaking.

For several long moments, the only sounds were your ragged breaths mingling in the dim closet. Jungkook stayed buried inside you, softening slowly, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet. He pressed soft, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, tender now that the storm had passed. You kept your eyes closed, trying to savor the warmth of him, the feeling of being so completely his, even if it was only for these stolen minutes. Tomorrow you would walk down the aisle and promise forever to Taehyung. Tomorrow this would have to end.

The aftershocks of pleasure still hummed through your body as Jungkook cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing tenderly over your flushed cheeks, and kissed you— slow, deep, and devastatingly intimate. It wasn’t the frantic hunger from minutes ago; this kiss was full of quiet longing, his tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. You melted into it, fingers curling weakly into his shirt, wishing you could stay wrapped in him forever.

Eventually he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours with a heavy sigh. “We should get back,” he murmured, voice low and rough, still laced with emotion. He pressed one last soft kiss to your swollen lips before carefully slipping out of you. The loss of him made you ache in more ways than one. Jungkook stepped back just enough to fix himself, tucking his shirt back in, smoothing down the front of his black trousers, and running a hand through his messy hair until it looked intentionally tousled rather than freshly fucked. He gave you one final look, eyes dark and conflicted, the weight of tomorrow hanging between you like a storm cloud.

“I’ll see you back out there, baby,” he whispered, the nickname slipping out like a secret he couldn’t hold in. Then he cracked the door open, checked the hallway, and slipped out without another word, leaving you alone in the dim, cluttered space.

You stood there for a long moment, thighs still trembling, his release slowly trickling down your skin. The distant sounds of the rehearsal dinner filtered in, laughter, music, the clinking of glasses, reminding you that the world outside hadn’t stopped turning.

With a shaky breath, you reached for the small mirror hanging on the back of the closet door. Your reflection stared back at you: cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, hair slightly disheveled. You carefully smoothed everything back into place, patting down stray strands, fixing the smudged edge of your lipstick with your fingertip, and adjusting the neckline of your dress until you looked like the composed bride-to-be everyone expected.

As you stared at your own eyes in the mirror, a heavy wave of memory washed over you. Your mind drifted back to the exact day this all began, the moment everything between you and Jungkook shifted from best-friend’s-girlfriend and best man into something irreversible.

one year ago.

The rain came down in merciless sheets that night, turning the city streets into glossy rivers that reflected the blurred glow of streetlights. Thunder rolled overhead like distant artillery, shaking the windows of the apartment building as you slammed the door behind you. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest, a chaotic mix of rage, hurt, and disbelief crashing through you with every step. The fight with Taehyung had been one of the worst you’d ever had, maybe the worst. It started over something small, as these things often did: a forgotten anniversary plan, a careless comment about your long work hours. But it had snowballed fast, words flying like daggers neither of you could take back.

“You’re never here anymore!” Taehyung had shouted, his usually warm voice sharp with frustration. “It feels like I’m dating a ghost. Do you even still want this?”

You’d fired back just as viciously. “Maybe I don’t! Maybe I’m tired of feeling like I’m carrying everything while you act like the charming golden boy who never has to try!” The accusations had grown crueler, old insecurities dragged into the light, past arguments rehashed with fresh venom. He’d said you were emotionally unavailable. You’d thrown back that sometimes you wondered if he even loved you or just loved the idea of you. By the end, both of you were yelling things you never thought you’d say to each other. “Maybe we shouldn’t even be together,” he’d spat. You hadn’t disagreed. You’d grabbed your coat and left before the tears could fall in front of him.

Now, soaked to the bone, your phone vibrated relentlessly in your pocket. Taehyung’s name lit up the screen again and again, missed calls piling up, text notifications buzzing like angry hornets. You ignored them all, teeth chattering as the cold rain seeped through your thin jacket and into your skin. The wind whipped your hair across your face, stinging your eyes that were already burning from crying. Where could you even go? Chaewon was out of town for the whole week, visiting family in Busan. Hotels felt too lonely, too clinical for a night like this. Your feet carried you almost on autopilot through the storm, blocks blurring together until you found yourself standing in front of Jungkook’s apartment building.

He was Taehyung’s best friend, but over the years he had become yours too. The three of you had built a comfortable little world together, lazy Sundays playing video games, late-night drives for street food, inside jokes that no one else understood. Showing up at his door in the middle of a breakdown wasn’t entirely out of character, but it still felt vulnerable. Your knuckles rapped against the wood, weak at first, then louder as another crack of thunder split the sky.

The door opened after a moment, and Jungkook stood there in a simple black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his dark hair slightly messy like he’d been relaxing. His eyes widened instantly at the sight of you, drenched, shivering, mascara running in dark streaks down your cheeks, lips trembling from the cold and suppressed sobs. “Holy shit,” he breathed, reaching out without hesitation. “Get in here right now. You’re going to freeze to death.”

Strong hands pulled you inside, and the warmth of his apartment wrapped around you like a hug. The door clicked shut, muffling the roar of the storm outside. Soft lighting glowed from a lamp in the living room, and the faint scent of his cologne, something woody and clean, mingled with the smell of rain on your clothes. Jungkook didn’t bombard you with questions. Instead, he moved with quiet efficiency. He disappeared down the short hallway and returned quickly with a large, fluffy towel, an oversized black hoodie that smelled like him, and a pair of his sweatpants.

“Here,” he said gently, pressing them into your arms. “Bathroom’s yours. Change out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia. I’ll make you something warm to eat.” His voice was steady, grounding, the kind of calm that made the chaos in your head feel a little less overwhelming.

You nodded numbly and slipped into the bathroom. Peeling off your soaked clothes felt like shedding a layer of the fight itself. The dry fabric of his hoodie engulfed you, soft and comforting against your chilled skin, the hem falling mid-thigh. The sweatpants were loose but warm. When you emerged, Jungkook had already set up the living room: a steaming bowl of spicy ramen on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the couch, and a glass of water beside it. He patted the seat next to him.

Only then did he ask, voice soft and free of judgment, “What happened?”

The words tumbled out of you for what felt like hours. You told him everything, the small spark that started the argument, how it escalated into screaming matches about commitment, about feeling unseen, about fears that maybe the two of you had grown in different directions. You recounted the cruelest things said: how Taehyung had implied you were selfish for prioritizing your career, how you’d thrown back that sometimes he felt more like a best friend than a partner. Tears flowed freely again as you spoke, and Jungkook listened through it all. He never interrupted, never took sides. He simply nodded, offered quiet “I’m sorry you went through that,” and handed you tissues when your voice cracked.

As the ramen cooled and your shivering finally stopped, the conversation stretched deeper. You talked about the good times too, the early days when everything with Taehyung felt effortless and exciting. Jungkook shared his own observations from the outside, careful and kind. “You two have always been strong,” he said at one point, leaning back against the couch. “But even strong couples hit rough patches. Doesn’t mean it’s over unless you want it to be.”

Time slipped away. The storm outside began to ease into a steady drizzle. Eventually, Jungkook stood and returned from the kitchen with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. “You’ve earned this,” he said with a small, comforting smile, pouring generously. “Might help take the edge off.”

You accepted the glass gratefully. The rich, velvety liquid warmed your throat and loosened the knot in your chest. As you sipped, the heavy topic of the fight slowly faded. The conversation drifted naturally into lighter waters, funny memories from group trips, inside jokes about Taehyung’s dramatic reactions to horror movies, stories from Jungkook’s recent work projects. He was always so easy to talk to, his laughter low and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners when something truly amused him.

Eventually the topic turned to his love life, or lack thereof. Jungkook swirled the wine in his glass, a faint sigh escaping him. “I don’t know… I just haven’t found the right girl yet. Dating feels exhausting lately. Everyone I meet seems nice on the surface, but there’s no real connection. No spark that makes me want to fight for it, you know?”

You tilted your head, studying him under the warm lamplight. The wine had brought a soft flush to your cheeks, and the comfort of his clothes made you feel safer than you had all night. “She’ll come along, Kook. I promise. You’re… you’re really attractive. Like, stupidly attractive. You’re kind, talented, funny, thoughtful. Any girl would be incredibly lucky to have you. Don’t sell yourself short.”

He looked surprised, then shy. A light blush crept across his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he ducked his head with a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Stop it. You’re just saying that because you’re being nice after a bad night.” But when he lifted his gaze again, his dark eyes met yours and held. The air between you thickened, charged with something new and electric. “You’re attractive too,” he said quietly, voice dropping lower. “Really fucking attractive. Inside and out. The way you light up when you talk about things you love… the way you’re so strong even when you’re hurting. Taehyung’s lucky. Anyone would be.”

The compliment landed heavily, warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the wine. You stared at each other across the small space of the couch. The storm outside had become a distant murmur. Your heart pounded hard against your ribs, a mix of guilt, curiosity, and undeniable pull swirling inside you. Without fully realizing what you were doing, you set your wine glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet room.

Then you leaned forward, closing the distance in one breathless moment, and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss started tentative, soft and uncertain, tasting of red wine and the faint salt of earlier tears. But the moment Jungkook’s hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your damp hair, something ignited. The kiss deepened, slow and exploratory, like both of you had been waiting for permission you didn’t know you needed.

The kiss deepened almost instantly, like a dam breaking after years of careful restraint. What started as soft and tentative quickly turned hungry— your lips parting, tongues sliding together in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that sent heat rushing through your entire body. Jungkook tasted like red wine and warmth, his mouth moving against yours with a quiet intensity that made your head spin. One of his hands stayed cradled at the back of your neck, fingers threading through your still-damp hair, while the other settled on your waist, gripping the fabric of his oversized hoodie like he was trying to anchor himself.

You couldn’t stop yourself. The ache that had been building inside you all night, the hurt from the fight, the confusion, the unexpected pull toward Jungkook, pushed you forward. You shifted on the couch, swinging one leg over his lap until you were straddling him, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his thighs. The new position brought your bodies flush together, your chest pressed against his, and you felt the sharp intake of breath he took against your mouth.

Jungkook’s hands instinctively moved to your hips, holding you there as the kiss grew hotter, wetter. A low sound rumbled in his chest— half groan, half sigh— and for a few blissful seconds, he kissed you back like he’d been starving for it. His tongue explored yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip, sending little sparks straight down your spine.

Then he suddenly pulled away, breaking the kiss with a gasp. His forehead rested against yours, eyes squeezed shut, breathing ragged. “Wait— wait,” he whispered, voice strained and rough. One hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. His dark eyes searched yours, filled with conflict. “But… Taehyung. He’s my best friend. You’re his girlfriend. We can’t— we shouldn’t—”

The words hung heavy between you, the reality of what you were doing crashing down like cold water. For a heartbeat, guilt flickered across his face, his jaw tight as he fought an internal battle. You could see it, the loyalty to Taehyung warring with the undeniable desire burning in his gaze.

You shook your head, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. Your fingers curled into the front of his t-shirt, holding him close. “I know,” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper. “I know it’s wrong. But right now… I need this, Jungkook. I need you.” Your voice cracked slightly, raw with emotion. “Tonight I don’t want to think about the fight or what it means. I just… I want this. I want you. And I can tell you want it too.”

Jungkook stared at you for a long, charged moment. His chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes dark and conflicted, lips slightly parted and still glistening from the kiss. The silence stretched, thick with tension and unspoken consequences. Then something in his expression shifted, the hesitation cracked, desire winning out. With a quiet, defeated groan, he slid his hand back into your hair and pulled you back down into a searing kiss.

This time there was no restraint. The kiss was deeper, more possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth as his hands roamed. He kissed you like he was pouring every hidden feeling he’d ever had into it. His lips soon trailed away from your mouth, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the sensitive column of your neck. You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access, a soft whimper escaping as his teeth grazed your pulse point.

“Fuck… you taste so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice husky. One of his large hands slid down to your thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of the borrowed sweatpants, stroking the bare skin there with slow, deliberate touches. The other hand stayed on your hip, guiding you as you began to move.

You rocked slowly against him, grinding down onto his lap in a gentle, teasing rhythm. You could already feel him hardening beneath you, the growing bulge pressing against your core through the thin layers of fabric. Each roll of your hips drew a low, muffled groan from him, the sound vibrating against your neck where he continued kissing and gently sucking, careful not to leave marks but clearly struggling with the urge.

His hands explored your thighs with increasing hunger, squeezing the soft flesh, fingertips digging in just enough to make you shiver. “You feel so fucking good on me,” he whispered between kisses, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Been trying not to think about this for so long…”

You answered by grinding down harder, chasing the friction that was quickly turning the slow burn into an open flame. The living room felt smaller, hotter, the distant sound of rain against the windows the only thing grounding you to reality. Jungkook’s breath grew heavier, his hips starting to lift subtly to meet your movements, hands guiding your pace as he kissed lower, nudging the collar of the hoodie aside to press his lips to your collarbone.

Every touch, every whispered word, every roll of your hips blurred the line further, guilt and desire twisting together until they were almost indistinguishable. The heat between you had become unbearable, a slow-building fire that consumed every last shred of hesitation. Jungkook’s hands were everywhere, sliding under the oversized hoodie, palms hot against your bare skin as he pulled you closer.

Your fingers trembled as they found the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it upward. He helped you, lifting his arms so you could peel it off, revealing the smooth, toned planes of his chest and abdomen, muscles flexing with every ragged breath. The hoodie came off next in a frantic blur, your hair tumbling messily around your shoulders as he yanked it over your head. Sweatpants and his own followed, fabric whispering against skin and pooling on the floor until there was nothing left between you.

Naked, skin to skin, the world narrowed to just this: the warmth of his body, the rapid thud of his heartbeat against yours, the way his dark eyes drank you in like you were the only thing that mattered. Any lingering thought of Taehyung dissolved completely, washed away by the storm outside and the one raging inside you. There was only Jungkook, his scent, his touch, the way he looked at you like he’d been waiting years for this moment.

You rose up on your knees, straddling him fully now, one hand braced on his broad shoulder while the other reached between your bodies. His cock was hard and heavy, flushed and leaking at the tip. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking once, twice, feeling him twitch in your grip. Jungkook’s breath hitched, a low, needy sound escaping his throat as he gripped your hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles into your skin. No words passed between you. None were needed.

Slowly, torturously, you sank down onto him.

The stretch was exquisite, inch by inch, he filled you, thick and deep, pressing against walls that had never been touched quite like this. A soft, broken moan slipped from your lips as you bottomed out, your thighs trembling against his. Jungkook’s head fell back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, his chest rising sharply with a silent groan. His hands tightened on your hips, not guiding, just holding, reverent, steady, like he was afraid this might vanish if he gripped too hard.

You stayed there for a long moment, just feeling him, letting your body adjust to the fullness. Then you began to move. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t rough. It was slow, rolling waves, your hips lifting and sinking in a languid rhythm, grinding down on every descent so his cock dragged perfectly against that sensitive spot deep inside you. Every movement drew quiet, breathy moans from both of you. Your forehead pressed to his, noses brushing, mouths hovering close enough to share the same air. His hands roamed your back, your waist, your thighs, gentle caresses that felt almost worshipful. One palm came up to cup your breast, thumb brushing tenderly over your nipple, drawing another soft whimper from you.

You rode him like that for what felt like forever, lost in the rhythm. The wet, intimate sounds of your bodies moving together filled the quiet living room, mingling with the steady patter of rain against the windows. Your breaths synced— short, panting exhales every time you sank down, shaky inhales when you rose again. Jungkook’s moans were low and guttural, vibrating against your chest whenever he buried his face in your neck. He kissed you there, open-mouthed and slow, sucking gently, tongue tracing your pulse.

You hated yourself for the thought that flickered through your mind, but it was impossible to ignore: Jungkook was hitting places Taehyung had never reached. Deeper, fuller, brushing against a spot that made sparks explode behind your eyelids with every roll of your hips. The pleasure was different, richer, more intense, curling low in your belly and spreading outward like warm honey. Guilt twisted sharp and sudden in your chest, but it melted away again under the next wave of sensation as you ground down harder, taking him to the hilt.

Jungkook seemed to sense it. His arms wrapped fully around you, pulling you impossibly closer until your bodies were flush, moving as one. One hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head; the other stayed on your lower back, guiding your slow, sensual rhythm without forcing it. His lips found yours again, kissing you deeply, languidly, tongues stroking in time with your hips. Every moan, every sigh, every quiet gasp became your only language.

You could feel the tension building in both of you, coiling tighter and tighter. Your walls fluttered around him, clenching with every descent. Jungkook’s breathing grew more ragged, his hips starting to lift subtly to meet yours, pushing just a little deeper each time. Sweat slicked your skin where you pressed together. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails leaving faint crescents as the pleasure crested.

When you came, it was slow and devastating, waves of ecstasy rolling through you, pulling a long, trembling moan from your throat that he swallowed with another deep kiss. Your body pulsed around him, drawing him in, holding him there as pleasure blinded you. Jungkook followed moments later, burying himself deep with one final, shuddering thrust. A broken groan tore from him as he spilled inside you, hot and pulsing, his arms tightening around your body like he never wanted to let go.

You stayed like that for a long time afterward, still joined, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. His hands stroked soothingly up and down your back. Soft kisses were pressed to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. No words. Just the quiet intimacy of two people who had crossed a line they could never uncross.

The next morning light crept in slowly through the half-drawn blinds of Jungkook’s living room, painting long, lazy stripes of pale gold across the hardwood floor and the rumpled blanket that had been pulled over your bodies sometime in the night. You woke gradually, not with a jolt but with a soft, heavy awareness that settled into your bones like warm honey mixed with lead. Your body felt different, deliciously used, sore in the most intimate places, a faint ache between your thighs that made heat bloom across your cheeks even before your eyes fully opened.

Every shift of your hips reminded you of how deeply he had been inside you, how perfectly he had filled you, how your walls had clenched around him in those slow, rolling waves of pleasure. The memory hit you in fragments: the way his hands had gripped your hips with such tender reverence, the quiet hitch in his breath each time you sank down onto him, the way your foreheads had stayed pressed together as if you were sharing the same heartbeat.

Jungkook lay beside you on the wide couch, still fast asleep. His dark hair was tousled against the cushion, one arm draped loosely over your waist, fingers curled loosely against the bare skin of your lower back where the blanket had slipped. His chest rose and fell in deep, even rhythms, lips slightly parted, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. He looked so peaceful, so boyishly handsome in the morning light, and for a fleeting second your heart squeezed with something dangerously close to affection.

Last night had been… God, it had been some of the best sex of your life. Not just the physical release— though that had been shattering— but the intimacy of it. The way it had felt romantic, almost sacred, like two souls reaching for each other in the dark without a single word spoken. You hadn’t rushed. You hadn’t needed to. Every slow grind of your hips, every shared breath, every soft moan had built something deeper than lust. And now, in the quiet aftermath, you lay there feeling the evidence of it still inside you, his release, dried on your inner thighs, a sticky reminder that refused to let you pretend it had been a dream.

But the warmth in your chest curdled quickly into something colder. Your heart felt heavy, a dull, throbbing weight pressing against your ribs as reality seeped in like the gray dawn outside. You didn’t regret it. Not entirely. How could you, when your body still hummed with the afterglow of something so raw and real? Taehyung had never touched you like that— never reached the places Jungkook had found so effortlessly, never made you feel so completely seen and wanted in the middle of your brokenness.

The thought made guilt twist sharp and vicious in your stomach, but it was tangled up with an odd, stubborn sense of clarity. Last night had been a release you hadn’t known you needed. Still, the dread pooled low in your belly, thick and icy, spreading outward until your fingers trembled where they rested against Jungkook’s arm. You had cheated. On Taehyung. With his best friend. The words echoed in your mind like a courtroom verdict, cold and final. You had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed, and the weight of it pressed down on you until breathing felt like an effort.

Your mind began to whirl, thoughts spiraling faster and faster. What if Jungkook woke up right now? What would you say? What if he looked at you with those dark, searching eyes and asked if it changed anything? What if Taehyung somehow sensed it the second you walked through the door, the faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne still clinging to your skin, the subtle marks his mouth had left on your neck that you’d have to hide? Panic flickered at the edges of your consciousness. You couldn’t stay here. You had to leave before the apartment filled with daylight and questions and the terrifying possibility that last night might mean more than either of you could handle.

Carefully, so carefully, you began to disentangle yourself. You lifted Jungkook’s arm inch by inch, holding your breath when he stirred and let out a soft, sleepy sigh. His fingers brushed your hip as they fell away, sending a traitorous spark through you, but he didn’t wake. You slid off the couch on silent feet, the cool floorboards kissing your bare soles. Your clothes from the night before, still slightly damp from the storm, lay folded neatly on the coffee table where Jungkook must have placed them.

You dressed quickly but quietly, pulling on your pants and shirt with shaking hands, wincing at the way the fabric dragged against skin still sensitive from his touch. The oversized hoodie and sweatpants you’d borrowed last night stayed behind; you couldn’t risk taking anything that smelled like him home. One last glance at Jungkook, his peaceful face, the faint red lines your nails had left on his shoulder, and your chest tightened with a confusing mix of longing and shame. You slipped out the door like a ghost, pulling it shut behind you with the softest click. The hallway was empty, the building still hushed in the early hour. Your footsteps echoed too loudly in your own ears as you hurried down the stairs and out into the morning air.

The city was just waking up, the streets still glistening from last night’s rain. Puddles reflected the pale sky, and the air carried that fresh, earthy scent of wet pavement mixed with distant coffee shops opening their doors. You walked the familiar route home, each step heavier than the last. The dread in your belly grew into a storm of its own, churning and expanding until it felt like it might swallow you whole. You had cheated. With Jungkook. Taehyung’s best friend. The man who had stood beside him at every milestone, who had laughed with the two of you over late-night dinners, who had been part of your shared life for years.

How had it come to this? One fight, one storm, one vulnerable night, and now everything was tainted. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, Taehyung again, probably, but you couldn’t look. Not yet. Your mind raced through every possible scenario: what if he could tell just by looking at you? What if the guilt was written across your face like a neon sign? What if Jungkook texted him something innocent later and the truth slipped out anyway? You prayed, silently and desperately, that Taehyung wouldn’t be home when you got there. Maybe he’d crashed at the studio. Maybe he’d gone for a run to clear his head. Anything but facing him with last night still burning on your skin.

But the universe had other plans. Punishment, it seemed, came swift and merciless.

The moment you slid your key into the lock of your apartment door, the familiar click sounded like a gunshot in the quiet hallway. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat. The living room was dim, curtains still drawn, but the lamp on the side table was on. And there he was, Taehyung. He had clearly spent the entire night on the couch, exactly where you’d left him. His hair was a wild mess, dark circles carved under his eyes, clothes wrinkled and rumpled from hours of restless tossing. The second the door opened and he registered your presence, he shot up from the couch like a man possessed, eyes wide and red-rimmed with exhaustion and unshed tears.

“Baby—” His voice cracked on the single word, raw and broken. He crossed the room in three long, desperate strides, bare feet silent on the floor. Before you could even open your mouth to speak, he dropped to his knees right in front of you, the impact loud enough to make you flinch. His arms wrapped around your legs in a crushing embrace, face burying itself against your thighs as heavy, gut-wrenching sobs tore from his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he cried, voice muffled against the fabric of your pants. Tears soaked through immediately, warm and relentless. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean any of the things I said last night— none of it. I was scared and angry and I took it all out on you. I love you. God, I love you so much. Please… please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I can’t do this without you.”

His shoulders shook violently under the force of his crying. He clung to you like a lifeline, fingers digging into the back of your thighs as if letting go would make you disappear forever. “I stayed up all night thinking about everything. About us. About how I’ve been taking you for granted. I’ll change. I’ll do better. I’ll be the man you deserve. Just… just tell me we’re okay. Tell me you still love me.”

Your heart sank like a stone dropped into the deepest, coldest part of the ocean. The guilt you’d been carrying since you left Jungkook’s apartment crashed over you in a tidal wave, so intense it stole the breath from your lungs. Here was Taehyung— your boyfriend, your partner, the man you had built a life with, completely shattered at your feet, pouring out his soul in raw, ugly tears. And you… you had spent the night wrapped around his best friend, letting Jungkook fuck you slow and deep while the rain fell outside. The contrast was nauseating. You couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not ever. The truth would destroy him. It would destroy the three of you. Everything you had worked so hard to build would crumble into dust.

Right then and there, kneeling on the floor with him, the decision crystallized in your mind like ice forming over a lake. It had to be a one-time thing. A horrible, beautiful, unrepeatable mistake born from anger and vulnerability and the storm. You would talk to Jungkook, soon, before anything else could happen, and make him understand. You would convince him that you couldn’t tell Taehyung, that it was a mistake that could never be repeated, that the two of you had to bury it so deep it never saw the light of day again. For Taehyung’s sake. For all of your sakes.

Tears spilled down your own cheeks then— hot, guilty, bitter tears that burned tracks down your skin. You sank to your knees too, right there in the entryway, cupping Taehyung’s tear-streaked face in both your hands and lifting it so you could look into his eyes. They were so full of love and relief and desperation that it nearly broke you all over again. “Taehyung…” you whispered, voice thick and trembling. You leaned in and kissed him softly, tasting the salt of his tears on his lips. The kiss was gentle, reassuring, everything he needed it to be. “I forgive you. I’m sorry too. We both said awful, hurtful things. I love you. We’re going to be okay. I promise.”

He pulled you into his arms with a broken sob of relief, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his body shook against yours. You held him tight, stroking his back in slow, soothing circles, letting your own tears fall freely into his hair. The two of you stayed like that on the floor for what felt like hours, two broken people clinging to each other in the wreckage of last night’s fight.

Taehyung’s tears eventually slowed, replaced by shaky, grateful breaths and whispered promises against your skin. But while his were tears of remorse and gratitude and second chances, yours were born from something far darker: a crushing shame that settled deep in your bones, a fear that gnawed at the edges of your mind, and the terrifying knowledge that you had just shattered something sacred and could never, ever take it back.

The apartment smelled like yesterday’s dinner and stale coffee. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence between his sobs. Outside, the city continued its morning rhythm, cars passing, birds calling, life moving forward as if nothing had changed. But inside, everything had. You stroked Taehyung’s hair and whispered more reassurances, even as your mind replayed every slow, intimate moment with Jungkook in vivid, unwanted detail. The way he had looked at you. The way he had felt inside you. The way your body had responded like it had been waiting for him all along.

You hated yourself for it. But you couldn’t undo it. All you could do now was bury it, lock it away, and pray that the secret wouldn’t eat you alive from the inside out.

The week that followed the stormy night felt like walking through fog, thick, disorienting, and heavy with the weight of what you’d done. You threw yourself into repairing things with Taehyung: quiet dinners at home, long talks where he held your hands and promised to be better, soft kisses that tasted like forgiveness. You told yourself every single day that the night with Jungkook had been a one-time lapse in judgment, a moment of weakness you would bury so deep it would never surface again. You even avoided places where you might run into him, deleting the casual “you okay?” text he’d sent the day after and never replying.

But the memories refused to stay buried. At night, when Taehyung slept beside you, your mind replayed every slow roll of your hips, every shared breath, the way Jungkook had looked at you like you were the only real thing in his world. Your body remembered too— the delicious ache, the way he had reached places no one else ever had. The guilt was constant, but so was the pull. By the seventh day, you couldn’t fight it anymore. You told Taehyung you were going out for a walk to clear your head, and your feet carried you straight to Jungkook’s apartment building like they had a mind of their own.

Your heart thundered as you stood outside his door, fist hovering. Just end it, you repeated like a mantra. Tell him it was a mistake. Make sure he understands we can never speak of it again. You knocked before you could chicken out.

Jungkook opened the door almost immediately, as if he’d sensed you coming. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, hair messy, wearing the same black hoodie from that night. The moment his gaze landed on you, something raw and relieved flickered across his face.

“You came,” he said softly, stepping aside to let you in.

The apartment smelled exactly the same, clean cotton, faint cologne, warm coffee. It made your stomach twist with unwanted nostalgia. You sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, the same one where everything had started, hands knotted tightly in your lap. Jungkook settled across from you, leaving careful space between you, but his eyes never left your face.

You swallowed hard. “Kook… what happened last week can never happen again. It was a mistake. I was hurting, the fight with Taehyung was fresh, and I was vulnerable. But I love him. He’s your best friend. We crossed a line we had no right to cross.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, jaw flexing. He ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor. “I know. I’ve been sick over it. He’s like a brother to me. Every time I think about looking him in the eye, I feel like the worst person alive.” His voice was heavy, genuine. “You’re right. It has to stop. We bury it. Pretend it never happened.”

Relief flooded through you, cool and fleeting. He agreed. This nightmare could end here. But the silence that followed stretched too long, thick with everything unsaid. Your mind betrayed you first.

“I still can’t stop thinking about how slow we went,” you whispered, almost against your will. “The way you held me… like I mattered. Like nothing else existed.”

Jungkook’s breath caught. His eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide. “Yeah?” His voice dropped lower. “I keep remembering how you sank down on me… so wet, so tight. The way your walls fluttered every time I hit that spot deep inside. Fuck… I’ve jerked off to that memory every night since.”

Heat flashed through your body like lightning. Your thighs pressed together instinctively. “The way you looked at me when I came,” you continued, voice trembling. “Like you were feeling it too.”

“I was,” he rasped. “I felt everything. Every little gasp, every roll of your hips, the way you clenched around my cock when you fell apart. I’ve never come that hard in my life.”

The air between you crackled, electric and dangerous. You leaned forward slightly at the same time he did. “We shouldn’t,” you breathed, even as your body leaned closer.

“I know,” he growled, but his hand was already reaching for you.

The distance vanished in a heartbeat. Jungkook pulled you up and into his arms, mouths crashing together in a desperate, starving kiss. This wasn’t the tender exploration of last week. This was weeks of guilt, longing, and frustration exploding all at once. Tongues tangled, teeth nipped, hands roamed frantically. He walked you backward down the hallway without breaking the kiss, kicking his bedroom door open.

Clothes came off in a frenzied blur, your sweater yanked over your head, his hoodie tossed aside, pants and underwear shoved down and kicked away. By the time your back hit his bed, you were both completely naked, skin flushed and burning. Jungkook climbed over you like a man possessed, eyes blazing with raw hunger. He hooked his hands behind your knees and pushed your legs up and over his broad shoulders, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The position left you completely open, vulnerable, and aching.

He gripped his thick cock, dragging the swollen head through your slick folds once, twice, teasing your entrance. Then he thrust in— hard. One powerful snap of his hips buried him to the hilt inside you. You cried out sharply at the sudden, breathtaking stretch, your walls fluttering wildly around his girth. He didn’t pause. He pulled back almost to the tip and slammed in again, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that made the headboard slam rhythmically against the wall.

“Fuck— Jungkook!” you sobbed, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks.

He groaned deep in his chest, the sound animalistic. “So fucking tight. So wet for me. God, this pussy was made for my cock.” His hips snapped forward relentlessly, fast, deep, almost feral. The new angle had him dragging against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, the head of his cock kissing your cervix and sending white-hot pleasure shooting up your spine. Skin slapped loudly against skin. Sweat slicked your bodies. His balls smacked against your ass with every powerful drive.

Nothing like the slow, romantic first time. This was pure, unrestrained need, a week of denial poured into every brutal thrust. He fucked you like he was trying to erase the guilt, like he could fuck his name into your soul. Your legs shook over his shoulders, toes curling in the air. Every drag of his thick cock sent sparks exploding behind your eyelids.

“You feel even better than I remembered,” he growled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark you’d have to hide later. “So deep, shit, I’m so deep inside you, baby.”

You couldn’t form words anymore. Only broken moans and whimpers spilled from your lips as he pounded into you, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the room. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, white-hot and devastating. When you came, it hit you like a freight train, your walls clamping down around him in rhythmic pulses, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your entire body seized.

Jungkook followed right after with a guttural moan, burying himself as deep as he could go and spilling inside you in hot, thick ropes. His hips stuttered through the aftershocks, grinding against you as he emptied every drop.

You stayed locked together, breathing hard, hearts pounding against each other. Slowly, he lowered your legs, but he didn’t pull out. He collapsed half on top of you, forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed like he was savoring the connection.

“We’re so fucked,” he whispered after a long silence.

You let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Yeah… we are.”

Neither of you suggested stopping again.

And so it began.

What was meant to be the final goodbye became the second time, then the third, then an addiction neither of you could quit. Over the following weeks and months, you found yourself at Jungkook’s door again and again. The excuses started weak—“I just need to talk”—but soon you stopped pretending altogether. You would text him a single “now?” and he would reply with his door code.

The encounters grew more intense, more varied, more dangerous.

One rainy afternoon he took you on the kitchen counter. He sat you on the edge, spread your legs wide, and fucked you slow and deep while staring into your eyes, whispering how perfect you felt, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you even when he was with Taehyung. Another night he bent you over his gaming desk, pounding into you from behind while one hand reached around to circle your clit until you were sobbing his name. You rode him in his desk chair, grinding down on his cock while his hands guided your hips and his mouth worshipped your breasts.

He ate you out on the dining table for nearly an hour, tongue and fingers working you until your thighs shook uncontrollably and you begged him to fuck you properly. In the shower you clung to him as he held you against the tiled wall, water cascading over your joined bodies while he thrust up into you. In the backseat of his car in a deserted parking garage, windows fogged, you straddled him desperately because you couldn’t wait the extra ten minutes to get upstairs.

With every new position, every new location, the sex evolved. It stopped being just release and became something deeper, more intimate. He started staying inside you after he came, holding you close, tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. You talked for hours between rounds— about childhood dreams, fears of the future, silly stories that made you both laugh until your stomachs hurt. He comforted you when you cried after arguments with Taehyung. He listened when you admitted how lost you sometimes felt in your own relationship. He looked at you like you were the center of his universe.

And somewhere in the quiet moments after mind-blowing orgasms, you fell in love with him.

It happened gradually, terrifyingly. You started craving not just his body but his presence, his laugh, his gentle teasing, the way he made you feel truly seen. You caught yourself smiling at your phone when his name appeared. You found yourself comparing Taehyung’s gentle kisses to Jungkook’s consuming ones. The guilt never disappeared, but it became background noise, drowned out by the overwhelming love and pleasure you felt in Jungkook’s arms.

You were in love with your boyfriend's best friend. and then, you were— you were Taehyung's fiance.

The night he proposed was one you'd never forget. The elegant Italian restaurant glowed under warm amber lighting, crystal chandeliers casting soft golden patterns across crisp white tablecloths and polished silverware. The air carried the rich aroma of garlic, fresh basil, aged wine, and seared butter — the kind of scent that made every breath feel indulgent. Soft jazz played in the background, mingling with the low murmur of conversation and occasional laughter from surrounding tables. It was the perfect setting for a special night, or so everyone believed.

Your mother sat across from you, elegant in her cream blouse, chatting animatedly with Chaewon, your best friend, who kept shooting you knowing little smiles. Taehyung was in his element— charming, bright, laughing easily as he poured more wine for everyone. And then there was Jungkook, seated diagonally across from you, his usual easy smile nowhere to be found. His jaw was tight, brows furrowed, dark eyes clouded with something raw and anguished. He kept glancing at you, then at Taehyung, then down at his plate, fingers white-knuckled around the stem of his wine glass. He knew. Somehow, in the way only someone who had been tangled in your secret for months could know, he sensed what was coming tonight.

You hadn’t planned to sneak away with him. Not here, not with everyone present. But the tension had been unbearable from the moment you all sat down. Under the table, Jungkook’s foot had brushed yours once, twice, then stayed pressed against your ankle. When Taehyung excused himself briefly to speak with the waiter about a special dessert, Jungkook’s eyes met yours, dark, desperate, pleading. You gave the smallest nod.

The two of you slipped away separately, hearts racing. You waited in the dimly lit hallway near the restrooms for what felt like an eternity before his hand closed around your wrist and pulled you into the single-occupancy bathroom at the end of the corridor. The door locked with a quiet click.

There was no time for tenderness tonight.

Jungkook spun you around, pressing your front against the cool marble counter, your reflection staring back at you, flushed cheeks, wide eyes, swollen lips. He hiked your elegant black dress up around your waist in one rough motion, yanking your lace panties down just enough. You heard the metallic sound of his belt, the rasp of his zipper, and then he was pushing inside you, thick, hard, and urgent.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your ear, one hand covering your mouth to muffle your moan as he bottomed out in a single thrust. “So wet already… you’ve been thinking about me all night, haven’t you?”

You could only nod frantically, pushing back against him. He fucked you hard and fast, hips snapping forward with desperate intensity. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed quietly in the small space, drowned out by the restaurant’s ambient noise just beyond the door. One of his hands gripped your hip hard enough to bruise while the other reached around to rub tight, frantic circles over your clit. It was quick, dirty, and devastatingly good. Within minutes you were coming hard around him, biting down on his fingers to stay silent as pleasure ripped through you. Jungkook followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a choked groan, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.

For a few seconds you both just breathed— ragged, guilty, addicted. He kissed the back of your neck softly, almost apologetically, before pulling out. You quickly fixed your panties and smoothed down your dress while he tucked himself away and washed his hands. Your eyes met in the mirror. His were tormented.

“We should get back,” you whispered.

He nodded, jaw clenched. “Yeah.”

You returned to the table one after the other, trying to look casual. Taehyung was already back, smiling warmly as he pulled your chair out for you. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering sweetly against your skin.

“There you are,” he murmured affectionately. “Missed you for a second.”

You forced a smile, cheeks still warm from the bathroom. “Just freshening up.”

Chaewon raised an eyebrow at you but said nothing. Your mother continued talking. Jungkook stared down at his plate of half-eaten risotto, fork gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles had gone white. His expression was twisted— anguish, jealousy, heartbreak, and self-loathing all etched into the sharp lines of his face. He looked like a man watching his entire world prepare to slip away.

The conversation flowed around you. Taehyung’s hand rested warmly on your thigh under the table, thumb stroking gentle circles. You laughed when you were supposed to, nodded at stories about old memories, sipped your wine to steady your nerves. But every time you glanced at Jungkook, your heart cracked a little more. He barely spoke. When he did, his voice was tight, clipped.

Finally, as dessert plates were being cleared and another bottle of wine opened, Taehyung stood up. The table quieted. Your stomach dropped like a stone. He turned to you, eyes shining with love and nervous excitement. Slowly, he lowered himself onto one knee right there beside your chair. The entire restaurant seemed to hold its breath. Soft gasps and murmurs rose from nearby tables as people realized what was happening.

Your mother’s hands flew to her mouth. Chaewon grinned widely, already pulling out her phone to record.

Taehyung took your left hand in both of his, his touch warm and steady. From his pocket he produced a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a stunning diamond ring that caught the chandelier light and sparkled like starlight. It was beautiful. Perfect. Everything you should have wanted.

“Baby,” he began, voice thick with emotion, “from the moment I met you, I knew my life would never be the same. You make every day brighter. You make me want to be better. I want to spend every tomorrow with you— building a home, chasing dreams, growing old together. I love you more than words can say.” His eyes glistened. “Will you marry me?”

Time slowed.

Your mind spun wildly. Saying no would shatter everything. It would break Taehyung’s heart in front of your mother, your best friend, and half the restaurant. It would destroy years of shared memories, plans, stability. Your career, your social circle, the life you had so carefully built— all of it intertwined with him. People would ask questions. Rumors would spread. You would lose the safety net you had clung to for years.

Your gaze flickered desperately to Jungkook.

He sat frozen, head bowed, staring down at the tablecloth. His fork was clenched so tightly in his fist that it looked like it might bend. His shoulders were tense, jaw locked, chest barely rising with each shallow breath. He wouldn’t look at you. He couldn’t. The anguish on his face was so raw it hurt to see.

You looked back at Taehyung— kind, loving Taehyung, on his knee with nothing but hope and devotion in his eyes.

Your throat tightened. The word you wanted to say— no, lodged somewhere deep inside you, trapped beneath layers of fear and guilt and years of momentum. Instead, you whispered, voice barely audible yet somehow carrying across the silent table, “Yes.”

The restaurant erupted in applause. Taehyung’s face lit up with pure joy as he slid the ring onto your finger. He rose and pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply in front of everyone. Your mother was crying happy tears. Chaewon cheered. Cameras flashed from nearby tables.

You smiled. You laughed. You hugged him back.

But inside, something vital fractured.

Later that night, back in your shared apartment, the guilt sat like lead in your chest.

Taehyung made love to you slowly, reverently, the way he always did on important nights. Candles flickered on the nightstand. Soft music played low in the background. He kissed every inch of your skin like you were something sacred, whispering “I love you” between each touch. When he finally slid inside you, it was gentle, familiar, comforting, safe.

But all you could think about was Jungkook’s desperate thrusts in the bathroom earlier, the way he had filled you so completely, the anguished look on his face at dinner. Tears slipped silently down your cheeks as Taehyung moved above you, slow and deep and loving.

He noticed the tears and misunderstood completely. A tender smile crossed his face as he brushed them away with his thumbs, still rocking into you gently. “Are you crying because it feels good, baby?” he murmured, voice husky with affection. He kissed the tears from your cheeks, then your eyelids, then your lips. “I’ve got you. Let it out. I love making you feel this way.”

You nodded, unable to speak, fresh tears falling faster. He took it as overwhelming emotion from the proposal, from the intensity of the moment. He held you closer, hips rolling languidly, murmuring sweet nothings against your skin. When you came, it was quiet and bittersweet, more from emotional exhaustion than pleasure. Taehyung followed soon after, groaning your name softly as he spilled inside you.

Afterward, he pulled you into his arms, spooning you from behind and pressing kisses to your shoulder. “My fiancée,” he whispered happily, already drifting off. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

You lay there in the dark, his warm breath against your neck, the new ring heavy on your finger. Silent sobs shook your body long after he fell asleep. The guilt was suffocating. You had said yes to a future you no longer wanted, all while carrying the scent of his best friend on your skin.

Jungkook’s tormented face flashed behind your closed eyelids again and again.

You had never felt more lost.

Present day.

The supply closet door creaked open just a sliver. You peered out, heart still racing from the aftershocks of what had just happened. The hallway was mercifully empty— no lingering guests, no staff rushing by with trays. Only the distant hum of the rehearsal dinner setup floated toward you: silverware clinking, soft laughter, the low murmur of voices echoing off the high ceilings of the venue. You slipped out quickly, smoothing down the front of your rehearsal dress with trembling hands. Your thighs still felt slick, your core pleasantly sore, and the faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne clung to your skin like evidence you couldn’t erase.

You paused at a decorative mirror hanging on the corridor wall, checking your reflection one final time. Lips slightly swollen but hidden under fresh lipstick. Hair mostly back in place, though one strand still looked a little too mussed. Cheeks flushed, but you could blame that on the warm venue lighting or a glass of champagne. You took a slow, steadying breath, forcing your expression into something calm and bridal. The diamond on your finger caught the light mockingly as you turned and walked back toward the main hall.

No one seemed to notice your absence. Or if they did, they didn’t care. The venue buzzed with pre-dinner energy, florists making last-minute adjustments to centerpieces, waitstaff filling water glasses, family members chatting in small clusters. You spotted Taehyung immediately. He was standing near the head table, looking unfairly handsome in his tailored navy suit, laughing at something Namjoon said. The moment he saw you, his whole face lit up.

“There you are, baby,” he said warmly, crossing the distance in a few strides. His arms wrapped around you before you could prepare yourself, pulling you into a tight, loving hug. One hand rubbed soothing circles on your lower back while the other tilted your chin up gently. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, then another to your temple, exactly where Jungkook’s breath had ghosted earlier. “I was starting to wonder where my beautiful almost-wife disappeared to. The rehearsal dinner’s about to start. Everything okay?”

You smiled up at him, the motion automatic after months of practice. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a minute to breathe. It’s all a little overwhelming.”

Taehyung’s eyes softened with understanding. “I know. But tonight’s going to be perfect. Tomorrow’s going to be perfect. Because I get to marry you.” He kissed your forehead again, then laced his fingers through yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he led you toward the long head table.

The seating arrangement had been planned meticulously. You sat near the center, with Chaewon— your maid of honor, on your immediate right. Next to her were your other bridesmaids: Jennie, glowing in a sleek emerald dress, and a couple of college friends who chatted excitedly about the florals. Across the table sat Taehyung’s groomsmen, Yoongi looking effortlessly cool in all black, Namjoon with his dimpled smile, and a few others. And directly across from you, of course, was Jungkook. Best man. Taehyung’s closest friend. The man who had just fucked you senseless in a supply closet less than ten minutes ago.

You did everything possible not to look at him.

Taehyung pulled your chair out for you like the perfect gentleman, then took his seat beside you, immediately draping an arm along the back of your chair. His fingers found yours again under the table, thumb stroking over your engagement ring as if reminding you, or himself that this was real. He leaned toward Yoongi and Namjoon, launching into an easy conversation about some new whiskey Namjoon had discovered on a recent trip. Their laughter rolled over the table, warm and familiar.

You kept your gaze fixed on your water glass, on the delicate gold rim of your plate, on the beautiful floral arrangement in the center of the table, anywhere but across from you. Still, you could feel Jungkook’s presence like a physical weight. The heat of his stare. The way his shoulders filled out his black button-up. The faint redness on the side of his neck that you knew you’d left there with your teeth.

Chaewon nudged your side gently. “You good? You look a little flushed.”

“Just the wine,” you lied with a small laugh, lifting your glass as proof.

Before anyone could press further, Jennie leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that only you and Chaewon could hear. Her eyes sparkled with gossip. “Okay, you guys are never going to believe this. Wonyoung just told me she heard two people straight-up fucking in one of the supply closets a little while ago.”

Chaewon gasped, hand flying to her mouth in dramatic shock. “No way. During the rehearsal dinner? That’s insane. Who would be bold enough?”

Your face drained of color. Ice-cold dread flooded your veins, turning your stomach into a tight knot. Your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass until you worried it might snap. They know. Oh God, they know. The room suddenly felt too loud, too bright, too small. You forced yourself to breathe slowly, keeping your expression neutral even as panic clawed up your throat.

Jennie shrugged, clearly enjoying the scandal. “Wonyoung said she heard moaning and the shelf rattling. She tried to be sneaky and wait to see who came out, but she got bored after a couple minutes. The only person she actually saw leave was Jungkook. The girl, whoever she was, took too long, so Wonyoung gave up and came back to the table.”

Chaewon made a disgusted yet amused face, leaning back in her chair. “Of course it was Jungkook. Leave it to him to sneak off and fuck some random girl right before his best friend’s wedding rehearsal. The man has zero shame. I swear, he’s going to end up causing drama at the actual wedding if he’s not careful.”

You swallowed hard, forcing a weak chuckle that sounded fake even to your own ears. “Come on, guys. We don’t know for sure it was him doing anything. Maybe he just… needed something from the closet. Or maybe Wonyoung misheard. These old buildings have weird acoustics.”

Chaewon turned to you with a weird, skeptical look, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched. “Since when do you defend Jungkook’s hook-up habits? You’ve literally complained about his ‘playboy phase’ with me a dozen times.”

Jennie giggled, already moving on. “Maybe it was one of the catering staff. Or that cute bridesmaid from Taehyung’s cousin’s side? God, I hope it wasn’t. Can you imagine the drama if someone finds out?”

The two of them launched into eager speculation, voices low but animated, throwing out names and possibilities while laughing behind their hands. You sat there frozen, smiling stiffly when they looked at you, nodding along like you were just as amused. Inside, your mind screamed. Every beat of your heart felt like a countdown. The memory of Jungkook’s cock buried deep inside you, his hand over your mouth, his whispered “so fucking perfect” still echoed in your ears while your fiancé held your hand lovingly under the table.

Taehyung squeezed your fingers, completely oblivious, still deep in conversation with Namjoon about honeymoon destinations. “What do you think, babe? Beach or mountains?”

“Beach sounds nice,” you murmured, forcing warmth into your voice.

Across the table, you couldn’t resist anymore. Your eyes lifted.

Jungkook was already watching you. His gaze was intense, dark, and unapologetic. He hadn’t touched his food. His fork rested beside his plate, forgotten. Those familiar eyes, the same ones that had looked at you with lust and something far deeper in the closet, bored straight into you. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look away. He simply stared, jaw tight, like he was daring the entire room to notice. Like he didn’t care if they did. One of his hands rested on the table, fingers drumming once, slowly, as if remembering how they’d gripped your thigh earlier.

The heat in his stare made your core clench involuntarily, a fresh rush of slick mixing with what he’d left inside you. Guilt and desire twisted together so tightly you felt dizzy. You looked away first, cheeks burning, focusing instead on the way Taehyung’s thumb kept stroking your knuckles.

The rehearsal dinner continued around you— toasts starting soon, servers bringing out the first course, laughter rising and falling like waves. But inside your chest, everything felt like it was fracturing. Tomorrow you would walk down the aisle. Tomorrow you would promise forever to the man beside you. And the man across from you, the one still staring like he owned every broken piece of your heart, would be standing right there watching it happen.

The rehearsal dinner wound down slowly, like the final notes of a song that had gone on just a little too long. Laughter gradually softened into tired goodbyes, chairs scraped against the polished floors, and the warm glow of string lights overhead began to feel almost too intimate. Plates were cleared, half-empty wine glasses collected, and the wedding party slowly migrated toward the connected hotel lobby in a cheerful, slightly tipsy procession. Hugs and promises to meet bright and early tomorrow filled the air. Your mother kissed your cheek and whispered how proud she was. Chaewon squeezed your hand and reminded you she’d be there first thing in the morning to help you get ready. Everyone was glowing with excitement.

Everyone except you.

A heavy fog of exhaustion and dread clung to your bones as you walked beside Taehyung through the elegant hotel corridors. The plush carpet muffled your footsteps, but nothing could muffle the storm raging inside your chest. Jungkook lingered somewhere behind the group with the other groomsmen— you hadn’t dared look back at him since that intense stare across the dinner table. The memory of his eyes on you still burned.

True to old-fashioned wedding tradition, you and Taehyung were to spend the night apart. No shared suite, no last-minute intimacy. Just one final night as fiancés before tomorrow made everything permanent.

Your group reached the executive floor where the bridal and groom parties had been booked. Doors lined the quiet hallway, each marked with elegant gold numbers. Taehyung’s suite was three doors down from yours. The others said their final goodnights, waving and calling out teasing reminders not to stay up too late thinking about each other. Slowly, the hallway emptied until it was just the two of you standing outside your door.

Taehyung turned to face you fully, the soft hallway lighting casting gentle shadows across his handsome face. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen, eyes warm, smile soft and full of love. Your heart clenched so hard it hurt.

He stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed tenderly over your cheeks as he leaned in and kissed you deeply. It wasn’t a quick goodnight peck. This was slow, reverent, full of promise. His lips moved against yours with familiar affection, tongue gently teasing until you parted for him. You tasted the red wine from dinner on his tongue, felt the steady warmth of his body pressing close. One of his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his voice was low and thick with emotion. “God, I love you. I can’t believe tomorrow is finally here. I get to marry the love of my life. My best friend. My everything.” He kissed the tip of your nose, then your forehead, then your lips again, softer this time. “I’ve been dreaming about this day since the moment I proposed. I can’t wait to watch you walk down that aisle toward me. I can’t wait to call you my wife.”

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile that you hoped looked genuine. “I love you too, Taehyung,” you whispered, the words tasting both true and bitterly false at the same time. “I can’t wait either.”

But inside, a mountain-sized rock of fear and doubt sat heavy in your stomach, pressing against your lungs and making it hard to breathe. Tomorrow you would stand in front of family, friends, and God, and promise forever to this man while carrying the weight of months of betrayal. While the memory of Jungkook’s hands, his mouth, his body still lingered on your skin. The thought of saying “I do” felt like stepping off a cliff. What kind of life were you building on such a rotten foundation? What if you ruined him? What if you ruined yourself?

You pushed the thoughts away violently, locking them behind a mental door you refused to open tonight. Not now. Not when Taehyung was looking at you like this.

He smiled against your lips, then leaned in closer, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. His voice dropped into that husky, intimate register that always made your stomach flutter. “You have no idea how badly I wish I could take you into that room right now,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “How much I want to peel this dress off you, lay you down on that big bed, and fuck you slow and deep until you’re moaning my name. I’ve been thinking about it all night… how perfect you’d feel wrapped around me on the night before our wedding.”

A shiver ran through you, part guilt, part muscle memory from the supply closet earlier. You played along, letting out a soft, breathy laugh as you slid your arms around his neck. “Tae… you’re going to make this separation even harder,” you whispered back, kissing the corner of his jaw. “But you’re right. We’ll have forever after tomorrow. All the nights we want.”

He groaned quietly, pulling you into another deep kiss, this one edged with restrained hunger. His hands roamed your back, pressing you closer, and for a moment you let yourself sink into the familiarity of him, the safety, the love, the life you had chosen. When he finally stepped back, his eyes were dark with want but shining with pure happiness.

“One more night,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then you’re mine forever. Sleep well, my beautiful bride. Dream of me.”

“I will,” you lied gently.

He kissed you one last time, slow, lingering, full of quiet devotion, before pulling away with visible reluctance. He walked backward a few steps, still watching you with that bright, loving smile, then turned and disappeared into his own suite a few doors down. The soft click of his door closing echoed in the now-empty hallway.

You stood there alone for a long moment, keycard clutched tightly in your fingers, staring at the polished wood of your own door. The mountain in your stomach grew heavier. Your thighs still ached faintly from Jungkook. Your lips still tingled from Taehyung. Two completely different kinds of kisses, two completely different kinds of love, one safe and warm, the other dangerous and all-consuming, warred inside you until you felt dizzy.

Finally, you slipped the keycard into the lock and pushed the door open. The luxurious suite welcomed you with soft lighting, a king-sized bed piled with crisp white linens, and a breathtaking view of the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. It should have felt like a dream. Instead, it felt like a beautifully decorated cage.

You closed the door behind you, leaned back against it, and let out a shaky breath. Tomorrow was coming whether you were ready or not.

You had been lying in the massive king-sized bed for what felt like an eternity, though the clock on the nightstand insisted it had only been forty-three minutes. The silk sheets were cool against your skin at first, but now they clung to your legs like a second, suffocating layer. No matter how many times you flipped the pillow to the cool side, no matter how you rearranged your body— on your back, curled on your side, sprawled on your stomach— sleep refused to come. Your mind was a hurricane, relentless and loud, every thought crashing into the next with brutal force.

Tomorrow.

The word echoed like a death knell. Tomorrow you would walk down a petal-strewn aisle in a dress that had cost more than most people’s cars. Tomorrow you would stand in front of two hundred people and promise forever to Kim Taehyung. Tomorrow you would become someone’s wife.

And tonight, your body still carried the ghost of Jeon Jungkook.

You could still feel the faint ache between your thighs from the supply closet. The taste of his kiss lingered on your lips beneath the mint of toothpaste. His scent, clean, woody, faintly sweet, seemed embedded in your skin no matter how many times you’d showered. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face at dinner: that anguished stare across the table, the way his knuckles had gone white around his fork.

You and Jungkook had never truly talked about it.

Not once in all those stolen months had either of you said the words “I love you.” The relationship, if it could even be called that, had existed in heated silences, desperate touches, and late-night conversations that danced around the edges of real feelings. You’d talk about music, about childhood memories, about fears of failure and dreams you were too scared to chase. You’d laugh until your stomachs hurt, then fuck like the world was ending. But love? That word had always stayed locked behind teeth and bitten lips, too dangerous to release.

Still, you knew.

You loved him. God, you loved him in a way that felt terrifying and inevitable, like gravity. You loved the way he looked at you like you were the only real thing in his universe. You loved how he remembered tiny details no one else noticed. You loved the way he touched you— like worship and ruin all at once. And deep down, in the quietest part of your heart, you were almost certain he loved you back. The way he held you after sex, the way his voice would crack when he said your name in the dark, the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching… it was all there.

But love wasn’t enough. Not when it was built on lies and betrayal. You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life sneaking around, stealing moments, destroying two people who didn’t deserve it. Tonight had to be the end. One final goodbye, then you would lock your heart away and become the wife Taehyung deserved.

The decision settled over you like cold steel.

You sat up abruptly, heart hammering. The city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows blurred through the tears gathering in your eyes. You didn’t bother with a robe, just grabbed the hotel keycard and slipped on the soft hotel slippers. Your silk nightdress brushed against your thighs as you moved silently to the door. The hallway was quiet, dimmed for the night, the carpet plush underfoot. Every step felt like walking toward the edge of a cliff.

Jungkook’s room was only two floors up. You took the stairs instead of the elevator, needing the movement to steady your nerves. By the time you reached his door, your hands were shaking so badly you almost dropped the keycard twice. You stood there for a long moment, forehead pressed against the cool wood, breathing through the panic.

Then you knocked. Soft. Hesitant. Barely audible.

You heard movement inside, sheets rustling, footsteps padding across the floor. The door opened. Jungkook stood there in nothing but black sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair messy from tossing and turning of his own. His eyes widened in genuine shock when he saw you. For a second, neither of you moved. The hallway light spilled into his dimly lit suite, highlighting the sharp lines of his collarbones, the faint red marks your nails had left on his shoulder earlier.

You didn’t wait for an invitation. You stepped forward, gently pushing the door wider, and slipped inside. Jungkook closed it behind you with a quiet click, the sound final in the heavy silence. No words passed between you. You stood just inside the room, staring at him. He stared back. The air felt thick, charged with everything unsaid for months. The king bed behind him was rumpled, one pillow tossed aside like he’d been struggling to sleep too. A single lamp cast a warm, golden glow across the space, catching on the sharp angles of his face and the tension in his jaw.

You moved first, walking slowly to the edge of the bed and sitting down. The mattress dipped under your weight. Tears welled up instantly, hot and stinging, blurring your vision. You tried to hold them back, but one slipped free, rolling down your cheek.

Jungkook was on his knees in front of you before you could draw another breath.

He moved with that quiet, graceful speed he always had, dropping down between your legs, hands coming up to cradle your face with heartbreaking gentleness. His thumbs brushed away the tears as they fell, warm and calloused from years of playing guitar and working out. His dark eyes searched yours, full of worry and something deeper, something that made your chest ache even worse.

“Baby… what’s wrong?” he whispered, voice rough with sleep and emotion. “Talk to me. Please.”

You shook your head, lips trembling. More tears spilled over. “This has to be the last time, Jungkook,” you managed, voice cracking. “Tonight. This… us. It has to end. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t marry him tomorrow while I’m still… while we’re still—”

Your words dissolved into a quiet sob. You cried harder, shoulders shaking, the weight of months of guilt and love and fear crashing down all at once.

Jungkook’s face crumpled. His own eyes glistened as he continued wiping your tears away with careful thumbs, like he could erase the pain if he was gentle enough. “Okay,” he whispered, voice wavering badly. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Okay… if that’s what you need. I’ll… I’ll let you go.”

The words sounded like they physically hurt him to say. His hands trembled against your cheeks. He stayed on his knees, looking up at you like you were his whole world breaking apart right in front of him. You cried harder, leaning forward until your forehead rested against his. Your hands came up to clutch at his bare shoulders, nails digging in like you could anchor yourself to him one last time. The sobs came freely now, quiet but devastating. Jungkook wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing his face into your stomach as he held you through it. His own breathing was shaky, uneven.

After a long stretch of silence broken only by your quiet crying, he pulled back just enough to look up at you again. His eyes were red-rimmed, devastatingly beautiful in their pain. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear with infinite tenderness.

Then, so softly you almost thought you’d imagined it, he whispered:

“Don’t marry him.”

The words hung between you like smoke. Time seemed to stop. Your breath caught in your throat. Jungkook’s eyes never left yours, raw and pleading and full of a love he had never dared speak out loud until this moment. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking slow circles through the silk of your nightdress, grounding and desperate all at once.

You stared down at him, heart shattering into a thousand pieces. Then you pulled back slightly, staring at him through tear-blurred vision. Your heart stuttered. “What… what do you mean?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, cracking on the last word.

Jungkook didn’t look away. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking slow, desperate circles through the silk of your nightdress. “I mean don’t marry him,” he repeated, louder this time, voice thick with emotion. “Don’t do it, baby. Please.”

You shook your head frantically, fresh tears spilling over. “Jungkook… I don’t have a choice.”

“You do,” he said immediately, eyes pleading. “You have a choice. Right now. Right here.”

A broken sound escaped your throat. You pulled away from his touch, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that could hold you together. “No, I don’t. Everyone would hate me. My family, his family, our friends… they’ve all poured so much into this wedding. Into us. I can’t destroy everything like that. I can’t do that to Taehyung. He doesn’t deserve this. None of them do.”

Jungkook stayed on his knees for another moment, watching you unravel. Then frustration flickered across his face. He pushed himself up abruptly, running both hands through his hair, tugging at the dark strands in clear agitation. He paced two steps away, then turned back to you, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“But what about what you want?” he asked, voice rough and edged with pain. “What about you? For once in all of this… what do you actually want?” You looked at the ground, unable to meet his eyes. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. The truth sat on your tongue like fire: You. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long it feels like I’m drowning. But the words wouldn’t come. Admitting it would make everything real. It would make the pain sharper, the consequences unavoidable.

So instead of answering, you stood up. Jungkook watched you, breath caught, waiting. You closed the distance between you in two shaky steps. Your hands came up to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his sharp cheekbones. For one heartbeat, you just looked at him — memorizing the way his dark eyes searched yours, the slight tremble in his jaw, the love and heartbreak written so clearly across his features.

Then you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was deep, desperate, and devastating, all the things you couldn’t say poured into the press of your lips. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer as your mouth moved against his with raw hunger and sorrow. Jungkook groaned into the kiss, hands gripping your waist almost painfully as he kissed you back like it was the last time. Because it was.

Tongues tangled. Breaths mingled. Tears slipped from your eyes and mixed between your lips. The kiss tasted like salt and goodbye. You poured every unsaid “I love you,” every stolen moment, every future you could never have into it. Jungkook held you like he was trying to memorize the feel of you, like he could keep you here forever if he kissed you hard enough.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard. Your forehead rested against his for one final second. Then you turned and walked toward the door. A sob caught in your throat, thick and painful, threatening to break free. You didn’t let it. You kept your back straight, shoulders tense, even as your vision blurred with fresh tears.

Jungkook didn’t try to stop you. You heard him take one shaky step forward, then stop. “Please…” he whispered, voice wrecked. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. You opened the door and slipped into the hallway, the cool air hitting your tear-streaked face like a slap. The sob finally escaped the moment the door clicked shut behind you, a broken, muffled sound that you tried to swallow as you hurried back toward the stairs.

Your bare feet moved quickly over the carpet. Tears fell freely now, dripping onto the silk of your nightdress. Every step away from him felt like tearing your own heart out. You pressed a hand to your chest as if that could ease the pain, but it only made it worse.

By the time you reached your own floor, your shoulders were shaking with silent sobs. You slipped back into your cold, empty suite, closed the door, and leaned against it, sliding slowly down until you were sitting on the floor.

The ring on your finger felt heavier than ever.

The morning light filtered through the sheer white curtains of the bridal suite like a soft, golden promise. It was supposed to be the most beautiful day of your life, the kind of day people wrote songs about, the kind of day you had spent months planning down to the last petal and place card. Instead, it felt like the heaviest weight you had ever carried.

You had barely slept. After slipping back into your own suite last night, you had curled up on the cold floor by the door for what felt like hours, sobbing until your chest ached and your eyes burned raw. Eventually exhaustion had pulled you into the bed, but the sheets still smelled faintly of the hotel laundry and nothing like home. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Jungkook’s face, his tear-streaked cheeks, the raw desperation in his voice when he whispered “Don’t marry him,” the way his lips had moved against yours in that final, devastating kiss. The memory played on repeat, mixing with flashes of the supply closet yesterday, the storm night a year ago, every stolen moment that had led you here.

Now you sat in a high-backed velvet chair in front of a large vanity mirror, the room buzzing with excited energy all around you. The bridal suite was a whirlwind of satin, lace, laughter, and the sweet scent of fresh peonies overflowing from every available surface. Your mother flitted between the racks of dresses and the champagne station, chatting animatedly with the wedding planner. Jennie and the other bridesmaids lounged on the cream-colored sofas, sipping mimosas and scrolling through their phones, occasionally bursting into giggles. A photographer darted around capturing “candid” moments, someone adjusting a veil, someone else helping zip a bridesmaid dress. Soft classical music played from a speaker in the corner, but it all felt distant, like you were watching it happen to someone else through fogged glass.

Chaewon stood behind you, her fingers gentle but precise as she worked through your hair. She had insisted on doing your makeup and hair herself, “No one knows your face like I do,” she had said with a wink this morning, but right now her usual bright energy felt like it was pressing against a bruise you couldn’t hide. She had already curled and pinned half your hair into an elegant updo, soft tendrils framing your face exactly the way you had pictured it months ago when you’d chosen the style. The makeup artist had already done the base, flawless, glowing skin, subtle contour, the perfect neutral lip, but Chaewon was handling the finishing touches: the smoky eye that made your eyes look bigger, the highlighter that caught the light just right.

You stared at your reflection and hated what you saw.

The woman in the mirror looked beautiful. The silk robe with your new initials embroidered on the pocket, the diamond studs in your ears that Taehyung had given you last Christmas, the faint flush on your cheeks that could almost pass for bridal excitement. But your eyes were dull. The smile you kept trying to force felt plastic and wrong, like a mask that kept slipping no matter how hard you held it in place.

“Hold still, babe,” Chaewon murmured, carefully sweeping a fluffy brush across your cheekbone with setting powder. “You’re going to look insane when I’m done. Taehyung’s jaw is going to hit the floor the second he sees you.”

You tried to laugh. It came out small and hollow. “Yeah… I hope so.”

Chaewon paused, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror. She tilted her head, studying you the way only your best friend could, like she could see straight through the carefully constructed walls you had spent the last year building. The room’s chatter continued around you, but for a moment it felt like the two of you were in a bubble.

She set the brush down and leaned in closer, resting her forearms on the back of your chair so her face was level with yours. Her voice dropped low, soft enough that only you could hear over the background noise. “Hey… are you okay?”

You nodded immediately, plastering on the brightest fake smile you could manage. The muscles in your cheeks protested. “I’m fine. Really. Just… wedding day nerves, you know?”

Chaewon didn’t smile back. She searched your face for another long second, her perfectly winged liner making her eyes look even sharper. “You’ve been quiet all morning. Like, too quiet. And your smile keeps doing that thing where it doesn’t reach your eyes. I know you, remember? I’ve seen you fake it through finals week, through that horrible breakup in college, through every single time you tried to convince me you were okay when you weren’t.”

Your throat tightened. You could feel the tears from last night threatening to resurface, stinging behind your eyes. You blinked rapidly, forcing them back. “I’m just nervous,” you said, keeping your voice light. “Overthinking everything, like always. What if I trip walking down the aisle? What if the flowers aren’t right? What if I forget my vows?” The excuses tumbled out easily, practiced from months of hiding the truth.

Chaewon’s brow furrowed. She lowered her voice even more, almost a whisper now. “Is it cold feet? Like… actual cold feet? Because if it is, you can tell me. I’m your maid of honor. I’m supposed to be the one who helps you through this shit, even if it’s messy. We can slow everything down. We can talk to Taehyung. We can—”

“No,” you cut her off quickly, shaking your head so hard that one of the pinned curls almost slipped. You reached up and caught her wrist gently, squeezing it. “No cold feet. I swear. I love Taehyung. He’s… he’s good to me. He’s safe. He’s everything I’m supposed to want.” The words tasted bitter on your tongue. Safe. The same word you had used in your own head a thousand times. Safe, but not the one who made your heart feel like it was on fire. Not the one who had looked you in the eyes last night and begged you, in the softest voice imaginable, not to go through with this.

You forced another smile, wider this time, even though it hurt. “I’m just overthinking. The last year has been a lot, planning this whole thing, work, everything with Taehyung’s schedule. It’s all hitting me at once. But I’m happy. I promise.”

Chaewon studied you for another beat, clearly not convinced. Her thumb brushed over the back of your hand where it still held her wrist. “You know you can tell me anything, right? Even if it’s scary. Even if it changes things. I’ve got your back no matter what.”

The sincerity in her voice nearly broke you. For one wild second you considered it, telling her everything. The affair. The way Jungkook had fallen to his knees last night and whispered those three words that had shattered your entire world. Don’t marry him. How you had kissed him like your life depended on it and then run away like a coward. How you were sitting here in a wedding dress about to promise forever to the wrong man because the right one was standing on the other side of the aisle as his best man.

But the words stayed locked behind your teeth. You couldn’t destroy everything. Not today. Not when your mother was already tearing up in the corner watching you. Not when two hundred people were already seated in the garden waiting for you. Not when Taehyung was probably pacing in his own suite right now, smiling that bright, hopeful smile you had fallen for years ago.

“I know,” you whispered instead, squeezing her hand one more time before letting go. “Thank you. I really am okay. Just… help me finish my makeup so I don’t look like I cried all night?”

Chaewon hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line. She clearly wanted to push more, but the wedding planner chose that exact moment to clap her hands loudly from across the room.

“Ten minutes until we need the bride in the dress, ladies! Let’s get that veil on and do the final touch-ups!”

The bubble popped. Chaewon gave you one last searching look, then straightened up with a forced bright smile of her own. “You heard her. Time to make you the most beautiful bride this venue has ever seen.”

She went back to work, dabbing at your under eyes with a cool sponge to hide any remaining redness, then carefully placing the delicate lace veil into your updo. The fabric fluttered down around your shoulders like a cloud. Your mother came over, eyes already misty, and adjusted the veil with trembling fingers. “My baby girl,” she whispered, voice thick. “You look like a dream.”

You smiled at her reflection in the mirror, the same fake smile you had been wearing all morning. “Thanks, Mom.”

Jennie popped up beside you, holding up a glass of champagne. “One last sip for courage? Or is it bad luck before the aisle?”

You took the glass, mostly to give your hands something to do. The bubbles tickled your throat as you sipped, but it tasted like nothing. The room continued its happy chaos around you—bridesmaids zipping into their matching dresses, the photographer snapping more photos, your mother fussing over the hem of your gown as it was finally brought out on a rolling rack. The dress was everything you had once dreamed of: soft ivory silk, a fitted bodice with delicate beading, a long train that whispered against the carpet. It should have made you feel like a princess.

Instead, it felt like armor you were putting on for a battle you didn’t want to fight.

As Chaewon helped you step into the gown and began buttoning the long row of tiny pearls up your back, your mind drifted again. Last night’s kiss burned behind your eyelids. The way Jungkook’s hands had gripped your waist like he was drowning. The broken sound of his voice. What about what you want? You hadn’t answered him then, and you still couldn’t answer yourself now. Because the truth was too terrifying: what you wanted was him. All of him. The stolen nights, the laughter in the dark, the way he saw every broken piece of you and loved them anyway.

But wanting wasn’t enough. Not when it would ruin so many lives. “Almost done,” Chaewon murmured behind you, her voice soft again. She fastened the last button and stepped back to admire her work. “There. You’re perfect.”

The entire room turned to look at you. Gasps and soft cheers filled the air. Your mother covered her mouth, tears slipping free. Jennie raised her phone to take a video. The photographer clicked away furiously.

You stood there in the center of it all, the most beautiful bride anyone had ever seen, and felt absolutely nothing but dread. Before Chaewon could pull you aside for one more private question, you could see it in her eyes that she was about to try, the wedding planner appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand and a bright, efficient smile on her face.

“It’s time, everyone! The ceremony starts in twenty minutes. Bride, we need you in position for the processional. Let’s get you to the garden entrance.” The words landed like a final bell.

Chaewon squeezed your hand one last time, her expression still worried but resigned. “You’ve got this,” she whispered. “I love you.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Love you too.”

As the bridesmaids lined up in front of you, as your mother gave you one last tearful hug, as the veil was lowered gently over your face, you felt the mountain of everything you had been carrying finally settle into place.

This was it.

The best day of your life.

And all you could think about was the man waiting at the end of the aisle, not as your husband, but as the best man who had begged you, just last night, not to walk toward anyone else. The doors to the garden opened. Music swelled. Everyone turned to look. And you took the first step.

The first step down the aisle felt like stepping off solid ground into open air. Hundreds of eyes watched you, warm and adoring, but your own gaze kept betraying you. It flickered forward to Taehyung, standing tall at the altar in his perfectly tailored black tux, eyes already glistening with happy tears, that bright, boyish smile lighting up his entire face. Then, helplessly, it slid to the left.

To Jungkook.

He stood just behind Taehyung as best man, posture rigid, hands clasped tightly in front of him. The black suit fit him like it had been made for this exact moment of torment. His hair was styled neatly, jaw clean-shaven, but none of that hid the devastation carved into his features. His eyes, dark, red-rimmed, utterly shattered, locked onto yours the second you looked at him and refused to let go. A sinking feeling twisted deep in your stomach, heavy as lead.

Every step brought you closer. Your heels sank slightly into the white runner. The guests murmured how beautiful you looked, how radiant, how perfect. But all you could see was Jungkook’s face, the way his lips pressed into a thin, pained line, the subtle tremble in his shoulders, the way his eyes glistened like he was barely holding himself together. He looked at you like you were killing him. Like every step you took toward Taehyung was a knife sliding between his ribs.

You tried to look away. You really did. But your eyes kept returning to him, drawn like magnets. Flashbacks assaulted you with every heartbeat. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You blinked them back furiously, forcing a soft, trembling smile for the guests. Your father mistook it for emotion and patted your hand proudly.

Closer now. Ten steps. Five. Jungkook’s chest rose and fell faster. His jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped. For one heartbeat, as you passed the front row, his eyes met yours fully and the pain in them was so raw, so open, that your knees nearly buckled. I love you, his gaze seemed to scream. Please don’t do this.

You reached the altar.

Your father kissed your cheek, then placed your hand in Taehyung’s. Taehyung’s fingers were warm, steady, loving. He squeezed gently and mouthed, “You look breathtaking.” His smile was so full of pure joy it hurt to look at.

Jungkook stood directly behind him, only a few feet away. You could feel the heat of his stare on the side of your face like a brand.

The officiant began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Kim Taehyung and…”

The words blurred. You stood facing Taehyung, bouquet lowered, veil soft over your vision, while every nerve in your body remained hyper-aware of the man standing just over his shoulder. Jungkook’s presence was a storm at your back. You could hear his shallow breathing, could almost feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

Taehyung looked at you like you were his entire universe. He mouthed “I love you” during the opening remarks. You tried to say it back. The words came out, but they felt hollow.

The ceremony moved forward, readings, a short sermon on love and commitment, the sharing of memories from friends. Laughter rippled through the guests at funny stories. You smiled when you were supposed to. Nodded. Squeezed Taehyung’s hands. But your mind kept screaming.

This is wrong. This is all wrong. Then came the moment. The officiant smiled warmly at the crowd. “If anyone here has any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

A respectful, anticipatory silence fell over the garden.

For three full heartbeats, nothing happened.

Then Jungkook moved.

He stepped forward, shoulders squared, voice cutting through the quiet like thunder.

“I do.”

Gasps erupted everywhere. Heads whipped around. A wave of horrified murmurs swept through the guests. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth. Chaewon’s eyes widened in shock beside the other bridesmaids. Taehyung’s smile froze, then slowly fell as he turned toward his best friend.

Jungkook didn’t look at anyone else. His eyes were locked on you, burning, desperate, filled with months of suppressed love finally breaking free. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking but growing stronger with every word. “I’m so fucking sorry, Tae. But I can’t stand here and watch this happen without saying something. I’ve been in love with her for over a year.”

The crowd’s murmurs turned into outright shock. Someone dropped a phone. A few people stood up. Jungkook took another step closer, eyes never leaving yours. Tears slipped down your cheeks now, unchecked. The veil did nothing to hide them. “From that first night she showed up at my door in the rain, broken from a fight with you… I tried to fight it. I swear I did. But every stolen moment after that only made me fall harder. The way she laughs at my stupid jokes. The way she looks at me like I actually see her. The way she makes me want to be better. I love her in a way I’ve never loved anyone. Deep. All-consuming. The kind of love that ruins you.” His voice broke completely. “I know this destroys everything. I know I’m the worst friend in the world. But I can’t let her marry you while pretending I don’t feel this. I can’t forever hold my peace when my heart is screaming her name.”

Silence. Absolute, horrified silence. You stared at him, tears streaming freely now, chest heaving. The love in his eyes was devastating. Raw. Real. Everything you had been too scared to admit you wanted. Taehyung’s hand dropped yours. He looked between you and Jungkook, confusion melting into dawning horror, then white-hot anger and heartbreak all at once. His face crumpled. “What the hell is he talking about?” he asked you, voice low and trembling. “Baby… what is this?”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out at first. “Taehyung, I—”

Jungkook stepped forward again, reaching toward his best friend. “Tae, please. This is my fault. I—”

Taehyung’s fist flew before Jungkook could finish.

The punch landed hard, right against Jungkook’s jaw with a sickening crack that echoed through the garden. Jungkook stumbled back, hand flying to his face. Blood instantly trickled from the corner of his mouth. Guests screamed. Chairs scraped. Chaos erupted. Taehyung stood there, chest heaving, eyes wild with betrayal and pain. “You son of a bitch,” he snarled, voice breaking. "How long?"

Jungkook didn’t fight back. He just stood there, blood on his lips, eyes still locked on you even as tears mixed with the red on his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, but the words were lost in the growing uproar. You stood frozen at the altar in your wedding dress, bouquet long forgotten on the ground, tears pouring down your face as the perfect day shattered around you in front of everyone you loved. The man you were supposed to marry had just punched his best friend. The man you were in love with had just torn everything apart in the most public, devastating way possible.

But Taehyung wasn’t done. Rage and heartbreak twisted his usually gentle features into something unrecognizable as he grabbed the front of Jungkook’s suit jacket with both hands and shoved him again, snarling through gritted teeth. “You fucking traitor—”

You moved without thinking, silk gown tangling around your legs as you surged between them. “Taehyung, stop! Please!” Your voice cracked, raw from hours of suppressed tears. You grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back, but he was stronger than you in his fury. His elbow jerked back sharply, shoving you hard.

You stumbled, heels catching in the runner. The world tilted. Strong arms caught you from behind— Jungkook’s arms— pulling you against his chest to keep you upright. His blood smeared across the shoulder of your pristine ivory gown as you gripped his suit jacket, breathing hard.

Every single person in the garden was staring at you now. Hundreds of eyes. Phones still recording. Gasps and horrified whispers rippling outward like shockwaves. Your mother looked faint. Jennie had her hands over her mouth. The officiant stood frozen with the bible clutched to his chest. And Chaewon… Chaewon stared at you like she didn’t even recognize you anymore.

Taehyung’s chest heaved as he looked at the two of you, his fiancée clinging to his best man, blood staining her wedding dress. His eyes were glassy with betrayal, pain, and fury so deep it looked like it might break him. “Is it true?” he demanded, voice low and trembling. “Everything he just said… all of it. Is it fucking true?”

You turned slowly in Jungkook’s arms, still gripping his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you standing. Your veil clung to your wet cheeks. The bouquet you’d been holding lay forgotten on the ground, petals crushed under panicked feet.

You met Taehyung’s eyes, those warm, loving eyes that had looked at you with nothing but devotion for years, and felt your heart splinter. “Yes,” you whispered, voice barely carrying but loud enough in the deadly silence. “It’s true.”

A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Someone cried out. Phones lowered slightly, then rose higher as people realized they were witnessing something historic in the worst way possible.

Taehyung’s face crumpled further, like you had reached into his chest and ripped his heart out in front of everyone. “Do you love him?” he asked, the question raw, desperate, almost begging you to deny it even though the truth was written all over your tear-streaked face.

You looked at Jungkook first, his split lip, the rapidly swelling bruise on his jaw, blood mixing with tears on his chin. His eyes were locked on you, full of love and terror and regret. Then you looked back at Taehyung.

“Yes,” you said again, the word trembling but clear. “I love him. I’m so sorry, Taehyung… I never wanted this. I tried to stop it so many times, but I do. I love him.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Chaewon stood frozen near the altar, one hand pressed to her throat, eyes wide with pure shock and dawning disgust. Your mother sobbed openly. Taehyung’s mother looked like she might faint. The entire wedding party stared at you like you were a stranger.

You took one shaky step toward Taehyung, reaching out with a trembling hand. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like this. I tried to end it, I swear on everything, I—”

Taehyung spat a thick mouthful of blood onto the white petals at your feet. The red stain bloomed obscenely against the pristine aisle like an accusation that would never wash away. His eyes were cold now, filled with nothing but disgust and heartbreak. “Go to hell,” he snarled, voice low and venomous. Then he turned on his heel and stormed down the aisle, shoving past groomsmen who tried to reach for him, disappearing toward the venue building as guests parted in stunned silence.

You stood there shaking violently, the weight of what you had just admitted crashing down on you. The perfect day you had spent months planning lay in ruins, scattered flowers, overturned chairs, horrified faces everywhere. Chaewon moved next. She walked up to you slowly, her beautiful maid of honor dress suddenly looking too cheerful, too out of place. Her expression was a mixture of disbelief, anger, and deep, cutting betrayal.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, voice shaking. “All those times I asked if you were okay this morning… every late-night conversation we had about the wedding… you were fucking his best friend behind his back? For how long?”

“I… I didn’t know how,” you stammered, words tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. “It started after a fight with him… it was supposed to be one time and it just… it got so out of control. I was scared, Chaewon. I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose everyone. I tried to end it, I swear I did, but I—”

She looked at you with such raw disgust that it felt like a slap across the face. Her eyes, which had always held nothing but love for you, were now ice cold. “You deserve every single bad thing that’s coming for you,” she said quietly, voice trembling with betrayal. “All of it. Every bit of pain. You did this to yourself.”

“Chaewon, please—” You reached for her arm, sobbing openly now, fresh tears pouring down your face.

She jerked away from your touch like it burned. “Don’t. Just don’t.” Then she turned and walked away, following the same path Taehyung had taken, leaving you standing alone at the ruined altar in your bloodstained wedding dress.

A broken sob tore from your chest. The world spun. You felt like you might collapse right there in front of everyone. Jungkook stepped closer, voice wrecked and hoarse. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go like this. I just couldn’t let you marry him without—”

You didn’t let him finish. You grabbed his hand, bloodied knuckles and all, and pulled him urgently through the staring, whispering crowd. Guests parted like the sea, murmurs rising into a roar. You didn’t care. You needed to get away from the eyes, from the judgment, from the wreckage you had caused.

You dragged him toward a side entrance of the main venue building, heart pounding so violently you thought it might explode. The first door you found was a small, secluded preparation room used earlier for photos. You shoved it open and pulled him inside. The door slammed shut behind you, muffling the chaos outside. Jungkook opened his mouth immediately. “I’m so sorry, I ruined everything, I—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

It was hard. Deep. Desperate. Your hands fisted in his bloody suit jacket as you poured every ounce of fear, relief, heartbreak, and overwhelming love into it. Jungkook groaned against your mouth, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head while the other gripped your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. Blood from his lip smeared between you, but neither of you cared. The kiss tasted like copper, salt, and the end of everything you had known, and the terrifying beginning of something new.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, your veil tangled around his fingers. “You’re so stupid,” you whispered against his lips, voice hoarse and shaking. “So fucking stupid for doing that in front of everyone.”

Jungkook looked confused, eyes searching yours, still glistening with tears and uncertainty. “I know. I destroyed your life, your reputation, everything—”

You shook your head, cutting him off again. Your hands moved up to cup his bruised, bloody jaw with heartbreaking tenderness. “I love you,” you said, the words finally free and ringing with truth. “I love you so much, Jungkook. I’ve been in love with you for so long it felt like I was drowning. Our lives… they’re utterly destroyed right now. Everything we knew is gone. But at least we have each other. At least I finally have you.”

A broken, relieved sound escaped his throat. He pulled you into his arms, crushing you against his chest, burying his face in your hair and veil as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. You clung to him just as tightly, fingers digging into his back, wedding dress torn and bloodstained, both of you crying and holding each other like the world outside no longer existed.

For the first time in over a year, there were no more secrets.

Only the two of you.

And whatever came next.

Or who.

You exhale slowly, adjusting the strap of the bag on your shoulder as you step further inside. You had told yourself you could do this when you made the rash decision of actually accepting the invite. Show up, say the right things, smile in the right places, and leave before anything started to feel… complicated.

That had been the plan.

It starts to fall apart the second you see him.

Jeon Jungkook is standing across the room, half-turned toward Jung Hoseok, laughing at something that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He looks good—of course he does—but it’s not that which makes something tighten uncomfortably in your chest.

It’s the familiarity of him.

The way you know that laugh. The way you knows exactly how it changes when it’s real.

And then, as if pulled by something neither of them is controlling, he looks up.

Your eyes meet.

It’s brief. It shouldn’t matter.

But it does.

Because he doesn’t look away.

Not immediately. Not politely. Not the way someone should when they’re standing in a room full of people, engaged to someone else.

You feel it settle somewhere deep in your chest, that quiet, dangerous recognition you had tried to prepare yourself for and failed.

“Interesting timing,” a voice says beside you.

You don’t have to look to know it’s Yoongi. There’s something almost unfair about how easily he reads situations like this, like he’s already a few steps ahead of everyone else in the room.

“I was invited,” You reply, not wanting to put up with his perceptive bullshit tonight, therefore keeping your tone even but doubting.

Yoongi hums softly, glancing past you toward Jungkook. “That’s not what I meant.”

You don’t respond to that. There isn’t really anything you can say that wouldn’t sound like a lie, and you’re already too aware of how thin your excuses feel.

Across the room, Jungkook has gone quiet. Hoseok is still talking, animated as ever, but Jungkook isn’t really following anymore. His attention has narrowed, sharpened, and it’s obvious—at least to anyone paying attention—where it’s settled.

“Try not to make it obvious,” Yoongi adds, not unkindly. “Half the room already knows your history.”

You lets out a quiet breath. “I’m not doing anything.”

Yoongi gives you his signature look, the one that says he doesn’t believe you for a second. “Not yet.”

—

Jungkook hadn’t expected you to come. Well, had he?

He had told himself the invitation was just a formality, something polite and necessary. A way of closing a chapter properly, without loose ends.

But now you’re here, standing just inside the room like you doesn’t quite belong to it, and everything he thought he had settled feels… less certain.

He barely registers what Jimin is saying next to him. It takes one light nudge to his arm to pull him back.

“You’re staring,” Jimin says under his breath.

“I’m not,” Jungkook replies automatically, though he knows it’s pointless.

Jimin doesn’t argue, just tilts his head slightly, studying him. “You look like you forgot how this night is supposed to go.”

That lands more heavily than Jungkook expects.

Because the truth is, for a moment—just a moment—he had.

Seeing you doesn’t feel like something new. It feels like something unfinished, something that had been paused instead of ended. And now that it’s in front of him again, it’s harder than it should be to pretend it doesn’t matter.

“Y/N looks the same,” Jimin adds, quieter now.

Jungkook exhales softly. “She doesn’t.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“No,” Jungkook says, his gaze drifting back to her before he can stop himself. “She feels the same.”

And that’s worse.

—

You tell yourself not to go to him.

You repeat it in your head like a rule, something simple and firm that you just have to follow for the rest of the night.

Stay where you are. Be polite. Leave early.

It should be easy.

But then you start to notice the small things—the way he’s no longer really engaging with the people around him, the way his attention keeps slipping, the way the space between them starts to feel… intentional.

Like they’re waiting.

And suddenly, staying where you are feels just as deliberate as crossing the room.

You hesitate for a moment longer, then exhale quietly and start walking.

If this is going to be uncomfortable, you’d rather face it directly than let it stretch out into something worse- you tell yourself.

“Hi,” you say when you reach him.

It’s a simple word, but it feels heavier than it should.

Jungkook looks at you like he’s still catching up to the fact that you’re actually here, not just something he imagined might happen.

“Hi,” he replies, softer.

Up close, it’s harder to pretend this is casual. There’s too much history sitting between you, too many things that were left unresolved.

For a second, neither of you speak.

It’s not awkward exactly. Just… full.

“You look good,” he says eventually, like he couldn’t quite stop himself.

You let out a small breath that almost turns into a laugh. “You’re engaged. Be careful.”

Something flickers across his expression at that—not guilt, not quite discomfort, but something more complicated.

“I meant it,” he says.

“I know,” you reply. And you do. That’s part of the problem.

Your gaze drifts briefly past him, landing on the bride across the room. She looks happy—genuinely happy—and it sends a sharp, unwelcome twist of guilt through your already aching chest.

“You should probably be over there,” you say, nodding slightly in that direction.

Jungkook follows your gaze, then looks back at you.

“I will,” he says.

But he doesn’t move.

You notices. Of course you do.

The realization settles slowly but firmly: he’s choosing to stay here, in this moment, instead of doing what he’s supposed to do.

And that changes things.

“You’re not going to, are you?” you ask quietly.

Jungkook shakes his head, almost apologetic, but not enough to actually step away. “Not yet.”

There’s something disarming about how easily he admits that, how little he tries to dress it up as anything else.

You start to feel your composure slip slightly under the weight of it. “This isn’t just about us,” you say. “You don’t get to act like it is.”

“I’m not,” he replies. “I’m just… not pretending I don’t feel anything.”

You study him for a moment, searching for hesitation, for uncertainty—anything that would make this easier to dismiss.

“What is it you think you’re feeling?” you ask.

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately, and for a second you think he might avoid it.

But then he looks at you properly, without deflection.

“The same thing I felt before,” he says. “The thing we never actually dealt with.”

Your chest tightens even further at that. “We dealt with it. We ended it.”

“We stopped,” he corrects. “That’s not the same thing.”

You shake your head, though your conviction feels thinner now. “It didn’t last for a reason.”

“Or we didn’t give it the chance to.”

“That’s easy to say now,” you reply. “You’re not the one who had to walk away.”

Something shifts in his expression, something more serious.

“I didn’t ask you to,” he says quietly.

“No,” you agree. “You just made it very clear you wouldn’t stay.”

The words hang between you, heavier than anything you’ve said so far.

For a moment, Jungkook looks like he’s about to argue. Then he exhales slowly instead, some of the defensiveness leaving him.

“I wasn’t good at staying,” he admits. “I know that.”

You soften slightly despite yourself. That kind of honesty from him is rare enough to catch you off guard.

“And now?” you ask.

Jungkook hesitates, just briefly, but you catch it.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he says.

You let out a quiet breath, glancing past him again toward the rest of the party. Your best friend -Yuri- is watching you with a thoughtful, concerned expression, always ready to step in at your defence when things get too difficult for you to confront them properly. While Jimin looks like he’s already bracing for damage control, Yoongi seems less alarmed, more curious, like he’s observing something inevitable unfold.

They all see it.

Of course they do.

“This is going to hurt people,” you says quietly.

“I know.”

“You’re about to get married.”

“I know.”

“And you’re still standing here.”

Jungkook’s gaze doesn’t waver. “So are you.”

That lands harder than you expect, because it’s true. You could still walk away. You could still choose the version of this night that makes sense.

But you haven’t, and you won’t.

And that says something you’re not sure you want to examine too closely.

After a moment, Jungkook speaks again, his voice lower now.

“Tell me to go back,” he says. “Tell me to do what I’m supposed to do, and I will.”

You look at him, really look at him, trying to understand what he’s asking.

It’s not pressure. It’s not manipulation.

It’s a decision he’s placing in front of you, knowing exactly what it means.

Your throat tightens slightly.

You think about your friend, about the ring, about everything this night is meant to represent. You think about how easy it would be to say the right thing, to step back and let this moment pass like it should.

But then you think about leaving again. About pretending this doesn’t matter. About wondering, later, if this was the moment everything could have changed.

And that, that feels worse.

“I can’t,” you say finally, your voice quieter than you intend.

The words settle between you, and something shifts almost immediately.

Not dramatically. Not loudly.

Just enough.

Jungkook exhales slowly, like he’d been holding something in place for longer than you realised.

“This doesn’t feel temporary to me,” he says.

You study his face for a moment, searching for the uncertainty you’re used to seeing there, the restlessness that always made you hesitate before.

You don’t find it.

And that unsettles you more than anything else.

“This is a mistake,” you say, though there’s less conviction in it now.

“Maybe,” he admits.

“And it’s going to complicate everything.”

“Probably.”

You let out a quiet breath, something close to a laugh despite everything. “You’re not making a very strong case.”

Jungkook’s expression softens slightly. “I’m not trying to. I’m just… being honest.”

That, more than anything, is what makes it hard to walk away.

Because for once, it doesn’t feel like something fleeting or unfinished.

It feels like a choice.

A complicated one. A selfish one.

But a real one.

You hesitate for a moment longer, then lets your hand rest lightly against his, the contact tentative at first, like you’re still giving yourself time to pull back.

You don’t.

“This is going to change things,” you say.

“I know.”

You search his face one last time, giving him every chance to hesitate, to step back, to make this easier.

He doesn’t.

“Okay,” you say quietly.

It’s not a full answer. Not yet.

But it’s enough.

Around you, the party continues, laughter and conversation filling the space like nothing has shifted.

But something has.

And neither of you pretend otherwise.

The atmosphere in the ostentatious hotel suite is positively buzzing with anticipation.

Yoongi walks into the room in a crisp suit, sporting snake monograms on his cufflinks, pure elegance dripping off of him not unlike any given day. You gaze at his sexiness from the accent chair you’re reading a magazine on with your legs crossed, trying not to crassly drool, and in return, he gawks at the mesmerizing sight of his girl that massively overshadows the neon nightscape behind her. He gallantly reaches for your hand and places a kiss on it as if this is your special day.

He is very appreciative that you have generously indulged his requests for the night—wore his handpicked selection of attire all the way down to your shoes, put on the jewelry he had specially flown in, painted your nails in his preferred color…

You look so fucking gorgeous that if he can’t get a hold of himself, he’s going to ruin his appetite before dinner. 

“Like what you see, birthday boy?” you throw your arms around his neck, discreetly rubbing yourself against his crotch.

“Don’t tempt me or I’ll fuck you right in front of them,” he heavily exhales and nods towards the security detail by the door. “I’m barely holding it together.”

“You’ve wanted this that much?” you chuckle into his ear, gently biting his earlobe. “You seem more… enthusiastic than usual.”

“It’s you,” he gropes your ass with one hand while the other brings your fingers to his lips for a bite, opting for a kiss at the last second. “It’s always you.”

There is a reason he has dolled you up like a luxuriously packaged gift tonight. Although it is his birthday, the present is for someone else to open. 

And he’s never looked forward to something this much.

A knock interrupts the sultry melodies playing over the speakers. Yoongi glances at the door, then at you, and smiles.

“It’s showtime, baby,” he slaps your ass as you disappear to wait for your cue.

Jungkook enters the room flanked by two of his men looking like loyal hounds, cocky swagger of owning half the city dripping off of him. 

“Happy birthday, my liege,” he dips his head with the respect he reserves for less than a handful of people in the universe, then immediately cracks up once he absorbs the opulence cradling the room. “Jesus, you’d fucking die if you weren’t obnoxiously extravagant for once, wouldn’t you?”

The boss and his right-hand man slam their hands against each other for a firm shake and pull each other into a brief hug. They sit down by the gargantuan windows and engage in empty chitchat as they sip on the most expensive scotch money can buy. The weather. The game last night. Whether they should branch into solicitation for murder or not.

“What is this good news you kept teasing the entire week?” Jungkook taps his index finger on the glass resting on one leg folded over the other. “If it’s not a sizeable increase in my cut, I’ll be very upset. You hit fifty million thanks to me.” 

“Funny you should say that,” Yoongi presses two fingers on his temple. “It is about a reward I feel like giving you.” 

“Is the first digit finally a two?” Jungkook smirks with contentment.

“Even better,” Yoongi grins wider. 

“Gentlemen.” 

You make your entrance like the main character you are, hips swaying with radioactive temptation, and when he looks to his right, Jungkook confirms it’s not an auditory hallucination. He visibly falters, not expecting to see you tonight at all, and he is doing a terrible job of hiding the fact that he is mentally undressing you, jaw dropped, poise in shambles. He watches the way your heels kiss the rug with every step you take, and he realizes he is fucking jealous of the floor you walk on. 

It’s a miracle he manages to snap out of it.

“Is this a fucking prank or something?” he creases his brows at his boss. 

“I’m just showing hospitality,” Yoongi gracefully brings his scotch glass to his lips. 

Jungkook starts fighting for his life when you sit right on his lap, your arm flung over his wide shoulders inducing the kind of panic that can easily send him to the ER. He is sure he is no longer the man he was before your ass made contact with his thighs.

“You know, I hear everything that goes on under my roof. Tell me if this quote seems familiar to you:” Yoongi lounges back, his smile faint but amused to the high heavens, “I’d fuck her so good she would make me her side bitch on the first thrust.” 

Jungkook chokes on air. It doesn’t help that you are also chuckling into his ear.

“Look, I can explain…” 

“No need,” Yoongi shakes his head without an ounce of his usual tranquil fury. “Here’s your chance.”

That just CANNOT be possible. 

It’s a loyalty test, isn’t it? It’s not like he’s going to offer him his princess on a silver platter on his goddamn birthday or anything…

“You want me to fuck your girl?” he arches his brows in genuine surprise.

“If you’re interested, of course.” 

IN

TE

RES

TED?!

It’s not even remotely enough to describe his willingness levels. If he were any more interested, he would have to check himself into a psych ward for lust-induced psychosis. He lives for this. He eats, sleeps, and thinks this. If you knew how many times he jerked off to you in the past three days alone, you would issue a restraining order against him in the blink of an eye. 

The first time because you wore his favorite sundress, the second time because you touched his arm while laughing at one of his jokes, the third time because you moaned through a yawn, the fourth time because he imagined what you’d look like pregnant, and fifth time to exorcise himself for the fourth time…

He is your self-proclaimed number one fan, entirely obsessed with you, and you getting even more comfortable on his lap, playing with his curls, watching him crumble under you has to be the biggest fanservice in the history of everything.

“What? You’re scared he’s gonna shoot you?” you purr into his ear. 

“You don’t just hand things out,” Jungkook turns to Yoongi. “What’s the catch?” 

“There isn’t one,” he shrugs, perfectly serious. “Unless you call me being present a catch.” 

Years he has spent jerking off to you in shameful silence, and you are being offered to him just like that? This is a trap. It has to be a trap. Or a once-in-five-lifetimes miracle. 

Possibly both.

“That’s… That’s it?” 

“Well, there is one more thing, and I can’t stress how important it is,” Yoongi adds, letting the moment linger in the air to drag on the suspense. “You have to act like you’re doing this against my will.” 

Jungkook is bewildered out of his mind, utterly incredulous of the words coming out of this man’s mouth. 

Okay.

Fuck, okay.

God, okay, fuck, jesus!

He is already half-hard under you. He might last four minutes, six if he can force himself to imagine the unsexiest things his mind can possibly render. He’s desperately thinking of ways to sustain himself longer so he doesn’t wake up from the horniest wet dream of his life extremely prematurely.

“What are my limits?” he asks as he clears his throat.

“Nothing’s off limits. The worse, the better,” Yoongi answers. “Anything she accepts, you can do.” 

“How long do I have?” 

“However long you can last, but the second you cum, it’s over.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be, like, crazy loyal to your man?” Jungkook turns to you, his on-brand cockiness slowly waking up from the chokehold.

“Who says I’m not?” you answer leisurely. “Loyalty isn’t about what I put inside me.” 

He charmingly smiles, stealing the briefest glance from Yoongi’s way in the meantime. 

“Then here’s what we’re going to do.” 

Your neck is right there for him to kiss, but he needs to break his five-year record and wait for five more minutes. He whispers his scheme into your ear, doing his best not to fucking pass out because of your perfume in his nose. Then he stands up to bring a chair for his boss to sit, changes the song to one of his favorite bedroom jams, and orders you.

“Dance for your man, beautiful.”

To every other person on the planet, Yoongi is an unreadable enigma, the embodiment of calm control and velveteen menace, but you can tell from the glint in his hooded eyes when something starts awakening within him. You climb onto the birthday boy’s lap and slowly roll your hips to the rhythm, every curve of your body wrapping around him as you move. The drag of his tongue across his lips devolves into a bite as he admires the tattoo between your tits. He has half a mind to say fuck it to everything and bend you over to fuck your wits out of you until he fully decimates you.

He is so hypnotized by the devil’s slutty bride grinding on cock that he doesn’t even realize his hands are cuffed behind his back until he hears a click.

“Honors?” Jungkook gives you two more pairs to tie Yoongi’s ankles to the legs of the chair.

“Just how many pairs of cuffs do you walk around with?” you chuckle. 

“There is always an opportunity if you know where to look,” he nods towards the door and points at the security detail, “and yours is right over there.” 

The man of the hour is properly pinned to his place. Jungkook sprawls on the couch right across him, then takes your hand and pulls you closer.

“Now, where were we?” he smiles at you like a man in possession of the uppest of hands.

Because he did.

Credit where credit is due, he fakes the most convincing composure of all time as he fights the raging urge to grope you everywhere, treating you like the queen you are with the sublest of touches. Hands coarse from handling guns become a pair of feathers tickling your body, gently sliding from your back down to your waist. He is so lost in the sheer sight of you that he can’t even register Yoongi’s presence in the room. 

“You have a rep among us lowlifes, you know,” he softly kisses your shoulder. 

“How so?” 

“Call me crazy, but every time I keep post outside, you suddenly feel this need to fuck your man for some reason. Then you scream so loud that one would think you’re doing it on purpose to get me horny,” his hands reach your ass and he gives it a firm squeeze, “which you do by the way.” 

“Yeah, you’re fucking crazy,” you chuckle.

“Damn straight,” he responds, dead serious, not smiling at all. “I’m fucking crazy about you.” 

He heaves a deep sigh, lips parted, devouring you with his eyes. The warmth of his breath tickles you, and you feel the first drops of your slick starting to pool between your legs.

“He has an army of guys at his disposal,” he brushes your cheek with a single knuckle. “Why do you think he asked for me?” 

His hands keep exploring your body. With each curve he feels under his touch, he turns a little more feral, grows a little bigger, and breathes a little heavier, biting his lips not because he is turned on, but to tame himself.

“Because he knows you get me weak as fuck,” he whispers against your skin.

“I get you weak?” you chortle. “How come I’ve never known this?” 

“When it’s a cartel boss’s princess in question, you can’t really declare that shit out in the open on account of wanting to live,” he says matter of factly, “but since I have a free pass tonight, I can say whatever the fuck I want.” 

His mouth ghosts on your collarbones, but he fails to practice restraint. His lips are momentarily pressed on them, drawing a wet trail from one side to the other. He leaves his own body and watches himself from afar as he slowly drags the bust of your dress down. Not all the way, just enough to tease himself with the sight of your cleavage. He can’t help himself and licks a stripe between your tits. When he makes you moan for the first time, he immediately thinks he’s not built for this. You’re too much temptation, and he is too weak for you, willing to collapse this entire cartel if it means you’ll ride him for five more seconds.

“Fuck being a princess,” his rampant jealousy morphs into a desperate plea as he pulls your face closer. “Come be my queen instead.”

You take his lips between yours, and he loses all control.

What was meant as a teasing peck instantly turns into a very heavy makeout session. Messy. Wet. Pornographically loud. Your hands in his hair, his fingertips sunk into your thighs, his cock throbbing harder under you every time your teeth tugs at his lips. You remember that hunger from somewhere.

The creak of the chair and the sound of metal clinking steal your attention. You break the kiss and turn around to witness a very tense Yoongi, the only other man who kisses you like this.

“If you’re flinching just with a kiss, we’re gonna have a fucking problem later on, boss. This is going to get a lot worse,” Jungkook warns him, then grins like a maniac. “I’m about to go all the way with your girl.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but there’s an equally deranged smile on his lips. 

“Nervous?” you coo at Jungkook. 

“Wouldn’t you be if your favorite pornstar was perched on your lap like this?” he licks his lips. “I’m a huge fan.” 

He reaches into the inside pocket of his blazer and takes out a miniature vial filled with white powder, then draws a line across your tits. He snorts the coke so deeply like it’s his backup supply of oxygen, and when he looks up at you again, his blown pupils almost completely eclipse his irises. You are pleased. You are aroused. You are loving this, and you want to see how much more feral he can get over you.

“Which one of my movies do you like the best?” you cradle his face. 

“Prison guard,” he answers without a beat. “By a landslide.” 

“It’s the latex, isn’t it?” 

“It’s everything about you,” he growls, jaw clenched with animalistic desire. “Fucking step on me.”

His fingers brush against the blackletter S tattoo right between your tits, and his face contorts upon the mental image he created for himself.

“It’s okay. I know a guy,” he kisses your chest. “It’ll be a J in no time.” 

He pulls you into another kiss, this time a lot deeper, messier. You moan into each other’s mouths, and the slurping sounds echo in the suite. You grind faster on his lap, stuck between wanting to tease him and making him cum untouched for you. 

“I always imagine it’s you when I get my dick sucked. I can’t help it,” he confesses into your ear, voice almost like a whimper as he sneaks one hand between your legs to caress your supple thighs. “I don’t care if it’s for one night, you’re finally mine.” 

He finally starts unpacking you, dragging down the straps of your dress first. Slowly, still teasing himself as if he’s not gonna die if you so much as kiss his cock. Then he yanks your bust down and reveals your breasts, almost passing out at the sight.

“I can be your side bitch. That could be my new job,” he fondles them, falling in love with the way they feel in his palms. “Now that would be the promotion I fucking deserve.” 

“Being his right-hand man doesn’t cut it?” you sneer. 

“No, but you being my wife would.” 

He traps your nipple in between his lips and starts sucking on it, his tongue stealing a couple of licks every now and then. He stays latched to you as you undress him. Blazer off, shirt off, belt off. Before you take his pants off, he trades places with you and makes you sit on the couch, then kneels before you like a faithful servant. Your thighs make a sticky sound as he spreads your legs, and he gulps way too thickly when he sees just how wet you are. 

“You’re not gonna cry, are you?” you tease, tangling your fingers into his locks again.

“I might, actually. You into ruining hot men?” he asks, face way too serious for it to be a joke. “No worries if not. I’ll just get my tear glands removed.”

He wraps his arms around your thighs and gets into position, staring at your folds just like a predator looks at its prey. 

“Look into his eyes when I eat your pussy,” he instructs. “Show off your new fucktoy.”

He licks one stripe across your cunt, and the sound that rips from your throat is unholy. 

He starts giving you the deepest, sloppiest, and loudest head of your goddamn life like he is trying to prove something. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s, and it thrills the shit out of you to watch him watch you. His eyes are all hooded, snitching on how he’s dying of arousal as his spoiled princess gets pleasured out of her mind by a total simp, his cock straining his pants. It’s almost art, the way it goes down. No sight in the world can be this fucking sublime. 

“Look at him. He fucking hates how much he loves this, but he can’t do anything about it,” Jungkook chuckles into your pussy. “He can’t go anywhere. He acts all tough, but we both know what a fucking simp he is for you.” 

Two fingers curl into you as he licks a slow drag from your slit to your clit, giving it a strong suck at the end. You spit on your fingers and play with your nipples, riding his face faster for as much friction as you can get. He pins you in your place and spreads your lips, then starts flicking his tongue on your clit so fast that a buzzing sensation sets in.

“D–Deeper… Fuck me deepe— Yes. Now suck harder. Spit on it, baby, get it slipp— God, yes. Yes. YES, HARDER!!!”

You fall apart on his tongue, getting sucked hard and fingered deep just like you’ve ordered. He doesn’t let go until he reaches that sweet spot of overstimulation, enjoying the sight of you squirming for him just for a little while. 

“But if he wants to be with you, he’s gonna have to watch me wreck you,” he rises on his knees, chin covered with your slick, and pulls you close to let you taste yourself. “Now sit on my cock, beautiful.”

He stands for you to undo his pants first, and you swallow hard when you face his crotch, fully salivating when his cock springs free. Leaking. Flushed. Huge. Raging erection staring at you to devour it. You lean in and steal a taste from his tip. Low, almost quiet sounds of pleasure escape his lips as you tease his slit, but when you lose control and choke on his girth, he full-on growls. 

“God, you’re fucking killing me,” he throws his head back, eyes fluttering shut like your lips were rimmed with morphine.

He wants to fuck your throat and your cunt, and it’s driving him crazy that he can’t do both at the same time. If he lets you blow him any longer, he’s gonna grab a fistful of your hair, and god knows what will follow afterwards. He barely manages to peel himself away and sits back down, pulling you onto his lap again. 

“Into me,” he pulls your body closer, your back flush against his chest. “Spread wide so your man sees everything perfectly.” 

You gasp when his tip prods your entrance, and it turns into a drawn-out moan when he starts sinking into you, inch by thick, delicious inch. As Yoongi watches another man take what’s his, he makes the kind of sound grown men are not supposed to make. He is so fucking into it, leaking at the sight of Jungkook’s thick cock stretching you, wet squelch of your pussy complete music to his ears. A part of him is riddled with jealousy, but the part that is infested with fatal amounts of lust consumes it at record speed like flesh-eating bacteria. 

It doesn’t matter how much time Jungkook takes to disappear into you; he is still actively losing a piece of his mind permanently. His lips are latched to your neck, your arm is thrown back behind his nape, his hands are fondling your tits, and his cock is buried six feet under you, fucking you so hard like he’s going to die within the next ten minutes. He can’t believe you’re actually falling apart on his lap, screaming horrendous profanities with eyes squeezed shut. A sight he’s dreamed of, drooled over, jerked off to, now in technicolor, rushing in his veins worse than the coke he snorted and getting him twice as high. 

“You’re gonna kill me. God, you’re gonna fucking kill me,” he keeps repeating, voice faded as fuck as he licks into your ear. “Should I call over one of my boys to eat your pussy, too, huh? Do you wanna be a proper slut for me?” 

He shoves his fingers inside your mouth and collects your spit, then starts rubbing your clit, swollen and sticky, desperately fast like a starved animal. Nothing else exists in this moment. It’s just him and you, and this is all about how he’s the one you’re crumbling over, how he’s the one making you drool with your eyes rolling back, and how you’re moaning his name. 

RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR MAN!

“That’s it. Let go. Show him who’s really the boss. Show him who you really want,” he orders, laughing more deliriously as his arousal peaks, seconds away from snapping. “I love you. God, I fucking love you. I’ll fill you up so good, then I’m gonna watch him eat it. Milk me. Milk it out of me, baby, you’re fucking KILLING ME WITH THIS!!!” 

Jungkook assumed it would be you, but it’s Yoongi who reaches the finish line first, cumming untouched simply by watching this beautiful disaster. You can’t believe what has just unraveld before you, and he looks so fucking good, all fucked out without a single touch, that it pushes you over the edge. Jungkook senses the danger when you clench too hard around him and forces himself to his absolute limit to hold it. Until he makes sure those rhythmic pulses around him are fully involuntary. When he finally lets go, an inhumane sound rips from his throat, so guttural it could be a scream of agony. His orgasm gives him a terrible instant headache like a brain freeze, and you can feel the warm wetness gushing out of you, making you wonder just how large that load was.

A dense hush of pure satiation falls over the room, and your faded chuckles and heavy breathing are the only thing that echoes for a while. This is bliss. Utter and unmitigated bliss. You rest in Jungkook’s embrace until your limbs are loaded with some strength again, then you carefully pull him out of you. You stand up, thick strings of cum dripping down your thighs, and undo Yoongi’s restraints, soothing his cuffburns with soft kisses. 

“You got a bit carried away there with the confessions, Jeon,” he smirks at Jungkook. 

“Hey, what happens in the scene, stays in the scene, man,” Jungkook answers, one arm draped over his eyes, still trying to catch his breath. 

“So if I asked you to tag team her with me right now, you wouldn’t do it. Is that what you’re saying?” 

Jungkook removes his arm and looks at him, trying to assess how serious he really is, but all he can see is yet another enigmatic smile. Yoongi rises to his feet, reclaims your lips for himself again, then gallantly reaches for your hand and places a kiss on it as if this is your special day. As if you’re not all disheveled, covered in cum and spit. 

“I’ll take over the pussy worship duties for a while,” he declares. “Join us if you can manage to recover.” 

You cross the threshold to the bedroom hand in hand, and Jungkook watches you kiss Yoongi while removing his blazer. Then undo his belt. Then he watches Yoongi wrap the belt around your wrists and lay you down on the bed. Even though he just came, his cock faintly throbs. He might have accidentally picked up an addiction worse than cocaine tonight. 

The atmosphere in the ostentatious hotel suite is positively buzzing with anticipation.

Yoongi walks into the room in a crisp suit, sporting snake monograms on his cufflinks, pure elegance dripping off of him not unlike any given day. You gaze at his sexiness from the accent chair you’re reading a magazine on with your legs crossed, trying not to crassly drool, and in return, he gawks at the mesmerizing sight of his girl that massively overshadows the neon nightscape behind her. He gallantly reaches for your hand and places a kiss on it as if this is your special day.

He is very appreciative that you have generously indulged his requests for the night—wore his handpicked selection of attire all the way down to your shoes, put on the jewelry he had specially flown in, painted your nails in his preferred color…

You look so fucking gorgeous that if he can’t get a hold of himself, he’s going to ruin his appetite before dinner. 

“Like what you see, birthday boy?” you throw your arms around his neck, discreetly rubbing yourself against his crotch.

“Don’t tempt me or I’ll fuck you right in front of them,” he heavily exhales and nods towards the security detail by the door. “I’m barely holding it together.”

“You’ve wanted this that much?” you chuckle into his ear, gently biting his earlobe. “You seem more… enthusiastic than usual.”

“It’s you,” he gropes your ass with one hand while the other brings your fingers to his lips for a bite, opting for a kiss at the last second. “It’s always you.”

There is a reason he has dolled you up like a luxuriously packaged gift tonight. Although it is his birthday, the present is for someone else to open. 

And he’s never looked forward to something this much.

A knock interrupts the sultry melodies playing over the speakers. Yoongi glances at the door, then at you, and smiles.

“It’s showtime, baby,” he slaps your ass as you disappear to wait for your cue.

Jungkook enters the room flanked by two of his men looking like loyal hounds, cocky swagger of owning half the city dripping off of him. 

“Happy birthday, my liege,” he dips his head with the respect he reserves for less than a handful of people in the universe, then immediately cracks up once he absorbs the opulence cradling the room. “Jesus, you’d fucking die if you weren’t obnoxiously extravagant for once, wouldn’t you?”

The boss and his right-hand man slam their hands against each other for a firm shake and pull each other into a brief hug. They sit down by the gargantuan windows and engage in empty chitchat as they sip on the most expensive scotch money can buy. The weather. The game last night. Whether they should branch into solicitation for murder or not.

“What is this good news you kept teasing the entire week?” Jungkook taps his index finger on the glass resting on one leg folded over the other. “If it’s not a sizeable increase in my cut, I’ll be very upset. You hit fifty million thanks to me.” 

“Funny you should say that,” Yoongi presses two fingers on his temple. “It is about a reward I feel like giving you.” 

“Is the first digit finally a two?” Jungkook smirks with contentment.

“Even better,” Yoongi grins wider. 

“Gentlemen.” 

You make your entrance like the main character you are, hips swaying with radioactive temptation, and when he looks to his right, Jungkook confirms it’s not an auditory hallucination. He visibly falters, not expecting to see you tonight at all, and he is doing a terrible job of hiding the fact that he is mentally undressing you, jaw dropped, poise in shambles. He watches the way your heels kiss the rug with every step you take, and he realizes he is fucking jealous of the floor you walk on. 

It’s a miracle he manages to snap out of it.

“Is this a fucking prank or something?” he creases his brows at his boss. 

“I’m just showing hospitality,” Yoongi gracefully brings his scotch glass to his lips. 

Jungkook starts fighting for his life when you sit right on his lap, your arm flung over his wide shoulders inducing the kind of panic that can easily send him to the ER. He is sure he is no longer the man he was before your ass made contact with his thighs.

“You know, I hear everything that goes on under my roof. Tell me if this quote seems familiar to you:” Yoongi lounges back, his smile faint but amused to the high heavens, “I’d fuck her so good she would make me her side bitch on the first thrust.” 

Jungkook chokes on air. It doesn’t help that you are also chuckling into his ear.

“Look, I can explain…” 

“No need,” Yoongi shakes his head without an ounce of his usual tranquil fury. “Here’s your chance.”

That just CANNOT be possible. 

It’s a loyalty test, isn’t it? It’s not like he’s going to offer him his princess on a silver platter on his goddamn birthday or anything…

“You want me to fuck your girl?” he arches his brows in genuine surprise.

“If you’re interested, of course.” 

IN

TE

RES

TED?!

It’s not even remotely enough to describe his willingness levels. If he were any more interested, he would have to check himself into a psych ward for lust-induced psychosis. He lives for this. He eats, sleeps, and thinks this. If you knew how many times he jerked off to you in the past three days alone, you would issue a restraining order against him in the blink of an eye. 

The first time because you wore his favorite sundress, the second time because you touched his arm while laughing at one of his jokes, the third time because you moaned through a yawn, the fourth time because he imagined what you’d look like pregnant, and fifth time to exorcise himself for the fourth time…

He is your self-proclaimed number one fan, entirely obsessed with you, and you getting even more comfortable on his lap, playing with his curls, watching him crumble under you has to be the biggest fanservice in the history of everything.

“What? You’re scared he’s gonna shoot you?” you purr into his ear. 

“You don’t just hand things out,” Jungkook turns to Yoongi. “What’s the catch?” 

“There isn’t one,” he shrugs, perfectly serious. “Unless you call me being present a catch.” 

Years he has spent jerking off to you in shameful silence, and you are being offered to him just like that? This is a trap. It has to be a trap. Or a once-in-five-lifetimes miracle. 

Possibly both.

“That’s… That’s it?” 

“Well, there is one more thing, and I can’t stress how important it is,” Yoongi adds, letting the moment linger in the air to drag on the suspense. “You have to act like you’re doing this against my will.” 

Jungkook is bewildered out of his mind, utterly incredulous of the words coming out of this man’s mouth. 

Okay.

Fuck, okay.

God, okay, fuck, jesus!

He is already half-hard under you. He might last four minutes, six if he can force himself to imagine the unsexiest things his mind can possibly render. He’s desperately thinking of ways to sustain himself longer so he doesn’t wake up from the horniest wet dream of his life extremely prematurely.

“What are my limits?” he asks as he clears his throat.

“Nothing’s off limits. The worse, the better,” Yoongi answers. “Anything she accepts, you can do.” 

“How long do I have?” 

“However long you can last, but the second you cum, it’s over.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be, like, crazy loyal to your man?” Jungkook turns to you, his on-brand cockiness slowly waking up from the chokehold.

“Who says I’m not?” you answer leisurely. “Loyalty isn’t about what I put inside me.” 

He charmingly smiles, stealing the briefest glance from Yoongi’s way in the meantime. 

“Then here’s what we’re going to do.” 

Your neck is right there for him to kiss, but he needs to break his five-year record and wait for five more minutes. He whispers his scheme into your ear, doing his best not to fucking pass out because of your perfume in his nose. Then he stands up to bring a chair for his boss to sit, changes the song to one of his favorite bedroom jams, and orders you.

“Dance for your man, beautiful.”

To every other person on the planet, Yoongi is an unreadable enigma, the embodiment of calm control and velveteen menace, but you can tell from the glint in his hooded eyes when something starts awakening within him. You climb onto the birthday boy’s lap and slowly roll your hips to the rhythm, every curve of your body wrapping around him as you move. The drag of his tongue across his lips devolves into a bite as he admires the tattoo between your tits. He has half a mind to say fuck it to everything and bend you over to fuck your wits out of you until he fully decimates you.

He is so hypnotized by the devil’s slutty bride grinding on cock that he doesn’t even realize his hands are cuffed behind his back until he hears a click.

“Honors?” Jungkook gives you two more pairs to tie Yoongi’s ankles to the legs of the chair.

“Just how many pairs of cuffs do you walk around with?” you chuckle. 

“There is always an opportunity if you know where to look,” he nods towards the door and points at the security detail, “and yours is right over there.” 

The man of the hour is properly pinned to his place. Jungkook sprawls on the couch right across him, then takes your hand and pulls you closer.

“Now, where were we?” he smiles at you like a man in possession of the uppest of hands.

Because he did.

Credit where credit is due, he fakes the most convincing composure of all time as he fights the raging urge to grope you everywhere, treating you like the queen you are with the sublest of touches. Hands coarse from handling guns become a pair of feathers tickling your body, gently sliding from your back down to your waist. He is so lost in the sheer sight of you that he can’t even register Yoongi’s presence in the room. 

“You have a rep among us lowlifes, you know,” he softly kisses your shoulder. 

“How so?” 

“Call me crazy, but every time I keep post outside, you suddenly feel this need to fuck your man for some reason. Then you scream so loud that one would think you’re doing it on purpose to get me horny,” his hands reach your ass and he gives it a firm squeeze, “which you do by the way.” 

“Yeah, you’re fucking crazy,” you chuckle.

“Damn straight,” he responds, dead serious, not smiling at all. “I’m fucking crazy about you.” 

He heaves a deep sigh, lips parted, devouring you with his eyes. The warmth of his breath tickles you, and you feel the first drops of your slick starting to pool between your legs.

“He has an army of guys at his disposal,” he brushes your cheek with a single knuckle. “Why do you think he asked for me?” 

His hands keep exploring your body. With each curve he feels under his touch, he turns a little more feral, grows a little bigger, and breathes a little heavier, biting his lips not because he is turned on, but to tame himself.

“Because he knows you get me weak as fuck,” he whispers against your skin.

“I get you weak?” you chortle. “How come I’ve never known this?” 

“When it’s a cartel boss’s princess in question, you can’t really declare that shit out in the open on account of wanting to live,” he says matter of factly, “but since I have a free pass tonight, I can say whatever the fuck I want.” 

His mouth ghosts on your collarbones, but he fails to practice restraint. His lips are momentarily pressed on them, drawing a wet trail from one side to the other. He leaves his own body and watches himself from afar as he slowly drags the bust of your dress down. Not all the way, just enough to tease himself with the sight of your cleavage. He can’t help himself and licks a stripe between your tits. When he makes you moan for the first time, he immediately thinks he’s not built for this. You’re too much temptation, and he is too weak for you, willing to collapse this entire cartel if it means you’ll ride him for five more seconds.

“Fuck being a princess,” his rampant jealousy morphs into a desperate plea as he pulls your face closer. “Come be my queen instead.”

You take his lips between yours, and he loses all control.

What was meant as a teasing peck instantly turns into a very heavy makeout session. Messy. Wet. Pornographically loud. Your hands in his hair, his fingertips sunk into your thighs, his cock throbbing harder under you every time your teeth tugs at his lips. You remember that hunger from somewhere.

The creak of the chair and the sound of metal clinking steal your attention. You break the kiss and turn around to witness a very tense Yoongi, the only other man who kisses you like this.

“If you’re flinching just with a kiss, we’re gonna have a fucking problem later on, boss. This is going to get a lot worse,” Jungkook warns him, then grins like a maniac. “I’m about to go all the way with your girl.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but there’s an equally deranged smile on his lips. 

“Nervous?” you coo at Jungkook. 

“Wouldn’t you be if your favorite pornstar was perched on your lap like this?” he licks his lips. “I’m a huge fan.” 

He reaches into the inside pocket of his blazer and takes out a miniature vial filled with white powder, then draws a line across your tits. He snorts the coke so deeply like it’s his backup supply of oxygen, and when he looks up at you again, his blown pupils almost completely eclipse his irises. You are pleased. You are aroused. You are loving this, and you want to see how much more feral he can get over you.

“Which one of my movies do you like the best?” you cradle his face. 

“Prison guard,” he answers without a beat. “By a landslide.” 

“It’s the latex, isn’t it?” 

“It’s everything about you,” he growls, jaw clenched with animalistic desire. “Fucking step on me.”

His fingers brush against the blackletter S tattoo right between your tits, and his face contorts upon the mental image he created for himself.

“It’s okay. I know a guy,” he kisses your chest. “It’ll be a J in no time.” 

He pulls you into another kiss, this time a lot deeper, messier. You moan into each other’s mouths, and the slurping sounds echo in the suite. You grind faster on his lap, stuck between wanting to tease him and making him cum untouched for you. 

“I always imagine it’s you when I get my dick sucked. I can’t help it,” he confesses into your ear, voice almost like a whimper as he sneaks one hand between your legs to caress your supple thighs. “I don’t care if it’s for one night, you’re finally mine.” 

He finally starts unpacking you, dragging down the straps of your dress first. Slowly, still teasing himself as if he’s not gonna die if you so much as kiss his cock. Then he yanks your bust down and reveals your breasts, almost passing out at the sight.

“I can be your side bitch. That could be my new job,” he fondles them, falling in love with the way they feel in his palms. “Now that would be the promotion I fucking deserve.” 

“Being his right-hand man doesn’t cut it?” you sneer. 

“No, but you being my wife would.” 

He traps your nipple in between his lips and starts sucking on it, his tongue stealing a couple of licks every now and then. He stays latched to you as you undress him. Blazer off, shirt off, belt off. Before you take his pants off, he trades places with you and makes you sit on the couch, then kneels before you like a faithful servant. Your thighs make a sticky sound as he spreads your legs, and he gulps way too thickly when he sees just how wet you are. 

“You’re not gonna cry, are you?” you tease, tangling your fingers into his locks again.

“I might, actually. You into ruining hot men?” he asks, face way too serious for it to be a joke. “No worries if not. I’ll just get my tear glands removed.”

He wraps his arms around your thighs and gets into position, staring at your folds just like a predator looks at its prey. 

“Look into his eyes when I eat your pussy,” he instructs. “Show off your new fucktoy.”

He licks one stripe across your cunt, and the sound that rips from your throat is unholy. 

He starts giving you the deepest, sloppiest, and loudest head of your goddamn life like he is trying to prove something. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s, and it thrills the shit out of you to watch him watch you. His eyes are all hooded, snitching on how he’s dying of arousal as his spoiled princess gets pleasured out of her mind by a total simp, his cock straining his pants. It’s almost art, the way it goes down. No sight in the world can be this fucking sublime. 

“Look at him. He fucking hates how much he loves this, but he can’t do anything about it,” Jungkook chuckles into your pussy. “He can’t go anywhere. He acts all tough, but we both know what a fucking simp he is for you.” 

Two fingers curl into you as he licks a slow drag from your slit to your clit, giving it a strong suck at the end. You spit on your fingers and play with your nipples, riding his face faster for as much friction as you can get. He pins you in your place and spreads your lips, then starts flicking his tongue on your clit so fast that a buzzing sensation sets in.

“D–Deeper… Fuck me deepe— Yes. Now suck harder. Spit on it, baby, get it slipp— God, yes. Yes. YES, HARDER!!!”

You fall apart on his tongue, getting sucked hard and fingered deep just like you’ve ordered. He doesn’t let go until he reaches that sweet spot of overstimulation, enjoying the sight of you squirming for him just for a little while. 

“But if he wants to be with you, he’s gonna have to watch me wreck you,” he rises on his knees, chin covered with your slick, and pulls you close to let you taste yourself. “Now sit on my cock, beautiful.”

He stands for you to undo his pants first, and you swallow hard when you face his crotch, fully salivating when his cock springs free. Leaking. Flushed. Huge. Raging erection staring at you to devour it. You lean in and steal a taste from his tip. Low, almost quiet sounds of pleasure escape his lips as you tease his slit, but when you lose control and choke on his girth, he full-on growls. 

“God, you’re fucking killing me,” he throws his head back, eyes fluttering shut like your lips were rimmed with morphine.

He wants to fuck your throat and your cunt, and it’s driving him crazy that he can’t do both at the same time. If he lets you blow him any longer, he’s gonna grab a fistful of your hair, and god knows what will follow afterwards. He barely manages to peel himself away and sits back down, pulling you onto his lap again. 

“Into me,” he pulls your body closer, your back flush against his chest. “Spread wide so your man sees everything perfectly.” 

You gasp when his tip prods your entrance, and it turns into a drawn-out moan when he starts sinking into you, inch by thick, delicious inch. As Yoongi watches another man take what’s his, he makes the kind of sound grown men are not supposed to make. He is so fucking into it, leaking at the sight of Jungkook’s thick cock stretching you, wet squelch of your pussy complete music to his ears. A part of him is riddled with jealousy, but the part that is infested with fatal amounts of lust consumes it at record speed like flesh-eating bacteria. 

It doesn’t matter how much time Jungkook takes to disappear into you; he is still actively losing a piece of his mind permanently. His lips are latched to your neck, your arm is thrown back behind his nape, his hands are fondling your tits, and his cock is buried six feet under you, fucking you so hard like he’s going to die within the next ten minutes. He can’t believe you’re actually falling apart on his lap, screaming horrendous profanities with eyes squeezed shut. A sight he’s dreamed of, drooled over, jerked off to, now in technicolor, rushing in his veins worse than the coke he snorted and getting him twice as high. 

“You’re gonna kill me. God, you’re gonna fucking kill me,” he keeps repeating, voice faded as fuck as he licks into your ear. “Should I call over one of my boys to eat your pussy, too, huh? Do you wanna be a proper slut for me?” 

He shoves his fingers inside your mouth and collects your spit, then starts rubbing your clit, swollen and sticky, desperately fast like a starved animal. Nothing else exists in this moment. It’s just him and you, and this is all about how he’s the one you’re crumbling over, how he’s the one making you drool with your eyes rolling back, and how you’re moaning his name. 

RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR MAN!

“That’s it. Let go. Show him who’s really the boss. Show him who you really want,” he orders, laughing more deliriously as his arousal peaks, seconds away from snapping. “I love you. God, I fucking love you. I’ll fill you up so good, then I’m gonna watch him eat it. Milk me. Milk it out of me, baby, you’re fucking KILLING ME WITH THIS!!!” 

Jungkook assumed it would be you, but it’s Yoongi who reaches the finish line first, cumming untouched simply by watching this beautiful disaster. You can’t believe what has just unraveld before you, and he looks so fucking good, all fucked out without a single touch, that it pushes you over the edge. Jungkook senses the danger when you clench too hard around him and forces himself to his absolute limit to hold it. Until he makes sure those rhythmic pulses around him are fully involuntary. When he finally lets go, an inhumane sound rips from his throat, so guttural it could be a scream of agony. His orgasm gives him a terrible instant headache like a brain freeze, and you can feel the warm wetness gushing out of you, making you wonder just how large that load was.

A dense hush of pure satiation falls over the room, and your faded chuckles and heavy breathing are the only thing that echoes for a while. This is bliss. Utter and unmitigated bliss. You rest in Jungkook’s embrace until your limbs are loaded with some strength again, then you carefully pull him out of you. You stand up, thick strings of cum dripping down your thighs, and undo Yoongi’s restraints, soothing his cuffburns with soft kisses. 

“You got a bit carried away there with the confessions, Jeon,” he smirks at Jungkook. 

“Hey, what happens in the scene, stays in the scene, man,” Jungkook answers, one arm draped over his eyes, still trying to catch his breath. 

“So if I asked you to tag team her with me right now, you wouldn’t do it. Is that what you’re saying?” 

Jungkook removes his arm and looks at him, trying to assess how serious he really is, but all he can see is yet another enigmatic smile. Yoongi rises to his feet, reclaims your lips for himself again, then gallantly reaches for your hand and places a kiss on it as if this is your special day. As if you’re not all disheveled, covered in cum and spit. 

“I’ll take over the pussy worship duties for a while,” he declares. “Join us if you can manage to recover.” 

You cross the threshold to the bedroom hand in hand, and Jungkook watches you kiss Yoongi while removing his blazer. Then undo his belt. Then he watches Yoongi wrap the belt around your wrists and lay you down on the bed. Even though he just came, his cock faintly throbs. He might have accidentally picked up an addiction worse than cocaine tonight. 

The light barely managed to slip through the thick curtains of Jungkook’s room when he opened his eyes. It wasn’t that it bothered him, it was a dim, pale light muted by the black fabric, barely illuminating the room, but his body was already used to this schedule, to waking up at six in the morning, feeling sleep vanish in the instant his mind began to regain consciousness.

It had been part of a routine he had followed for a little over five years, and by now he couldn’t simply shake it off. It was part of him, and at this point, all that was left was to accept it, even if he could still feel traces of last night’s exhaustion.

His legs moved before the rest of his body, both lowering slowly until the tips of his feet touched the cold floor of his room, a sensation that always sent a shiver through him. Too cold. Perfect for waking up.

With a barely audible groan, he lifted his upper body until he was sitting, one hand traveling to his right shoulder to ease the tension there. He had slept too long leaning on it, it would bother him in a few hours when he had to drive for more than four. That would be a problem for his future self, he thought before standing, his weight falling fully onto feet still adjusting to the temperature difference.

His eyes moved to the small digital clock on his nightstand, red led numbers marking the time: six fifteen in the morning, the same as every day. He turned off the alarm set for thirty minutes later, why wait for it to ring when he was already awake? He left his phone beside the clock and walked toward the hallway leading to the living and dining room.

The first thing he did upon stepping into the living room was open the curtains facing the balcony. The sky outside was still dark, if he tried hard enough, he could even make out a few distant stars. The only thing lighting the place were the awful street lamps, their harsh white lights blinding his tired, sleepy eyes.

He hated cold lights. They made everything look… different. Out of place. He hated when things felt out of place.

They would turn off soon, he thought. Dawn would arrive, and those annoying lights would go out until night came again. By then, Jungkook would no longer have to see them.

He began walking back to the kitchen, his movements almost automatic: taking a bowl from the upper cabinet, grabbing the jar of oats and heating the milk, only to then combine them in the bowl and stir until the oats began turning paler, softer, a sign they were starting to absorb the milk, and with it, its taste.

When he tasted it, the boiling milk made his tongue tingle. Just like every morning. And like every time before, he set the bowl aside to let it cool while he showered, not before checking the time again, this time on the wall clock hanging above the three-seat couch in his living room.

Six thirty. Still early. Still enough time to shower while waiting for the boiling milk to reach room temperature.

There was something about the feeling of hot water falling over his body that calmed him. He knew it wasn’t personal, it was part of the human body itself: hot water helped relax muscles, clear airways, leave the body clean and warm. But it wasn’t just that.

Every time he stepped into that shower, with the fogged glass wall being the only thing hiding him from the rest of the world, he felt as if his problems washed away with the water running over his naked body, as if each drop carried away a part of himself he disliked. That was exactly what he felt now as he turned on the water and let it fall over him all at once.

Sometimes, on days like this, so close to that date, he had to apply a little more force when running the sponge against his skin. First with soap, then with water, rubbing and rubbing until his skin reddened, because only then did he feel completely clean. Only when the water burned his sensitive skin and his body began to ache and he could only think about that, did he feel completely clean.

And only then did he allow himself to turn off the water and step out of the shower.

Cold tiles beneath his feet. Rubbing his sensitive skin with a soft cotton towel. Applying a bit of body cream with a gentle scent that helped soothe the sting and made him feel a little calmer. A little less guilty. By the time he was fully dressed and ready, the intrusive thoughts had finally faded, and his chest felt slightly lighter.

That feeling only lasted until he checked the time again, almost always past seven. Almost always a few minutes before the sun began to appear on the horizon, peeking between tall buildings and cable towers, painting the sky a soft warm orange.

A part of him —the most conscious and logical— screamed at him to go back to bed, to finish his oats, now warm, beneath the blankets, to ignore the faint itch in his feet begging him to walk to the balcony and sit in silence to watch the sunrise. Every time, he ended up obeying his body, that small voice in his head complaining with every step.

At least today he had been five minutes away from succeeding. Maybe tomorrow would be the day he finally delayed it enough to arrive when the sun was already higher. Maybe tomorrow he would turn off the alarm when it rang, and not minutes before. For now, he simply accepted his fate and remained seated in that old metal chair he had bought when he first moved to Seoul, his bowl of oats beside him, watching the first rays of sunlight appear.

It was difficult for someone like Jungkook to try to overcome his past. His strong memory and ability to recall scents and sensations made forgetting parts of his life harder than for most. He could still remember the smell of his mother’s kitchen, his father’s cologne, the cream used when he was a child every time he scraped his knees falling to the ground.

For him, that was enough to explain why every morning, at this same hour, the walls around him seemed to take on the same blue-copper shade of his old apartment in Busan, the sudden scent of lemon and mint mixed with wet earth and wild leaves. Hands wrapping gently around his shoulders, accompanied by a soft pressure there…

The difference was that now those same walls were a different color, there were no longer hanging plants on the balcony bringing that wild scent he loved so much, and now the perfume accompanying that weight on his shoulders was no longer citrus.

It was softer. Sweeter. A fruity scent that shattered that image of the past in a single second.

Pulling him back to reality, helping him out of that hole where he drowned every morning.

“Up this early again?”

A shiver ran down his spine at Eunha’s soft words against his ear. He would never get used to how warm her voice was, nor how warm her touch felt; every gesture and phrase seemed coated in honey and sugar, his mind flooding with those new sensations, helping him block any memory that tormented him.

“Seems like it,” he murmured softly, his hand —much larger than hers— resting over it. Her knuckles felt soft against his rougher, colder fingertips; she had probably washed them before coming to him. “I still struggle to sleep.”

“Because of the show?” Her feet moved gracefully across the balcony tiles, stopping in front of him before sitting on his lap. For a second, standing before him, completely blocking the sunrise, he could see her figure illuminated by the sun’s rays, covering what had been tormenting him for almost five years. “I’m nervous too. I’ve never been on tv… Do you think there will be many cameras? Some shows hide them everywhere.”

Her hands rose to his hair, fingers tangling in short dark strands, not pulling, just… stroking. Jungkook was sure she had begun making a small braid in it; she always did, when he rested on her lap, when they lay in bed, sometimes even during gatherings with friends when she sat on him.

Whenever she did, he closed his eyes and let her, leaning a little closer.

“They probably have cameras everywhere. Shows like this love drama.”

“You’re right,” she laughed softly, letting the small braid she had just finished fall over the rest of his hair, the tip already beginning to come undone, “I once heard that the more drama you give, the better you get paid. Should we try?”

A smile appeared on his face at the playful tone in her voice; the idea of making a scene in the middle of the show just to draw attention was tempting, after all, that was how people gained attention in those programs, taking on the identity of a false character and making it their own.

“They wouldn’t handle watching us make a scene,” he whispered against her cheek, leaving soft kisses along her skin, forming a faint trail of reddish marks from her cheek to her shoulder, his lips curving upward when he heard her laugh.

“No, right? We’d be too good for them.” She rose from his lap, hands brushing through his hair to push it back. It was much longer than when they first met, much darker too. Fashion four years ago had been very different from today, as hard as that was to believe. “They’d look at us and say, ‘How could we edit someone like this? They’re already perfect!’”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

“Of course not! Have you seen us in a mirror? We’re visually very attractive.” One of her perfectly shaped brows lifted, the corner of her smile mirroring the gesture before nudging Jungkook’s chair with her foot. “Or will you contradict me, Jeon?”

“Contradict my girlfriend? Never.” His hand rested over his chest, his face shifting into an overly dramatic expression, even if a smile threatened to escape.

“That’s what I thought.” She leaned toward him one last time, enough to bend down and press a short kiss to his forehead. It was simple, soft, but it made Jungkook’s whole body feel warm. He had forgotten what it felt like for a simple kiss to make his stomach turn. “I’ll get ready so we can leave soon.”

“Mhm.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go, watching her back disappear into the hallway leading to the shared bathroom. His hands fell onto the armrests, fingers clenching into fists a few times before fully relaxing.

This time, it hurt even more to turn his gaze forward.

The trip from Seoul to Busan took four hours. Four hours if they were lucky enough not to run into heavy traffic. They had been fortunate to travel on a Monday, far from any holiday or long weekend, so the highway was nearly empty, aside from a few cargo trucks and the occasional car passing on the opposite lane.

Jungkook had been born in Busan. He had spent his entire childhood there and the first years of his adulthood, right before moving to Seoul to pursue his dream of opening a tattoo shop. Since then, he hadn’t set foot in this place, or anywhere near it. Family dinners were held at his older brother’s house, who also lived in Seoul, and every time his parents invited him over, he came up with a cheap excuse not even they believed.

They never asked questions about it. Everyone already knew why he avoided it.

Now, avoiding it was impossible. When they were first asked to participate and signed the contract, the filming location hadn’t been decided yet. The news had come weeks after they signed, there was no backing out. And even if there had been, if he had withdrawn, he would’ve had to explain himself to Eunha. Jungkook didn’t want to explain himself to her. To anyone, if he was honest.

His past in this place had been buried the moment he boarded a bus to Seoul, and he hoped —prayed— it would stay that way.

“Yah! Did you see that house back there? It was huge!” Eunha’s eyes traveled from the visor mirror to the window. One of her hands firmly held a makeup pouch filled with products, while the other held a dark brown eyeliner pencil. He had slowed down slightly the moment he saw her take it out, afraid he might cause an accident if he accelerated too much.

“I think I’ve seen at least five houses in the last fifteen minutes, and each one looks bigger than the last.” The area Jungkook had lived in wasn’t nearly as luxurious as this. His neighborhood had been filled with smaller two-story houses, narrow dirt roads that had only been paved years later to make them somewhat more pleasant.

The area they were driving through now had yards big enough to fit three houses inside. He had seen some with in-ground pools, even a few with playground sets in the back.

Definitely another world.

“Well, there are a lot of participants. It would be weird if they gave us a small house, right?” She let out a laugh, focusing on her reflection to make the line as symmetrical as the other eye. Jungkook had never understood how it always looked so good on her. “Ah, wait, wasn’t it a villa we’re staying at?”

“Yep.” He sped up a little once he saw her put the eyeliner away, rummaging through the pouch until she found her eyelash curler. That one scared him less than the pencil. “They said it would be a villa by the sea. You know, to give it that summer vibe.”

“Right.” She nodded slowly, blinking several times after applying mascara. One of her fingers moved up to remove a small clump that had stuck to her lashes. “Ugh, this one’s way too dry. I’ll have to buy a new one when we get back.”

“Why don’t you use mine?”

One of the advantages of growing up in a school with more girls than boys was learning the magic of makeup. Jungkook’s best friend had taught him, after using him as her practice model, of course. Sooner rather than later, he learned, and even started applying it on himself for special occasions: year-end parties, birthdays. Never anything too elaborate. Just enough to highlight his eyes and keep his lips hydrated.

“I don’t like it. It makes my lashes look weird.” She stored everything back in her pouch and placed it inside the worn leather bag she loved so much and never seemed willing to replace. When she straightened in her seat again, her eyes immediately focused on the view outside the window.

Finally, after hours of driving, they could see the ocean. The windows were down, so the fresh sea breeze and the scent of salt were beginning to fill the car. The road grew narrower and closer to the shoreline.

“Woah… the view is beautiful. It’s been so long since I’ve been to the beach.” The breeze flowing in through the window made Eunha’s hair —tied in a low ponytail— move freely inside the car. A few strands near her face escaped the tie, covering her eyes. She looked beautiful. “We should come back sometime. Just the two of us. No cameras and all that.”

He glanced at her for a second, feeling his cheeks warm when he realized she had already been looking at him. He probably should’ve felt embarrassed hearing her tease his reaction, but there wasn’t a single part of him that was truly ashamed of being nervous about the way his girlfriend looked at him.

“Y-yeah, sure. I mean, I guess we could go to Jeju during our vacation.” He cleared his throat, leaning a little closer to the steering wheel to see the road more clearly. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he could swear he saw a large white house in the distance. He hoped that was the villa they’d be staying in for the next month.

“Right? Sounds more fun than being stuck at home.” She rolled up her window, smiling widely as the same house he had seen grew larger. From where they were, they could see tall trees along the side of the villa, covering at least half the view. They could also make out what seemed to be a pool at the lowest level, or at least that’s what Jungkook assumed the blue mass at the base of the house was.

“Looks like we’re finally here.” Just like her, he rolled up his window and began slowing down, looking around to make sure it was the right place, even though the map on his phone clearly showed that it was.

They only had to wait a few more minutes before spotting a sandy parking area where seven other cars were already parked, probably other participants or staff members. He parked in the only available space on the left row, the closest to the villa, careful not to hit any of the cars around him. They were way too close for his liking.

“We’re here!”

He had barely unbuckled his seatbelt when she stepped out of the car, taking quick, short steps toward the trunk, where most of their luggage was stored—aside from her handbag. Her excitement didn’t surprise him. Even he felt his lower back aching after sitting in an uncomfortable, narrow car seat for over four hours.

“Leave them there, I’ll carry them!” he called from inside the car, grabbing his keys and stepping out more slowly. His back was killing him, and he could swear one of his knees had cracked, he always felt a little older when he heard that sound. “Those shoes won’t even let you walk to the entrance.”

Eunha rarely wore heels or platform shoes. She usually stuck to floral sandals or low heels, shoes that allowed her to walk comfortably without tripping, one of the many downsides of having flat feet. Even knowing that, she had decided to bring the tallest platform sandals she could find in her closet, a gift from a mutual friend who never realized she didn’t wear them, saved for a “special” occasion.

She’d probably change them once inside.

“Of course they will. I’m used to them already. If I wanted to, I could even jump in them.”

Her hands quickly grabbed the handles of her suitcase, pulling out the colorful one that held her belongings. Jungkook’s was barely visible inside the trunk, its black color only noticeable from the slight shine reflecting off the sunlight behind them, and from the small stickers they had both placed on it back when juice boxes used to come with collectible stickers from their favorite series.

“Babe, you can barely carry it on pavement while wearing sneakers,” he teased with a sly smile as he pulled out his own suitcase, setting it down on the sand briefly to close the trunk and lock the car. Eunha was already walking —or trying to walk— toward what seemed to be wooden steps leading up to the large villa.

She only managed three steps before stopping and dropping the suitcase onto the ground.

“… Okay, fine. You win. You carry it.”

Her voice came out much softer than before, almost muffled, as if she had said it with her lips pursed. The image of her pouting after losing to him made him smile. He would’ve liked to see her face, but he knew she was stubborn enough to keep walking without giving him one last glance.

He grabbed both suitcases, one in each hand, catching up to Eunha easily. Just as he’d expected, she was moving much slower in those platforms, her gaze fixed on her steps, too focused on not misstepping and twisting her ankle.

It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Just as he was about to step onto the first stair, two men in suits emerged from one of the cars. One of them, the taller one, wore black sunglasses. The other, about Jungkook’s height, had an earpiece in his right ear and held small black boxes wrapped with thin cables.

“Name?”

“Uh, I’m Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. And she’s Lee Eunha. We came to film a—” He stopped when one of the men checked his phone in silence, his eyes shifting from the screen to the two of them, or at least he assumed so. He couldn’t see his eyes behind the lenses.

“Do you have the email from the program’s representative?”

“Yes! Here.” Eunha pulled out her phone quickly, gasping when she nearly dropped it from nerves. He couldn’t blame her. Even he felt uncomfortable with how unfriendly the men looked. At least he knew he’d feel safer once inside the villa. “It’s this one. Look.”

Both men leaned in silently, scanning every word in the email, searching for something that didn’t match, a name, a date, a detail that could put them in a compromising situation. Fortunately, neither found anything unusual.

The shorter man —the one holding the black boxes— approached them with the same stoic expression he’d had since stepping out of the car. His hands moved expertly as he clipped the black device onto Jungkook’s belt and onto the waistband of her skirt, being noticeably more careful with her than with him, explaining how to adjust them when changing clothes, their function, and how to use them.

“Your rooms are on the second floor. Check which one is available and settle in as soon as possible.”

It was the last thing Jungkook heard before both men bowed slightly and returned to the car, shutting the doors much louder than necessary. He couldn’t help but grimace.

“I thought they only existed in movies,” Eunha murmured, her voice lower than usual, though her playful tone still lingered, softer now, more discreet. “For a second I thought they were going to make us turn back or something.”

“Tell me about it.” He picked up both suitcases again, walking a little faster to avoid the men, and the accusatory look they seemed to give anyone who stepped onto the stairs. “My heart almost stopped when I saw them reading the email. I thought they’d ask for ID or something. Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.” She climbed each step carefully, her hand uselessly searching for a railing to hold onto so she wouldn’t fall, but all that surrounded them were tall plants and wildflowers that definitely didn’t belong there. “What matters is they let us in.”

The staircase was shorter than they expected, barely twelve steps buried under sand leading to a circular fire pit. It wasn’t lit, but large logs rested in the center, surrounded by cream-colored sofas.

A little farther back was the pool they had seen earlier. Or at least one of them. If he had to describe it simply, it was like having a small waterfall: the upper pool spilled water into the lower one with every slight movement. He had never seen something like that before, but he assumed it was normal for a villa that probably cost five years of his salary.

“It’s beautiful.”

Eunha’s eyes were fixed on the pool and the occasional curtain of droplets falling downward. He remembered her mentioning once that she loved the idea of swimming in an infinity pool, but she didn’t know anyone who had one, and the hotels that did were too expensive.

“Do you think they’ll let us use it at night?” Her hand found Jungkook’s arm, gripping it tightly as they approached the entrance. From where they stood, they could hear murmurs and laughter from inside, even though in front of them there was only a concrete wall.

To his surprise, the entire house seemed to be made of glass, except for the public areas. What kind of nonsense was that?

“Probably. I’m sure they have lights.” He carefully carried the suitcases inside after opening the door for her. Once in, the noise seemed louder. Had everyone already arrived?

His girlfriend walked ahead toward the main living room, where the noise seemed to come from. To his surprise, the other eight participants were already inside. Most were sitting in pairs —one even seated on her boyfriend’s lap— others sitting far enough apart that you wouldn’t assume anything, if not for their intertwined hands.

There really was everything here.

“Oh! You must be the pair we were missing.” One of the guys, wearing a shirt far too colorful and extravagant for Jungkook’s taste, stood up almost instantly, approaching them with a tight hug and firm handshake. “Kim Yoosung, at your service.”

Yoosung. Easy name to remember. That would be helpful. With so many people present, he’d have trouble keeping track of who was who, unless he remembered specific traits. In Yoosung’s case, the light brown highlights in his hair.

“Come on, there are seats left next to Julian and Sakura.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he grabbed their wrists and pulled them along toward what Jungkook assumed would be the easiest couple to remember: Julian’s blonde hair stood out effortlessly, and Sakura was the only woman in the room with short hair. “They’re the youngest, so they’ll understand your shyness.”

If he was honest, he didn’t need them to speak to notice their shyness. Sakura looked terrified when Yoosung approached holding both of them, practically pushing them down into the empty seats. And Julian… Julian seemed far too busy playing with a strand of his girlfriend’s hair to pay them any attention.

“Intense,” Jungkook muttered under his breath, glancing at Sakura’s hands gripping Julian’s tightly, her eyes fixed on the floor as she greeted them softly. Her accent was still quite noticeable, but perfectly understandable. He couldn’t help but think that maybe her timid demeanor was more about fear of mispronouncing something than simple social anxiety.

He wasn’t sure what his girlfriend was saying to them. Her voice was too low compared to Yoosung’s, who seemed to steer the conversation wherever he pleased with charismatic phrases and exaggerated laughter. If he was honest, it irritated him a little.

He rubbed his hands against the fabric of his jeans, trying to focus on the conversation the girls had started. He caught a few scattered words:“years,” “together,” “not yet”, though it was hard to connect them without context.

Judging by Sakura’s expression, it must’ve been something good.

He intended to keep half-listening when his eyes briefly landed on their forgotten luggage by the entrance. Right. He had forgotten he was still holding them before being dragged over here. He glanced sideways at Eunha, his fingers itching to touch her arm and tell her they should drop their things upstairs before continuing, but she looked so engaged in conversation.

Well. He would be the one carrying the luggage upstairs anyway.

“Hey.” He placed his hand on her knee, his thumb tracing small circles against her skin. “I’m going to take the bags upstairs.”

Before she could protest or argue, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. Soft and sweet, leaving a strawberry flavor behind when he pulled away. He loved the taste of that lipstick.

“I’ll be right back. Wait for me here, 'okay?”

He stood quietly, offering a tight-lipped smile to the couple beside them, something along the lines of “Sorry to leave early, I need to drop off the luggage.” At least he hoped that’s what they understood.

He passed between people with soft “excuse me” and “sorry,” trying to reach the suitcases near the entrance as quickly as possible. He knew that, technically, the show had already begun. He had spotted a few hidden cameras —behind plants, in ceiling corners— places you wouldn’t naturally look unless you were searching on purpose. If filming had already started, the official presentation would happen soon, and starting with luggage scattered across the main room didn’t seem like a good idea.

The stairs to the second floor were easy to find, right opposite the entrance. Floating steps with lights underneath that illuminated the path and added an elegant touch. That didn’t make him feel any less nervous climbing them with so much weight and no railing to stop him from falling to the first floor if he misstepped.

The second floor was mostly hallway and doors. At the far end, he could see what looked like an open space with sofas and a coffee table, probably another common area to break up the monotony of so many doors.

All the rooms on the right were occupied, small cardboard signs hanging from the handles with the couples’ names handwritten on them. On the left, two rooms remained empty, one at each corner.

Jungkook chose the one beside the common lounge he had seen from afar. The idea of staying right next to the stairs bothered him. He had once lived in an apartment facing a stairwell, and the number of arguments he’d overheard had been unbelievable.

The first thing he saw upon opening the door was the massive bed in the center of the room. Cream-colored sheets —everything in this house seemed to be cream or completely transparent— pulled so tight they looked unreal. The pillows looked too fluffy, too new. Like something out of a magazine.

There were a few more pieces of furniture: a small sofa, a dresser, a closet, and a television. And of course, two nightstands on either side of the bed. All in pastel tones. Very easy to stain or damage, if you asked him.

On the right side of the room, there was a door leading to the bathroom, large enough to fit another bed inside. The counter beneath the mirror was far too long for the barely ten skincare products he had brought. And having both a bathtub and a shower felt excessive.

Did all the rooms have bathrooms like this? Or had he just won the lottery?

Stop it, Jungkook. You're being stupid.

He shook his head from side to side, opening both suitcases and beginning to sort through what they had brought, mostly summer clothes. The dresser was more than enough for both of them. He took the two bottom drawers for himself and left the top two for Eunha; her clothes were thinner, so more could fit in a single drawer. The uppermost drawers would be for underwear, one for each of them.

The closet… the closet would be for the suitcases. Yes, that was much better than leaving them under the bed, besides, there was no space beneath it anyway. That solved the clothing issue entirely.

Within thirty minutes, everything was in place, including the bathroom products, which he had struggled to arrange in a way that didn’t make the furniture look painfully empty. He would have to remember to tell Eunha where he’d put everything. He’d do it later, when they came up to sleep. There was no rush yet.

He shut the closet doors firmly, hiding the suitcases from view and silently declaring his task complete, ready to head back downstairs and slip into whatever conversation the rest of the participants were having.

Only then, when he picked up the phone he had left forgotten on the bed, did he notice a faint yellowish mark across the sheets.

Light. A streak of light.

When he turned around and looked at the massive glass window —the only thing shielding their privacy from the outside world— he truly understood what having this room meant. It faced the ocean. The sun would set here. They would have a perfect view of the sunset when night came.

And in the morning, when seven-thirty arrived, there would be nothing but a brightening sky welcoming a sunrise he wouldn’t be able to see.

It should’ve been a good thing. It was what he wanted, after all, leave old habits behind, start over, forget what made him feel so guilty and finally give himself completely to this new life.

It didn’t feel good at all.

And he hated knowing why.

“You’re so fucked, Jungkook.” The words barely left his mouth in a whisper as his legs gave out, letting his weight fall onto the too-perfect bed he’d be using for the next month. A whole damn month. “So fucking—."

“Jungkook?”

He stood up the second his brain registered her voice, eyes so wide they looked as if they might pop out. He resembled a child who had just been caught by his mother doing something he knew would earn him punishment.

In part, he felt exactly like that.

“Ah, here you are.” Her eyes traveled across every corner of the room, fingers brushing along each piece of furniture with the same expression of disbelief he’d probably worn earlier. “Woah, they really put effort into this.”

“And you haven’t even seen the bathroom. It’s…” He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. For some reason, looking at her made him feel guilty. “Huge.”

“I see.” Her footsteps barely sounded against the wooden floor, soft clicks growing louder as she approached. “I guess I’ll see it later… Is everything okay? You look… I don’t know. Nervous.”

Jungkook wasn’t stupid. He knew his face was more expressive than he would’ve liked. Everyone told him so. They begged him to work on it. It wasn’t pleasant comforting your friend while your expression clearly said, yes, you were the asshole this time.

That was precisely why he took advantage of how close she was, burying his face in her neck, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist. This way he could hide from her scrutinizing eyes and avoid more questions he wouldn’t be able to answer.

It was better. For both of them.

“Uh-huh,” he murmured against her skin, sighing softly at the faint fruity perfume she wore. Maybe he should start using it too. “Everything’s fine. Just a little nervous, I guess.”

There was something about feeling her skin beneath his lips that made his breathing hitch. Maybe it had to do with the soft sighs she let out every time he left a small bite on her shoulder. Or the way her hands tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to spark a pleasant sting.

“Kook.” Her hands slid from his hair down to his neck as she leaned back slightly.

Seeing her face again, flushed with a soft pink that trailed down to her neck, made him shiver where he stood.

He knew she wanted to say something. He could see it in the way her eyes moved from side to side, how they lingered a second too long on his lips, how her mouth moved silently around words she hadn’t quite shaped yet.

It was fine. She didn’t need to say it.

He was sure she wanted the same thing he did in that moment.

One of his hands left her waist, sliding up to her jaw. His thumb traced an invisible path from her cheek to her lower lip, pressing just enough to part them slightly.

“We still have time, don’t we?”

He rested his forehead against hers, eyes fixed on her lips, on her chest, on the way it seemed to rise a little faster than it had a few seconds ago.

Beautiful.

She was truly beautiful.

She brought her lips to his, sighing when she finally felt them against his. At first, it was a soft kiss. Slow, shy. Small brushes between them that gradually grew bolder, firmer. The grip of his hand on her cheek tightened slightly, pulling her closer until he felt her chest collide with his, stealing a breath from her lips.

That was all he needed to push his tongue between her lips, tasting the sweetness of the apricot juice she’d had on the way to the villa. Being with her always overwhelmed his senses. Her scent, warm and familiar. The taste he was already beginning to recognize as his own. The heat of her hands clutching at his shirt, wrinkling the fabric as if she, too, needed something more.

His breathing mixed with hers, damp, uneven. It was too much, and still, it wasn’t enough.

It felt suffocating. Gratifying. Addictive.

“Bed. Now,” she whispered against his lips, barely managing to form the words with Jungkook’s mouth still pressed to hers, searching and craving more.

Their steps were clumsy, hurried, feet colliding with each other, stopping only when their knees hit the edge of the bed. His hands didn’t hesitate to corner her against it once she fell back onto the sheets, his knee sliding between her legs as his lips devoured every sigh that slipped from her mouth at the friction.

One of his hands traveled down to her thigh, moving upward until it reached the band of her underwear. His lips followed a similar path, kissing and marking any exposed skin he found along the way, sucking a little harder once he reached the hem of her shirt.

“Jung—”

“Attention, participants!” A woman’s voice rang out through an irritating, overly loud burst of static. It seemed to come from the room itself, though neither of them was quite sure where. “We ask that you all gather at the bonfire in five minutes for the official presentation of the program… Oh! And to show you a —not so small— surprise we’re sure you’ll love.”

They both froze for a few seconds, not even moving from where they were. Jungkook’s hand remained fixed on her hip, his lips just above her chest, while Eunha’s hands still clutched his shirt, ready to pull it out of the way. Or at least, she would have, if not for the interruption.

“Shit,” he muttered against her neck, resting his forehead on her shoulder before letting out a heavy sigh. Right. They were on a show. Not alone. Fuck, were there cameras in here too? He would die if that were the case.

He felt her shift beneath him, her hands releasing his shirt to fix her clothes, adjusting them to properly cover everything they were meant to. He could see the red rising from her neck to her ears. Was he just as flushed? Probably.

“W-we should go,” she said, placing her hands on his chest and gently pushing him off so she could stand. Her hair was slightly messy, but nothing a quick pass of her hand couldn’t fix.

“Ah, yeah… yeah, of course. Let’s go.”

It went without saying how uncomfortable the walk down to the bonfire was.

“It looks even better with the fire,” Eunha said with a smile, quickening her pace when she realized they were the last ones to arrive.

In one of the corners —farthest from the entrance— Sakura and Julian were seated, Sakura raising an arm to signal they had saved them spots. Who would’ve thought his girlfriend would make friends so quickly in a place like this? Though he shouldn’t have been surprised. She had always been too good at making people feel at ease.

That was how they started dating in the first place.

“I thought she was shy,” he whispered near her ear as they approached the seats, greeting everyone with a polite smile as they passed.

“Anyone would avoid talking if you had someone on top of you for hours.”

She had a point.

“You’re finally here!” her tone was lighter and more natural than earlier, less tense, less formal. “Did you hear the announcement? Of course you did, it was public. What do you think the host will be like? I heard Eunji say she sounded like an actress.”

“An actress? Ah, I’m not so sure… I don’t quite remember her voice, but she should be here soon."

“I hope she tells us if we can take off the microphones at night. Don’t you feel how uncomfortable they are? I had to adjust mine several times so it wouldn’t itch against my chest.”

She was right, now that he thought about it. He knew they were necessary for the show —their voices wouldn’t be heard otherwise— but the idea of wearing them at all times felt… uncomfortable. Especially if he thought about things like going to the bathroom or… finishing what they had started upstairs.

“Although I think it’s because my skin is a little sensitive…” She brushed her hair aside, her face briefly returning to that shy expression she had when they first met, though it only lasted a second. “Oh! Someone’s coming.”

Everyone turned at once, the staircase becoming the center of attention along with the figure of a woman ascending in an elegant black summer dress. Like Eunha, she wore high platform shoes, the wicker base adding a more rustic, relaxed touch. He felt like he had seen her somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember exactly where.

“Participants!” Her voice sounded exactly how you would imagine it, elegant, soft, calm, with just enough brightness to lend a hint of informality. “I’m delighted to finally welcome you to the program.”

A wave of soft “thank yous” echoed around the bonfire, followed by murmurs at the other end of the couch. He assumed they knew the host better than he did.

“My name is Lee Dahee, and I’ll be the host accompanying you throughout the duration of the program.” She clapped with a wide smile, and the rest of the participants followed her lead. "First of all, I just want to say how truly happy I am to have all of you here. Deciding to take part in an experience like this isn’t easy, and the fact that you chose to do it together already says so much about your relationship."

"Now, getting back to the program and how it works, this show isn’t just a competition. It’s an opportunity, an opportunity to understand each other on a deeper level, to face situations you may have never encountered before, and to discover what your relationship is really made of. Throughout this journey you’ll face eight different challenges, each worth ten points. The couple who earns the highest overall score will win the grand prize of one hundred thousand dollars."

Jungkook took Eunha’s hand on the couch, giving it a gentle squeeze as he listened. They had known it would be something like this, no one gives money to ten random people for nothing, but hearing it confirmed gave them a strange sense of reassurance.

When it came to team challenges, there was no one better than them. Hard to beat opponents who were as competitive as they were.

“In the event of a tie between two couples, the prize will be split in half, and each couple will receive fifty thousand dollars.” She paused briefly, studying their reactions as if expecting a complaint. “Any questions?”

“Here.”

The woman sitting next to Yoosung raised her hand. Her lightly tanned skin stood out even more against the colorful jewelry decorating her fingers and wrist. He hadn’t noticed earlier —he had barely taken in the place when they arrived— but she truly seemed to love accessories. She wore a set of three necklaces of different lengths, all matching both her bracelets and earrings. Combined with the beautiful floral dress she wore, she looked even more stunning than she already was.

If that was Yoosung’s partner, he must tell very good jokes.

“When do the challenges begin? Will we get a notice or some sort of preview beforehand, or…?”

“I’m glad you asked, that’s exactly what I was about to address.” She cleared her throat, her smile widening. “You’ll be notified of the challenges on the morning of the same day, but there will be no previews. You know,we can’t allow any cheating.”

“As for when they begin… the first one starts in…” She glanced at her wristwatch, lips pursing slightly. “Exactly fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes? Starting now?” He couldn’t help asking, the confusion he felt mirrored in everyone else’s faces. They had barely finished presenting the show, how could there already be a challenge? And in fifteen minutes?

“That’s right.”

“But—”

“It’s an elimination challenge.” She seemed to be enjoying the looks of horror spreading across their faces, her smile only brightening. “You can earn ten points and continue in the program, or earn zero and leave. The choice is yours.”

It took a moment for everyone to process that they had ten minutes to prove themselves for the first time, and risk the promised one hundred thousand dollars. Or at least, that’s what it seemed like judging by the way they stared at each other with parted lips and wide eyes.

“I’ll explain the rules so you can relax a little.” She pulled a card from the pocket of her dress. The name of the show was printed on the back, but it was tilted too far for him to read clearly. “After I finish giving the instructions, I’ll ask you a brief question. The only possible answers are ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ If both of you, as a couple, decide to continue in the program and answer yes, you will automatically earn ten points and remain in this villa until the next elimination challenge. If, on the other hand, your answer as a couple is no, you must collect your belongings and say goodbye to the program.”

“That’s it? Really? It sounds… easy,” Eunha whispered.

Yes. He thought the same. Too easy.

“I assume there’s a catch,” the woman from before replied, arms crossed over her chest now, her earlier curiosity replaced with caution.

“You could call it that.” She stepped aside, clearing the staircase completely. “For this challenge, we’ll have a deciding factor. More participants.”

He was certain this part had been carefully orchestrated. Otherwise, he couldn’t explain how, the moment she said the word participants, a group of people began appearing on the staircase. He didn’t recognize any of them. Some even looked foreign. Would they be competing against them? If so, he didn’t understand how that would affect their decision.

“Do you recognize anyone?”

He turned to his girlfriend, who looked just as —if not more— confused than he was. Her eyes studied each face climbing the stairs, but with each new arrival, her doubt only grew.

“No, I’ve never—” The words caught in her throat, her grip on Jungkook’s hand tightening. “This has to be a joke.”

Following her gaze, he saw a dark-haired man standing on the last step. His face was fairly ordinary compared to some of the others; what stood out most was his clothing, khaki pants that seemed too short, and a half-open shirt so worn you could see faint traces of skin through the fabric.

He could make out a small ink stain near his ear. Letters, maybe—but too small to read from where he sat.

Eu…? Eun…?

He tilted his head, squinting with curiosity. What about that guy had made Eunha so tense? He couldn’t understand it.

At least, not until his eyes caught a too-familiar checkered pattern beside the man.

It was difficult for someone like Jungkook to try to overcome his past. His strong memory and ability to recall scents and sensations made forgetting parts of his life harder than for most.

Like the citrus perfume you’d worn since your fifteenth birthday. The color of your eyes when the morning sun reflected in them on the days you stubbornly stayed awake just to watch the sunrise. The clothes you wore on your first date… even the hairstyle you had the day you decided to end the relationship. Without hesitation. Without asking what he wanted. Simply… disappearing.

He had lived five years of his life reliving your memory every time the sun rose.

Now he couldn’t help but think he would live five more replaying this image instead.

You, with the same hairstyle you wore the day you broke up with him. The same outfit from your first date. The same light in your eyes that used to appear every time you looked at him…

But this time, with every sunset.

“You have ten minutes to come up with your answer, and your time starts now.”

“Jungkook, could you tell us exactly what you would do if you won the program with your girlfriend?”

“If I won the program? Ah… that’s a good question.” He let out a small, breathless laugh. “I’ve actually thought about it a lot these past few days. I have a hard time sleeping around this time of year, so I’ve had plenty of time to think.” His hands shifted over his lap, fingers intertwining with nervousness. “I think… if we do win the program, I’d like to use that money to take the next step.”

He swallowed softly, shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly.

“It’s been three years together. It’s about time, right?”

You open the door to Jungkook leaning against the frame with a questioning look on his face.

You widen your eyes at him in silent indignance. “See? I told you, we still have plenty of time to spare before we need to get to City Hall.”

“I’m fully aware of that.”

You scoffed. “Okay, so? Why do you keep rushing me then?”

He leans in, dangerously close to your face. “I couldn’t take my eyes off your ass since you slipped that dress on.”

Your stomach clenches instinctively while your pulse quickens. You sank your teeth into your lower lip.

You slowly grabbed a hold of his tie and started to twist it around your hand, tugging on it. “Well? Are you just going to stand here staring at it or are you going to do something about it?”

******

“Shit! It’s my mom.” You scramble to answer the phone. “Ma?”

“Excuse me? Don’t you ‘ma’ me! Where are you guys? You should have been here half an hour ago!” Your mom barks on the other line.

“Uh—w-we’re almost done here. Then we’ll hop in the car and go.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, well, how much longer? The county clerk might be calling Taehyung and Jennie’s names soon!”

You glanced up at Jungkook who continued to slowly and torturously push into you while smiling mischievously. You bit down on your lips to keep yourself from moaning.

“S-seven minutes and we’ll get on the road.” He flashed a grin before dipping his head to nudge your chin up to suck on your neck.

“That’s oddly specific,” your mom remarks.

“Mom, I gotta go. We’ll be done quicker when I’m off the phone.”

“Alright, alright. See you soon. Bye!” She hangs up.

“Fuck, I never thought that call would end—hhmmmfuck,” you moaned once he thrust into you, quick and deep.

“Well, chop-chop—we’re in a time crunch, remember?” His mouth curves into a wide smile while he watches your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure.

******

You and Jungkook arrive seconds before the justice of the peace walks out of the elevator at the top of the marble steps of the City Hall rotunda. Taehyung and Jennie stood side-by-side–him in a simple, gray suit and white button-up and her in a simple, ankle-length, fitted white dress, accented by a birdcage-style veil that was pinned to her hair with a trio of fresh gardenias that matched her modest bouquet and Taehyung’s boutonniere.

They exchanged vows and rings–which your dad carried since he served as best man. The ceremony was short and sweet but no less meaningful. Everyone cheered and a few of you even shed some tears after their first kiss as a married couple.

You came up to hug Taehyung tightly, extremely happy for him. You also move to give Jennie a hug, officially welcoming her to the family. You saw that same look in Taehyung’s eyes when he told you that he was ‘stupidly happy.’ You were happy that they figured things out and rebuilt their relationship. He and Jennie loved each other very much.

The reception was equally low-key. There were only about 30 people in attendance–close family and friends only. It was held at the couple’s favorite restaurant–which served galbi, samgyeopsal, that you can get with a comforting bowl of janchi guksu.

Right before dinner, you were milling around the banquet room. Guests held glasses of beer, some had wine while they chatted and joked around. It was all very relaxed.

“Geez, look at you. You’re such a goner,” Mindi says tauntingly as she sidles up to you. “You get all heart-eyes when you look at Jungkook. It’s so cute.” She pinches your cheek in a tiny way.

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, unaware that you had been staring at him from afar while he’s in deep conversation with your dad and Taehyung. “Aish, don’t worry, unnie. I know he’s just as crazy in love with you, too.”

Jungkook stops for a moment and finally locks eyes with you. He gives you a wink before turning his attention back to his conversation.

Your stomach does a little somersault. Mindi’s cackles filled the air. “What did I tell you, unnie? craay-zzy!!!“

“You’re one to talk! Look at you, bringing your own wedding date,” you retorted, shifting your gaze at her boyfriend, Yoongi, who was currently chatting with Auntie Dahlia and Jimin.

You’d been privy to their relationship’s progress. Mindi often talked about how much she swooned at how Yoongi dotes on her. He even went so far as to move closer to her, cutting his travel time by over two hours.

“Trying to get in good with the in-laws, already, I see?”

She groans. “I hate how eomma is head-over-heels for him. She’s always asking when he’s going to come around next, always wanting him to stay for dinner.”