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inspired by: ARIRANG standard vinyl yoongi's version, iykyk. i literally self-combusted when bighit released the blurred preview of his poster— because he has no business looking so damn hot and sexy in those loosened tie, oh please!

Yoongi's stylist rolls her eyes the moment she sees you walking through the door, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

She’s probably still upset about what happened last week—when the button of Yoongi’s pants mysteriously went missing after the two of you excused yourselves for a moment.

You can still picture her sewing a brand-new spare button onto his pants like her life depended on it because there was no time left before he had to film his part for their album promotion. Meanwhile, you were just standing beside her, skin warm and flushed, mouth spent, and knees red.

Yup, you were the one responsible for the missing button. And yup, you gave your boyfriend a delicious blowjob that day.

Yoongi’s face lights up the moment he sees you strut your way toward him. Beside him is his make up artist making little touch ups of his make up and a staff member holding a mini fan to keep him from sweating too much.

“Hey, pretty. You came,” he greets you with a soft kiss, hugging your frame a little tighter than he should.

“Of course. My whiny, needy boyfriend has been texting since this morning,” you tease as you return the gesture.

“Your fault for not staying over last night,” he quickly counters, obviously still upset that you went back to your apartment yesterday.

Yoongi has been your boyfriend for more than three years now. All of his friends and everyone in their company know about your relationship, but it’s still hidden from the fans and the general public.

You both like it that way—for extra privacy and security.

These past few weeks, you’ve been staying at his house at his persistent request. But your landlord reached out the other day, asking if you could clear out your delivery packages, which had already piled up and were occupying the space at the security post.

You told Yoongi you badly needed to return to your apartment. Of course, he didn’t like that—but he had no choice.

“Still mad about that?” you coo, linking your arm with his as you lean your weight against him.

The staff that had been surrounding him are long gone now, giving the two of you some space.

“Nope, not mad at all. I’m just saying you’re gonna pay for it later when we get home.” His tone is a little cocky, but you know he’s serious.

“Hm. Can you just let it go? It’s just one night.”

“I slept alone…”

“Okay, drama queen. You’re being ridiculous,” you say with affectionate teasing.

He gives you a side-eye, lips curling upward. “Go on. Keep that attitude, and you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

The idea of him punishing you for leaving him alone last night totally excites you. But knowing your boyfriend and what he’s capable of in bed, the possibility of you not being able to walk tomorrow isn’t far-fetched.

“Can I just make it up to you?” you ask, turning to face him and fluttering your lashes prettily to convince him.

“Mhmm. We can arrange that. How about we take five?”

“Oh— you mean now?” you ask, feigning surprise.

“Uh-huh. Yes.”

“But you’re still working, baby. Let’s do it after,” you reason, hoping he won’t push it further.

“No, I’m not. As you can see, only Jimin and Hobi are working.”

Both your gazes dart toward the front, where Jimin and Hobi are busy posing for their unit photos.

“Besides,” he continues in a near whisper, “I was working the other day when I nutted in that pretty mouth of yours. Didn’t seem like a problem then, did it?”

His hand comes up to your lips, slowly brushing the side of your mouth as if collecting something.

“Geez, Yoongi. Can’t really keep your hands to yourself, huh?” you tease again, getting him all worked up.

You hadn’t really planned on stopping by at this photoshoot. But when he sent you a picture of his look earlier, you almost touched yourself.

It doesn’t help that you’re currently in your ovulation phase.

Seeing your ever-so-hot boyfriend wearing sleek slacks paired with a white polo, sleeves folded up to his elbows and a grey necktie, makes you want to jump on him so badly.

“No, baby. I can’t. Especially when you’re out here wearing that skirt, looking like a whole damn meal.”

Shivers run down your spine as he wraps his arms around your waist, his hand squeezing the soft skin there.

“Easy. Your co-workers are here,” you whisper into his ear as you feel him tense.

Yoongi isn’t looking at you. His eyes are fixed on the other members working hard for their photos, but you know you’re occupying his mind right now. His flexing jaw is all the evidence you need.

You know all too well when your boyfriend starts acting like this. If he wants something, he better get it—or he’ll start demanding it soon.

Especially when it comes to you.

The end of this exchange can only result in two scenarios. First, he could become whiny and desperate because you won’t let him touch you. Or second, he could lose his patience from all the teasing and take care of you the way he knows you prefer.

“I really don’t care that much. Want to test that? Come with me and you’ll see,” he mutters, voice deep and low.

“Tempting,” you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder while his arms remain wrapped around you.

“Seriously, enough with the teasing, or I’ll be forced to really punish you when I get you alone.”

Yes. Run that patience thin. You need him to snap so he can rile you up later.

“I don’t think you realize that you’re not the only one upset about last night,” you continue teasing.

“Hmm? Yeah?”

“I had a hard time falling asleep last night. I’m so used to you fucking me to sleep like it’s my lullaby.”

You feel his grip on your hips tighten.

“I wasn’t very enthusiastic this morning either, because I woke up to my alarm instead of your dick stuffing me tight and full.”

His breathing grows heavier.

But you’re not done yet.

“When I showered this morning, I touched myself, wishing it was you—”

“That’s it, lady. You’re really making this hard for me.”

Your plan worked.

Yoongi’s face is now stern, jaws flexing, eyes dark as he grabs your hand and drags you toward the exit.

“Hyung-nim! I’m gonna take five,” he calls to his manager before the two of you leave the set.

He’s not asking permission. He’s just letting them know.

You have no idea where Yoongi is taking you until you find yourself in the area where the artists’ RVs are parked.

He hastily opens the door of a silver RV with his name written on it. He lets you in first, and you step inside without question.

By the time Yoongi locks the door behind him, you barely have time to react. He already has you pinned against the built-in dresser, kissing you torridly.

His tongue demands entrance, and you gladly let him in, deepening the kiss. His mouth devours yours, teeth scraping your lips with rough hunger.

Your hands instinctively wrap around his neck, resting on his shoulders. Tiny whimpers escape your lips every time his body presses harder against yours as your bodies sway together.

You hear the subtle sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by the soft fabric of his pants brushing your feet.

Yoongi’s hands come to your head, gently pushing you downward as he breaks the kiss.

You happily oblige, sinking to your knees, ‘cause you know exactly what treat is waiting.

His hand remains on top of your head as you settle at eye level with his hips. His fat, flushed cock stands upright—tall and beautiful.

You look up at him, meeting his gaze that’s locked on you, lashes fluttering before you wrap your hand around him and guide him to your lips. You flick your tongue over his mushroom head, slowly sucking his tip and tasting the salty precum.

You swirl your tongue around his head while sucking softly, drawing a groan from him.

“Hmmm, yes,” he hums quietly.

When you finish teasing the head, you release it with a soft pop. Without wasting any time, you take him into your mouth—deep, but not quite all the way.

Yoongi’s length is longer than your mouth can fit, but you try your best. You gag slightly when his tip touches the back of your throat, signaling your limit.

Still, a few inches remain.

You pause, adjusting your mouth to his girth. Then you place your hand on his hips for support and bob your head down until his tip brushes your throat. One, two, three bobs, and his cock is fully coated in your saliva.

He groans in protest when your mouth leaves his shaft, but his complaints vanish when you lick a stripe from base to tip. Then you lower your head further, angling yourself so you can play with his balls.

Yoongi’s chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as you press soft, wet kisses across his sac while pumping his shaft. Once satisfied, your tongue traces the underside of his dick, focusing on the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes him spiral.

A shaky groan escapes him, and his hand grows heavier on your head.

“Holy shit… yes. Just like that. Do that again,” he moans breathlessly.

And you do. You make sure your tongue stays soft as you trace every vein along his underside.

Then his dick is back in your mouth again—all the way in your throat.

You hollow your cheeks and he feels the suction hit him like a jolt down his spine. 

Mouth stretched obscenely wide around his girth, you started moving your head. Up and down, from base to tip, hitting your throat with gentle pressure each time you sink down. The slickness of your saliva lets you move faster. Your jaw starts to ache, but you like it.

Soon, spit gathers at the corners of your mouth, dripping messily down his shaft and over the hand pumping the rest of his length.

Yoongi loses every coherent thought. Low grunts and curses spill from his parted lips.

His hand slides to the back of your head, gripping your hair with a delicious pressure as you moan around him. The vibration makes his cock throb harder if it’s possible.

“Every day I never forget to be grateful that I get to fuck this mouth,” he pants.

You blush at the compliment.

Yoongi watches you take his cock like the good girl you are, his dark eyes fixed on your mouth as his cock pushes in and out of you with slick obscene sounds coming from it.

His grip on your hair tightens. You know he’s close.

To your surprise, he steadies your head, stopping your movement. You look up at him, his cock still in your mouth.

“Hold on, baby. Hold on,” he whispers, adjusting his stance.

Then he rolls his hips forward, testing a slow thrust.

“This okay?” he asks.

You nod in approval.

That’s all it takes for him to push deeper into your mouth, his tip pushed all the way in, almost past your throat hitting a soft and warm wall, choking you out.

Yoongi begins fucking your mouth. His head tilts back, lips parted as he groans like he’s in pain.

At first his thrusts are slow—pulling out halfway before pushing back in painfully slowly.

When he sees you’ve adjusted and aren’t choking anymore, his pace quickens. Each thrust is short and fast, stretching your mouth wider as spit spills everywhere and your gags grow louder and wetter.

Soon enough the RV is filled with Yoongi’s low grunts and string of curses along with the slick sounds of ‘gawk, gawk, gawk’ coming out of your mouth.

“Coming—fucking—hell,” he groans.

A tidal wave of pleasure overtakes him. His thrusts lose their rhythm as he nears climax, so you take over.

You release his cock with a pop and start pumping his shaft relentlessly with your hand, squeezing him tighter—just the way he likes.

“Baby, where do you want it?” you ask.

His head is still tilted back toward the ceiling. Only whimpers and broken groans escape him.

“Baby, tell me. Where?”

“Mouth—fuck—in your mouth,” he manages breathlessly.

Even in his haze, Yoongi is considerate enough to choose your mouth. He doesn’t want to trouble you by creating a mess on your clothes. Though if he’s gonna be honest, he’d love to cum all over your face and tits right now.

“Nice, now look at me. I’m down here,” you say softly, wanting him to see you swallow.

You watch as your boyfriend shudders beneath your touch. Your hand moves faster, controlled and firm, pushing him over the edge.

When you feel him throb in your grip, you open your mouth, tongue out, hovering his tip above it.

Hot ropes of thick white cum spill from his cock, splattering across your tongue and the roof of your mouth.

You keep pumping until he’s completely spent. Then you swallow every drop. Some spills at the corners of your mouth, and Yoongi watches as you collect it with your finger and lick it clean.

He helps you stand, pulling you into a kiss immediately, tasting himself on your lips.

When he finally pulls away, he squeezes your waist and murmurs,

“Your turn.”

“Thought you’d never offer,” you say, tauntingly playing with his tie.

“You kidding me? If it were up to me, I’d fuck you in every corner of this RV,” he replies, his voice low and breathy.

His hands roam your thighs, pushing your short white skirt upward until your pink lace panties are revealed. His fingers caress your wet folds over the thin fabric, drawing a breathy whimper from you.

He hurriedly guides you onto the empty table, pushing you on your back as he’s about to lower himself between your legs.

“Baby, we don’t have time for that. You need to get back soon,” you stop him.

“Need to prep you first, so you can take me.” He swats your hand away as it reaches for his face.

“You’re joking, right? The number of times I’ve taken your dick—I’m pretty sure I can manage without prep,” you chuckle.

You sit up and slowly unbutton your pink ruffled blouse— three buttons out to reveal your breasts snug in your bra. You make sure to flaunt them in front of your boyfriend.

Then you turn, your back facing him as you lean forward against the table. Your ass presses against his bare cock, which is beginning to harden again.

“If you’re planning to fuck me, you need to do it now before they call you back,” you tease, rocking your hips slowly, your skirt riding up to reveal your ass.

You hear Yoongi  quietly gasp. His hand lands against your skin with force as he swats your butt. Before you can react, another slap follows, making you wince in pain.

“Ah—shit,” you hiss.

His hand circles the red aching spot before he slaps it again—and again, and again.

Tears brim at the corners of your eyes as you try to endure the searing pain, unable to form any words.

“Trying to provoke me? Cute,” Yoongi chuckles.

“Yoongi, please—stop with the teasing.”

“Hmm, I thought you loved teasing, the way you did it to me earlier.”

“I need you now—”

“Mhmm?”

Yoongi pushes your panties aside and bluntly shoves his hard cock against your entrance. You cry out, a mixture of pain and pleasure, as your walls stretch around his girth—but he doesn’t give you time to adjust.

He begins to thrust brutally, knocking the air from your lungs as your body scrapes against the smooth surface of the table.

“Hands,” he commands.

You know what to do. You pull both hands behind your back, resting them just above your ass. Yoongi takes hold, making sure they stay locked in place.

Your face is pressed against the table, your hair a mess around you, and all you can do is whimper as he fucks you relentlessly.

The first few thrusts sting from the lack of prep, but as his cock drives into you, you grow wetter and wetter until the loud, slick sounds of your pussy being violated fill the RV.

Yoongi’s free hand moves to your throat, gripping just enough to make your breath falter. He lifts you, forcing you onto your feet. One leg is placed on the table while the other remains planted for balance.

The position opens you up further. He gives your ass one last slap before thrusting into you again.

All you can do is mewl as he moves with intensity—unyielding. Yoongi manhandles you, his touch rough and unrelenting—and you love every moment of it.

His hand moves to your exposed, swollen clit. Letting go of your hands, he works you over, sending waves of sensation through your body.

The feeling becomes overwhelming. His thrusts grow faster and shorter, hitting your sweet spot each time, while his fingers move in firm, repetitive motions against your clit. His hand tightens around your throat.

“Too much—” you protest as everything begins to blur together.

“No, it’s not,” Yoongi growls against your ear. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Desperate for something to hold onto, your hands reach back, searching for him—but Yoongi abruptly changes his rhythm. He pulls out completely, then slams back into you, making your eyes roll as your fingers latch onto his tie.

“Yoongi—too much!” you protest again.

“I don’t think so. We’ve been here before. I’ve fucked you like this plenty of times—I know you can handle it,” he says, his voice deep and steady.

“Hmmm—fucking shit!” you moan, words failing you.

“Yes, baby, just like that. Show me how well you can take me. I know you can.”

Your grip tightens on his tie as you take every thrust.

“I’m coming—God—oh—you’re impossible,” you mutter, breathless.

Feeling consumed and intoxicated, your body involuntarily collapses onto the table. Your face hits the smooth surface with a dull thud, but it doesn’t make him stop from fucking your from behind.

Still gripping his tie, you pull him forward with you. The fabric tightens around his neck, forcing him to loosen it slightly.

“Stand up, baby,” he says.

You don’t move—you can’t. You stay there, whimpering, gripping his tie as your nails scrape against the table.

“Shit.”

Realizing you won’t get up, Yoongi grips your hips and focuses entirely on his thrusts. He’s close—but you need to come first, so he pushes harder.

Your body jolts with a loud gasp when his tip brushes your g-spot. Noticing your reaction, he targets it, driving you toward your peak.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Holy—shit—that’s—so good,” you cry as your orgasm crashes over you.

Your release spills around him, making every movement slicker, faster, deeper—until it sends him over the edge as well.

“Inside?” he asks, breathless.

“Inside.”

With that, Yoongi finishes inside you. Your walls clench around him as warmth floods through you, milking him completely.

When he finally pulls out, a mixture of your releases spills from your gaping hole.

A few seconds later, silence fills the RV once more—broken only by your heavy breathing as you both struggle to catch your breath.

The set is still hectic, yet somehow organized, when the two of you step back in.

Namjoon stands beneath the harsh studio lights, scanning the room like he’s searching for someone—until his eyes land on Yoongi.

“He’s here, finally!” Namjoon calls out to the director.

You watch as Yoongi’s makeup artist and hairstylist rush over, fussing over him, checking every detail as he makes his way across the set.

“Yoongi, double time!” the director shouts through the megaphone.

The photoshoot starts the moment Yoongi reaches Namjoon’s side. You stay where you are, quietly observing like you always do, until a staff member monitoring the screen leans in and whispers something to the director.

“Okay, cut! Hold on a second—why does Yoongi look like that?” the director says sharply, turning toward his stylist.

Shit.

Your gaze follows the stylist as she quickly gathers her things and hurries over to your boyfriend, clearly flustered.

“The brief said clean and dapper. Why is his necktie like that?” the director’s voice cuts through the noise.

And just like that, everyone’s attention shifts to Yoongi’s loosened necktie—including yours.

You freeze.

You had fixed his outfit earlier in the RV, but you didn’t think anything of it. It looked good on him—effortless, natural—you assumed it was meant to be that way.

Then it hits you.

The way your hand had grips the same tie earlier. The way you pulled him closer as the two of you mess around.

Warmth rushes up your cheeks.

“Can we leave it like this?” Yoongi speaks up, calm and unbothered. “I like it. I think it’s better.”

The director glances at the staff beside him. They exchange a few quiet words you can’t quite hear.

“Fine. Leave it,” the director finally says.

The stylist exhales and steps back.

As everyone resets, Yoongi glances over at you—and winks.

You try to hold it in, but you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

© 2026 toastynamgi. all rights reserved.

as usual— lemme know what u think ◡̈

You couldn't help but sulk a little. Not good enough.

It wasn't his fault: you knew what you were signing up for when he invited you to join him for dinner with his team. A light-hearted, professional meal surrounded by people who were more than acquaintances but less than friends.

You took another sip of your martini, letting the burn of the liquor fizzle out in the back of your throat, hitting you where it made your eyes almost water.

The restaurant was pretty: dimmed lights cast hazy shadows over the white tablecloths, with little tea candles set neatly on every table. The conversation was light, discussing Jimin's schedule while he was back in town, before he would be in Spain for the next stop of the tour.

"Well, since you fly out next week, we'll have you stop at Dior for a fitting and some press photos for them before you leave. Can we make that your Monday plans?"

You tried not to frown. You already had very limited time with him back in Seoul, and even though you knew that he would fly you out to see him at any given moment, it bothered you that he couldn't just give you all of him while he was back.

And maybe you were selfish for that.

"Monday is good for me," Jimin nodded, his hand lifting off your leg to take another sip of his drink. The part of your leg that he was just holding suddenly felt too cold.

In another weak attempt to steal his attention, you leaned into him a little further, letting the ends of your hair tickle against his shoulder. Jimin turned to you briefly with a sweet little smile.

"You're doing okay?"

"Guess so." You gave him a reluctant nod, and he pecked your nose before turning his attention back to the rest of the table.

In a moment of defeat, you lifted your head off his shoulder, turning your attention to the rest of the dining room for a moment. You absentmindedly brushed your hand down his arm, landing it on his upper thigh. You felt his muscles tense under your touch, even though his head was still turned away from you.

That wasn't nothing.

You glanced down at his reaction, letting your hand lie there, as if scanning for another movement, checking that it wasn't just in your head. You brushed your hand against his trousers again, dragging one manicured nail up towards his waistband curiously. Another flex of his muscle. This time, Jimin turned to look at you.

"All good?" he gave you a little smile, a hint of curiosity behind it.

"Mhm," you nodded, before letting him return to his conversation.

Maybe this was a bad idea. He was technically working. And yet, the drinks were feeling just good enough, in that sweet spot that made anything you thought now feel like a good idea.

Especially if it meant making him mad.

A little smile grew on your face as the idea came into your head, fully formed and eager.

You dropped both hands from the table, tucking them under the tablecloth innocently. First, one hand on his knee, the other hanging dangerously close to the hem of your dress. You lifted your hand up onto your fingertips, letting each of your nails drag slowly, purposefully up the length of his thigh. Jimin's eyes widened a little as he listened to his manager chat with him, before his hand disappeared under the tablecloth, his hand covering yours, pinning it still.

Just as you thought.

Your free hand crept up over his lap, tugging innocently on his belt loop, just enough to let him know you were there. No reaction.

You tested the waters, stepping your fingers over to the clasp of his trousers, just fiddling with it enough to make him nervous.

"Baby," he murmured to you, his tone shifting ever so slightly in only a way that you knew to notice. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you said innocently. Jimin looked at you, his eyes still warm on the outside, but a flicker of annoyance definitely shone through if you really took the time to look.

Below the edge of the table, he took your hand and gently plucked it off of his zipper fly, before returning it to your domain. And this time, it felt final. 

The dinner briefly returned to normal, your own frustration at bay for a few minutes, until a fantastically evil idea popped into your head when one of the gentlemen at the table suggested another round of drinks. As soon as the server arrived to take orders, you requested another martini, to which Jimin gave you a light squeeze on your leg. 

“You sure you haven’t had too much to drink, my love?” His voice was sweet, the lingering tone of annoyance just barely detectable on his tongue. What a gentleman.

But you wanted to be anything but ladylike with him right now. 

“I’m doing just fine, Jimin-ssi,” you said with a little smirk. 

His jaw ticked, just a little at that nickname. Jimin hated it when you talked to him like you were just pals. He was your boyfriend, and you were his woman, and he liked keeping it in that tone. The way you talked to him, like he was just another classmate, got under his skin, and you knew it very well. 

As soon as the server left, your hands were back to trying to explore his lap. Jimin couldn’t fight you this time; he was trying so hard not to fight you at the table because he was such a professional. All of that went out the window when you got bolder and dropped your hand right over the crotch of his pants. Not moving, but just letting the weight of your palm burn through the material of his trousers, heavy and present. 

And this time, his reaction was definitely not nothing. 

Jimin wasn’t very good at hiding his expressions, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself at the little ‘O’ that formed with his mouth at your touch before he leaned forward against the table. And unfortunately for him, both his hands were busy as he tried to cut another piece of his meal with his fork and knife. You took the opportunity to palm him a little more properly now, nothing too vulgar, but just enough to knead him comfortably through his trousers, feel the blood and stiffness start to build up under your fingertips. Your smile grew a little wider before you caught yourself, poking your tongue in your cheek so as not to raise suspicion. He caught a glance of your expression, your cheekiness making him all the more bothered.

Jimin looked properly irritated now, the tension manifesting itself on his face. His one hand dropped to his lap, landing on your wrist before holding it steady. 

The conversation eventually drifted from Jimin to between two other staff members, and he finally turned to face you.

“Whatever you’re trying to do, baby, stop it,” he warned in a low whisper. “Not here.” His hand held your wrist steady, freezing your hand in its tracks. 

You gave him a playful pout before leaning in to whisper in his ear. 

“Unlucky for you, I have two hands,” you purred, before letting your other hand resume what the first was doing, massaging and palming him over his trousers just under the tablecloth. 

Jimin’s eyes fluttered for a second, almost like he was about to let out a groan, before they widened and he remembered exactly where he was. His stern look returned to his face, but his eyes seemed a little wider, as if silently begging you to obey him. 

And of course, you weren’t going to. 

As soon as the server returned with the drinks, you decided to perform your grand finale. An innocent reach over the table to collect your drink became a careless knock of your wrist, just enough to tip Jimin’s own half-full water glass all over the table…and his lap. 

“Shit,” he muttered as he hopped up a little in his seat, the cool water soaking into the top layer of his clothing. 

“Oh no,” his manager said with a small frown. “Jimin, you’re okay?” 

Jimin nodded up at him, still a little flustered, his irritation growing increasingly apparent on his face. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, honey. Here, let me,” you cooed.

You took your napkin off the table and pressed it innocently against his lap, but hidden beneath the white fabric square, you dragged your full palm and fingers up the outline of his hardened length. Jimin visibly jolted in his seat as you continued stroking him through the cloth, applying just enough pressure to make him squirm. Jimin looked at you in disbelief as you dragged your hand up from base to tip in one firm motion, your eyes batting innocently up at him, your teeth buried sweetly into your lower lip, giving him a look that you knew he understood. 

“We can ask the server for another napkin,” another staff member offered before putting her hand up to call the server over.

“Oh, that’s a good idea, thank you,” you cooed, still palming him under the guise of drying him. He knocked his head back a little with a frustrated, furrowed brow as you continued sizing him up in the middle of the restaurant. 

“Mmph,” Jimin let out a muffled groan before coughing. But for some miraculous reason, his hands never came up to stop yours.

“I’m so sorry, honey; I didn’t mean to,” you said, drawling out your words ever so slightly. You leaned up into his ear, pressing your lips directly against his ear before whispering, “Please forgive me, Jimin.”

Jimin looked like he was going to snap. 

“It’s okay,” he says through gritted teeth before desperately shoving your hand off him, leaving the very evident tent in his pants abandoned under the tablecloth. 

You took a satisfied sip of your drink, the cocky smile unable to hide on your expression. Jimin noticed your look, and it made him a little more irritated. You didn’t even look one bit sorry.

After a few painfully long minutes of Jimin shuffling uncomfortably in his seat, stiff in his pants, with your eyeing him like he was your favourite dessert, the dinner finally came to its well-deserved end.

“It’s getting late,” one of the gentlemen says with a quick scan of his watch. “And Mr. Park’s in need of an outfit change, so maybe we should call it a night,” he says with a chuckle.

Jimin was a gentleman; he would always stay until the bill was settled and walk everyone out. But tonight was different. He hurriedly stood up before collecting his bag and helping you out of your chair. 

“Thank you for tonight,” he said with a small, rushed bow to the table, his hand conveniently covering his crotch. “I’m just feeling a bit tired now, so if you don’t mind, Y/N and I are going to go.” You gave a little bow together with him, before waving at the rest of the team. 

The walk back to the car was quiet. Jimin’s hand held yours in a way that made it feel like you were in trouble, and you could already feel the stir building up in your belly. You leaned against the wall sweetly as Jimin hit the elevator button for the underground lot. 

“Jimin-ah,” you cooed, your head cocked a little extra as you let your hair cascade off your shoulders. “Aren’t you going to talk to me?” Jimin glared at you, jaw ticking, and said nothing. 

The elevator arrived with a muted ding, and the two of you stepped inside. 

“Listen,” you turned your head to lean against his shoulder again, letting out a breathy exhale just as a cherry on top. “I’m sorry about the wat–” 

His hand suddenly came forward, pressing the emergency stop button with a forceful smack of his hand.

You dropped your act for a moment.

“Jimin, what are y–” 

You were cut off by his mouth driving into yours, harsh and angry, and you almost couldn’t tell if he wanted to kiss you or just shut you the fuck up. You let out an involuntary whine at his aggression, your hands finding themselves in his long blonde hair immediately. 

“Is this what you wanted? Screwing with me at dinner until I lost my composure? Huh?” Jimin growled into your mouth, and you couldn’t help but let out a satisfied giggle back. 

His hands immediately consumed your body, gripping your waist and pulling you closer to him, every inch of your body being pinned against his. Even through his dress shirt, you could feel the hard ridges of his toned abdomen underneath, the flex of his torso making you smile deeper into the kiss. Jimin continued kissing you, his teeth nibbling and snapping at your lower lip as he practically ate you alive. Your teeth were knocking together, messy and furious, his brows furrowed as he kissed you with all the anger that he had been desperately hiding throughout dinner. 

“You’re a little fucking brat sometimes, my love,” he hissed, pulling away just enough to speak against your mouth. You grinned back.

“I wasn’t doing anything, Jimin.” Your eyes were wide and mischievous, looking up at him like you loved being where you were.

“Yeah, and you looking at me like that and practically purring like a cat wasn’t anything either, huh?” 

You felt your stomach flutter: Jimin and you were mostly a very agreeable couple, no fights, no disagreements. He was just too sweet for that. But when he did get annoyed, his Busan accent would come right back up, trickling through every sentence he spoke. Compared to his everyday intonation, his hometown dialect came out harsh and scary, and it drove you absolutely insane. And that alone had you picking fights with him whenever you were feeling extra needy. 

You gave him an innocent little smile, “My mistake.” 

Jimin let out a scoff, his eyes dark and dangerous now.

“A mistake, yah?”

He sank his teeth into the flesh above your collarbone, and you let out a little yelp. 

“Jimin–” you whined, bringing your body closer to his instinctively, before your hand came up to push him off, the realization that you were still just in an elevator suddenly making you feel flustered. 

“What, now you’re shy, hm?” Jimin’s satoori bled thick in every word, the anger poisoning his tone. “What, you only like to be a slut when you’re hidden under a tablecloth, huh?” 

Jimin continued devouring your neck, sucking and nibbling until you were certain that there was a fresh, red, purple bruise, marking you as his own. You whined in response, the slight snap of your skin from being released by his jaw making you flinch. 

“Now that this,” Jimin’s hand came up to grip your neck firmly, his thumb pressing into the bruise he had just left, “is on full display on your pretty body, you want to hide away from me?” 

You shied away from his gaze, turning your face away to the side, your cheeks already flushed at the way he handled you. With his hand still on your neck, he lifted his finger to force your chin back towards him, his eyes still piercing through you.

“Look at me when I talk to you.” 

Jimin’s hand was still wrapped tightly around your throat, pressing into the sides of the column just enough for you to see stars. You couldn’t help but let out a whiny breath as he pulled you into him like a ragdoll, smashing his lips against yours feverishly once again. He consumed you through your mouth, drawing the air from your lungs and replacing it with only him. Once you were gasping for breath, he pulled you off of him by the neck, pinning you so easily with his one hand.

He took a step towards you, guiding you back like a couple’s dance until your back hit the wall of the elevator, the little handrail pressing coldly into the thin fabric of your dress just above your bum. You let out a soft whimper at his roughness with you, and his eyes danced across your face hungrily before bringing you back to his mouth. His other hand tugged on the hem of your dress, before it disappeared under the black fabric of your dress. 

Your eyes widened as his fingers roamed over the fabric of your underwear, already clinging desperately against your warm, wet heat. 

“Oh, you’re already a mess.” 

Jimin smiled, his eyes crinkling into half moons as he laughed at you. Suddenly, you felt embarrassed in the tiny enclosed space of the elevator with him. Jimin continued to massage his middle and ring fingers against your core, letting the fabric cling to your skin, parting your folds with each bend of his wrist.

“Jimin,” you whispered, your hand coming up to grip his wrist as he moved his fingers against your wet underwear.

“What? This isn’t what you wanted? Then what was all that back at the restaurant for, hm? Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.” Jimin snickered at you, his voice low and gravelly as he mused at how desperate you already were for him. 

His slender finger looped into the stretch of your fabric before tugging it aside. The cool air of the elevator suddenly reminded you how very much in public you two were. Your hand came up against to tug on his wrist, a weak attempt at getting him to stop. Jimin smacked your hand away with a scoff before slipping his middle and ring fingers into the depths of your aching heat. 

“Oh–” you whimpered at the curl of his fingers against your desperate walls. He kept your head dropped forward, the intensity of his touch already stirring up a storm in your core as he beckoned you closer to him with each curl of his fingers inside you. 

“Yeah, you like being touched like this in an elevator, dirty girl?” he chuckled, his eyes still smiling and cocky as he watched you start to lose any semblance of self-control under his spell. 

“Ye-yeah,” you moaned, bucking your hips into his hand, encouraging him to continue. “Whatever you want, baby.” 

“That’s right,” he groaned into your lips. “Whatever I want.” 

He continued curling his fingers into you, pumping and knocking your sensitive spot with every beck and call. He kept your legs pinned open with his knee, slotted between your thighs, holding you open as your dress only barely hid what was happening. 

No, that was too generous. The way Jimin had you falling apart in his hands, the whimpers and yelps that fell from your lips: everyone with eyes and ears could look at you two and know exactly what was going on. 

“Ji-min–” you trembled, your walls starting to flutter uncontrollably at how well he was working you. “I–I want to–cum on your fingers. Please.” 

He let out a low snicker. 

“So horny and desperate already, honey? You’re so easy.” 

He added his thumb into the equation, using the pad of his thumb to gently stimulate your clit as he kept his other two fingers buried inside your dripping cunt. He kept his forehead pressed against yours, not kissing you, not touching you, but just watching how well his fingers made you react, the moans he was milking out of you with every torturous thrust of his hand against you. 

“Pl-please,” you stuttered, your orgasm peeking over the horizon already as your boyfriend held you open on his thigh against the wall.

Jimin kept his tongue poking in his cheek, the cocky grin permanently affixed to his pretty face as you were a trembling, pouting mess. You could tell he was laughing at you.

“Such a dirty girl, hm, my love?” he whispered against your mouth. “Begging for an orgasm while–” he turned his head away from you and nodded up towards the blinking red light of the security camera in the corner. “–You’re on perfect display.”

Your eyes widened at the realization that you were being recorded, that somewhere, in this complex, there was at least one security guard watching you fall apart on your famous boyfriend’s hand. Your cheeks burned intensely, your head falling forward against Jimin’s chest. He laughed at your reaction, his hand still not relenting. 

“You didn’t think we were doing this in perfect privacy, were you?” He sneered. “Not after that trick you tried to pull in the restaurant, baby. You don’t deserve to be hidden away tonight.” 

The coil in your stomach was impossibly tight, the buildup making every limb go rigid at how desperately you were craving release. Jimin sensed how close you were and pressed his lips firmly against yours, letting his tongue explore the inside of your mouth, muffling every pathetic whimper that fell from your mouth. 

“You wanna cum on my fingers, is that it, jagiya?” he murmured into your mouth, smiling between wet, sloppy kisses as he gave you a moment each time to breathe. “Wanna make a mess on your boyfriend’s hand while the security team watches you?” 

You nodded your head fervently, bucking your hips up into his hand, his thumb still pressed perfectly into your clit as he rubbed firm circles against you, stimulating you in a way that made you want to cry. You were a goner now: the pleasure invading your thoughts and wiping out any remaining sense of logic.

Jimin watched you with intense eyes as you arched your back, your mouth fell open into an ‘O’, and your eyes began to flutter shut. You were on edge. He kissed you one more time before pulling away with a wet, loud pop. He came impossibly close to your ear, his warm breath hammering against your eardrum.

“Too bad it isn’t up to you tonight.” 

And with that, suddenly, all your stimulation and touch disappeared. He pulled his fingers out of you in one swift motion, the teetering of your climax suddenly crashing down, the pulsing twitch of your clit left abandoned in the cool metal room. 

“No–no–please,” you sobbed, the tension in your stomach still very uncomfortably present. You reached up to grip his hand and pull him closer, your lips flushed and swollen. “Jimin, please, I’m sorry–”

“Far too late for that.” Jimin caught your hand before you could pull him closer, pinning your wrist against the cold metal wall. 

“Please, baby, I want–fuck–I’m so close,” you cried, your eyes wide and begging as your boyfriend smiled at his own satisfaction of seeing you fall apart at his touch. He ignored you with a smirk, licking and sucking his own fingers clean.

“Such a delicious little slut for me,” he hummed as he relished in your taste that dripped from his digits, his eyes closing for a moment as he drank you off his own hand.

He took a step away from you, his body disconnecting itself from yours entirely, before he ran a hand through his hair, pushing his blonde bangs out of his eyes. 

“Get on your knees.” 

You blinked at him before glancing back up to the camera in the corner.

“Jimin…the ca–” 

“I said get on your fucking knees, Y/N.” His tone was sharp, demanding, and immediately, you understood what you had gotten yourself into. The pierce of his tone went immediately to your core, and your pussy clenched desperately at the nothingness inside.

With a low whine, you slowly dropped yourself to your knees, still staring at the camera lens in the corner. The floor of the elevator was cold against your bare knees, and you leaned yourself back onto your heels, your head leaning against the elevator wall. Jimin took a step towards you, unbuckling his belt with one hand as he kept his other hand on top of your head, petting your hair and holding you down as if you were his very own pet. 

“Hands on the railing.” His eyes were dark and blown out impossibly wide now, the edges of his iris almost completely hidden by his lust, by his intense pleasure in being in control, owning you like this.

You obeyed him with a nod and reached up above your head to grip the handrail with both hands like you were lifting a bar at the gym. You let your arms dangle as you held the handrail, hungry for Jimin to do to you what he wanted. He unzipped his trousers, the clasp falling open with the force of his hard-on threatening to poke through the fabric. 

Jimin took himself in his hand now, pumping himself slowly at your eye level as you watched him with wide, gleaming eyes. His tip was glistening in the dim fluorescent light, his precum dripping out of his flushed slit like he had been holding himself back for a while. You felt your mouth water as he poked the tip of his cock against your lips, tapping his flushed, warm head gently but possessively against your face as he smirked at you. 

“You begged for my attention all fucking night, now you got it.” And then he parted your lips forcefully, splitting your mouth open with his heavy, thick cock. 

You gasped, letting him slide all the way into your mouth until he hit the back of your throat, the fullness of your mouth almost making you choke. He stayed there for a moment, his eyes peering down at you. His smile was completely gone from his face and replaced by his dark, lustful glare. He owned you now, and he wanted you to know it.

With one hand behind your head, he brought his other hand to your jaw, holding your mouth open for him as he began to fuck your mouth. The push of his cock against your throat made you gag, the contraction of your throat around him coaxing a low groan out of his mouth. 

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” he hissed as he rutted his hips into your face. “Let me fuck this pretty face as she deserves.” 

Your hands were still wrapped around the railing over your head, obeying him so sweetly as he rocked his cock deeper into your throat, fucking your hole like you were only his to use. His V-line peeked out from under his untucked dress shirt, flexing with every thrust. The sight of him above you like this was driving you crazy, and you felt your own arousal start to drip down your leg. Your core was still desperate for release, but you were too drunk off what was happening to you to notice that now. 

You felt yourself start to choke on his length as he sheathed himself completely inside your throat, and your hand released from the handrail to nudge him off of you, begging for air. Within a second, Jimin caught your wrist, bringing it back to the handrail.

“Did I fucking say you could let go? Keep your hands up before I do something about it,” he hissed. His voice was husky, rough with his own arousal as he forced you to grab the handrail again. 

Your hands returned to their rightful spot on the handrail, and Jimin’s hand returned to the back of your head, using the force of his hand and his hips to drive his cock deeper and more forcefully into your mouth. Your eyes were streaming with tears now, every whimper that fell from your mouth getting drowned out and muffled against his length. 

He caught a glimpse of how prettily you were crying, and Jimin smirked, tongue in his cheek, before nodding his head back towards the corner.

"Look at you," he growled. “Getting your face fucking ruined in an elevator on camera.” 

Fat tears rolled down your face now, your cheeks flushed at the thought of someone else seeing you like this. Jimin continued holding you open for him, your mouth full of saliva and his own fluids, nearly drowning you with the mess in your mouth. Your knuckles were white as you held on for dear life to the handrail, balancing yourself as your boyfriend had you pinned between the wall and his groin. 

“Fuck, you’re going to make me cum with this pretty mouth,” he hissed. “You wanna take my load, don’t you, baby?” 

You nodded the best that you could with how firmly he gripped you, trapping you against the wall. Jimin licked his lower lip, his mouth falling open into a panting smile, before he gave you a wink.

His cock knocked back into your throat a few more times before he suddenly pulled himself out. You spluttered for air, gasping as he continued jerking himself off at your eye level. You leaned your head back towards him with an open mouth, begging to taste him again.

“Jimin, baby, let me swallow–” 

But Jimin’s hand came down to grip you by the neck again, pinning you in place, and you silenced yourself immediately.

“Only good girls get what they want.” 

He took a step away from your begging mouth, pumping himself a few times before he released onto your skin. His other hand held you roughly by the jaw as he painted his climax across your nose, lips, cheeks, and chin, every erotic spurt of his seed on your face running down your face so lewdly.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned as he milked himself through his high. “Take it all over your pretty face. Show the world who owns you.” 

You blinked up at him, your cheeks wet from tears and saliva, so ruined and on your knees at your boyfriend’s feet. His chest was heaving rapidly as he took you in, before tilting your head to face the camera, as if showing off his prize.

“All mine,” he tutted as he showed you off to the lens. You squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment, your face messy and wet, and Jimin released your jaw with a lazy fling of his fingers.

“Stand up,” he commanded, his eyes still clouded. You slowly climbed to your feet with the help of his hand, his eyes still piercing through you unchanged. The evidence of his pleasure was still dripping off your chin and lips, his ownership signed on your face in white ink. 

Jimin reached into his inside jacket pocket, tugging out a little packet of tissues. With one hand gripped firmly on your jaw, he held you possessively as he wiped your face clean, a small cocky smile burning into his face. 

“My pretty girl,” he hummed as he cleaned you up like you were his precious little girl, before balling up the tissue and shoving it in his pocket. 

Without another thought, he pressed the open button on the wall, the doors sliding open on the parking level with an inconspicuous ding. You trailed behind him as he tugged you forward, his hand over yours as you walked back to the car. 

“I’ll think about giving you an orgasm of your own if you’re a good girl until we get home,” he hummed as he ran a hand through his hair, his elegant, public persona briefly returning as he guided you through the parking lot.

“Jimin, what if–the security footage,” you whispered, concern in your tone. 

“Don’t worry about it. Jungkook’s pulled something like this before. Legal team had the whole thing shut down before anyone ever found out. We’re good,” He murmured. 

As you two approached the car, he gave you a little smack on the bum before whispering in your ear. 

“But a part of you would like that footage to get leaked, wouldn’t you, baby?” 

════════

i know that crazy attitude and temper is still in there somewhere

You were driving home together when it happened. Yoongi was parking the car, had put it in reverse, looking out the rear window with his arm slung around the back of your seat while backing into the open spot. You’d told him something about - what even was it...? Some random post you’d seen online about sourdough. And he didn’t listen because he was busy concentrating on parking. He’d asked you to come again once he turned off the car and you said something along the lines of it’s alright, you never listen to me anyway. 

It was supposed to be a joke. Obviously! You’d even grinned while saying it but had turned your head away from him to look out the window in a dramatic display of feigned offense. Yoongi didn’t catch the sarcasm. And he huffed. Then shook his head and got out of the car without another word. That’s when you started to get pissed. He really thought you were that much of a bitch, huh? Okay then. 

Neither of you were in the mood to address it, busy seething with a subtle broil of pent up irritation as you entered your shared apartment. He tried to ease the tension by pushing your shoulder with a playful nudge of his while you slipped out of your shoes. You scoffed though, still griping about him believing you’d be upset over something so trivial. And yes, the irony was lost on you. He let you be then, knowing you’d come around after a while and needing a minute to clear his head himself.

Some hours have passed since, the cool down phase in full effect and you drop on the couch after a long shower that brought some sense of balance to your brain. This ‘fight’ was so stupid, it almost makes you laugh. You shake your head, pulling your bath robe tighter as you swipe on your phone when he walks past you, then stops. He’s testing the waters, you can tell from the way he monitors your body language; how you will or won’t react to his presence. You raise a brow while looking up at him, the corner of your lip pulling upwards. A truce. One he decides to accept, judging by the way he trudges closer.

“You feel better?” he asks and you know he worded it that way on purpose, so as not to ask you if you’ve finally calmed down. 

You huff out a breath, laughter mixed with a hint of reluctance, because that question still suggests that you’ve been overreacting. You don’t pin him down on it, though. Not yet at least. Rather, you return it. “And you?”

“Mhm.” He bends his knees until he’s crouching before you, his eyes now level with yours, one hand resting on your knee for support. “We were both being stupid, huh?”

Yeah, he’s right. Still, you don’t have to admit it right away. “I was just joking, you know? When I said you never listen to me.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he sighs. “An hour too late, I guess.”

The honesty makes you laugh and you drop your phone somewhere in the cracks of the couch cushions. 

Yoongi takes it as an invitation - an unspoken extension of the truce that, if handled correctly, could even lead to peace. “I’m sorry baby,” he says before he leans in. “Let me make it up to you.”

You’re closing in as well, meeting his lips for a single kiss. Smiling now, you might have an idea on how he could fulfill that proposition. “And how would you do that?”

Yoongi cocks his head to the side with a smirk, eyelids narrowing as he thinks about it. He moves from crouching to resting on his knees on the floor before you, hand on the back of your head pulling you forward, so you’re still face to face even though he’s positioned lower than before. He kisses your cheek, lips wandering along your jaw and down the side of your throat where he sucks lightly, making your breath hitch. When his nose traces your earlobe he detaches from you but stays close, whispering, “I’ll do the thing for you.”

“The thing?” Oh, you know exactly which thing.

“Yeah,” he breathes against your neck while his right hand reaches for the lapel of your robe. He rubs the soft material between his fingers before gently pushing it aside and slipping them under. “The thing you like so much, you know.”

With the back of his hand now resting on the supple skin of your chest he pulls his head back to look at you. 

“Hm, I don’t know what you mean,” you lie as you move closer for another kiss. He leans in harder now, sighing against your lips and pushes his tongue into your mouth. He flicks it against yours lightly, barely grazing you with its tip and it makes you chuckle how he’s subtly trying to help you remember. You pull back but keep him near by cupping his cheek. “Ah, that thing.”

His hand under your robe inches down, knuckles brushing over your nipple and the sensation makes it harden instantly. He finds the belt around your waist with his other hand and unties the knot with his thumb. His eyes widen slightly as the fabric falls open and drops loosely around your sides. It’s not like he hasn’t looked at you a million times before. Still, his lids show the tiniest of flutters every single time, the dilation of his pupils barely detectable. 

Yoongi leans in, not taking his gaze off your tits and latches onto your chest. With his lips around one nipple and his hand on the other, he sucks with a slight graze of his teeth and simultaneously rolls his fingers, pulling a gasp from you. 

The smirk on his face is dangerous, bordering on vicious, when he looks up at you. “You know, sometimes I think you’re only provoking those small fights for the make-up sex.” 

He straightens his back when you don't respond, his knees still on the floor and leans backwards as he snakes his hands beneath your legs. With a firm pull, he drags you down the cushion, so your ass rests at the edge of the sofa, your back now flat against the seat. His hands run up the skin of your thighs, grabbing them gently by the backs of your knees and pushing your legs up against your belly while spreading them. “Keep them like this for me, alright?” 

You do what he asked and hold your legs up with your hands, anticipation coiling tightly in your abdomen as you watch him with bated breath.

“So pretty,” he muses quietly when he looks down at you, nodding to himself as if he’s confirming his own remark while his eyes stay glued to your core. “Gonna make it up to you, yeah?”

You nod even though he doesn't wait for your answer anyway, already tilting his head down again but not closing in. He purses his lips a good few inches above your pussy and releases a dense wad of spit, letting it drop slowly so it stretches into a thick string, before it lands directly on your clit. You suck in a breath of surprise at the feeling, your hip jerking as hot slick that’s cooling down quickly trickles down your folds and Yoongi grins as he watches how it coats you.  

When he finally comes closer, his lips trace down the inside of your thigh, kissing and sucking the skin on his way. “Gonna eat you out so good baby,” he mumbles while his thumbs draw lazy circles around the outer edges of your labia. “You want that?”

“Yes,” you whine, mouth agape as you watch him descend. If you weren’t wet before, you certainly are now. “Want it so bad.”

Yoongi chuckles against your skin, hot breath fanning over the slick across your core. His lips are soft when he brushes them from where his thumbs work, up to your mound and his eyes snap to yours just before he closes the last bit of distance to place a kiss on your clit. You shudder at the contact, brows furrowed into a needy frown, to which he only grins. 

His tongue glides across you in calculated motions and - oh - when he flicks it, he’s really doing the thing that always makes your eyes roll back into your head. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, removing your hand from your shin and bringing it down to stroke through his hair. Yoongi’s lids fall shut when your fingers catch hold of a thick strand to pull him even closer and he releases a muffled groan against you. 

He runs his tongue up and down your pussy in unhurried strokes, lapping at your entrance and tracing its outline before coming back up. His finger pushes into you right when his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly and kissing it softly as he applies pressure to his hand, entering you with one single, slow thrust. Your head falls back into the couch cushion when he pumps it in and out, curling it just right, so he hits the spot you need him to. 

“Right there,” you moan, fingers tightening around the hair close to his scalp. He knows, of course he does, that you like it right there and doesn't relent, his tongue still working its wonders while he adds a second finger, pushing and pulling and curling on their way out, making you feel like you’re going to explode. 

Fuck, the muscles in your abdomen are straining, breaths turning shallow and your legs begin to shake already. You're about to come, pulling him even closer and he groans against your pussy again. 

When you tear your eyes open to look at him, you notice him shuffling around a bit and wonder what he's doing. The coil in your belly relaxes at the slight distraction, eyes wandering over his hunched figure. Ah, he moved his free hand down into his pants. You twist your torso a bit to get a better view and take another peak to confirm. Yes, he pushed down his sweats and is jerking himself off while eating you out. 

You giggle, feeling yourself getting even wetter at the thought of him enjoying this so much he has to touch himself, but Yoongi looks up at you at the sound. 

“What's so funny?” he asks, a bit out of breath. 

“Nothing,” you answer as your fingers run across his scalp. “Just didn't expect you to multitask.”

His gaze drops down to his dick, a slight flush on his cheeks before he pulls up his pants. 

“No, don't stop. I like it.”

“Not planning on stopping,” he says as he stands up from the floor and offers you his hand. “Just changing the setting.”

You let him pull you up and guide you into the bedroom, where he pushes the bath robe from your shoulders and takes off his shirt. He pulls you to sit at the edge of the bed, tips of his fingers ghosting up your arms before he tangles them in your hair to pull you in. Your lips meet for a hungry kiss, Yoongi’s nonchalance slowly but surely dissipating. His hands roam your whole body and end up on your tits for a harsh squeeze while you sigh against his lips, desperately wanting to touch him too. You reach out for him, palming him over his sweats and earn a sharp exhale from him. He doesn't grant you access for long though as he pulls back, eager eyes now dark and almost impatient, taking in your figure before he slips away. 

You watch him moving up the mattress where he throws the pillows down to the floor and lays down flat on his back, his head right where the pillows were a second ago. 

“Come here and sit on my face,” he says as his hand already snakes down into his pants again. 

No need to ask you twice, of course you’re going to, you’re already on your way actually. You climb onto the bed and swing a leg over him, straddling his face between your thighs. Yoongi smiles up at you before pulling you closer by your hip. 

“Now let me finish this.” His words slur against your skin as you grab the headboard for support in hopes that it'll help you to come out of this alive. 

His strokes are quick now, diligently lapping at your dripping heat, making you throw your head back, nails digging into the wood in front of you. 

“God, fuck,” you sigh, wanting to tell him how good it feels but alas, you're lost for words, thoughts currently swimming somewhere too far away for your brain to catch up and form a coherent sentence.

You're afraid of suffocating him between your legs, thighs flexing absentmindedly to hold most of your weight up even though his left arm on your hip keeps pulling, pulling, pulling you down and you finally give in and relax. Now that you're really sitting down, he breathes out a groan so content, it vibrates through your whole body. 

Without a doubt he’s giving his all to make it up to you, kissing, tongue swirling, slurping you up until you see stars. Your hips start rocking on him on their own, needily grinding over his face as you chase your release and he seems to like that, judging by the way he hums against you at the constant back and forth. 

“Shit, I’m so close,” you gasp as he’s guiding your movements across his face, tongue rolling over your clit every time you glide over his lips. The coil in your belly tightens as you feel him stir and you turn your head only to see that he’s pushed his sweats down again, hand closed around his dick and stroking himself. The image propels you across the edge, fingers on the headboard digging harder into the wood while your other hand finds his hair to hold on to. With your head spinning and ears ringing, you shudder above him, riding out your high in quick motions, pussy clenching around nothing while he eats you out like you're his favorite meal. 

He’s not stopping his feast, still licking your throbbing clit until you have to pull off of him with a moan that ends up sounding more like a cry. Your body betrays you as you move and you practically fold, falling down on the mattress right next to him and landing on your back with a thump. 

Yoongi gets up on his knees while you gasp for air, towering over your figure with his sweats shoved down his thighs and he immediately presses himself against you, hand on his hard dick, rubbing it up and down your sensitive core. 

“Shit baby,” he grits out with his eyes closed, mouth glistening with your essence as he leans in for another kiss. “Wanna fuck you so bad.”

“Yeah?” you ask, buying yourself a bit more time to calm down. You reach for him and replace his hand with yours, fingers wrapping tightly around his erection. “I’m still so sensitive though.”

His tip is halfway inside of you and his head falls back when you start pumping him slowly, dragging out the moment before he can push in further. “Please baby, you feel so good.”

It makes you chuckle when he begs and he knows you like it, so you can't help yourself from playing that game, still pumping him lazily while he holds himself back from sinking in fully. “Are you sure you've made it up to me properly? You were really mean earlier.”

“Shit, don't do this to me,” he almost whines. “I was so, so good to you, wasn't I? Made you come so hard.”

“Yeah, you did,” you tell him, gripping him a bit tighter as you roll your wrist on him and drawing another sharp breath from his lips while you kiss him. “So you’d say you’ve earned it, huh?”

“Yes!” He nods like you asked him if you should gift him a million dollars right now. “Yes, I’ve earned it. Please baby. Please.”

Can't deny him his wishes, not when he begs so nicely, can you? 

“Alright, yeah,” you whisper while changing the angle of your hold to line him up perfectly. “Go on and fuck me, baby.”

He thrusts in fully without any warning, pushing a moan from your lungs at the sudden intrusion and his lids scrunch together when he does. “Shit, sorry,” he mutters as he stills. “That wasn't… Couldn't help it. Did I hurt you?”

Your hands intertwine behind his neck as you shake your head and relax, getting used to the stretch. “No, it's alright.”

He leans in for a kiss, tongue twisting against yours as he pulls his hip back before he thrusts into you again. He sighs with each move, groaning when your lips part. Gripping your hips as he leans back, he holds you in place, fucking into you with force now and his eyes roll back like he’s losing himself in the feeling. “Always so fucking tight for me.”

The noise of your combined moans, your high pitched whines and his low grunts fill the room, accompanied by the quieter sound of his groin snapping against yours, quite like a beat to the carnal melody that the two of you are creating. 

Yoongi slides his hands down your legs and moves them to drop your ankles upon his shoulders, creating an angle that allows him to go even deeper than before. You're gasping for air from how he plows into you, the roll of his hips making his cock drag across your g-spot with every thrust. 

He grows frantic, spitting out curse words here and there before he takes your hand and guides it between your legs. “Make yourself come on my cock,” he directs with his head falling back between his shoulders. “That’s it baby, I can feel how close you are. Fucking squeezing me.”

He’s right, you are close again, now rubbing yourself in tight circles like he asked and it's like there's no air left in your lungs to exhale. Your muscles tense all over and you bite your tongue to relieve the pressure, watching him pump in and out of you over and over, a vein on his neck straining against his skin like it's about to burst.

“Come for me,” he groans, voice breaking to a tone so wrecked, you both know that no one will ever hear him sound like that but you. 

You follow his command, it’s not like you have a choice, another orgasm crashing all over you and draining your mind from everything that isn't him inside of you. Limbs convulse and sweat drips down your temple as the shuddering waves ripple from your core throughout your whole body. 

Your pussy clenches around him frantically and pulls him over the edge as well, so he can't help the moan from slipping out as his hips stutter with every spurt of cum that he fills you with. His head falls into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily against your sticky skin, still moving, still pressing himself in as deep as he can, like he wants to bury himself inside of you. 

“Shit,” he curses, muffled and drawn out, panting and revelling in the feeling of your cunt still wrapped around him so tightly. “I’m never pulling out of you, just so you know.”

You chuckle as you bring your arms around his back, fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “You sure about that?”

He’s still breathing heavily and you feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin as he nods. “No doubt about it.” He lifts his head to look into your eyes. “Still mad at me?”

“Never was.”

Masterlist

You were already soaked from making out earlier. Hoseok settled between your thighs, rubbing the head of his cock between your folds making you shiver.

He took his time kissing your neck sloppily as he squeezed your breasts until you were squirming on your bed.

“Hobaa.. please,” you whine, needing him to put his cock inside already.

“I know, princess,” he whispered in your ears as he slowly slid into you with one smooth deep thrust.

You gasped, arching off the bed as he started immediately moving. A steady rhythmic pace that was almost lazy, Breathing so heavily on your face.

The feeling of his shaft sliding in and out, stroking your sensitive walls was so overwhelming, your eyes rolled back into your head. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, trying to get him deeper.

“Fuck,” He let out a a soft grunt feeling you squeeze around his cock.

He kissed you, swallowing your moans. His hands were everywhere—in your hair, on your face, gripping your hips to keep his slow, maddening pace. You were getting lost in it, in the feel of him moving inside you, in the heat of his skin, soft wet noises that your pussy makes.

He watched your face change. Seeing your eyes get a little unfocused, your mouth soft and slack. He saw the moment you slipped into that quiet, pliant headspace. He smiled nudging his nose and lips on your cheek.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured against you, his voice thick with affection. He kept the pace steady, rocking his hips into you. Keeping you right there on the blissful edge.

His gaze drifted to the huge mirror in front your bed, and the corner of his lips lifted as an idea struck him.

Then, he slowed. Pulling almost all the way out making you whine at the loss. "Shh," he soothed, kissing your cheek. "I've got you. Turn over."

Rolling you to your stomach. you went easily, boneless. He arranged you on your knees pulling you hips up as you arch your back, his hands wrapped gently around your forearms pulling you back to him, supporting you as your hazy headspace made your entire body weaken.

“Eyes up, princess,” he said softly.

You blinked slowly, dizzy enough that it took you a few seconds to finally look up.

The mirror on the wall was right in front of you. You saw yourself—hair messed up, skin flushed pink, lips swollen. You looked fucked-out and peaceful.

You saw him move behind you. He guided his throbbing cock back inside with one hand as the other locked around your elbows like it was nothing, keeping you still. You moaned, your head dropping for a second.

“Look,” his voice firmer now. Setting a deep and hard pace, his hips slamming into your ass with a sound that filled the room. Your head was too heavy to hold up. Dropping forward, voice so small as you let out incoherent words.

“ i- i can’..” voice vibrating from the force of his thrusts.

He tsk a sound, wrapping one arm around your waist pulling you hard on his chest as his hand help your chin up.

“Open up,” he demands.

You opened your mouth, pushing two fingers inside. They pressed down on your tongue, making you drool on his fingers.

“Suck,” he said

You closed your lips around his fingers and sucked. Applying a weak rhythmic pressure. It was easy. Almost comforting as It gave you something to do.

“Yeahh..good girl”

“Now look at your pretty face on the mirror,” he said pounding harder into you.

You were trapped. In a good way. Your eyes went back to the mirror.

You saw it all. You saw your face, your cheeks hollow from sucking his fingers. Watching the tears that tracked silently down your cheeks from the sheer, overwhelming everything of it. You saw how your breasts bounced every time he pushed into you. You watched his face, a mask of fierce concentration and adoration, his eyes glued to where his fingers disappeared between your lips.

It was a lot. Too much. But you couldn't look away. He wouldn't let you.

“That’s it ,princess” he rasped, His breath was hot on your neck. “Juuust like that. See how pretty you are? See how well you take it?”

He was everywhere. Inside you. In your mouth. In your sight. He was the only solid thing in your soft, dissolving world.

“Good girl,”he rasped, the words vibrating through his chest and into your back. The praise sank into you, warm and steady, even as his thrusts became frantic, losing their rhythm. “Perfect girl. Just like that. Don't look away.”

It happened fast. One second you were lost in the rhythm, his fingers heavy on your tongue, your eyes glued to your own wrecked reflection. The next, a hot, sharp wave curled low in your belly, a clenching, electric pulse that stole your breath and your thoughts.

You didn't make a sound. Your mouth just hung open around his fingers as you held your breath. Your eyes went blank in the mirror. Your body locked up, every muscle tight, and he could feel your cunt pulsing around him, gripping him in waves.

“Oh fuck—” his voice cracked.

It sent him over the edge. slamming into you hard, burying himself deep, and then he was coming. The first spurt hit inside you, hot and thick. He groaned, a low, broken sound, his hips jerking against your against your ass.

It was so warm. So wet. It filled you up spreading deep in your belly. The feeling of it, the sudden wet heat, made your own orgasm kick harder. Your pussy clenched again, milking him, pulling more out of him.

“Shit—“ he gasped. “Keep doing that—“

He kept coming. Long, thick spurts that he could feel pumping out of him. Each one made you twitch around him. Your body kept squeezing, kept pulling. It was like you were trying to take everything he had.

The feeling was dirty and perfect. You were Stuffed. warm and slippery. It was too much to hold. Some of it leaked out around his cock, dripping down your thighs, wetting the sheets under you.

His chest pressed against your back, his breath hot and ragged on your neck. His cock kept twitching inside you, giving little spurts of cum even after he thought he was done. Your pussy kept squeezing back, little aftershocks that made him whimper.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, baby.”

You just stayed there, limp and used, your body still shaking. You could feel everything. The mess between your legs. The wet spot growing under you. The warmth of his cum inside you. The weight of him on your back.

He finally moved. He slowly pulled out, and the feeling made you gasp. Empty. Wet. A gush of his cum followed, warm and thick, sliding out of you and down your thighs.

He turned you onto your back. His eyes went straight to the mess between your legs. His cum was still leaking out of you, a slow white drip that pooled on the sheets. He stared at it. His jaw was tight. His eyes were dark.

“Look at that,” he said, his voice rough. He reached down and ran two fingers through the mess, spreading it around. “Look at what I did to you.”

You looked down. Your thighs were wet. Your pussy was red and swollen. His cum was everywhere, slick and shiny on your skin.

He brought his fingers up to your mouth. “Taste.”

You opened your mouth and he pushed his fingers inside. You sucked them clean. The taste was salty and bitter and him. His eyes watched you, hungry.

“Good girl,” he said. “All mine.”

He leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue pushing into your mouth. You could taste both of you mixed together. It was filthy. It was perfect.

When he pulled back, he was smiling. Soft now. His eyes looked almost doe-like, open and unguarded, filled with affection. He brushed your hair off your face.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

You shook your head. Words were still hard.

“Good.” He kissed your forehead. “Let's get you cleaned up ᡣ𐭩.”

━ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ━

A/N: holy… this was so intense and im very proud of this one cuz it really effected me lol just honest emotions here.

A week had passed.

Jungkook was officially the Chairman of the syndicate now. His name alone seemed to carry a dark weight that chilled the air wherever he went. Every man under his command feared him. The mansion staff whispered among themselves in quiet huddles, scattering and hiding in the hallways whenever his heavy footsteps echoed through the corridors. Even Madam Jeon refused to leave her wing, completely absent from the long dining table during meals.

To you, the whole thing was a confusing blur.

Chairman. Syndicate. Blood. Power.

None of it made real sense to you, outside of the hushed rumors you occasionally overheard from the maids and guards.

With all that newly claimed power, Jungkook was rarely ever at the mansion. He left for work early in the morning, long before you even opened your eyes and only returned in time for dinner on a few scattered nights.

You quickly learned how to pass the time on your own. You told yourself you didn't crave his presence, but the truth was, that kiss—the suffocating heat of it—never truly left your mind.

It stayed tucked away in your thoughts, ambushing you at random moments during the day, making your cheeks burn bright red like a fool.

Ever since that night, he hadn't spoken to you properly. He was simply too busy.

Your only real comfort was the little puppy. You named him Max, and he quickly became your sole companion in the massive, lonely house. You stopped hiding him in your bedroom and started letting him roam, spending your days feeding him proper puppy food, warm milk, and playing with him across the sprawling estate.

"Oh! Can you stop by the park over there?"

You leaned forward in the back seat of the sleek black SUV, pointing through the window toward a sunlit park along the road.

The personal guard at the wheel hesitated, eyeing the location through his rearview mirror. "It's a public park, Mrs. Jeon."

The title made your stomach do a familiar flip.

Mrs. Jeon.

It was a constant and subtle reminder that you belonged to him now. No matter how distant he was, a small part of you was always wondering where he was, what he was doing, or if he had even bothered to eat lunch.

"Oh, please," you pleaded, leaning closer to the driver's seat. "I just want Max to have a real walk like other puppies! Look!" You pointed out the window at the various dogs running around the green grass with their owners.

The guard still looked unsure. Moving cautiously, he pulled out his phone and quickly typed out a text to Jungkook, asking for permission. It was standard procedure—the guards kept Jungkook updated on your exact whereabouts at all times.

Where you went, what you were doing, even what you had for breakfast. Every single night, Jungkook would call the head butler to ask if you had eaten properly.

A moment later, the driver's phone buzzed with a short, positive reply from the boss.

Relaxing his posture, the guard pulled the SUV to the curb and stepped out to open your door. "I will be right at the entrance, Mrs. Jeon. One call, and I will be by your side instantly."

"Thank you!" you cheered, carefully cradling Max in your arms as you stepped out into the fresh afternoon air.

Carrying the little puppy into the park, you finally set him down on the lush green grass. Max let out an excited, high-pitched woof, his tiny tail wagging like crazy as he trotted in playful circles around your feet.

You spent the next half hour chasing Max around the park.

Suddenly, Max spotted a butterfly and took off in a wild sprint toward a shade tree near the edge of the paved walking path.

"Max! No, stop!" you called out, laughing as you jogged after him.

Before you could catch up, the little puppy bumped right into the polished shoes of a young man sitting quietly on one of the wooden park benches. Max let out a soft woof and immediately sat down on his feet, looking up with his tail wagging furiously.

"Oh, I am so, so sorry!" you gasped out, breathless as you reached them, reaching down to grab the little dog. "He's still really young and doesn't know his manners yet—"

"Hey, it's completely fine," a soft, warm voice interrupted.

You paused, looking up.

The man sitting on the bench offered you a gentle, reassuring smile that made his eye corners crinkle softly. He was dressed casually in an oversized cream-colored sweater and dark trousers, looking completely harmless and relaxed under the afternoon sun. Without a hint of annoyance, he leaned down and gently scratched Max behind his ears, making the puppy let out a happy sigh and lean straight into his touch.

"He's a friendly little guy," the man chuckled softly, his voice full of easy charm as he looked up at you. "You don't need to apologize at all."

A wave of safe and comforting energy seemed to  radiate off him, instantly putting you at ease.

You offered him a genuine smile, relaxing your posture as Max happily rolled onto his back at the stranger's feet.

"Thank you for being so understanding," you said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Most people would be annoyed if a strange dog ran up to them."

"Not a chance," he smiled, running his hand over Max's soft fur again before looking up at you with friendly curiosity. "What's his name?"

"Max," you replied softly, feeling a pleasant warmth in your chest. "His name is Max."

"Max," the man repeated, giving the puppy one last gentle pat before offering you a warm, polite nod. "It suits him. I'm Jimin, by the way.”

"Y/N," you introduced yourself with a bright, genuine smile, leaning down to scoop Max up from the grass and into your arms. "I should get going now. It was really nice meeting you, Jimin."

"Nice to meet you too, Y/N," Jimin replied softly, giving you a friendly wave as you turned around.

Carrying Max toward the shaded side of the park, you caught sight of a bright red vending machine standing under a wide oak tree. A wave of thirst hit your throat, making you realize just how long you had been running around under the sun.

you walked over to it.

The truth was you had never actually used a vending machine before.

You set Max down on his leash, stepping closer to study the glass display filled with cold sodas, juices, and water bottles. Spotting a bottle of peach green tea, you reached into your small shoulder bag and pulled out the black card Jungkook had given you.

Setting the bottle number, you swiped the black card into the narrow coin slot on the machine.

Nothing happened.

You frowned, pulling the card out and trying to slide it sideways through the tiny gap but the machine just let out a sound and nothing happend.

You tried again, tapping it desperately.

"I don't think black cards work on twenty-year-old vending machines," a amused voice chuckled from behind you.

You whipped around to see Jimin jogging up the paved trail, his grey hoodie slightly damp at the collar as he slowed to a gentle stop near the tree.

"Oh! We meet again!" he laughed, his eyes crinkling into those same warm, crescent shapes as he stretched his arms.

Your face instantly flushed a deep, burning red. Embarrassed, you quickly hid the expensive black card behind your back, looking down at your shoes. "I... yeah. I was just trying to get something to drink but it's not working..."

Jimin’s smile softened into something incredibly kind as he stepped up to the machine beside you. "Vending machines are old-school," he explained gently, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small palmful of silver coins. "They don't take fancy credit cards. They only accept cash or these."

He held up a few shiny coins, flashing you a playful wink before sliding them into the thin slot one by one. The machine instantly clinked to life, the digital screen lighting up with a cheerful hum.

"See? You just put the coins in here," Jimin pointed to the slot, walking you through the simple process with easy patience. "Then you push the button for the drink you want right here."

He pressed the number for the peach green tea you had been eyeing. A loud thump echoed from the bottom compartment as the cold tea plastic bottle dropped into the metal tray below.

Jimin crouched down, retrieved the bottle, and turned around to hand it to you with a warm smile. "Here you go. My treat.”

"Oh. Thank you," you said, a amused laugh escaping your lips as you bowed slightly and took the cold plastic bottle from his hand. "I owe you one."

"Consider it as a small treat," Jimin replied with a easygoing smile, leaning back against the side of the machine with his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

Before you could pop the cap off the tea, Max let out a happy little bark and bounded straight for Jimin’s legs. The small puppy circled around his ankles, playfully nuzzling against his sneakers and wagging his tail so hard his whole body shook.

Jimin chuckled softly, immediately crouching down to meet the dog at his level, letting Max lick his fingers as he gently scratched behind his fluffy ears.

You stood there watching them, a strange and quiet thought creeping into your mind. Max had warmed up to Jimin instantly, practically throwing himself at the stranger's feet for affection.

He never did that with Jungkook.

You couldn't help but notice the difference. Whenever Max was near Jungkook, the puppy would either tiptoe nervously around his heavy leather shoes or get completely ignored.

Jungkook never crouched down like this. He never laughed softly at the dog's antics and he certainly never offered this kind of easy and effortless warmth.

Jungkook was all cold marble, sharp suits, dark shadows, and suffocating tension. Standing next to Jimin felt like sitting in the afternoon sun—safe, bright, and completely uncomplicated.

A tiny, bitter ache settled in your chest as you looked at the simple scene, your fingers tightening around the cold tea bottle.

"He really takes a liking to you," you murmured softly, trying to shake off the sudden, heavy wave of thoughts about your husband.

"I guess I just have a good vibe with animals," Jimin smiled, looking up at you through his dark bangs with that same gentle, harmless expression. "Or maybe Max just knows a good guy when he sees one.”

"Well, since you saved me from a fight with a vending machine," you smiled, gesturing toward a small coffee kiosk near the park entrance, "let me buy you a coffee. There's a proper care over there, so I can actually use my card."

Jimin laughed softly, standing up and dusting off his knees. "I’d never turn down free coffee. Lead the way."

A few minutes later, the two of you were sitting side by side on a secluded wooden bench overlooking the wide park lawn. The afternoon sun was slowly dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in soft streaks of pink and deep violet. Max had finally run out of energy and was curled up asleep on your lap.

You took a slow sip of your warm latte, watching the golden light fade.

"It must be nice," Jimin murmured casually, leaning back against the bench and taking a sip from his cup. "Having a quiet evening like this. Do you get out much?"

"Not really," you admitted softly, looking down at your hands. "My life is... pretty ...." You shrugged not knowing how to finish the sentence. "My husband works a lot. Almost all the time, honestly."

"Ah, a busy man," Jimin replied, his tone smooth, completely non-judgmental. "Must be tough, being home alone so often."

"It gets lonely," you confessed, a bitter little smile tugging at your lips. "Our marriage isn't... normal. It started cold. Really cold. He's an intense man. People are intimidated by him, and half the time, I am too."

Jimin tilted his head, watching your side profile carefully. "Intimidating? What does he do that makes him so scary?" he asked, his voice laced with gentle curiosity.

"He's just... A businessman. Cold and intimidating one." you said vaguely, pulling back from revealing too much. "He carries the weight of a huge organization on his shoulders. He doesn't bow to anyone and he expects everyone around him to fall in line."

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as the memory of the kiss flashed unbidden into your mind. Your cheeks flared hot in the dimming twilight.

"Yet..." you continued, your voice dropping to a low whisper, "there are these rare moments. He’s cold, he’s dangerous but then he looks at me a certain way, or touches me... and my heart just completely loses control. It’s terrifying because I know who he is but my body just flutters like a fool around him."

Jimin took a long drink from his cup, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he processed your words.

"Sounds like he holds a lot of control over you," Jimin said softly, his voice dripping with easy empathy. "A man that powerful... he must have a lot of people keeping an eye on him. Does he have a lot of enemies? Or people who want to bring him down?"

"I don't really get involved in his work," you sighed, shaking your head. "I just hear rumors around the house. News reports, hushed whispers from the guards. He just took over the main position recently, so everything is busy."

"The main position, huh? Like company ceo something?" Jimin repeated quietly, nodding as if just reflecting on your words, though a sharp, hidden focus flickered behind his eyes for a fraction of a second. "That’s a heavy burden for a wife to carry alone. You shouldn't have to walk on eggshells in your own life, Y/N."

You looked over at him, touched by his kindness. "Thank you, Jimin."

Jimin offered you a warm, gentle smile, reaching over to lightly pat your shoulder. "Anytime, Y/N. I'm always around here.”

Talking to Jimin brought back an unexpected wave of nostalgia. There was something about his easy warmth and gentle presence that reminded you so much of Hoseok—that same comforting, bright energy that made you feel safe and heard without even trying.

You carefully scooped Max off your lap, cradling the sleepy puppy in your arms as you stood up from the bench.

"I should go now," you said softly, offering him a warm smile as you looked up at the darkening sky. "It's getting late, and my guard is probably getting anxious."

Jimin stood up with you, dusting off his dark trousers before looking down at you with a soft, affectionate expression.

"Yes, go on, my little friend," he nodded gently, his hands tucked casually into his sweater pockets. "And don't worry about being alone anymore. You’ve got a friend now in this lonely vast world."

He flashed you his signature eye-smile, his dark eyes crinkling into two tiny crescent moons.

A soft giggle escaped your lips, the heavy knot in your chest feeling lighter than it had in weeks. "Thank you, Jimin. For everything."

You gave him a cheerful wave before turning around and walking toward the park entrance where the sleek black SUV was waiting.

°

You were lying awake on the plush bed, staring up at the ceiling. Max was curled into a small ball at the foot of the mattress. The night air usually brought peace but tonight your mind was spiraling. Jimin’s gentle voice kept echoing in your head.

You got a friend now in this lonely vast world... You shouldn't have to walk on eggshells.

His words felt like a soft blanket, a reminder of just how cold, distant, and terrifying your marriage to Jungkook really was.

The bedroom was clicked open.

You froze, pulling the duvet higher up your chest as a tall shadow slipped into the room.

It was Jungkook.

He didn't turn on the lights. He just stood by the door for a long moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling in heavy exhausted breaths. Even in the dim moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains, you could see how undone he looked. His dark hair was damp and messy, his expensive suit jacket missing, and his white dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

As he stepped closer to the bed, a distinct scent hit your nose—the sharp, metallic tang of cold blood mixed with stale cigarette smoke and his musky cologne.

He didn't say a word. He didn't look like the ruthless, terrifying man who held the entire syndicate in his fist. He just looked painfully drained.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as he kicked off his shoes. The mattress dipped heavily behind you as he unceremoniously climbed into the bed, shifting until his body was flush against your back.

Before you could even draw a breath, his thick, tattooed arm slid around your waist, hauling you backward until your spine was pressed firmly against his solid chest.

You gasped softly, your hands instinctively flying to clasp his forearm. "Jungkook..."

"Shh," he rasped, his voice so low, rough, and broken it sent a physical shiver straight down your spine.

He buried his face deep into the crook of your neck, taking a long, ragged inhale of your soft vanilla scent, like a drowning man finally breaking the surface for air. His body was tense, radiating a dangerous, frantic heat but his hold on you was almost desperate—seeking your warmth, burying himself in you just like he had done that night.

You bit your lower lip, fighting the overwhelming urge to pull away. You wanted to remind yourself of how dangerous he was. You wanted to remember Jimin’s soft, safe comfort, to guard your heart against the monster holding you.

But as his heavy chest heaved against your back, his thumb slowly stroking the silk of your nightgown over your hip, your traitorous heart completely betrayed you.

A sharp flutter burst in your stomach.

The fear, the confusion, the anger—it all melted under the dark intimacy of his touch. He was a ruthless killer, a man who commanded fear with a single glance, yet here he was, weak and silent, holding onto you as if you were the only real thing left in his blood-stained world.

"Jungkook," you whispered again, your voice softening as you felt his heartbeat against your shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

He didn't answer right away. His grip on your waist tightened just a fraction, pulling you so close there was no air left between you.

"Just stay still," he murmured against your skin, his hot breath fanning over your pulse point. "Let me stay like this for a minute."

Your eyes fluttered shut. Sighing softly, you stopped resisting, letting yourself sink backward into his firm chest, your fingers lightly tangling into his tattooed arm as the warmth of your husband consumed you completely once again.

You turned around in his arms to face him, the soft rustle of the sheets breaking the quiet room.

Jungkook slowly opened his eyes. The breath was instantly knocked right out of your lungs when your gaze collided with his pitch-black orbs. Your cheeks flared with a sudden burning heat and you subconsciously bit down on your lower lip, trying desperately to quiet the frantic beating of your heart.

Jungkook’s dark eyes dropped, tracking the movement of your teeth sinking into your lips.

He leaned in closer, his head tilting just a fraction as his hot breath fanned over your skin. "Stop biting your lips like that," he rasped, his voice dropping into a husky, low register that vibrated straight through you. "It does things to me."

He had tried so hard to keep his distance this past week. He had buried himself in meetings and work, trying to stay away from this room. But he couldn't stop watching you. He found himself constantly checking the cameras on his phone—watching you laugh and play with Max in the garden—or interrogating the staff every night about whether you had eaten.

He was getting attached to you in a way he never intended. A way that terrified him. In his world, attachments were weakness. Attachments got people killed.

His warm index finger reached up, hooking gently over your chin before pulling your bottom lip free from your teeth. His thumb slowlystroked the sensitive skin of your mouth. Your chest heaved with every shaky breath, brushing flush against his hard torso.

Your mind spun out of control, replaying the memory of his kiss from last week. The fear and confusion melted away, replaced by an embarrassing, desperate ache to taste him again. To feel those lips pressed hard against yours.

Jungkook saw the silent longing burning in your eyes, but instead of taking your mouth, he let out a exhale. His large hand slid up to the back of your head, his long fingers tangling in your soft hair, gently pulling your face into the warm hollow of his chest.

"Sleep," he whispered against your hair, his thumb lazily caressing your temple.

Trapped in his protective hold, you closed your eyes.

° 

A group of maids and the head chef stood huddled near the entrance, wringing their hands nervously as they watched you moving around the kitchen.

"M-Mrs. Jeon, please!" the head chef pleaded, looking like he was on the verge of tears. "If Mr. Jeon finds out we let you touch the stove, he will have our heads! Please let us prepare the meal!"

"I just want to do this myself," you said firmly, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand—completely unaware that you were smearing a streak of white flour directly across your cheek.

You were determined. After everything that had happened, you wanted to break the icy tension in the house. You wanted to win over Madam Jeon, or at least show her that you weren't the useless, money-draining parasite she thought you were.

On the counter sat three cold, abandoned cups of tea that hadn't turned out quite right, alongside a giant stainless steel bowl where you were aggressively whisking pancake batter.

Jungkook walked down the stairs, buttoning the cuffs of his dark charcoal suit jacket. Taehyung followed a step behind, holding a leather tablet and briefing him on the morning's schedule.

Jungkook slowed his steps as he approached the dining wing, his sharp brows furrowing. The entire morning staff was gathered outside the kitchen doors, fidgeting anxiously and whispering in low.

Taehyung paused, exchanging a wary look with his boss.

Jungkook raised a single eyebrow and walked further inside.

The scene that met his eyes instantly halted him in his tracks. There you stood in a simple, soft morning dress, hair pinned up haphazardly, aggressively beating a bowl of batter with flour dusted across your nose, cheeks, and even a bit on your lip.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Jungkook’s lips. a rare, fleeting glimpse of genuine amusement that vanished before anyone else could catch it.

He held up a hand, silently waving off Taehyung and the trembling staff. "Out. All of you."

The maids bowed and scurried out.

"What are you doing?"

His deep voice made you jump so hard the metal whisk clattered loudly against the side of the bowl.

You whipped around, holding your breath as you met his gaze. He looked impossibly sharp, put-together and completely out of place standing in a kitchen.

"Jungkook!" you gasped, clapping a hand over your chest. "You scared me!"

He walked over slowly, his heavy leather shoes clicking against the tile. He stopped just a few feet away, his dark eyes scanning the flour-covered counter, the ruined cups of tea and finally settling on your flushed face.

"We have an entire staff paid to do this," he said, his tone dry, though his eyes lingered on the smudge of flour on your cheek. "Why are you making a mess?"

You pouted, lowering the whisk and looking down at the bowl of lumpy batter. "I'm not making a mess. I'm... I'm trying to make breakfast. And proper tea."

"Why?"

You hesitated, biting your lower lip before blurting out the truth. "I wanted to make something for your grandmother. I wanted... I wanted to impress her. To show her I'm not completely useless."

The subtle warmth in Jungkook’s eyes instantly vanished. A cold shadow crossed his face, his jaw clenching so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek.

The thought of you—his wife—slaving away over a hot stove, stressing yourself out and begging for the approval of a bitter old woman made a irritation flare in his chest.

"You are not here to impress anyone," he growled.

Before you could step back, Jungkook closed the distance between you in a single stride. His large, vein-lined hands shot out, gripping the edge of the marble counter on either side of your hips, completely trapping you against the cold stone.

You gasped, your back hitting the counter as his massive frame towered over you, his intense, pitch-black eyes locking onto yours.

"You don't bow to anyone in this house. You don't cook for them and you certainly don't beg for their favor," he whispered, leaning down until his dark lips were just inches from yours. The scent of his expensive cologne wrapped around you like a cage. "You are my wife. You carry the name Jeon now."

A helpless shiver ran straight down your spine at the possessive threat laced in his voice.

"Act like it," he commanded quietly, his dark eyes dropping to your lips before searing back up to your wide eyes. "Because as long as you belong to me, no one in this world gets to make you feel small. Not even her.”

With a glare that left your blood humming, Jungkook straightened up, adjusted his cuffs, and turned on his heel to walk out of the kitchen.

°

Taehyung stepped inside, his hands casually tucked into his trousers. He took one look at you, standing frozen against the marble counter with white flour smeared across your cheeks, nose, and forehead and burst into a loud, clear laugh.

"Look at you!" Taehyung chuckled, shaking his head as he walked over to the island. "Did you fight a bag of flour, or were you actually trying to make pancakes?"

You snapped out of your daze, your face flushing a burning red. Dropping the whisk into the bowl with an annoyed clank, you crossed your arms over your chest and let out angry pout.

"It's not funny, Taehyung!" you complained loudly, wiping a stray smudge of flour off your chin, only to spread it further. "Your boss is completely unbelievable! I was just trying to do something nice and he comes in here talking all scary like a crazy villain! 'You carry the name Jeon now'" you mimicked in a deep, exaggerated, dramatic voice, rolling your eyes. "He is so arrogant, moody, and absolutely impossible to deal with! How do you even stand working for him every day?"

Taehyung leaned against the counter, his shoulders shaking with silent amusement as he listened to you vent. "Well, Mrs. Jeon, he is the Chairman—"

Ahem.

The clearing of a throat shattered the air from the doorway.

Your entire body went rigid. The words died instantly in your throat.

Jungkook was standing in the doorway. He had walked back in to retrieve his forgotten phone from the counter, only to catch every single word of your passionate rant.

Taehyung’s amusement vanished in a fraction of a second. He instantly straightened his posture, wiping the smile clean off his face, and bowed his head respectfully. "Sir."

Jungkook didn't look at Taehyung right away. His pitch-black eyes were locked onto you, burning with a dark intensity that made your stomach drop straight to your shoes.

You gripped the edge of the counter behind you, swallowing hard, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

Slowly, Jungkook stepped into the room. As he passed Taehyung, he halted, his gaze cutting over to his right-hand man with an ice-cold, possessive edge.

"Taehyung," Jungkook said, his voice quiet, low, and laced with absolute authority. "Maintain your boundaries with my wife. You are stepping out of line."

Taehyung’s posture stiffened even further. "Apologies. It won't happen again." He bowed once more and quickly exited the kitchen.

Now, the room was dead silent.

Jungkook didn't grab his phone immediately. Instead, he walked slowly toward you.

Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird as he closed the distance, stopping right in front of you.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached past your waist, his broad chest brushing against your shoulder as his long fingers casually picked up his phone from the marble counter.

He didn't pull away.

Leaning down until his lips brushed against the shell of your sensitive ear, his hot breath fanning over your neck, he whispered in a low, velvet rasp that sent a violent shiver down your spine.

"So... arrogant, moody, and impossible, am I?"

You held your breath, completely paralyzed under his spell.

"Keep badmouthing your husband, sweetheart," he purred darkly, his thumb lightly grazing your flour-dusted cheek before trailing down to your trembling bottom lip. "Because you're getting punished for every single word tonight."

With a wicked smirk tugging at his lips, Jungkook pulled back, slid his phone into his suit pocket, and walked out of the kitchen, leaving you weak-kneed and breathless .

°

Jungkook sat at the head of the conference table, his long, broad frame relaxed in the leather chair, one hand casually resting on his knee.

Behind him, projected across the giant display wall, was a dark, intimidating logo.

an intricate, sharp-edged skull flanked by two sweeping, raven-like wings on each side. The sight of it alone sent a wave of icy dread rippling through the dark-suited men gathered around the room.

Whispers broke out like wildfire. The syndicate bosses, mob lieutenants, and corrupt officials leaned into each other, their faces pale as they stared at the revived symbol. It was an emblem from a darker, far more brutal era—one they thought had been buried six feet under years ago.

Taehyung stood silently near the corner of the room, his expression unreadable, waiting patiently for his leader to make his move.

Without warning, Jungkook stood up. He slammed both of his hands flat against the polished marble table with a deafening crack that echoed through the vast room.

The entire boardroom instantly froze.

"J-Jungkook, this logo..." a senior underboss stuttered, his voice trembling as he gestured nervously toward the screen.

"Any problem?" Jungkook’s voice was unnaturally calm yet it carried an suffocating weight that crushed the remaining air out of the room. "I am the Chairman now. I will be the one who decides what logo this syndicate will bear."

He paused, sweeping his pitch-black eyes over the trembling men before him.

"This old logo,the one that once ruled the syndicate will rule the syndicate again. I will be the one to reintroduce it," he stated firmly. He leaned forward over the table, his tattoos peaking out from under his crisp cuffs as his tone dropped an octave into a lethal rasp. "If anyone has an objection, speak up now. I will gladly cut your tongue off myself."

No one dared to breathe. No one dared to make eye contact.

"But... it's... your fa-father..." a brave foolish man near the back dared to whisper under his breath, but the quiet words reached Jungkook's ears anyway.

"So what?!" Jungkook snapped, his jaw clenching tightly as his dark eyes flared with an unholy fury. "This seat once belonged to him! And it was always supposed to belong to me! Until that fucking old dead man killed my father and stole this seat from the Jeons!"

He gritted his teeth, a vein pulsing violently against his temple. "Now, I killed that old bastard to bring justice to my father's death and to reclaim the seat that was stolen from my bloodline." He leaned back up, casting a deadly look across the room. "Anyone else who even dreams of laying their eyes on this seat will suffer the exact same fate."

Satisfied with the absolute silence falling over the room, Jungkook turned his gaze slightly toward Taehyung.

"Release the seal again," Jungkook commanded, his tone smooth and cold as steel. "Mark every single one of our drug stocks, the ports, and the shipping containers. No one in the underworld will dare to question us with this seal back where it belongs. Everyone should know who is back. Everyone should know who holds the absolute power."

Taehyung bowed his head respectfully, his voice low and steady. "Understood, sir."

° 

You were curled up on the edge of the massive plush bed, the warm glow of the nightstand lamp illuminating the pages of a romance novel in your lap.

Your eyes skimmed over the lines, lingering on a slow, agonizingly detailed description of the male lead pressing the heroine against a wall, tasting her lips with ravenous hunger.

Heat flushed across your cheeks.

Without warning, your mind betrayed you—replacing the fictional man with Jungkook. The memory of his eyes hovering over yours, his hot breath against your skin, and the sharp drag of his teeth against your bottom lip flashed behind your eyelids with terrifying clarity.

"Ugh, stop it!" you whispered to yourself, instantly slamming the heavy paperback shut and pressing it over your blushing face.

What was wrong with you?

Why couldn't you get him out of your head? He was dangerous, moody, and arrogant yet every time you closed your eyes, your body completely betrayed you, aching for the touch of the very man who owned you.

Click.

The lock turned and the bedroom door opened.

Your breath hitched as you slowly lowered the book.

Jungkook stepped into the room, looking breathtakingly undone. His dark suit jacket was gone, his dark silk tie pulled loose and hanging open at his collar. The top three buttons of his crisp white dress shirt were unbuttoned, revealing his chest while his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the tattoos wrapping around his muscular forearms.

He walked slowly toward the bed, his long fingers casually unbuttoned his cuffs, peeling off the layers of his formal attire in a slow striptease that sent a wave of heat pooling straight to your lower stomach.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of your book as his dark, heavy gaze locked onto yours.

A smirk stretched across his handsome features.

"Did you really think I forgot?" he rasped, his low, velvet voice vibrating through the quiet room. "You had a lot of bold things to say to Taehyung this morning, sweetheart."

Your cheeks burned hot. Instinctively, you threw the book onto the mattress and scrambled backward, but a strange, thrilling surge of pure excitement flared deep in your core, turning your knees weak.

Before you could move an inch further, Jungkook closed the distance in two smooth strides. His large, tattooed hand shot out, wrapping firmly around your waist and hauling you effortlessly across the sheets into his lap.

"Jungkook—!"

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as he flipped you over, laying your upper body flush across his lap, his heavy thigh supporting your weight while his large hand pinned your lower back. Before your brain could process the sudden change, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your silk panties, sliding them down your thighs in one swift motion and tossing them aside onto the floor.

The cool night air brushed against your bare skin, sending a delicious and desperate shiver running straight down your spine.

"Time for your lesson," he purred darkly against your ear, his palm resting flat against the curve of your bare bottom. "Every insult costs you a spank. And you're going to count them for me."

SLAP.

The sting of his palm connected with your soft skin.

Instead of a cry of pain, an helpless, airy moan spilled straight out of your mouth, echoing loudly through the silent room.

Above you, Jungkook’s breath instantly hitched. A sudden heat rushed straight to his groin, his dark eyes darkening into pure, unbridled hunger as his shaft hardened instantly against your abdomen. He didn't expect you to make sweet sinful sounds and jt excited him now.

He chuckled.

"Is that so?" he rasped, his voice dripping with dark amusement and deep satisfaction. "You like being punished by your husband, don't you, Mrs. Jeon?"

SLAP.

"Count." He growled.

"Ah! O-One..." you gasped out, your fingers clutching tightly into the fabric of his trousers as a burning heat spread across your skin.

SLAP.

"Two!" you whimpered, your hips lifting involuntarily off his lap, pressing your stomach straight into the thick rigid length straining beneath his pants.

"Good girl," he growled dirty into the shell of your ear, his hand coming down again.

SLAP.

"Tell me what I am. Say it while I make your pretty little ass red. Whar did you dare to call me this morning?"

SLAP.

"Th-Three... Ah! You're... arrogant!" you moaned, completely undone, your body shivering with need as his heavy spanks ignited every single nerve ending in your body.

"Arrogant, hmm?"

SLAP.

"Four," he corrected softly, his thumb caressing the burning skin of your bottom before striking again.

SLAP.

"Five. Look at you... squirming for me like a little sinner."

He leaned down, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his hot, heavy breath fanning over your pulse point as he continued to spank you, each heavy blow making you cry out his name, each moan sending him deeper into a haze of possessive desire.

Your entire body was burning, slick with need, completely trapped under his heavy frame as the thick, hard press of his cock against your stomach reminded you exactly who you belonged to and just how thoroughly he intended to claim you. The fact that he was hard just from spanking you made you moan loudly.

You bit down on your bottom lip so hard you could taste blood, desperately fighting to hold back the loud shameful moans bubbling up in your throat.

SLAP.

Another spank.

It was making your whole upper body jerk forward against his lap.

Jungkook’s pitch-black eyes burned into you, watching with satisfaction as your back arched and your lower stomach rubbed directly against the hard cock every time you moved. It was driving him crazy. He was trying not to moan.

Your eyes rolled back every time you felt his cock against your abdomen. A little lower and you can feel him. And the idea alone was making you feel tingly.

"Count," he growled.

You tried to think but your mind was a dizzy mess. The intense wave of pleasure washing over your body had completely wiped your thoughts clean. This was entirely new to you. You had never felt anything like this before, never imagined in your wild dreams that a punishment like this could make your body thrum with such helpless, thrilling excitement.

Tears trailed down your cheeks. It was too much yet you wanted more.

"Can't speak, dumb girl?" he purred darkly, "Look at you. Can't even remember simple numbers, huh?"

His large, calloused hand slowly began to rub the sore, burning skin of your rear, his palm gliding in gentle, soothing circles. It felt good, making your tense muscles melt beneath his touch until he brought his palm down once more with a sudden slap.

"Six," he reminded you sharply. "Say it."

"S-Six..." you whimpered out, your voice trembling and barely audible.

A sinful smirk stretched across his handsome face. He resumed caressing the red skin, his fingertips running feather-light over the tender red marks. Your lips parted, small whines escaping your throat with every light touch and those sounds were driving Jungkook crazy.

"Every time you think about talking behind my back, remember there are consequences," his low voice vibrated against your back, sounding almost surreal through the haze in your head. "Got it, Mrs. Jeon?"

You nodded desperately, your forehead pressing into his thigh.

Satisfied, Jungkook shifted his weight and gently helped you sit up on the edge of the mattress. Your chest was heaving, your vision slightly blurred and then your eyes involuntarily darted straight down to his lap.

Your throat instantly went bone dry.

An unmistakable tent was stretched tightly against the fabric of his dark trousers.

You swallowed hard, your eyes widening in horror and awe as you noticed the wet patch soaking through the front of his pants right where your core had been grinding against him.

You were soaking his expensive trousers with your arousal.

Jungkook clicked his tongue, a glint flashing in his eyes as he looked down at the damp spot. "Made a mess on my pants, baby," he rasped, his voice dropping into that smooth murmur that sent a fresh wave of heat straight to your core. "You weren't supposed to enjoy it."

You didn't know whether to scream, run far away, or simply dig a hole and melt right into the floor from sheer embarrassment. Your heart hammered violently against your ribs at the pet name, your entire frame shivering with an ache so deep it felt like a physical fever.

You wanted more. You wanted him to touch you. To feel you. Or you wanted to feel him.

Your eyes were droopy with desire. You felt embarrassed that your wetness was clinging to his pants and his own pre cum was leaking and damping the front of the pant. It turned you on more. You pressed your thighs closer and shut your lips clamped to not make any sounds.

Jungkook stood up, leaving you unfulfilled on the edge of the bed.

He walked into the bathroom, leaving the door cracked wide open—an invitation.

Inside, the sound of running water echoed against the marble tiles. He stripped off his shirt and unbuckled his ruined pants, letting them fall to the floor before stepping beneath the icy spray of the showerhead to cool his burning skin.

He wrapped his thick, tattooed hand tightly around his rock-hard length cock, slowly stroking the swollen head that was already oozing with clear pre-cum, before beginning to jerk himself off.

Sitting on the bed, you could hear the heavy sloshing of water mixed with the faint hit of his harsh breathing. You knew you shouldn't look. Every instinct told you to turn away but your betraying body moved on its own.

you silently slid off the bed and tiptoed toward the cracked door.

Your breath hitched softly in your chest as you looked through the gap. There stood your husband, water cascading down his broad, tattooed shoulders and dark wet hair, his face turned upward toward the ceiling as his hand moved in a fast, furious blur over his cock, letting out raw, sinful groans that vibrated through the small room.

Your mouth slightly parted when you looked down at his dick. He was...big. You never really saw a dick in real life or in movies but he was thick and the veins were popping out. The slick wetness around the head of his cock made you shamelessly lick your lips in need. You watched how he jerked himself off. The sounds he made.

You took a tiny step back.

Jungkook’s head snapped toward the door. His pitch-black eyes, clouded with pure lust, locked straight onto yours through the crack.

He didn't stop. He didn't cover himself. Instead, his strokes became faster, harder, his jaw clenching as his dark gaze devoured the sight of you standing outside—wearing nothing but a thin silk pajama top, your bare thighs pressed tightly together.

He watched the way your chest heaved up and down, the way your small hands clenched at your sides, completely hypnotized by him. His eyes found your perky nipples and how your soft lips parted as your eyes darted between his eyes and his dick.

His dark eyes held yours captive refusing to let you look away as his hips thrust forward into his hand one last time. His head snapped back, a loud groan tearing from his throat as his thick length jerked, spilling his cum all over the dark marble tiles beneath the spray.

Your tongue darted out to lick your dry lips, your lower stomach pooling with a heat as you watched him catch his breath, panting heavily under the water.

Realizing what you had just witnessed, a sudden wave of panic crashed over you. You scrambled backward, turning on your heel and sprinting back to the bed.

You dove beneath the heavy duvet, pulling the thick blankets all the way over your head and curling into a tight ball. You shut your eyes as hard as you could, listening to the pounding of your own heart beat echoing in your ears.

You had never known your body was capable of feeling something so dark, so overwhelming, and so dangerously addicting.

Previous part Next part

The sound of your pussy squelching with each rough thrust fills the room, your pretty little moans haunting his eardrums. He pushes your face deeper into the mattress while his other hand arches your back further. Manicured hands scrunch up your pink bedsheets, plump lips parted in pure ecstasy. “Oh fuck—Kookie, right there. R-right fucking there.” 

“Yeah?” Jungkook bends over you, his chest pressed against your spine as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over, until your eyes roll back into your skull. “Feel good, buttercup? Feel how fucking deep I am in your guts?” 

“Y-yes!” you whimper, and he feels your legs quiver as you struggle to keep your paw maintained on your knees. “So deep, Kookie. You fit so good inside me.” 

Jungkook presses chaste kisses on your shoulder blade, down your back, before tugging on your hair to pull you into a different angle. He knows you, knows exactly what to do to make you wriggle in his arms. Have you trembling, begging for more, pliant under his touch. That’s what happens after months of consistent hookups. Personally, Jungkook has no plans of stopping. Especially not when your moans are the prettiest little things his ears have ever heard, and your pussy tastes like candy to him. 

His teeth trace your earlobe as his hips snap into you brutally. With each thrust, your ass claps against him, and the sounds cause his cock to frantically twitch. “Been keeping my place in your bed warm, buttercup?” 

“Always!” you whimper. “Don’t stop—‘m so close.” 

“Yeah? Does my pretty girl want to cum?” Jungkook releases the hold he has on your hair, pushing you back down onto the mattress until your back is arched just the way he likes it. “C’mon buttercup. Wanna feel your tight pussy cum around me.” 

When he looks down, he sees the ring of arousal splattered on his cock, your hole pretty and pink, abused after coaxing multiple orgasms out of you. He arrived to your home like he always did; a little tipsy after drinking with Namjoon and the boys, with the smell of another woman’s cologne on him. He hadn’t made out with anybody tonight, as he reserved that for you. But he might’ve gotten his dick sucked in the bathroom (he doesn’t kiss and tell). Jungkook won’t admit he thought about you the entire time. 

“Nghh—fuck, right there.” You scramble for purchase against the sheets, and Jungkook decides he needs to see your face when you cum. It’s the prettiest thing (and he’s seen a lot of pretty things). Your lashes will flutter before squeezing tight, tight, your walls clenching around him repeatedly. If he’s lucky, sometimes you’ll maintain eye contact while you orgasm. 

He pulls out quickly, eliciting a gasp from you. Jungkook flips you around onto your back, not wasting another moment before entering you again. “Need to look at my girl when she cums,” he grunts, pushing his full length inside you with no preamble. Your walls immediately tighten around him to accommodate his length. Out of all the women he’s ever had, something about your pussy specifically feels like a drug. Something he keeps relapsing on even though he knows it’s risky. 

You reach out to entangle your fingers in his hair, dragging him down for a sloppy kiss he can’t refuse. It’s a mixture of spit and teeth and lips but he doesn’t care, not when his cock is twitching with impending release. He can’t wait to cum inside you like he always does, fill you up and let the cum sit deep inside you. Jungkook can’t get you pregnant, nor does he want that, but goddamn if imagining you full of his seed doesn’t turn him on…

With each rough thrust, your tits bounce, nipples perky and pink. He flicks them with his thumb, disconnecting his lips from yours to meet your eyes that are brimmed with tears. He knows he’s overstimulating you, especially when he already coaxed other orgasms out of you, but he loves how beautiful you look when you can’t take anymore. 

Okay, so maybe the red marks on your neck and tits are signs he might’ve gotten too rough. He knows you like it like that, but it also might have something to do with the fact that Chaewon, his #2, was at the club tonight, pissing him off. 

She should know her place in his life. Just like you know yours, and you know it damn well. Maybe that’s why he can’t stay away from you. 

Jungkook doesn’t really know what washes over him, but his thumb drops to your puffy clit, so fast that you shakily reach down and grab onto his wrist. The tear that was once lingering now falls down your cheek, wet, droopy eyes peering up at him. If he didn’t know you well enough, he would assume you’re looking at him with affection. But that’s not what it is—not even close. 

“Your pussy feels so fucking good, buttercup. Not giving it to anyone else but me, right?” he sneers. 

Shaking your head, you speak between moans, “N-no, not anyone. Ngh—fuck, not since Tae.” 

Jungkook’s cock twitches inside you at the mention of his arch-nemesis, Kim Taehyung. Another wannabe rapper who thinks he can measure up to him in any way. Hilarious. 

“P-please make me cum, Koo,” you purr, lips swollen and red, nearly bleeding from how much he’s nipped at them. 

“When do I not, buttercup?” he smirks, continuing his ministrations against your clit, feeling your walls contract around him, a telltale sign you’re close. His tongue pokes into the side of his cheek as he uses his free hand to grip onto your hip, headboard slamming against the walls of your bedroom. 

You’re totally going to yell at him once he’s done—your neighbors have already scolded you numerous times regarding the animalistic sex noises you emit. 

He really should take you back to his one of these days. 

The silver chain wrapped around his neck hits his chest over and over. Jungkook hooks your leg higher up on his shoulder, finds leverage on one of your ass cheeks and enters you from that position. Your pretty eyes roll back into your head, and tears free fall onto your cheeks, your breasts, the mattress. 

“Oh—fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you yelp, raking your nails down his biceps. “Don’t fucking stop.” 

“Shit–” Jungkook hisses, “I’m gonna cum too, buttercup. Can I cum inside?” 

Not like you’ve ever denied him that before, but he’ll ask, just for tonight. 

“Y-yes,” you squeal, thighs quivering in his grasp, and then your walls clamp down on him, and he can feel the gush of arousal exiting you and coating his cock. Your pussy always hugs him so tightly, makes him never want to let go. “Fuuuuck,” Your eyes close, mascara beginning to run underneath your eyes. It’s cute you still get dolled up for him when he comes around. Can’t remember the last time another one of his side pieces does that and feels excited by it. Most of the time, his top 5 wears matching sets from Fashion Nova and a full beat of makeup, but not you. Always his perfect doll with a minimal makeup routine. 

The sight of you cumming always makes Jungkook’s thoughts muddled. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you cum, baby,” Jungkook groans before he slams into you in and out, repeating the motion over and over again until his thighs shake. Then, he rams his cock deeper—as if that’s even possible—and shoots his cum into your weeping hole, ensuring it’ll stick even when he pulls out. He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight. 

Your body is still shaking with the aftermath of your orgasm, and you try to find some form of relief by digging your hands in his locks, playing with the brunette tresses. Fuck, if he could, he would live inside you forever. 

After a few moments of his cock softening inside you, he finally pulls out. Jungkook lifts your legs in the air and you immediately squeal, “Koo! What are you doing?” 

“Shh,” he smirks. “Gotta make sure it sticks, buttercup. So next time you fuck someone, I’ll still be inside you.” 

“Kookie…” you scold, but he knows your pretty little lips could never hurt him. “I told you, I only let other guys eat me out. No one else fucks me beside you “ 

He tsks. These days, even that feels like too much for him. “What, am I not doing it good enough for you?” 

He tilts your legs backward, watching as his seed disappears into your hole entirely. He plugs his finger, trying to shove as much of it back in as he can. None of it is scientifically accurate, but that’s neither here nor there. He hopes the next guy who eats you out tastes his cum, even if it’s weeks later. 

“You are, but you’re not always here.” 

A simple sentence, that when stated, reminds him of the nature of your relationship. You both know what this is. He doesn’t want to change it, but sometimes, you really do strike his nerves when you bring it up every fucking five minutes. 

“As long as it’s not Tae, buttercup.” 

“Well, are you still fucking Chaewon?” you ask innocently. 

Shit. 

Slowly, he places your legs back down on the bed, and you peer up at him expectantly. You know what the answer is—this has been the main theme of your “arguments,” as much as an argument can be as two people who aren’t together are entitled to argue about who the other is seeing.

He hesitates, and you move backward to rest your head against your silk pillow. “Sometimes.” 

You shrug. “Okay.” 

“…Okay?” 

“Mhm.” 

You cross your legs, hiding your perfect vagina from him. God, you’re secretly torturing him. 

“That’s all?” 

“Kookie,” you exasperatedly sigh. “What else do you want me to say?”

“You asked me, buttercup.” 

His cock twitches from where he sits. He almost wants to scold it like an untrained dog, because he really needs to stop getting turned on when you get in these attitudes. 

“You said I can’t see Tae.” Standing up, you pad over to your closet, putting on your pink robe. Why are you hiding your pretty tits from him? Can’t he see?

He pouts as you sit back on the bed, already reaching forward to undo the robe a little. You smack his hand away. “Don’t be like this.” 

Your eyebrows lift. “Kookie, I’m just being honest.” 

“So am I.” If you won’t show yourself to him, he won’t either. He begins putting his Calvin Klein boxers on, letting the band snap around his waist. “Chaewon doesn’t mean anything.”

“Neither does Tae.”

“Different,” he hums, falling back on the bed. 

You cock your head. “How?”

“Because I fucking hate him.”

A giggle escapes you. “That’s not my problem, Kookie.”

He decides to change the topic, because if he has to be reminded that Kim Taehyung exists again, he might bomb your Gangnam apartment. “You still coming to next week’s show? Got you a VIP pass.” 

Jungkook plays with the ropes around your robe as you pretend to be deep in thought. “Probably. Can you ask Seokjinnie if he can stock those strawberry lemonades in your green room again?” 

“Of course,” he smiles. “Now, can you stop hiding your pretty tits from me? I can’t see my girl?” 

You swat his hands again, pushing his shoulder lightly. What the fuck. “Stop it, Kookie. I need to go to bed soon. I don’t have time for another round.” 

Jungkook rolls his eyes. Unfortunately, his cock doesn’t want to go to bed. It wants to be buried inside you until your moans fill the room, your sweet cum drenching his cock.

 He relents, dropping his hands from the tie of your robe. “Fine.”

“Thank you, baby.” You bat your lashes, caressing his bulky thigh before relaxing back against your pillows. 

“C’mere, though.” Jungkook moves to sit next to you on the bed, making himself cozy under the pink frilly blanket. 

You level him with a suspicious look. “Why?”

Jungkook huffs. “Why do you ask so many fucking questions?” He catches you around the waist the second he’s close enough and pulls you against him, ignoring your little noise of protest. You smell like strawberry vanilla, the familiar perfume that haunts his senses, and he buries his face against your shoulder to ensure it’s instilled in his bloodstream before he has to leave. 

“Kookie,” you complain through a laugh. “You agreed to let me sleep.”

“I’m not doing ‘nuffin,” he speaks against your skin.

“You’re being clingy tonight. Was Sinkhole not fun?” 

As always, it was fine. Namjoon bought a bunch of bottles, invited some girls to the section. Jungkook ran into a few girls from his roster, let a girl go down on him, but overall, it was a tame night. 

On your nightstand, his phone buzzes, interrupting his response. Realistically, it could be one of his friends, his manager, or his producer. 

It buzzes again, and this time, you glance toward it. “That might be Chaewon.”

Jungkook tightens his arm around you. Or that. It could be her. Or #3, #4, #5, and so on…

“Let’s go to sleep, buttercup.”

You giggle, settling comfortably against his sculpted chest. “You’re staying?”

His phone buzzes again, but he barely spares it a passing glance. Jungkook just nuzzles his face into your neck, covering you with the warm blanket. “Obviously.”

When you first met Taehyung it was for your debate program in University. He was the only one who could match you with for wit, point for point, all within the allotted time and with brevity and well spoken analysis that you were in awe of. Surprisingly the two of you did not become rivals, the way high school you would've fantasized, having read way too much enemies to lovers fanfiction. No, instead you two actually became very good friends, building a friendship based on mutual respect, sticking together even after graduation. 

Taehyung was practically perfect in every way except with one minute (major) flaw: his other best friend.

You and Jeon Jungkook never really saw eye-to-eye; the moment you crossed paths with his childhood best friend, his original debate partner back in high school, you knew you had entered a battlefield.

It was a never ending fight between the two of you, always vying for Taehyung’s affections. Jungkook had always accused you of being a leech, just another sycophant who would reveal her true colors and nefarious intentions towards his best friend. Apparently they had known each other since childhood, and he had seen a million girls like you come and go. You, on the other hand, found Jungkook to be an entitled, pompous brat whose rich family provided so much for him he had never been told the word no. He was so used to Taehyung being his and his alone that you had trouble picturing him sharing anything in his life. That was probably the real reason why girls didn't last long around Taehyung. 

It didn't help that Taehyung was constantly trying to facilitate things between the two of you, arranging for the three of you to hang out despite both parties' protest.

"If you guys only got to know each other better, I'm sure you'd get along!"

"Won't you guys try, for me? C'mon, I've always pictured what things would be like, the three of us."

"You're both my best friends. Why would anyone choose just one?"

More times than you could count you were invited to hang out with Taehyung, only to find Jungkook already be there. You tried to get along with the man, really, but it was nearly impossible. He was so possessive of Tae, constantly glaring at the two of you when Taehyung showed you any affection. He always had some snide comment to make about it afterwards, like just seeing you two so close made him want to throw up. You were positively sure at this point that the younger was in love with his best friend, but it was a working theory.

Regardless, anything you showed up to with Taehyung, you'd have to be ok with Jungkook tagging along as well. Tonight's party was no exception, though you had lost track of the duo when you went to find a drink to drown your sorrows, and then had to do it again after seeing said sorrow to drink over.

You stumbled up the stairs with a heavy heart, downing most of your cup to replace one bitter taste in your mouth with another. To your surprise you see your best friend waiting in the hallway, no Jungkook in sight, looking just as drunk as you based on the way he was slumped against the wall.

You walked up to him, back pressing against the wall as well, leaning your arm against his for support and also needing the comfort of his body heat against yours right now. 

"Hey, where've ya been? I've been looking for you for the past ten minutes I feel," you pouted, taking another sip of the fruity concoction in your cup, the vodka starting to become less noticeable.

The moment Taehyung registered you he glowed, beaming with a goofy, drunk, genuine smile that made you feel safe.

"Hey, sorry! Kook broke the seal, and I didn't want to lose more than one person in a single night," Taehyung chuckled, grabbing you arm and tucking it against his, pulling you in closer to his side. "How're you enjoying the party?"

You shrugged, unsure if you wanted to mention the sight downstairs you were currently running from. "It's fine, I guess."

"Yeah, I was thinking about the three of us ditching to go to that party on Brunswick, but none of us seem quite capable of driving just yet."

That put a damper on your hopes of Taehyung whisking you away from this place.

"I just remembered, I forgot to show you earlier today the new watch I got from Etsy!" Taehyung’s glazed eyes lit up. "Look, it's called a serpent's watch." 

Taehyung flashed the fancy accessory on his wrist, the nontraditional wristband being coils of metal that wrapped down his wrist, the clock shaped closer to an oval or diamond than a circle. It really was shaped liked a serpent.

You absentmindedly nodded, fingers brushing over the way the watch wrapped around Taehyung’s wrist. Your mind kept drifting from Taehyung’s forearms, however, and without sobriety to keep your mind where it should be, tears were soon falling from your eyes.

Tae noticed immediately.

"Hey hey, what's wrong?" Taehyung cupped your face in his hands, thumbs swiping under your eyes to wipe away at the tears. "It's a party, you should be happy-drunk, not sad-drunk."

Your lip trembled as you melted into Taehyung’s touch. "It's Yoongi," you explained, a pout on your lips as you said the name. "Just saw him downstairs with some girl. I just wasn't expecting it to hit so hard, y'know?"

"Aw, baby, I'm so sorry." Taehyung wasn't the biggest fan of your ex, secretly (not so secretly) elated when the two of you broke up. You didn't share the same sentiments, very clearly heartbroken when Yoongi dumped you to have sex with other girls. Go figure. "It's natural to be upset."

"I just—" You sucked in a breath. "I want to be over it already, y'know? I'm so sick of being pathetic and still crying about it."

"It was only two months ago. I don't blame you."

"You should. You should be sick of me at this point, crying to you about this. God knows Jungkook is." You blinked away the tears, slowly coming back down to Earth as you grounded yourself further against Taehyung. "I'm sick of me."

"I could never be sick of you, trust me. Yoongi doesn't know what he's missing out on. Any sane man would be on his knees for you if you so much as asked."

That earned a laugh out of you, effectively brightening your spirit a tiny bit. You sniffled, resting your forehead against Taehyung’s shoulder, sighing as you composed yourself. "Thanks, Tae. I appreciate it. God, why can't more guys be like you? There's too many assholes like Yoongi and Jungkook around."

Taehyung chuckled at that. "Hey, Kook’s not that bad."

"He is to me."

"You guys just need to work on getting closer, that's all. Find some shared interest or hobby or something. Anything you might like to do together."

You rolled your eyes a bit. "I don't think there's anything like that that doesn't involve violence."

"He likes you more than you think. He just doesn't realize it yet," Taehyung assured.

You heard a knock from inside the bathroom, Jungkook’s voice calling out. "Taehyung?"

"Speak of the devil," Taehyung grinned. He turned toward the door. "What is it?"

"Can you come in here real quick?"

Both you and Taehyung exchanged puzzled glances.

"Are you guys about to get up to some gay shit?" You whispered quietly. "I mean, it's hot, I guess. Am I supposed to keep watch?"

"Dunno yet. Let me see what he needs," Taehyung said, not even bothering to deny the homosexual allegations as he stepped inside the bathroom. Jungkook was turned away from Taehyung, looking down and fidgeting with something. "Everything ok man?"

"Yes— I mean no— I mean... shit." Jungkook turned around, letting Taehyung see his situation. Unfortunately for him, the zipper of his pants had gotten stuck onto his boxers and was refusing to budge. "It's stuck," Jungkook stated the obvious. "I've been trying to get it loose for like, five minutes now."

"Whoo boy, let's see what we're dealing with." Taehyung gave the zipper an experimental tug upwards. Jungkook wasn't used to having Taehyung’s hands so close to his genitalia, but he supposed it was a testimony to how close they were.

Jungkook leaned against the sink, ears tinged pink with embarrassment as Taehyung yanked at the zipper with reasonable force.

"Hey, watch it man! I don't need you zipping up my balls, too," Jungkook freaked.

"Relax, it's not— Jesus Christ, this thing really isn't budging," Taehyung hissed, hands starting to become sweaty with his efforts.

Jungkook’s eyes widened. He buried his face in his hands, feeling how hot his cheeks were already getting "Fuck. Fuck, man, what am I gonna do? I can't go out there with my fly like this!"

"I'd be more worried about the fact you spent, like, 500 bucks on these pants." If Taehyung used too much force on this he was at risk of breaking it beyond repair, and he really couldn't afford repairs for Louis Vuitton the way Jungkook could.

"Dude, I literally want to die right now." Jungkook prayed everybody would be drunker than he was, at least enough where he could make a speedy exit without anyone noticing his problem.

"Wait!" Taehyung’s head shot up, as though a brilliant idea came to him. "I know someone who's great with zippers!"

Jungkook’s thick brows furrowed, and all he could think about was lightning somehow shooting into the house and striking him down mercifully. "What? Wait—"

"Y/N! Get in here, we need your help!" Taehyung swung open the bathroom door, dragging you inside without preamble or Jungkook’s approval.

You grumbled, eyes narrowed with confusion. "Do I need to aim for you guys or...?"

"No! Kook’s got a bit of a..." Taehyung’s eyes flicked down towards his friend's crotch. "...situation."

Your eyebrows jumped this time. "He has a boner?"

"No!" Now it was Jungkook’s turn to interject. He felt like he could die of embarrassment then and there, having to humiliate himself in front of you of all people. "My zipper is stuck."

"Aw, guess that Louis label doesn't guarantee quality after all, does it?" You jutted your lip out in a fake pout, taking your opportunity to jab at him. You were still suffering from the sting of seeing your ex, and Jungkook was the best target you could ask for tonight. This was just too perfect.

"Hey, be nice," Taehyung scolded. "Will you help?"

"Maybe..." You tapped your cup against your chin, pondering. "If he begs."

"What?!" Jungkook was shocked by your sheer audacity.

You shrugged, fighting (and failing) to keep the corner of your mouth from quirking up into a smirk. "If you want me to help, you have to say please. It's only polite."

"Oh my god, you're such a bitch—"

"That's not very nice."

"Nice? I can—"

"Guys, stop!" Taehyung interrupted the both of your squabbling, not wanting to be cramped in a bathroom with the two of you shouting in his ear. "Just say please, Kook."

Jungkook’s eyes practically bulged out of his sockets when he heard Taehyung taking your side. You stuck your tongue out at him like a child, triumphant. 

He gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw as he muttered the words. "Will you please help me with my zipper? Please?"

You looked so cheeky and smug, putting your cup down on the sink. Jungkook suddenly had the urge to bite you. "Well, since you sound so pathetic."

You reached for the zipper, and Jungkook hissed to resist the urge of slapping your hands away out of annoyance. "I'm gonna get you back for this, I swear..."

"That's not how you say thank you to a favor, Kookie," you teased, your fingers twiddling with the metal as you tried to yank it up.

"We both know you aren't doing this as a favor." Fuck, you were so close to him. He could smell both the perfume you wore and the alcohol you drank. Now he had to worry about the friction your jerky little tugs were causing. 

"Aw, look at you guys getting along," Taehyung smiled, reaching up to pat your head. "I told ya, you just needed to bond a little."

"We are not bonding— ow!" You tried to turn your head to face him, but something caught in your hair. You tried to move again, only realizing that Taehyung’s fancy watch was now tangled in it.

"Sorry!" Taehyung apologized, trying to move his hand back but tugging your head along with it, making you howl. "Oh, sorry again!"

"Stop moving!" You reached one hand back to reach for his wrist, trying to pull a few strands away to get loose.

"Can you get lower? It's hard for me to untangle myself at this angle."

"Fuck!" The hand still on Jungkook’s zipper yanked on it in frustration, the tug doing nothing to free it.

"My hand's getting tired up here, it'll be quicker!" Taehyung whined petulantly.

You rolled your eyes and reluctantly sank onto your knees, the cold tile biting against your skin. You were now staring up at Jungkook, who found the view a lot hotter than he cared to admit.

But he did say he was going to get back at you.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Look at you. Can't believe you're on your knees in a bathroom for me."

You scowled. "It's not for you."

"Right. You're on a dirty bathroom floor for me and Taehyung." Jungkook snickered at your glare, soaking in your scowl.

You reached up for his zipper with both hands, tugging it back down in another attempt, your other hand gripping onto fabric to pull it out. "You really shouldn't piss off the one with a zipper to your balls."

"That's if you can do your job correctly down there."

"Oh, you can fuck right off— Oh fuck, Tae!" Your head jerked back again slightly, and your eyes scrunched as you winced in pain.

"Sorry!" Taehyung apologized again, patting your head with the unadorned hand. "It's almost out, just a little longer."

"Fuck!" You gripped onto Jungkook’s pants tighter, pulling him closer to you as you jerked the zipper more, feeling some leeway.

Jungkook grappled onto the sink counter, trying not to fall against you or get hard, his footing unsteady as you tugged his pants closer to your face. If he wasn't careful you were going to end up with his dick print against your cheek. The sound of your little whine made popping a boner nearly impossible. It was difficult too with the sight of you frustrated and on your knees between the two of them, tiny hands scrambling with his zipper, and his mind was going to places they really shouldn't.

Your hand was moving the zipper up and down, desperately trying to get it loose, the tiny bit of fabric bunched beneath slowly giving way. You fisted at the fabric next to it, trying to pull it in the opposite direction so it would give.

"Fuck, I think I'm close," you muttered quietly to yourself, not even realizing how you sounded.

Fuck. Fuck Jungkook needed to get his zipper fixed now because any second now he was going to get obviously hard, and there'd be absolutely no way of hiding it from you or Taehyung.

"I-I think I might—"

"Shut up, I'm almost there!" Of course you'd be fucking stubborn when you put your mind to something.

"Me too!" His best friend innocently commented, eyes glued on his watch. Taehyung seemed oblivious to Jungkook’s panic, just as focused as you when it came to the task at hand.

You tugged one more time, the slide finally becoming easier and the zipper making its way successfully to the very bottom, no fabric stuck. "Finally!"

Taehyung managed to free his watch with your hair still intact, though it was a mess from the tangles and pulling from prior. "Yes!" He rolled his wrist with satisfaction, his other, unadorned hand now combing through your mess of hair in attempt to smoothe it. "See, that wasn't too bad."

Jungkook felt entirely too suffocated, and for the first time in his life he was desperately wanting a woman off her knees. "For you," he huffed, feeling hotter by the minute.

It was just then that the bathroom door, which you neglected to lock behind you, swung open.

The three of you must've been a sight: your hands up near Jungkook’s crotch while you were on your knees, Jungkook’s pants unzipped, your hair a tangled mess and makeup slightly smudged from crying. Jungkook and Taehyung were also incriminating, both sweating a little from their frustration, breathing heavy from their intense focus on very different missions. 

Taehyung looked like a deer in headlights as he turned back toward the people in the doorway, the appearance of the situation seemingly dawning on him.

"Um... I know this is super cliché but... this isn't what it looks like."

—

So everybody thinks you had a threesome in the bathroom with the two hottest guys on campus. 

That's just great.

It's not like anyone's dick was even out or anything. Sure, you could see how it'd look like you guys were about to have a threesome, but that's a huge difference! Instead, you were getting bombarded left and right with people you've never even met, asking you what happened, what they were like, who was better, who was bigger. They heard some of the things that were being said, you couldn't fool them. The dialogue alone was incriminating. When you told them the truth they never believed you, some giving you a cheeky smile saying, Fine, keep your secrets.

You were starting to think you might as well have with how many people were convinced.

The mere idea of it was crazy. You, having a threesome with your best friend... and his best friend. Who you hated.

Still, your mind kept drifting back to the image of him looking down at you, so pissed, so on edge. You were lucky he seemed so panicked about the zipper that he didn't notice you pressing your thighs together.

You were a horny drunk, you could admit that much. You just didn't imagine you'd be getting horny for Jungkook of all people.

Or Taehyung.

You thought of the way Tae’s fingers carded through your hair, the assuring pat on your head and the way he cradled your face when you were crying. You thought about how he looked from above as well that night, brows furrowed in concentration, biting down on his lip.

Fuck. You can't be thinking of this. It was just a drunken misunderstanding.

You need to stop thinking about fucking your best friend and his best friend. End of story.

There was no way that was ever happening. Jungkook hated your guts the same way you hated his, and Taehyung was always oblivious to everything. 

You just had to pretend that none of it was bothering you.

That's why you were loud as hell as you barged your way into Taehyung’s apartment, holding your copy of his key between your fingers.

"Hee! I'm here!" you called, just in case Jungkook was inside and you were unwittingly put into a trap with him. You stumbled your way into the living room, where Taehyung sat on his huge ass sofa, solo. "No Kook today?"

"Nah, he's not going to be out of class for another hour at least. I'm all yours 'til then." He was so cocky with it, crossing his fingers behind his head and leaning back, giving a mischievous grin.

"Lucky me," you chuckled, kicking off your shoes to join him.

With an early start to wine and enough time to get you tipsy, your conversation with Taehyung had delved into the topic no one, you especially now, could take off their minds: threesomes.

At first it started with the two of you laughing over how ridiculous the rumor spreading about the three of you was.

"So, I'm guessing you heard the rumors too?"

"Which one? The one about the dean having the same dealer as us, or the one that Sigma Ki has a cuck hazing ritual?"

You lightly shoved at your friend, rolling your eyes. "You know the one."

Taehyung laughed at your annoyance, positively beaming. "Oh, you mean the one about you, me, and Kook fucking each other in the bathroom? I may have heard about it."

How crazy that'd be. How stupid everyone was for automatically believing it. Then it continued, getting a bit deeper. You were currently ranting about how the concept of it in the general public, and what was deemed as more "acceptable" was two girls with one guy. It had only become a recent phenomenon of a girl getting to have two guys at the same time, the riskiest it was willing to go before still forcing her to choose one of the two. Meanwhile men's fantasies included harems and two women and expectations for girls that had been ingrained in the misogynistic society you were subjected to today.

"I mean, let's be soooo for real," you droned, the alcohol in your system making you bolder with your opinions. "Threesomes with two guys and one girl don't happen in real life. It's just a porn fantasy, and not one that gets delivered enough anyways because visual porn is much more catered to the male gaze. God forbid a woman's the center of attention."

"I'm sure those threesomes happen more often than you think, you know."

"Think about all the threesomes you know of, with real people you know, and measure out how many of those were two girls and how many were two guys. Those specific pairings. Go."

Taehyung pondered for a moment, giving it some thought. "So it's a bit... imbalanced."

"Guys have it so easy!" You whined, sinking into the couch cushions, crossing your arms with a huff. "Girls are constantly expected to be gay with their girl friends. If a girl isn't down to have a threesome with another girl, she's seen as boring. That's why so many of those Tinder couples are looking for a girl. And it's all catered towards the guy. Hell, if I were with another naked chick, the guy definitely wouldn't be getting all the attention. It's like rowboating with a heavy ass robot in the middle. Sure, hypothetically you can get the job done, but overall it'd just be best if the useless piece of junk were out of the picture."

Taehyung cackled at your comment, shaking his head. "You have the strangest way of describing things."

"I'm pretty sure I heard it from some comedian." You waved aside the thought. "Meanwhile, if you ask a guy to have a threesome with his bestie, he'd look at you like you have two heads! It only exists in porn, not real life," you rambled on.

"I'm still sure it happens in real life more often than you'd think."

"No, I doubt that. That's why it's so silly that everyone's so gullible. Guys are always going on about how it'd be gay to have a threesome with another man, but it's just as hot for the girl as it is for the guy in the switched scenarios," you pointed out. "Why else would girls be reading yaoi or reading gay fanfiction when they themselves are not gay men? Get turned on when they kiss?"

"I don't know. Some guys aren't as insecure in their masculinity as you think."

"Oh yeah? Like who?"

"Me."

You scoffed. "You? Yeah right."

"I don't think I'd mind," he shrugged, as though it were the most casual thing in the world.

"Oh really? So if a woman asked if you and your best friend— if you and Jungkook, were down to fuck her, you'd do it?" Surely Taehyung was just blowing smoke out of his ass. Your sweet Tae? No way. The mere concept of him and Jungkook actually sharing a girl was enough to give anyone a nosebleed. Like Jungkook would be capable of sharing in general. 

Taehyung stared at the ceiling, as though thinking about it. "Depends on the woman."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I wouldn't sleep with just any woman, first of all, my best friend included or not."

"Fair point." You thought about it for a moment. "Imagine, like, the hottest girl you've ever seen, then. You'd be down to fuck her no matter what."

Taehyung looked at you with a half-lidded gaze, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek. "Is she as hot as you?"

You rolled your eyes at his typical sleazy compliments, brushing it off with ease. He sometimes unintentionally flirted with you like this, riled you up, reminded you of what you couldn't have. At least, definitely not with Jungkook in the way. It was always innocent banter, some light teasing, like he doesn't know what it does to you. You wonder if he was truly oblivious or if he was just really good at pretending as a way to watch you squirm. "I forget, this whole thing's easy to you. You forget the rest of us plebeians have trouble even getting one person to want us, let alone two. You could probably pick three for one night, easy." You ruffled his hair, pushing his head to the side. "Not all of us look like we could be on the cover of Vogue, you know."

Taehyung pulled you in closer, arm looping around your waist until your thighs were pressing against one another's. "You're hot and you know it."

"Yeah, but I'm not on like, you or Jungkook’s level," you snorted. Hate Jungkook all you want, you couldn't deny the man creeped into the edges of your mind when you were getting off to the thought of his best friend. How you got to know two such gorgeous men, even in this sense, was beyond you.

"You're prettier than both of us. Jungkook would agree." Taehyung leaned in and nosed your neck affectionately, and half of you expected Jungkook to walk in any minute and scold you two for defiling the couch, even though the gesture was surely done with the purest of intentions.

"Doubt that," you chuckled. "I know I'm sorta pretty—"

"Definitely pretty."

"Definitely pretty," you corrected yourself. "But I have no doubt that I get weird stares when the three of us are in public, and people who don't know us wonder how I was able to pull that off."

Taehyung cocked his head to the side, studying your reaction, assessing your words and narrowing his eyes as though he wanted to argue. Slowly, his gaze drifted further down your face, lingering on your lips. "Ask me the question again."

"What question?" You forgot it already. 

"Ask if me and my best friend would be down to fuck you."

Immediately your heart jumped. Your cheeks burned at his clarification, and you squirmed in your seat. "I don't think I phrased it like that!" You couldn't help but feel exposed, even though he misread your question entirely.

"It is now." He leaned in closer, invading your space. You instinctively tried to sink further into the couch. Taehyung stopped his face a few inches from yours, arm hooking over the back of the couch behind you, impossible to ignore, waiting on your answer. He nudged at your chin with his fingers to get you to look at him properly, the way his eyes glittered being far too mischevious for your comfort. "Ask it."

You wanted to tell him to fuck off and quit playing with you, but you were also determined to hide how affected you were. This was so unlike him. Typically he was a clueless dolt, adoring, sweet, not this. The last thing you wanted Taehyung to know was how accurately he was now seeing you now. Did he always? Was he just pretending like he didn't know all this time? You didn't want him to see how excited you were getting by some hypoethical question that could never happen for two very big, very handsome reasons.

But this is Taehyung you're talking about. There was a very real possibility he was just bluffing to get a reaction out of you. You were used to him pulling shit out of his ass to make some contrived point.

"Fine." You squared your shoulders, looking Taehyung in the eye. "Would you want to fuck me with Jungkook?"

There's something that seemed to go dark inside his eyes, his face serious. "Yes."

You couldn't prevent the immediate small exhale of your nose, shaking your head and breaking eye contact. "You're so full of shit. Anything to prove your point and win an argument, huh?" He was exactly the same back in debate, go figure.

You were about to push him aside when you felt a hand on your knee. You stared up at him in surprise, his face still deadly serious.

"I mean it."

His thumb did a small brush against the side of your leg, and it was enough to make your knee jump beneath his palm. Your heartbeat raced, and you're suddenly left shy, as though this weren't your best friend Taehyung.

"I... That still doesn't prove my point!" Your brain was now melting away, and you're scrambling for whatever solid parts were left to form words. Taehyung was saying he wanted to fuck you. With Jungkook. What kind of sick joke was the universe playing with you? "The likelihood of one guy agreeing to that in the first place is super low, much less two."

"Jungkook would say yes, too."

You looked at Taehyung as though he were crazy. "Are we talking about the same Jungkook?"

"Yes."

"Bullshit." You couldn't help but relax a little, reminding yourself of the impossibility, especially where Jungkook was involved. "He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," Taehyung insisted.

"He does, too." Your confidence was slowly returning, and for a moment you pay no mind to Taehyung’s hand on your knee, your mind now tuning back into debate-mode. "And I know for a fact he'd think you're crazy for even asking and say no."

"He wouldn't. I saw how he was looking at you in the bathroom."

You swore your heart stopped then and there. "You're bluffing."

Taehyung grinned, and you could practically see the devil horns starting to grow. Perhaps the angel act really was a disguise. "Wanna bet?"

"What on?"

His smile deepened. "If he says no, we forget this whole thing happened. Hell, I'll take you out to that trendy little coffee place you love so much. You win."

The unasked questioned stands in the air before you take the plunge. "And if I lose?"

His eyes flicker down to your lips for just a moment, barely long enough for you to catch. "Guess."

You sucked in a breath at that. The thing about Taehyung was that he could never truly be trusted for when he was bluffing and making shit up or when he was saying fact. It was one of those things that made beating him in the moment, with all his deceit and bravado, even more special.

So that's why you found the courage to say: "Call him."

Taehyung didn't even break eye contact with you, whipping out his phone from his back pocket and ringing up Jungkook, turning it on speaker so it was loud enough for both of you to hear.

When the first dial rang you started to have second thoughts.

When the second dial rang you started to think about how Jungkook would believe you were a total freak for wanting this, for wanting to be shared by Taehyung and him of all people, and you'd be ready to die on the spot when you next saw him.

When the third dial rang, you started to believe you were being overdramatic, and that it'd go to voicemail and you and Taehyung could have a big laugh and forget the whole thing ever happened. Maybe make it an inside joke between the two of you. What if he had picked up?

And then he picked up.

You were ready to scream when his deep voice came out of the speaker. "Yo."

"Yo, man, what you up to?" Taehyung sounded so casual, and he only smiled when he saw your look of worry and shock as you mouthed at him to hang up. 

Taehyung was so close to you that you could hear everything on Jungkook’s end without the phone even being on speaker. "Just got out of class. What's up?"

"Wanted to know if you're free to come over."

"Sure dude. What're you wanting to do?"

Taehyung’s eyes locked with yours, his mouth twitching into a smirk. "Y/N."

There's a moment of silence on the line, and you wondered for a moment if Jungkook hung up at the mere mention of your name.

Finally, he spoke.

"Tonight?" He didn't ask any further questions about what Taehyung means by that. He didn't sound shocked, only mildly curious. Amused. Not even repulsed the way you were anticipating.

"More like now." Taehyung was clearly loving watching you squirm, seeing you panic at the audacity he had to go through with the stupid bet. "How soon can you get here?"

He said it. He actually said it.

There's some noise on the receiver, but Jungkook sounded calm. "She asked for this?"

"Directly," Taehyung confirmed. "Explicitly, in fact."

Your cheeks burned further with humiliation. There was silence again. "Is she there?"

Taehyung held out the phone, turning down the volume a bit, tilting his head as though with mock pity. Now whatever answer Jungkook had to give would be right against your ear. "He wants to talk to you."

Your mouth is suddenly dry as he passed you the phone, and you licked your lips as though that'll do any good. "I'm— I'm here."

"Did you really ask for me and Taehyung to fuck you?"

The words almost felt like a caress in your ear, but you're sure you're mistaking a disgusted scowl as a purr of lust. Your mind clearly couldn't be trusted tonight.

You looked back at Taehyung, still close enough for him to pick up on what's being said. You realized you have a chance to deny it all, pretend it was a joke gone too far, a prank. Taehyung would be true to his word, pretend it never happened.

And then your mind raced with everything that could happen.

God, this could be such a bad idea...

"I did."

There was a pause on Jungkook’s end, and it felt as though everyone in the room was soaking in your small confession, like you were in a booth with a priest at church all over again.

"I'll be there in 30."

Jungkook hung up, the line going dead.

Your head felt as though it were filled with static, absorbing what had just happened.

Taehyung, however, wasted no time, immediately throwing his phone away and focusing all of his attention on you.

You could barely wrap your head around the situation, still trying to comprehend multiple facts at once. Taehyung wanted to fuck you. Jungkook wanted to fuck you. Taehyung and Jungkook were both going to fuck you. Now. At the same time.

You rapidly blinked, not even noticing the fact that Taehyung was drawing in closer, crowding your space more than ever.

"Is this—ha, I mean, well— is this for real? This can't be real." You absentmindedly shook your head, as though trying to wake yourself up from a dream.

"It's real." Taehyung’s eyes were intense, staring at you in a whole new light now, one you couldn't help but tremble under. "It's happening."

"But— This can't—"

"Yes, it can."

"No, you're just fucking with me with another one of your silly pranks. Was this planned?" You laughed, knowing the idea would be so Taehyung. If they were secretly recording this there's no doubt the look on your face is priceless. You'd kill him if he posted it. "Funny. Fun one. You got me."

"Y/N." He grabbed your wrists, pulling you in so your chest was against his, staring you in the eye. "Jungkook’s going to be here in half an hour."

You stilled in his hold, gulping at his words as you slowly comprehended the truth of them.

"So you're all mine until he gets here."

That made your heart stop.

You were barely able to make out words.

"I... you don't..."

"I do." Taehyung emphasized. "Do you?"

Your mind felt as though it fully shut down, the only thought in your brain being how Taehyung’s lips are closer than ever. "What?"

Taehyung didn't get impatient with you, instead being very understanding of the fact that he already turned you brainless without even really touching you. He moved a centimeter closer, his lips barely brushing against yours, like the particles that made up both of you were just passing by. "Do you want this?"

Your mind was in static mode again as Taehyung pulled one of your hands up to his chest, letting you feel his heartbeat against your palm. 

"You want me and Kookie?" Taehyung questioned further, clarifying. "I think we both made it very clear we want you."

Never in your life had you guessed your best friend would say that. You slowly came to terms that this very much wasn't a dream, and that Taehyung was actually saying this to you. "You want me?"

"I'll want you any way I can have you," Taehyung emphasized, a soft smile on his face. "Even with Kook."

"I... I can't believe you'd both..."

"Kook understands," he said, moving his lips closer to your pulse point below your ear. "He's wanted this longer than you'd think." His breath tickled your neck, and you shivered. "I'm more curious about how long you've wanted this."

You shuddered and found yourself pulling him closer, wanting to feel more than just his lips lightly brushing against you, teasing you when Jungkook could be here in less than half an hour. How long had he known? Had he always been observant, and you just projected some oblivious facade onto him?

"You mean longer than the bathroom?"

Taehyung’s gaze drifted down to your lips. "Did you?"

"I... maybe." You wanted to be flirtier, more enticing, but you were still somewhat in shock due to recent revelations. You were too stunned to even try to act sexy right now. "I feel like I'm suddenly discovering new things about you."

"There's a lot of things you're about to figure out. Just ask."

"How is it you know what I want?"

"Because, I know exactly how you feel about me," he purred in your ear, moving a lock of hair behind it. You held your breath when you felt the tip of his nose along your neck, so close, raising goosebumps. "I always have..." He dipped his head lower, pressing a small, soft kiss at the center of your neck. "I know how you feel about Jungkook, too."

You knew there was no way he could miss the way you gulped at that.

"Constantly fighting with him, building up so much frustration... you wanna know he'd take it out on you, don't you?" He pressed his lips again at the base of your throat, sucking softly, whispering the dirty secret into your skin. "Wanna know how I'd tell him to do it?"

"Fuck." You couldn't deny the wave of heat that flooded to your core with his words.

He chuckled, watching you fight back against the urge of curling in on yourself with how aroused you were. His hands gripped your waist tighter as he slowly got off the couch to move in front of you, lips ghosting over the center of your ribcage as he traveled down your body. "Want me to show you?"

"Where's all t-this coming from?" You breathlessly smiled, still trying to grasp the fact that this was all real, and not a serious maladaptive daydreaming episode. Taehyung was always so sweet, so respectful. How were you supposed to predict this side of him?

"From you telling me you want my best friend and I to fuck you," he hissed, giving a small nip now just to have you feel the sting of his teeth on your skin instead.

"You m-made me say it!"

"Yeah? I'll make you beg for it too." He rose up to your face, brushing your hair out of the way so he could look into your eyes properly. "Tell me what you want, pretty girl."

His hand slid up to your neck, not tight, but present, like he wanted to measure your heartbeat himself to make sure you wouldn't lie to him.

You licked your lips, trying to swallow down your doubts of courage. The feeling of being so vulnerable to him in this context was baffling.

"I want for both you and Jungkook to fuck me. Happy?" You managed to spit out the words, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Taehyung let out a wicked grin, whistling at your attitude. "Oh? Talk back, don't we? Yeah, Kook will fucking love you."

He finally pressed his lips against yours, hand sliding up to the base of your head , fingers tangling into your roots and keeping you locked in place as he devoured you, making sure your head wouldn't hurt from being pressed against the back of the couch. He wasn't tender or sweet, the way you probably would've predicted and fantasized about when you first met him, and the small budding crush you had on his cute features hadn't warped into something darker, more lustful. No, he was sure of his movements, kissing you with purpose, actions deliberate as he moved with noticeable skill that could only come from practice. His tongue slid against yours with an ease that made your knees weak. 

Taehyung was infuriatingly good at kissing you. You supposed it was to be expected, with how much action he probably saw, face like that and all, but still. He had this way of kissing you that made the rest of the world disappear, with only his hands on your face and his lips on yours to ground you. 

You eyes were fluttering shut, and soon you were both moving in tandem, finding a tune that only you two knew. The soft sounds of his lips smacking against yours filled the room, and the grip he had on your roots, pulling your hair properly this time, was driving you crazy.

"Please," you gasped the word into his mouth. He groaned and kissed you some more, his hand tightening as he pressed you further against him. You gripped onto his shirt, the taste of him so irresistible you forgot completely that he was your best friend, and you shouldn't be doing what you're about to with his best friend too.

You subconsciously spread your legs, drawing Taehyung in so you could grind your core against his.

He chuckled into your mouth, one hand moving down to your hip to pin you down and deny you. "Needy little thing, aren't you? We're just getting started. Let me take my time with you."

You wanted to scream at him that you two didn't exactly have time, but found your brain back to mush the moment he began kissing you again, lowering his hips to yours to slowly press his heat against you. His hand stayed on your hip, halting movement from you so that he could control the gradual pace, teasing and torturous as you felt the warmth of his body against yours. It felt so good to be pinned beneath him already, in his arms, like you two were made to fit together.

You moaned against his lips when the fabric of his jeans hit your clit in a particularly delicious fashion. He growled in response, hand cupping your chin better to angle your face a little more to the side, deepening the kiss as he slid his tongue in, letting it coax your lips along with his. He licked his way into your mouth, greedily swallowing more of your moans as the hand on your hip drifted down to your thigh, hitching it over his own hip to grind more securely against you. 

He rolled his hips, pressing you further against the couch as you felt him get harder against you, his hand tightening against your thigh as he tried to pull you impossibly closer to him.

"So fucking good," he rasped against your lips, mind spinning at all the soft, weak little sounds that escaped you. "Can't believe I finally get to have you like this."

You kissed him harder, hands pressed against his face, wanting to memorize the feeling of his cheekbones against your fingertips. You gripped onto his hair, his shirt, anywhere you could reach, try to rock back against his hips and fully feel the bulge pressed against your pussy.

"Fuck, Taehyung..."

"Mmf, say that again." He bit your lip before pulling back.

He pressed up at an angle that hit the sweet spot against your clit, and you had no choice but to obey. "Taehyung!"

"Shit, you sound so whiny." He buried his head into the crook of your neck, sinking his teeth into the skin just to hear another pathetic sound leave your mouth. He sucked hard, and you knew it'd leave a mark. "Kook’s gonna lose his mind," he groaned into you.

You threw your head back, your hips quickening against him. "Hee, please, do something."

He snarled at your impatience, nipping at your neck again in punishment before smacking your thigh. "Be patient," he grit, blunt nails raking over where he slapped you. "You're mine right now, remember?"

You nodded, a shiver running up your spine as his fingers trailed further down your leg before going back up higher and higher, ghosting over the fabric of your underwear.

His thumb brushed over the lace of your panties, and he bit his lip in anticipation. "Shit, I don't think you even know what's coming."

You canted your hips to receive more of his touch. "M-Meaning?"

"Meaning I need to start getting you ready for when Kook arrives," Tae said. He pulled on the waistband, dragging them down your legs and discarding them to the floor. "I need to make sure you're wet enough for both of us."

Hearing your best friend talk so dirty was enough to send your mind into a tizzy. You grabbed his hand and pressed him right against your sex, eager to not waste time and see how much he can offer you in twenty minutes. Taehyung took the hint, fingers sliding up and down, getting a feel for the glide and slick you've already produced.

"Shit, you're so wet already," Taehyung said in awe, lips parted as he admired the shine on his fingers from you. "Are you excited?"

"O-Obviously." You were barely able to contain the whine when he slides a digit inside, curling it up to search for your g-spot. "It's not every day a girl gets propositioned by a hot guy, let alone two."

He quirked a brow. "Oh? You think we're hot?"

Your cheeks shouldn't burn this much from stating the obvious. "I mean... you're not bad to look at. Don't let it get to your head."

Taehyung’s grin only widened. "And Jungkook?"

You glanced away, squirming a bit as you felt him find the sweet spot inside of you. "He's f-fine I guess."

"Look at you, getting so flustered," Taehyung cooed, bending down to peck at the flush in your cheeks. "You can admit you want him, baby. It's ok."

Hearing your best friend call you "baby" in this context was something else entirely. Before it always felt so casual, something you couldn't read into. Now he was saying it like you were his. Suddenly your hips were bucking against his hand more, your body beginning to take control of your mind.

He was speeding up, and your mind was steadily beginning to melt. "I-I—"

You felt more pressure build up as Taehyung slid in another finger, the wet squelching sounds of your pussy starting to get louder.

"You can tell him when he gets here," Taehyung whispered against your lips, wanting a front row seat to all of your pathetic whimpers and moans while they were still just for him. "He'll be thrilled."

Another whine escaped your lips from Taehyung’s ministrations.

"Fuck, why are you so good at this?" You muttered half to yourself, in disbelief that Taehyung was already making you feel better within five minutes than your ex did in five months.

He sucked against your neck, purposefully marking you, humming against the skin as he sloppily thrust his fingers inside. "Mm, you're just easy to ruin. You can't even hide how turned on you are."

You felt heat pool down into your abdomen, your tells showing. "Tae, I'm getting close."

To your dismay he pulled his fingers out of you, giving the side of your neck sweet kisses in apology. "Not yet. You'll need to wait."

He swallowed your whine of frustration, cradling your face in his hands and kissing you, the glide of his tongue against yours somewhat distracting you from the ache left between your legs. His kiss was wet, using just enough tongue for it to feel filthy, making sure you memorized the way he tasted.

Once your orgasm had surely died down he kissed his way down your jaw and your chest, getting on his knees, face all the way down to your now neglected pussy. He sighed with content when he saw how needy and wound up you already were, your body begging him to break it in properly. He couldn't help himself, giving your sex a sweet kiss as well, mouth trapping your clit and giving it the attention it was so desperate for.

Your back arched off the couch as Taehyung began eating you out, the wet muscle traveling between your folds and lapping at all you had to offer, his jaw widening so he could feel more of you. He moaned, and the vibrations made you buck against his mouth. He pinned you down firmly, throwing an arm over your hips, sucking on your clit reverently. Burying your hand in his hair, you let yourself get lost in the pleasure, his tongue dragging along you.

You looked down at him, his lashes long, kissing the apples of his cheeks as he focused on your taste, your breathy whimpers, the way your thighs twitched next to his head when he focused his tongue on the spot right beneath your clit.

"Fu-uck," you moaned, your nails scratching against his scalp as he got you close to the edge again. "Feels so good, Tae."

He moaned into you again in response, making you dig your heels into his back.

Pleasure pooled down to your abdomen, and you felt your abs begin to tighten. Before you could even think about hiding your orgasm from Taehyung, he's pulling away, making you shiver with the cold air against your hitting your bare cunt.

"No!" You whined, losing your grip on his hair as he rose up, rubbing your thighs in apology as he planted his lips to yours, replacing your complaints with the taste of yourself. His hand came up to your throat, not tight, but enough pressure for you to want to lean into it.

Taehyung didn't stop kissing you until your protests died and your muscles relaxed again, and you were just a desperate, breathless mess beneath him. 

When he finally let you have air, your eyes were glossy with the second lost orgasm. You slumped over and laid on the couch, panting with tear-brimmed eyes, frustrated beyond belief.

Taehyung gave an apologetic look, like if it were up to him, you'd be cumming your brains out by now.

"Poor baby." He pouted along with you, hand traveling down to gently caress at your folds, spreading them between his fingers and feeling how wet and denied you were. "Bet it hurts so bad, doesn't it?"

You nodded, squirming under his touch, wanting so badly to cum against his fingers.

He didn't give you hope yet, though, sliding his hand up to your lower belly. "It'll feel better soon," he promised, slowly pushing down and applying more pressure. "It'll feel really good once me and Kook are right here."

You gasped, biting your lip at the thought of them that deep inside you.

As if on cue, the front door opened, revealing a panting Jeon Jungkook.

"That couldn't have been thirty minutes," Taehyung laughed, rolling off you as Jungkook strolled closer to you two, his eyes devouring the sight of you teary eyed, cunt exposed and swollen, ready to be taken. His chest rose and fell as he breathed heavily, nostrils flaring as he stared at you with hooded eyes. The lust was palpable, every muscle in his body appearing tight, tense at seeing you so vulnerable already. Taehyung moved behind you, propping you up so your back was against his chest, adding to Jungkook’s view.

"I may have sped a little," Jungkook admitted, biting his lower lip. His eyes never left you, as though he were transfixed. "And used the stairs instead of the elevator."

Taehyung squeezed your face, grinning down at you, like he understood Jungkook’s obsession unquestionably. "Hear that baby? You're not the only desperate one."

Your eyes locked with Jungkook, whose gaze was intense and made it impossible for you to look away.

Jungkook cautiously raised a hand to your knee, slowly tracing upward as you shivered under his touch. "Has she cum yet?"

"Not yet. I've been edging her. Figured you wouldn't want to miss it." Taehyung moved your hair to the side to kiss your neck, pulling one of your thighs to the side to open you up more for Jungkook. "She does this cute little whine whenever she's close."

Your cheeks flushed, and your thighs twitched in response. "J-Just hurry up and fucking touch me already."

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek, and before you knew it he landed a sharp slap right against your cunt.

"Fuck!" Your back arched, your hips bucking until Jungkook roughly slammed them back down, planting another smack against your swollen folds.

"Is that how we ask for things?"

"It's how I—fuck!" You couldn't hold back the pornographic moan that tumbled out of your lips as Jungkook did it again, though this time rubbing your clit after, as though to blur the pain into pleasure.

"Such a mouth on you still." Jungkook clicked his tongue, as though disappointed. "Taehyung didn't teach you manners while I was on my way?"

"We didn't have much time for our lesson," Taehyung excused, pulling your shirt further up your torso to run his hand over your exposed skin, his touch gentle in contrast to Jungkook’s. "She's still learning."

"How many times did you edge her?" Jungkook trapped your clit between two of his fingers, applying pressure on the tiny bud to watch you gasp.

"Twice." Taehyung raised the shirt over your tits now, trapping a nipple between his digits similar to Jungkook.

"Wanna go for a third, princess?" Kook slapped your cunt again, making you cry out and shake your head, desperate just the way Taehyung described. Still, your reaction every time he strikes your pussy was noticeable.

Jungkook wasn't going to let you live it down.

"You like when I slap your little pussy don't you? Don't tell me we've got a painslut on our hands."

Your cheeks burned at the term, and your breath caught with embarrassment. Both could see it all over your face that you were getting hot and bothered by how he treated you.

Jungkook chuckled a bit at that. "Then be a good girl for us, and maybe, just maybe, we'll let you cum."

Your eyes watered even more, but even then, you nodded in agreement, now under the mercy of two men.

Jungkook smirked, victorious. "Atta girl."

"You should feel how tight she is," Taehyung suggested, giving a reassuring squeeze.

Jungkook finally sank two fingers into you, making your breath hitch. Jungkook’s gaze darkened, already imagining how your walls would squeeze his cock. "Fuck, what a tight little slut."

Your thighs twitched at the name, and both men took a mental note your reaction to being degraded. 

Jungkook started curling his fingers inside of you,  pressing against your g-spot, having the heel of his palm press deep against your clit. He licked his lips, eyes flickering between your pussy and your face, examining your open mouth and your small mewls as he started to work up what Taehyung started, the wet sounds of his digits inside of you filling the room.

"Fuck, you're so fucking wet. Tae must've really worked you up, huh?" Jungkook purred, sliding in a third digit easily, not missing how your eyes started to roll back as he stretched you out. "Bet you've been dreaming of this since the party."

"S-Shut up," you stammered out. "Says the one who was forming a boner."

"Yeah?" Jungkook started increasing the power of his thrusts, veins starting to pop out of his forearm as he did so. "Why don't you just shut up and let out more of those pretty moans?"

"Why don't you—" 

Your words were cut off but Taehyung pressing his two middle digits against your tongue, rendering you silent.

"Now now, play nice you two," Tae chastised, shaking his head. "I thought my baby agreed to be good, no?"

He slipped his fingers out of your mouth, earning a glare.

"Come here." Taehyung pulled your jaw to face him, kissing you and muffling any insults you had to throw at Jungkook. His tongue glided against yours, quelling your anger and making you buck up needily against the younger man's hand.

When you broke apart, you weren't even given a second to breathe, Jungkook’s large hand being the one holding your face now, focusing your attention back onto him.

"What? No kiss for Kookie?" He grinned at your scowl. "Or is Tae’s baby too good for it?"

"Give him a kiss, baby," Taehyung encouraged. "Let me watch."

You licked your lips, only allowing for a moment of trepidation before leaning into Jungkook. His lips met yours readily, hungry as he kissed you, the pace of his fingers quickening with every stroke. He growled when you moaned against his mouth, grinding his palm firmer against your clit in reward. He pressed his mouth against you like he was trying to brand you with his kiss, make you feel it even after he was gone.

He slipped his tongue inside your mouth, demanding, his other hand sliding into the roots at the back of your head, angling your face just how he liked so he could kiss you deeper. He groaned as you whimpered against him, trying to keep up a good fight. He made it look too easy, the effortless way his mouth dominated yours bringing you to shame. He sucked on your tongue a bit, the helpless sound you made in response only making him harder.

When he broke away you were both left staring at one another, gathering breath, analyzing the blown out pupils of one another.

This was Jeon Jungkook. The man you were constantly fighting for Taehyung’s attention. The one you couldn't spend five minutes with without starting an argument.

You weren't sure which one of you leaned in first, but suddenly you were both slamming your mouths against each other again, but this time hungrier. More desperate. There was a carnal desire in how Jungkook kissed you now, like he wanted to eat you and make you cry for every bullshit fight you put up against him.

Taehyung was mesmerized, his eyes never leaving you and Jungkook as you clung onto the younger, trying to bring him closer to you, clawing at his clothes as you expressed your pent up sexual frustration through the kiss. Taehyung’s hand slid down between you and Jungkook’s, his digits playing with your clit. You whined against Jungkook’s mouth, your orgasm starting to approach.

You broke away from the kiss, whining just like promised. "Please let me cum this time, please!"

Jungkook chuckled at how easy you were to break this time, purposefully slamming his fingers against the sweet spot inside of you repeatedly. "Aw, should I? But you were being such a brat earlier."

"Let her cum," Taehyung crooned, sympathizing with you. "She's got a lot ahead of her."

Jungkook always did have a habit of going along with Taehyung’s desires.

But he wasn't going to be nice about it.

"You hear that?" Jungkook scoffed, grabbing your face and bringing you close to his, his eye contact intense as he studied your pitiful expression. "Congratulations, sweetheart. You get to cum until your brain fucking melts."

You arched against Taehyung as Jungkook jackhammered his fingers into your cunt, right behind the spot where Taehyung was still toying with your clit. Tae doubled his efforts, pressing down harder, making sure to give attention to the spot right underneath that had your toes curling. Your thighs began to shake as your orgasm overtook you, and suddenly clear liquid was gushing all over both of their fingers.

Jungkook’s jaw dropped open, watching you squirt against both of their hands. He was completely enraptured, mouth dropping open in awe as he watched you shake like a leaf.

"Fuck, that's it, make a mess for me. Make a mess all over Kookie’s fingers," he muttered to himself.

You couldn't stop it, the pleasure coming over you like a tidal wave. You gripped onto both of them to steady yourself, droplets flying out of you as you shook. Neither man stopped, both continuing until you were drained of every last drop, eventually slumping over against Taehyung, the aftershocks of your orgasm riding it's course along your thighs until it was no more. 

Both men pulled their hands away, your legs giving residual twitches at the sensation.

"I... I think I ruined the couch.." Your voice had that breathless, cute little whine that made it impossible for anyone to be mad.

Not they would be in the first place.

"You did perfect baby." Taehyung kissed the corner of your mouth. "It's about to get a lot messier anyways."

You were limp and complaint as they both maneuvered you onto all fours, the dark stain forming on the couch mocking from beneath you. Taehyung yanked off his clothes behind you, shedding each article one by one.

The tip of Tae’s cock nudged along your entrance, sliding up and down your folds and catching at your clit every time he wanted to watch you cringe from sensitivity. Soon the small shocks would stop, and when you stopped tensing he focused more on your hole, slowly breaching it. It gave way, letting him push inside the first inch.

You held your breath as he started to get the entire tip inside, your walls stretching despite Kook’s thick fingers. Jungkook cradled your face in his hands, observing your struggle.

"Poor thing. You look like you're about to cry any second."

He leaned in, kissing you when Taehyung got past the tip, now slipping another inch inside you. Kook’s lips were a good distraction, letting you focus on the natural instinct to follow his flow instead of the overwhelming sensation of Taehyung filling you up. Jungkook slipped a hand down your body, gently twirling his fingers around your clit, coaxing you to let more of Tae in.

"That's it. Let him in. Let him stretch you out so I can have my turn. I'm not allowed to fuck you until after. "

You moaned against his lips. "Mmf— who says?"

You could feel him smile, like you had been let in on a shared secret.

 "We made a deal after the party." Taehyung hissed from behind as he sank further into you. "But we had been thinking about it for a while." 

You furrowed your brows, trying to form a coherent sentence and not focus on how good Taehyung was stretching you out right now. "W-What deal?"

Taehyung smirked at the expression you wore as he pushed in more, now over halfway inside. "That if we did this..." Both of you let out a strangled noise of pleasure when he bottomed out inside you, his balls now flush against your cunt. "I get first dibs."

Jungkook laughed, patting your cheek condescendingly. "Bro code."

That's when it dawned on you that you had fallen into Tae’s trap, just as he planned. The moment you asked the question, it was game over for you.

Taehyung pulled back some, giving a few experimental, shallow thrusts, letting you get used to the feeling of him. Eventually you stopped tensing up, loosening as you became accustomed to the sensation, your nerves coming alight as he started to go deeper.

"How's that dick feel, baby?" Jungkook mocked you with the pet name, combing his fingers through your hair in faux comfort, keeping your face angled up so he could drink in every expression you couldn't hide. "Is it just like you've always imagined?"

"Fu-uck you." Your jab lacked it's usual venom, instead becoming breathy at the end as Taehyung hit a sweet spot.

"Ask nicely," Jungkook bit back.

You were about to respond when Taehyung’s hand jotted out in front of you, grabbing Jungkook by the nape and pressing his mouth against yours, forcing the two of you to kiss to stop your bickering.

"Behave, both of you," Taehyung scolded, gritting it out as he started using longer strokes, letting you feel how long and deep he was every time he pulled out to the tip to thrust back in to the hilt. 

Jungkook seemed to melt against your mouth, not even arguing with Taehyung as he moved his lips against yours. Every moan that escaped your mouth and into his he took greedily, tilting his head to the right to kiss you thoroughly as each of Taehyung’s thrusts pressed you closer together.

Taehyung really was such a good mediator.

You broke away for a breath of air, glaring at Jungkook and his swollen, pouty lips. He glared back, though it seemed to be because you pulled away when he didn't get his fill of kissing you.

"I still hate you," you said, though the words have no bite. Not when each one comes out breathless and weak along with Taehyung’s strokes. Not when you give Jungkook that stare that lets him know that even if you did hate him, you wanted him in equal measure.

"C'mere. You don't need to talk anymore." Jungkook grabbed your face, making you arch your back further as he started kissing you again, unashamed with the wet, sloppy sounds of your lips smacking together or the low growls that emanated from his chest.

You two stayed making out for a moment, your lips repeatedly crashing against his as Taehyung rocked you back and forth on his cock. Neither of you seemed to mind, though, both breathless and panting into each other's mouths in a mess of tongue and teeth, and you desperately grasped onto Kook for stability. Kook sucked on your tongue, moaning when he felt you melt in his arms.

He finally let you go, pulling off his shirt, hands moving to his pants and pulling his flushed, aching cock out with little finesse. He's about the same size as Taehyung, and your jaw already began to ache as you examined the challenging girth.

Jungkook tapped the tip of his cock against your pouty lips. "C'mon, open that bratty mouth. There's a good girl."

You gave a gentle kiss to the head, and then another, opening your mouth more with each one as you started using your tongue, slowly making out with it the way you would either of them. You closed your eyes, suckling on it a bit, the same way he did on the tip of your tongue earlier.

Jungkook seemed to be enamored with the sight, jaw dropping open as you slowly progressed to kitten licks, peering up with them with the faux innocent look that only got him harder.

He muttered under his breath, curling his fingers into the roots of your hair and slowly pressing you down further.

You complied as he pushed your head down, opening your mouth greater as the full head was suctioned by your lips. 

Jungkook hissed when you flicked your tongue on the underside of his cock where the head met the shaft, and he slowly sank you down further, the gradual slide of your throat down on him making his toes curl.

Jungkook tossed his head back, feeling your throat suction around him as he start to fuck it properly. "Oh shit. Don't stop, just like that baby. Fuck, you're so good at this. Your mouth feels so fucking good."

He was decent enough to give a slow pace, following along with Taehyung who did the same in order for you to get used to being filled from both ends. Jungkook did his best not to buck into your mouth or push too far into the back of your throat. It started to get harder when Taehyung started fucking you faster, though, your body naturally being pushed forward again and again, making you gag further and further down Jungkook’s cock until his eyes were rolling to the back of his throat.

"Holy shit," Taehyung moaned, slapping your ass thrice in quick succession. "My baby's being such a good whore for us, isn't she? Fuck, yes, take it. Suck that dick baby, c'mon."

Fuck, hearing Tae of all people start moaning that you're a whore was spurring Jungkook on. Slowly his concerns and restraint of getting you used to two cocks melted away. You seemed to be a natural already, and Kook was always the type to tease and bully what he was secretly fond of. Taehyung was well aware. How else do you break in a toy?

"Look at me. You want both of us? You want to be a greedy little slut for one night?" Jungkook moaned, hand cradling your throat to feel how he moved inside of it. "'Course you do."

Taehyung slapped your ass again, your yelp muffled around Jungkook’s cock. Taehyung’s hooded gaze stayed glued on how your ass would ripple against his hips with every snap. Every time he looked up he'd see Jungkook’s bottom lip trapped between his teeth, the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, the way his eyes never left your face as he tangled his digits into roots.

His grip tightened on your hair as he bobbed your head up and down, Taehyung’s thrusts pushing you further down on both of them from either end.

"Fuck, you're both so fucking hot," Taehyung growled. "Such a good slut, taking our cocks like this. You're such a good girl."

 Jungkook grinned, looking down at your pathetic form, forced to take everything they had to offer. Your face was so flushed, your eyes trying to look up at Jungkook’s without rolling back. When he looked up at his best friend he saw his his hands digging into your waist to pull you closer, how his dark stare devoured the view, how his eyes kept meeting Jungkook’s to see if he was also losing his mind. He was. "How does his dick feel? Is he hitting the spot you need?"

You moaned in response, unable to give a clearer answer due to how thoroughly he was using your mouth.

Jungkook pulled you off for a moment, letting you moan out loud now in tune with Taeh thrusts. He tightened the fist in your roots, angling your head to look up at his cocky grin from above.

"You want me to hit it too?"

You bit your lower lip and grinned in confirmation, finally smiling along with him for once. It melted away though into a face of pleasure as Taehyung’s hand came around to your front, toying with your clit as his staccato thrusts picked up rhythm.

"Fuck, I'm fucking close," he moaned. "Need to feel you cum around me. Need to feel everything. Need—"

Taehyung’s words were cut off by Jungkook’s free hand grabbing his nape and pulling him in, slamming their lips above you. Jungkook slipped his tongue inside, eyes closed as he angled his head to deepen the kiss, swallowing Taehyung’s moans.

Taehyung grunted in Jungkook’s mouth, panting as his thrusts got sloppier and his digits rubbed harder against your clit. Jungkook’s hold on your roots was firm, keeping your neck craned, forcing you to watch how their tongues tangled together and listen to their lips smack, Taehyung’s groans turning into whines as he got closer to the edge, all being devoured by Jungkook.

It was too much, and before you knew it your cunt was spasming around Taehyung’s cock, cries muffled around Jungkook’s. 

Taehyung couldn't last much longer, hips stuttering as he felt you cum around him, his whimper against Jungkook’s tongue delicious as he buried himself as deep as he could, cumming inside you.

The two men finally broke apart, a spit of string still connecting them before snapping, leaving both breathless with parted, swollen lips.

Taehyung tried to recollect himself, garner his breath, try to regain some semblance of self. Slowly he pulled out of you, both of you winching at the sensation. You collapsed down onto the couch, a boneless heap. Slowly, white appeared at your entrance, Taehyung’s cum beginning to slowly trickle out of you.

"Fuck... look at that." Jungkook reached over and spread your folds, more cum dribbling out. He put a finger in, coating it in Taehyung and you, pumping it in and out, watching you shiver with sensitivity. "Can you take more?"

"Mmfuck," you whined in response, hips wiggling. Whether you were chasing Jungkook’s digit or running from it, you couldn't tell.

"C'mon, baby. Let Kookie fuck you good. It's about time you both start getting along," Taehyung cooed, running a comforting hand up and down your thigh to ground you.

Jungkook added another digit again, watching your face contort in pleasure as you squeezed your eyes shut. "Don't you want to make it up to me? All those times you were an annoying brat?"

Taehyung smiled, hand going up to comb your hair out of your face, his deceiptively sweet face reassuring you. "It's time for you two to fuck it out."

You nodded, and soon Jungkook was repositioning you onto your back, spreading your legs wider, pushing one of your legs up and over his arm, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance. Slowly, he pushed in, with both of you sucking in a deep breath. You grabbed onto the arm holding up your leg, biting your lip as he buried in hilt deep. Despite how open Taehyung fucked you, you still felt tight as ever around Jungkook, and you could feel him right up in your guts the way Taehyung promised.

Jungkook bit his lip hard, trying (and failing) to contain his grunt as he sank into your heat. 

"Holy shit. You feel better than I dreamed."

He gave a small, experimental thrust of his hips, examining how your breath hitched and your thighs clenched. Here you were, fucking the man who annoyed you most, who you were always fighting for Tae’s attention. You supposed this was a good way for both of you to get it at the same time, Taehyung utterly entranced as he watched Jungkook’s first few strokes inside of you.

More of Taehyung’s cum spilled out of you as Jungkook’s pushed further in, the first slide going much smoother due to how much Taehyung filled you up.

Jungkook’s pumps were shallow at first, noticing your small winces from overstimulation and possible soreness. Judging by the slight rasp in your voice that's already started to appear, you were going to need a bit of a recovery period after tonight.

Taehyung was growing impatient, however, believing Jungkook should've came in you closer to yesterday. He was eager to see you filled to the brim with both him and Jungkook, to see Jungkook’s cock limp and drained because of you. And here the two of you were, wasting time like always when you could be fucking each other's brains out.

"What, don't tell me you're scared of her now Kook? After all that talk?" Taehyung laughed, clapping Jungkook on the back of his nape, pulling him close. "Thought you wanted to fuck her?"

That got Jungkook going a bit, his next thrust sharper than the sloppy, slow rolls he was giving before. Your breath hitched, the sensitive spot inside you slowly drawing in heat. 

"Just—" Jungkook bit his lip, trying to control himself despite the devil at his shoulder. "Don't want it to hurt."

The laugh Taehyung barked out made him feel silly.

The grin Tae gave you bordered on menacing, like he was reaching his wits end. "Did you forget already?" The sharp smack he delivered to your swollen folds had you curl into on yourself, clamping down on Jungkook and causing him to rut harder into you, trying to sink deeper in. "She likes it."

Tae’s words woke Jungkook up from his worrisome daze, and he drinks in your expression from Taehyung’s action. The way your eyes watered and your lower lip trembled, but also the way you opened your legs further, as though asking for more.

The word pops up in Jungkook’s head again.

"Painslut," he growled.

Taehyung grinned wickedly as Jungkook began to properly pull his hips back, no longer restraining himself and delivering sharp, heavy thrusts that had his balls clapping against your cheeks. The plap plap plap accompanied by the wet gush of your pussy repeatedly swallowing his cock, as well as the pornographic noises you were both omitting, was music to Tae’s hears.

Both of you were staring at each other with such intensity, eyes never leaving one another's as Jungkook drilled into you, mouth dropping open with yours as you both experienced mind-numbing pleasure with each other for the first time when you were supposed to hate each other.

Taehyung could practically taste the mixed emotions from both of you in the air, and he lived off of it.

"Fuck her open." Taehyung bit his lip, watching Jungkook pull back and roughly slam into you again. "Harder. Make sure she feels it."

Jungkook furrowed his brows, delivering a harder thrust, savoring the moan that escaped you as he reached in deeper, tip hitting right against the spot that had you feeling weak.

Taehyung sucked in a breath. "That's it. Now you're doing it. Just look how wet she is for you."

You felt Jungkook twitch inside you at that. Taehyung’s commentary was doing wonders for both you and Jungkook, both of you getting seemingly more flushed. Kook’s thrusts quickened, his enthusiasm showing as he repeatedly hit that spot that had you gasping again and again and again.

"Fuck." Jungkook grunted, his grip on your waist tightening as he pumped inside. "Feel that? Feel how deep I am?"

He emphasized his question with a brutal thrust that had you scrambling for purchase, grabbing onto Taehyung as your body began to move with Jungkook’s. "Yes, K-Kook!"

"Fuck yeah you do. You love this, don't you? Love letting me use you like a little slut." Jungkook groaned, watching the bulge protruding from your lower abdomen. "Still hate me?"

"Yes," you spat out bitterly, your pride still clinging on in some semblance as Kook started pounding into you.

Both Taehyung and Jungkook laughed, and it only made your cheeks burn hotter.

"No you don't." Jungkook landed a smack against your pussy, feeling you clench around him in response. "Holy shit, you got so tight. C'mon, squeeze me baby. Show me how much this pussy loves me."

The cry you let out was pathetic, unwittingly obeying his command as your walls contracted around him.

"There we go. That's a good girl. So you can listen."

Taehyung hummed, enjoying the sight before him, watching both of you slowly unravel in each other. He saw it coming a mile away. He was just glad he got to see it finally happen first hand.

"I'm just so glad to see my best friends finally getting along." He pressed a kiss against your cheek, the action surprisingly tender given the filth of the situation. He pulled back, moving behind Jungkook so he could watch the view from his friend's perspective.

Both men watched how coated Jungkook’s cock was in Tae’s cum, the white glistening along his shaft every time he pulled back. Taehyung’s cum helped make the glide easier, extra lubricant added on top of your already dripping wet pussy. You could feel the wetness coating your inner thighs, and wouldn't be surprised if the surface area only grew as Jungkook continued using you like this.

"Fuck, that's so hot," Jungkook moaned, tossing his head back and drilling into you with more fervor, veins popping along his forearms as he slammed his hips against yours. "You're so hot. 'Course a pretty girl like you likes being fucked like a slut."

"So pretty," Taehyung agreed, biting his lip, eyes glued to where both of you were joined. "You're both so fucking hot."

He tilted Jungkook’s chin, turning him to face him as he planted his lips against the younger. Jungkook was responsive to say the least, pressing against Taehyung harder, his hips stuttering for a moment as his brain tried to keep up. Taehyung’s other hand slid down Jungkook’s abs, raking his nails along them to make Jungkook shiver and open his mouth wider.

Jungkook panted, his thrusts getting sloppier as he moaned into Taehyung’s mouth. You could see glimpses of their tongues dancing together with every part of their lips, the whimpers that Taehyung swallowed only driving you closer to the edge. Hearing Kook’s soft pants and moans, muffled against Tae’s lips as he held his face tight in his hand, not letting him free for even a second even as he grew breathless and his whines turned needy, was enough masturbation material for a lifetime.

"Fuck fuck fuck, I'm close," Jungkook moaned against Taehyung’s mouth, the words barely decipherable with how Taehyung was devouring him. He whimpered, the sounds getting cut off or replaced with the sound of smacking lips, Taehyung’s grip firm and unrelenting.

Taehyung finally let Jungkook go, letting the younger man moan and suck in deep, greedy breaths of air. Taehyung’s lips were shiny and swollen, and he stared down at where Jungkook was absolutely destroying you, his thrusts starting to get sloppier with every pump. "Cum inside."

Jungkook’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck—"

Taehyung looked down at you, where your eyes nearly crossed with Jungkook abusing your g-spot, the prospect of being filled up by your biggest annoyance making your back arch against the cushions.

"You want it, right?" Taehyung reached up and pressed his hand down on your lower abdomen, feeling his best friend through the barrier. "I can feel how deep Kook is inside you. You want it right here, right? Right where I'm pressing."

He pushed harder, making both you and Jungkook cry out. "Yes! Please, please Kook. Cum in me. I'm so close."

Jungkook’s hand moved down to your clit, pressing demanding circles against it to drive you to insanity. "Cum for me then. Make your pussy beg for it."

Before you knew it you were doing exactly that.

"Fuck, that's it," Taehyung hissed. He leaned more of his weight on the hand pressing down on you, his grin mischievous and wicked. "Good girl."

The combined stimulation from both of them had you spasming around Kook, your walls involuntarily quaking and squeezing his girth as promised. Jungkook let out a guttural groan, your orgasm triggering his own as he hunched over you, his hips stuttering as he began to coat your insides.

You felt the warmth as he starts to fill you up, some gushing out of you already and between your cheeks. Taehyung stopped pressing down on your stomach and grabbed Jungkook’s ass, having him gasp and rut deeper, cockhead firmly pressed against the deepest spot inside of you.

"Keep fucking her," Tae commanded, his tone leaving no room for question.

Jungkook did as he was told, continuing to pump into you as you started to cringe from the overstimulation. Jungkook was too, his groans morphing into weak little whines as he let out every drop into you, fucking you still. You could see the mix of pain and pleasure in his face, his thrusts slowing down as his cock began to soften.

Taehyung squeezed. "Don't stop," he ordered. "Keep fucking her. Don't you dare stop."

Kook, the loyal, pathetic friend he was, obeyed. His weak, stuttering thrusts continued, overstimulating you both as his pelvis rocked against your clit. His pumps were shallower now, lacking the power from before, as though every thrust now took something out of him. Both of you were left breathless, staring into each other's eyes, tears brimming them as you both broke further under Taehyung’s command. The man watched with a shit eating grin, clearly pleased watching your glassy gazes.

Jungkook’s head dipped down, and it took every ounce of strength not to collapse on top of you, humping you slightly with what he had left to give, his hips stuttering and sloppy. You felt a tear fall on your collarbone as he whined, not stopping his movements until Taehyung gently pushed him back. 

Both you and Jungkook cringed as he finally pulled out, the white appearing immediately and trickling down on the sheets. Jungkook slumped over you, breathing heavily, burying his face in the crook of your neck as both of you finally got to come down from your highs.

It turned out, however, that Taehyung was the hardest to satisfy.

He sneered, pulling Jungkook off of you and scoffing at how he broke before you. 

"What are you doing? Clean her up since she's been so nice to you."

Taehyung gripped Jungkook by the roots, lifting his head and planting him face first into your used pussy.

Jungkook obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut as he opened his jaw wider, letting you melt in his mouth. He lapped up Tae’s and his own cum readily, humming with satisfaction, his ministrations becoming greedy. You cringed from the sensitivity, but Taehyung didn’t let you run from it, using a hand to pin you down as he leaned over you and kissed the pain away. You tried to focus on how his lips moved against yours, but still found yourself bucking against Kook’s mouth and whining into Taehyung’s.

Taehyung smiled, tightening his grip against Jungkook’s scalp as he pushed him harder against you, chuckling at the tears in your eyes.

"See baby? I'm having him make up for being so mean to you," Taehyung cooed. "What do we say?"

"T-thank you," you weakly stammered out, feeling the coil tighten for the last time.

"There we go. I'll even help."

He shoved your legs further apart to make room for himself, pushing Jungkook’s head lower so he could slide his tongue inside. You gasped when Taehyung’s mouth joined, the dual sensation of two tongues against you bringing you closer to an orgasm no matter how much your body screamed.

Jungkook rose his head up higher, tongue meshing against Taehyung’s as both slid over your clit, trapping it beneath the pressure of the two muscles. Neither man seemed to shy away from each other, and you could hear the wet smack of their lips against each other as they made out, your cunt acting as a third.

Your thighs trembled, the feeling of both of them at the same time, and the visual stimulus of their eyes peaking up at you from between your legs, made the final orgasm of the night especially satisfying. You gave what was left of yourself, seeing white and feeling as though you were floating for a moment. Slowly, you came back down, feeling their hands rub soothingly along your legs and waist.

Both were panting just as hard as you, their pink, swollen lips an enviable shade, glossed with orgasm who-even-knows. Taehyung had a smug, calm smile on his face, whereas Kook had heavy lids, exhaustion starting to set in his bones with how spent he now was.

Taehyung patted your head gently, a stark juxtaposition to his rough demeanor prior. "Back to Earth?" He quipped.

You nodded, post-millionth-nut clarity settling in as you realized your best friend and his just gave you the best sex of your life.

"I guess now I have a better answer for all of those people asking if we've fucked," you joked.

That earned a laugh from Taehyung, and even a grin from Jungkook, who was usually impervious to your quips.

"You're so cute." Whether or not Jungkook meant to say that intentionally was unclear, and you weren't given enough time to think about it because soon he was having you taste yourself on his lips. And him. And Taehyung.

Taehyung was absolutely thrilled watching his two best friends make out, fucking pervert that he is. Everything went just according to plan, even better than predicted, and now he could finally reap the rewards of all his hard work.

Your boyfriend, Jungkook, is of course objectively speaking one of the hottest men on the planet.

Since the Arirang comeback, the atmosphere around BTS has shifted into high gear. The members have been more active than ever, reposting fan edits, commenting on theories, and sharing glimpses of their lives that keep the internet in a perpetual state of meltdown.

But lately, Jungkook’s feed has taken a specific, darker turn.

He’s been obsessed with "hooligan" transition videos, reposting edits of bikers shifting from casual riders to sleek, rebellious silhouettes against the night sky. For the fans, it’s a thrill. For you? It’s a slow burn. You know exactly what’s tucked away in the shadows of his massive garage: a small, meticulously maintained collection of Harleys.

Chrome pipes, leather seats, and the heavy scent of oil and gasoline.

The bikes are one thing that make Jeon Jungkook happy.

Right now, they sit in silence, glowing under the dim LED garage lights like sleeping predators. They are waiting for their owner to return from his grueling schedule, waiting for the moment he trades his stage outfits for a heavy leather jacket and boots.

Jungkook loves the adrenaline of the open road, the way the wind drowns out the noise of the world.

And you? You love watching him.

You know the way his grip tightens on the handlebars and the effortless, powerful way he leans into a curve.

Currently, he’s finishing a tour stop in Japan, thousands of miles away from the quiet hum of his garage. But the countdown has started. You can almost hear the roar of the engine as he counts down the hours until he’s back home and back to you.

The vibration of your phone is constant, a rhythmic humming against the table that keeps you smiling between sips of your drink. Jungkook has always been like that no matter how famous he gets or how many thousands of fans are screaming his name, he never lets you wonder where he is.

JK: Just touched down. Finally. JK: Seoul air smells like home. Heading to the garage first. I need to clear my head. JK: Don't stay out too late, baby. Drink some water between the Soju. ;)

He really is the perfect boyfriend. Even after a grueling flight from Japan, his first instinct isn't just to rest, it’s to check in on you.

You’re at a small, lively Korean BBQ place, the air thick with the delicious scent of grilled meat and the loud laughter of your best friends. You’ve had a few drinks, and the world feels warm and slightly blurry around the edges. You’re telling a story, gesturing with your chopsticks, when suddenly, three phones on the table light up at once.

A collective gasp goes up from your friends.

"Oh my god, Y/N," one of them squeals, shoving her screen in your face. "He actually did it. He posted it."

You look down, and your heart skips a beat. Jungkook just dropped his own version of the "hooligan" challenge.

You may or may have not told your friends about your wish for him to do this challenge.

The video is edited to perfection. It starts with him in the garage, casual in a white fitted longsleeve, walking toward his favorite Harley. Then, with a seamless, aggressive transition timed to a heavy bass drop, he’s suddenly on the move at night.

The city lights of Seoul are a neon blur behind him. He’s wearing fitted gear, his muscular frame leaning low over the bike, looking dangerous and ethereal all at once.

How effortless he moves through the night is a weakness of yours.

How he bites his lip under the helmet to focus is branded in your brain.

The heat hits you instantly. It’s not just the Soju anymore. You know exactly how those leather-clad thighs feel, and you know the strength in the hands gripping those handlebars.

"You seriously won the jackpot," your friend whispers, staring at the screen in awe. "He’s polite, he’s kind, and then he goes and looks like that?"

You feel a surge of pride and something much more primal. With a mischievous glint in your eyes and the liquid courage of the alcohol bubbling in your veins, you pull out your phone. You aren't just going to 'like' it.

You open your chat with him, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard as you decide exactly how much you want to tease him.

Truth be told, you know much better things he could be doing on that bike and you’re about to let him know.

The roar of the engine in the video is still echoing in your head as you pull up your private chat. Your vision swims just a little, the neon lights of the BBQ joint blurring into streaks of pink and orange, but your fingers find the keys with a bold, drunken intent.

Y/N: That video... kook. You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now. Y/N: All my friends are staring at your editing skills. But they don't know how you feel under my hands. Y/N: I can think of a few other things you could be doing on that bike that don't involve driving. Better things. Harder things. ;)

You take a long sip of your drink, your face flushed as you watch the typing bubbles appear almost instantly.

Will he like your teasing?

JK: Is that so? Are you having a little too much fun without me, baby? JK: Be careful. I’m already on a high from the ride. You shouldn't say things like that when I’m this restless.

You giggle, leaning back as your friends continue to gossip. You feel daring, the heat from the grill and the alcohol making your skin sensitive.

Y/N: I’m serious. That seat looks big enough for two. I want to see if you can keep your hands on the bars while I’m moving on top of you. Y/N: I want to feel the vibration of the engine and you at the same time. Come get me?

There’s a long pause. Your heart hammers against your ribs.

JK: How drunk are you right now?

Y/N: Just enough to be honest. Pick me up? On the bike? Please?

JK: Absolutely not. You know the rules, Y/N. No bikes when you’ve been drinking. I'm not risking a single hair on your head. JK: Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you. Don't move.

You pout at your phone, but you can’t help the thrill that shoots through you. Ten minutes pass, ten minutes of your friends teasing you about your boyfriend, until the bell above the door chimed.

The atmosphere in the crowded restaurant shifts instantly.

Jungkook walks in, looking like he stepped straight out of the edit he just posted. He’s wearing baggy, dark wash jeans and a white long-sleeve that clings to his chest and shoulders. His hair is tucked messy and low under a baseball cap, and he has his heavy leather biker jacket thrown over his arm. He looks rugged, exhausted from the flight, but intensely focused.

When his eyes find yours, the intensity is enough to make you sober up for a split second.

He ignores the muffled gasps from the other tables, walking straight to your booth. He greets your friends with a polite, effortless bow and a charming smile that belies the dark look he just gave you over text.

"Hey everyone," he says, his voice deep and smooth. "I hope she hasn't been too much trouble tonight." he kisses your head softly and protective.

"She’s been perfect! We're just jealous," one of your friends jokes.

Jungkook chuckles, but his hand finds yours under the table, squeezing firmly. He calls the waiter over, settling the entire bill for the table before anyone can protest. "Get home safe, okay? I'm taking her now."

He pulls you up gently, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady your swaying steps. Outside, the cool night air hits you, but you’re wrapped in his scent expensive cologne, leather, and a hint of woodsmoke.

Instead of his bike, his black Maserati is idling at the curb, its headlights cutting through the Seoul mist. He opens the passenger door, carefully tucking you into the leather seat.

He leans in, clicking your seatbelt into place, his face inches from yours. He pauses, his eyes dropping to the hem of your tight black dress, then plants a lingering, firm kiss on your forehead.

"We'll talk about those 'better things' when we get home," he whispers against your skin, his voice dropping an octave.

He shuts your door and climbs into the driver's side. As he pulls away from the curb, the engine purring, he glances at you. "Did you have fun with your friends, baby?"

You nod, leaning your head back against the headrest, watching his tattooed hand shift gears. "Yeah."

Jungkook keeps one hand on the steering wheel, his eyes scanning the road with that focused, protective gaze he always has when you’ve had a few drinks. He hates the idea of you being vulnerable, and even though he’s exhausted from the tour, he looks relieved to have you tucked safely in the passenger seat of the Maserati.

He reaches over, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "So," he starts, a playful but tired smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Did you actually like the video, baby? Or was that just the Soju talking?"

You nod eagerly, your head feeling a little heavy as you lean it against the cool glass of the window. "I loved it," you mumble, your voice thick with honeyed honesty. "You looked... dangerous. I meant what I said, Kook. About the bike."

Jungkook lets out a low, breathy chuckle, shaking his head. He shifts gears, the car accelerating smoothly through the quiet streets of Gangnam. To him, your bold claims about "better things to do on a Harley" are just the adorable ramblings of his girlfriend who’s had one too many drinks. He’s used to you being sweet and a little shy when he’s home; he thinks you’re just trying to act tough because you missed him.

"Yeah, yeah," he teases, his voice dropping into that deep, soothing tone that always makes your heart melt. "You're very brave behind a phone screen, Y/N. You want to ride the bike like a rebel? We’ll get you a helmet and I’ll take you for a slow drive to get some ice cream tomorrow."

He squeezes your hand, completely dismissing the heat behind your words. "You’re just sleepy. You wouldn’t even be able to stand up straight on a bike right now, let alone... whatever 'better things' you were imagining."

He pulls into the private garage of his apartment complex, the engine dying down into a heavy silence. He turns to you, his eyes softening as he unbuckles his own seatbelt. He thinks it’s a joke. He thinks you’re just being a "tease" to get a reaction out of him.

"Come on, Hooligan," he says, leaning over to unclip your seatbelt for you. His face is so close you can smell the mint on his breath. "Let's get you upstairs. You need water and bed, not a motorcycle."

You watch him, a small, defiant smile playing on your lips. He has no idea that once you get through that front door, you aren't planning on sleeping at all and you're going to prove that you weren't joking.

You don't follow him toward the elevator. Instead, as the garage door hums shut behind the car, you slip away, your heels clicking softly on the polished concrete. Jungkook is busy grabbing his bag from the trunk, calling out your name with a confused, protective edge to his voice, but you’re already moving toward the back of the dimly lit space.

There she is.

His favorite. The matte black Harley-Davidson, a beast of metal and chrome, sits perfectly positioned under a spotlight. It looks even more intimidating in person than it did in the video raw, powerful, and cold.

You hear his heavy footsteps following you, his leather jacket creaking as he rounds the corner.

"Baby? What are you doing? The lift is this way," he says, his brow furrowed. He stops short when he sees you standing right next to the bike, your small frame a sharp contrast against the heavy machine.

You run a hand over the cool, matte fuel tank, looking back at him over your shoulder. The alcohol is still buzzing in your system, giving you a reckless confidence that makes your eyes dark and daring.

"You didn't believe me," you whisper, the sound echoing in the silent garage. "You thought I was just being a 'brave' drunk girl behind a screen."

Jungkook sighs, a small, tired smile on his face as he walks closer, intending to pick you up and carry you inside. "Baby, it's late. You're tired. Let's just go up—"

"I told you I knew better things to do with this bike," you interrupt, stepping closer to the leather seat, your fingers tracing the edge of your tight black dress.

Jungkook freezes. The playful, dismissive look in his eyes vanishes, replaced by something much sharper as he realizes you aren't joking anymore. The air in the garage suddenly feels heavy, thick with the scent of leather and the sudden, electric tension between you.

"Y/N," he warns, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register. "Don't play games you aren't ready to finish."

You didn't move toward the elevator, instead, you arched your back, pressing your hips back against the cold, matte metal of the Harley’s fuel tank. The contrast of the freezing metal against your warm skin, sensitized by the alcohol, made a shiver race up your spine.

"I’m not playing, Kook," you whispered, your voice dropping into a low, sultry challenge. You reached down, slowly bunching up the hem of your tight black dress, pulling it up inch by inch until the lace of your underwear was visible. "I missed you. And I want you right here."

Jungkook’s throat bobbed. The protective boyfriend who wanted to tuck you into bed had vanished. In his place was the man from the video, dark, hungry, and dangerously focused. He dropped his bag on the concrete floor with a heavy thud, his eyes darkening until they were almost as black as the bike behind you.

"You have no idea how much trouble you’re in," he whispered, crossing the distance in two predatory strides.

He didn't give you a chance to respond. His large, tattooed hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he effortlessly hoisted you up. He sat you back onto the leather seat of the Harley, your legs falling open naturally around the frame. The position was raw and vulnerable.

Jungkook stepped between your thighs, his heavy boots scraping against the floor, his presence completely overwhelming.

He didn't go for your lips. Instead, he dropped to his knees between your legs.

"Jungkook" you gasped, your fingers flying to his hair, clutching the soft strands as he pushed your dress up to your waist.

"Quiet," he commanded, his voice muffled against your inner thigh. He didn't hesitate. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic of your panties and tugged them down, tossing them somewhere into the shadows of the garage.

When his tongue first made contact, you nearly buckled off the seat. He was methodical and intense, using the same perfectionism he applied to his music to completely dismantle you.

The vibrations of your own shaky breaths seemed to echo off the chrome. He swiped his tongue upward, finding the small, sensitive heat of you and circling it with an agonizingly slow rhythm. You threw your head back, your muffled moans bouncing off the high ceilings of the garage, your heels digging into the metal footpegs of the bike to keep yourself upright.

He drank you in, his hands sliding up to grip your ass, pulling you even closer to the edge of the seat until there was no space left between his mouth and your soul. He stayed there until you were a trembling, slick mess, your body arching in a desperate search for release.

But he wasn't done.

Jungkook stood up, his breathing ragged, his face flushed with a mix of exertion and lust. He quickly unbuttoned his pants, the metallic slide of his zipper sounding like a starting pistol in the quiet garage. He didn't wait for you to recover. He grabbed your hips, his knuckles white with the force of his grip, and guided himself to your entrance.

"Look at me," he rasped.

When you opened your eyes, blurred with tears of pleasure, he lunged forward, burying himself deep inside you in one heavy, singular thrust. The Harley groaned under the weight and the sudden impact, the suspension bouncing slightly.

The friction was incredible. The cold leather of the seat beneath you and the searing heat of him filling you created a sensory overload. Each time he slammed into you, your back hit the handlebars, the cold metal biting into your skin, but you didn't care. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back to pull him deeper.

"Is this... what you wanted?" he grunted against your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point as he increased the speed. His hands moved from your hips to the handlebars, bracing himself as he drove into you with a rhythmic, punishing force that made your vision white out.

The garage was no longer a place of silence it was filled with the sound of skin hitting skin, the creak of the bike’s frame, and the shattered, breathless sounds of your names being whispered in the dark.

As the climax built, Jungkook didn't slow down. He pushed you harder against the machine, his movements becoming desperate and raw. When the crash finally came, it was explosive. You cried out his name, your body clenching around him as waves of heat rolled through you.

Jungkook followed a second later, his head dropping onto your shoulder, his entire frame shuddering as he surrendered everything to you right there on the matte black steel.

For a long time, the only sound was the heavy, synchronized thud of two hearts and the cooling hum of the Maserati in the background. Jungkook finally pulled back, his eyes soft but glowing with a triumphant light. He kissed your forehead, his thumb wiping a stray tear from your cheek.

The gravel crunching under your Stiletto heels sounds like bone breaking, a visceral reminder that you are a long way from the marble floors of your penthouse. You step out of your pearl-white Mercedes Cabriolet, the door clicking shut with a heavy, expensive thud.

You smooth down the fabric of your dress, a charcoal-silk piece that clings to your curves like a second skin. It’s daringly low in the back, elegant enough for a gala but short enough to make heads turn. You look effortless, but you know exactly how many hours it took to achieve this.

As you walk toward the entrance of the industrial loft where Jimin is hosting his birthday, the air shifts. It’s not just your perfume, a custom blend of oud and vanilla, it’s your aura. You carry yourself with the confidence of someone who has never been told no, a radiant, high-frequency energy that feels almost untouchable in this gritty neighborhood.

"Y/N! You made it through the war zone!" Jimin yells, stumbling toward you near the entrance. He looks festive, already a bit tipsy, and he pulls you into a careful hug to avoid ruining your hair.

"Barely," you tease, casting a look of mock-horror at a nearby trash can leaking neon-colored liquid. "The things I do for you, Jimin. If my heels get ruined, you’re buying me the new season Gianvito Rossis."

"Deal," he laughs, dragging you toward the center of the room. "Come on, I want you to meet the guys."

The music is a low, vibrating growl of heavy bass and trap beats. You feel eyes on you immediately, a mixture of awe and resentment. You’re a literal diamond in a room full of coal.

And then, you see him.

Tucked into a dark corner by a makeshift bar, a man is leaning against a pillar. He’s wearing a black oversized t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular arms covered in intricate, dark ink. His hair is longish, messy, and tucked behind one ear. He has a cigarette unlit between his lips and a plastic cup in his hand.

He doesn't look impressed. In fact, as his dark, hooded eyes travel from your designer heels up to your face, his lip curls into a faint, mocking smirk.

"Jimin," the man says, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp that cuts through the noise. "I didn't know you invited the Royal Family."

Jimin grins, oblivious to the tension. "Y/N, this is Jungkook. He’s the best tattoo artist in the city. JK, this is my best friend, Y/N."

You tilt your head, letting your gold hoops catch the light. "Tattoo artist? Interesting. I usually prefer my art in frames, not on skin."

Jungkook takes a slow sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving yours. The air between you becomes heavy, charged with an instant, mutual dislike, and something else you refuse to acknowledge.

"Figures," Jungkook says, exhaling a breath that smells of whiskey and cold nights. "You look like the type who’s afraid of anything that might actually leave a mark."

You let out a soft, melodious laugh, the kind that sounds like wind chimes but cuts like a diamond. You take a slow step toward him, the red soles of your heels clicking sharply against the concrete floor. You stop just inches away, well within his personal bubble, and let your eyes trail slowly over his tattoos before meeting his intense stare.

"And you," you purr, reaching out with a manicured hand to flick a stray piece of lint off his black shirt, "look like the type who thinks a brooding stare and a leather jacket make up for a lack of manners."

Jungkook doesn't flinch. If anything, he leans in closer, his height looming over you, though you refuse to feel small. The scent of him, leather, expensive ink, and something raw, clashes with your delicate perfume.

"Manners are for people who want something, Princess," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. He lets his eyes linger on your lips for a second too long. "I don't think I have to be polite to tell you that you’re sitting on my bike’s favorite parking spot."

"Oh? Was that hunk of metal outside yours?" You pout your bottom lip, a playful, teasing spark in your eyes. "I almost had it towed. It was really clashing with the aesthetic of my Mercedes."

He scoffs, a genuine, dark chuckle vibrating in his chest. "Your Mercedes. Right. Tell me, do you ever do anything for yourself, or does Daddy’s credit card handle the heavy lifting?"

You don't get angry; instead, you lean in even closer, your chest nearly brushing his. You can see the slight widening of his pupils. "I handle plenty of things myself, Jungkook. But I’ve learned that when you’re as beautiful as I am, the world just wants to give you things."

You run a finger lightly along the edge of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble there. "Maybe if you asked nicely, I’d let you drive a real car for once. But then again..." You pull your hand back and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, giving him a look of pure, spoiled mischief. "...you look like you’d get stains on the white leather."

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He’s clearly not used to someone talking back to him like this, especially not a girl who looks like she belongs on a runway.

"White leather, huh?" He takes a final sip of his drink and sets the cup down on a nearby crate without taking his eyes off you. "You’re a brat. You know that?"

"I prefer high maintenance," you wink, turning on your heel to walk back toward Jimin, making sure to put a little extra sway in your hips. "Try to keep up, Tattoo Boy. The night is still young."

As you walk away, you can feel his eyes burning a hole in your back. You know he’s watching. And you know he hates how much he likes it.

You glide over to the worn-out velvet sofa where Namjoon and Taehyung are sitting, navigating the crowded room like you’re walking a red carpet. You sit down gracefully, crossing your legs and letting your silk dress shimmer under the dim lights.

"Finally, some intelligent life in this room," you say, flashing them a radiant smile.

Namjoon looks up from his drink, his eyes widening slightly behind his glasses. He’s always been the intellectual one, and he clearly appreciates the way you carry yourself. "Y/N, always a pleasure. I was just telling Tae that this party needed a bit more... sophistication."

"And you definitely brought it," Taehyung adds, leaning forward with a boxy, charmed grin. He’s a fashion enthusiast himself, and he’s currently staring at your Hermès bag with pure admiration. "Is that the new season? The stitching is incredible. It suits your aura perfectly."

"You have a good eye, Tae," you tease, tilting your head. "Maybe you should give Jungkook some tips."

From across the room, you can feel Jungkook’s heavy gaze fixed on the back of your head. He’s leaning against the bar, pretending to listen to Hoseok, but his body is angled toward you. He watches how effortlessly you charm his friends, how Namjoon is leaning in to hear your opinion on a recent art exhibit, and how Taehyung is practically mesmerized by your laughter.

Every time you throw your head back and laugh, that genuine, heart-filled sound that you usually reserve for friends, you catch Jungkook shifting uncomfortably. He’s annoyed that you’re fitting in, and even more annoyed that you’re ignoring him.

"So, Y/N," Namjoon says, his voice warm. "I heard you almost had JK's bike towed. You’re the only person I know who has the nerve to talk to him like that."

"Someone has to," you say, picking up a drink and inspecting it with a tiny, spoiled grimace before taking a dainty sip. "He’s a bit rough around the edges. I find it... endearing, in a tragic sort of way."

Suddenly, a shadow falls over the table. You don't even have to look up to know who it is. The scent of tobacco and cold air gives him away.

"Tragic?" Jungkook’s voice drops right by your ear, sending a tiny shiver down your spine that you pray he doesn't notice. "Careful, Princess. Keep talking like that and I might think you're obsessed with me."

You turn your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder, your expression one of pure, teasing boredom. "Obsessed? Darling, I haven't even decided if I like your name yet."

You set your drink down on the scratched coffee table with a soft clink, your expression shifting from playful to something much more focused. Namjoon and Taehyung are mid-sentence, but they stop as you reach into your bag and pull out a sleek, gold-plated tablet and a stylus.

"Namjoon, you were just talking about the conceptual art piece in the gallery downtown, right?" you ask, your voice calm and authoritative. "The one they couldn't figure out how to restore?"

You tap a few icons on the screen, and a complex 3D architectural render of a gallery space appears. "I looked at the blueprints this morning. The issue isn't the lighting; it's the structural resonance of the glass partitions."

With a few swift, elegant strokes of the stylus, you begin to redraw the tension lines of the installation. You aren't just a pretty face in a Mercedes; you’ve studied high-end design and architecture at the best schools money can buy. You explain the physics of the load-bearing glass with a sharp, clinical precision that leaves Namjoon speechless.

"If they tilt the panels by just 3 circ," you point out, your eyes glowing with intelligence, "the light refraction will stabilize, and the sculpture won't overheat. It’s basic aesthetics meeting structural integrity."

Taehyung leans in, mesmerized. "Wait, you just solved that? The museum board has been arguing about that for months."

"Money buys education, Tae. It’s a waste not to use it," you say with a nonchalant shrug, though your heart swells at the genuine respect in their eyes.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook. He hasn't moved an inch. He’s standing there with his arms crossed, his dark eyes locked on the screen of your tablet. The mocking smirk is gone, replaced by a look of intense, quiet curiosity. He thought you were just a shallow doll, but he just watched you dissect a complex engineering problem like it was nothing.

You feel his gaze, so you slowly turn your head, catching his eye.

Jungkook scoffs softly and looks away, but you catch the way he bites his lip, his brow furrowed. You just shattered his entire perception of you, and the silence from his corner of the room tells you everything you need to know. He’s intrigued, and it’s killing him.

You decide you’ve given the boys enough of your brilliance for one night. You stand up, smoothing your dress with a practiced grace that draws every eye in the vicinity.

"Excuse me, boys. A girl can't survive on architectural debates alone," you tease, giving Taehyung a playful wink.

You weave through the crowd toward the bar, your heels clicking rhythmically. You don't even have to say a word; the amateur bartender sees you coming and immediately pushes a fresh, chilled glass toward you. You take a sip, leaning one elbow on the sticky bar counter, careful not to let your silk sleeve touch anything, and look around.

You feel that familiar heavy gaze again. Jungkook is still standing nearby, watching you with a look that is no longer just mocking. It’s hungry. It’s curious. He’s looking at you like a piece of art he can’t quite figure out how to sketch.

You give him a coy, over-the-shoulder glance, swirling the ice in your glass. "Don't stare too hard, Jungkook. You might get a headache trying to process all of this."

Before he can retort, you turn and head for the exit. The humid party air is starting to mess with your hair, and you remember you left your cropped designer jacket in the passenger seat.

As you push open the heavy metal door of the loft, the cool night air hits your skin, raising goosebumps on your bare shoulders. The street is quiet, lit by flickering orange lamps that make your Mercedes look like a shimmering pearl amidst the darkness.

You walk to the car, the silence of the night a sharp contrast to the bass inside. You reach for the door handle, but the sound of the loft door creaking open behind you makes you pause.

You don't turn around. You don't have to. The smell of clove cigarettes and leather fills the space behind you.

"Leaving so soon, Princess?" his voice rasps, closer than before. "Or did you realize that real life doesn't have a undo button like your little tablet?"

"I just needed some air," you say, finally turning around to face him. You’re leaning against the door of your Mercedes, the luxury of the car framing you perfectly. "And besides, I think I’ve done enough damage to your ego for one night."

Jungkook stops a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The streetlights cast long shadows over his face, making his piercings glint. He looks at your car, then back at you, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading across his face.

"You're a piece of work, Y/N," he says, stepping into your personal space. "Smart, rich, and a complete brat. But I bet you've never had a single thing in your life that wasn't planned out by a designer."

He leans one hand on the roof of your car, trapping you slightly between him and the Mercedes. "Tell me... does that perfect life ever get boring?"

You let out a dry, airy laugh, tilting your head back so the streetlight hits the line of your throat. You don't pull away; instead, you lean back against the cool metal of your car, mirroring his proximity.

"Boring?" you repeat, your voice a silky challenge. "Only when the company is dull. But tonight? Tonight is actually getting quite interesting."

You reach out, your fingers hovering just an inch from the silver rings in his eyebrow. "You think you’re so real because you live in a loft and cover yourself in ink, Jungkook. But you’re just as much of a cliché as you think I am. The tortured artist, the rebel without a cause... tell me, do you ever get tired of trying so hard to look like you don't care?"

His eyes darken, his jaw set. He wasn't expecting you to swing back that hard. He moves a fraction closer, his chest almost brushing the silk of your dress. You can feel the heat radiating off him, a stark contrast to the chilly night air.

"I don't 'try' to do anything," he mutters, his gaze dropping to your lips. "I just live. You should try it sometime. Without the script."

Suddenly, he reaches out, his hand wrapping firmly but carefully around your waist, pulling you an inch away from the car so you're forced to steady yourself by placing your hand on his chest. You can feel his heart beating, fast, steady, and strong.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, your spoiled diva mask slipping just a tiny bit.

"Checking if you're actually human under all this silk," he says, his thumb brushing against the small of your back where the dress is cut low.

You find your voice again, your feisty nature returning. "And? What’s the verdict, Tattoo Boy? Or are you too distracted by the car to notice?"

"The car is nice," he admits, his voice dropping to a low, husky vibration that makes your toes curl in your heels. "But I think the driver is a lot more dangerous than she looks."

He lets go as abruptly as he grabbed you, stepping back with a crooked, mocking grin. He pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and flips one out with practiced ease. "Go get your jacket, Princess. Before you catch a cold and have to sue the weather."

You huff, pulling your jacket tightly around your shoulders, your heart still racing from the contact. "I was already getting it. And for the record..." You open your car door, the interior lights bathing you in a soft, expensive glow. "...I don't sue. I just get even."

As you sit in the driver's seat, you look up at him through the window. He’s standing there, lighting his cigarette, the flame illuminating the tattoos on his hands.

"See you inside," you call out, a teasing smirk on your lips. "Try not to miss me too much."

You slide the door shut, leaving him in a cloud of smoke. You catch your reflection in the mirror, your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are wider than usual. He’s frustrating, arrogant, and completely unsuitable.

And as you look back at the loft, you realize you're not in any hurry to go home.

You take a moment in the car, checking your lip gloss in the vanity mirror not because you need to, but because you need a second to compose yourself. Your heart is doing a rhythmic double-tap against your ribs that definitely isn't part of your usual routine.

When you step back out, you find him still standing there, leaning against a lamp post, watching you with that infuriatingly cool expression.

"Finished admiring yourself?" he asks, exhaling a plume of smoke that drifts into the night air.

"Quality control is a full-time job, Jungkook," you retort, clicking your car lock with a sharp chirp. You walk past him, making sure your shoulder brushes his just enough to be intentional. "Are you coming back in, or are you planning on brooding out here until sunrise?"

He doesn't answer with words. He just tosses his cigarette, crushes it with the toe of his boot, and follows you.

Inside, the party has shifted gears. The music is slower, grittier. You find your way back to the booth, but this time, the seating is tighter. You slide in next to Taehyung, and before you can even settle, Jungkook claims the spot directly across from you. He sits with his knees spread wide, his heavy combat boot accidentally or maybe not nudging the tip of your designer heel under the table.

"So," Jungkook starts, leaning his elbows on his knees, staring at you through the messy fringe of his hair. "If you're so bored with clichés, prove it."

"How?" you ask, arching a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

"My studio is three blocks from here," he says, his voice cutting through the noise. "I was serious about the tattoo. No diamonds, no silk, no Daddy’s girl safety net. Just you, me, and a needle."

The table goes quiet. Namjoon looks between the two of you, sensing the sudden shift in atmospheric pressure. Taehyung looks excited, like he’s watching a high-stakes movie.

"Tonight?" you challenge, your voice steady despite the adrenaline spike.

"Right now," he replies. "Unless you’ve got a curfew."

You look at his ink-stained hands, then at the smirk that says he’s already won. He thinks you'll say no. He thinks you're too fragile for his world.

You stand up, grabbing your bag and draping your jacket over your arm with a flourish. "Well, what are we waiting for? I hope your studio is cleaner than your attitude, Jungkook."

A flash of genuine surprise flickers in his dark eyes before it’s replaced by a look of pure, predatory interest. He stands up, looming over you, and for the first time, he doesn't look like he's mocking you. He looks like he’s finally met his match.

"Let’s go, Princess," he murmurs, gesturing toward the door. "Let's see what you're really made of."

You follow his bike, the sleek white hood of your Mercedes trailing the roar of his engine through the deserted city streets. The neon lights of the shops blur into long ribbons of color against your windshield. For a moment, it feels like an escape as if you're driving right out of your curated life and into something raw.

But then, the glowing screen of your dashboard lights up. Mother.

The name alone is enough to bring the Princess back to reality. You glance at the time; it’s much later than you realized. You answer on the second ring, and her voice is cold, sharp, and filled with the kind of expectations that have governed your life since birth. A situation at home, a guest you're expected to entertain early in the morning, a reminder of who you are and where you belong.

You bite your lip, feeling a sudden, sharp pang of resentment toward the leather seats and the diamond rings on your fingers.

You flash your high beams at Jungkook. He slows down, his bike idling with a low, aggressive growl as he pulls over to the curb. You pull up beside him, the window sliding down with a silent, motorized hiss.

"Change of heart already?" he asks, flipping up his visor. His eyes are dark, searching your face. He looks like he’s ready to deliver a killing blow to your ego.

"Not a change of heart," you say, your voice tighter than you want it to be. You hold up your phone. "A change of schedule. I have to go."

You expect him to laugh. You expect him to make a comment about your curfew or how you're running back to your palace before the clock strikes midnight. You’re already bracing yourself for the sting of his sarcasm.

But he doesn't.

Jungkook stays silent for a long beat, his gaze lingering on the way you’re gripping the steering wheel. He sees the frustration in your eyes, the way your diva mask is struggling to stay in place under the pressure of a world he’ll never understand.

He just nods.

It’s not a mocking nod. it’s short, sharp, and strangely understanding. He kicks his bike back into gear, the engine roaring to life.

"Another time, Princess," he says, his voice barely audible over the wind.

He doesn't wait for an answer. He peels away into the night, the red glow of his taillights disappearing around the corner. You're left alone in the quiet luxury of your car, the scent of his cigarette smoke still faintly clinging to your silk dress, feeling more trapped in your perfect life than ever before.

The drive home feels longer than usual, the silent luxury of the Mercedes suddenly feeling like a gilded cage. Once inside your penthouse, the marble floors feel cold beneath your aching feet. You kick off your heels, leaving them where they fall, and head straight for the master bath. The steam from the rain shower melts away the scent of the party, but it can't quite wash off the phantom sensation of Jungkook’s hand on your waist.

Wrapped in silk pajamas that cost more than most people's rent, you sink into your high-thread-count sheets. The room is silent, perfectly temperature-controlled, and utterly lonely. You reach for your phone, the blue light stinging your tired eyes.

To: Jimin Happy Birthday again, Mimi. Sorry I had to vanish. Your friend JK is a menace, by the way. Tell him I’m not actually afraid of needles, I just have a life to attend to. See you tomorrow x

You set the phone on the nightstand and stare at the ceiling. Usually, your mind is filled with to-do lists, outfits for upcoming galas, or interior design sketches. But tonight, all you can see is the dark intensity in a tattoo artist's eyes and the way the streetlights caught the silver in his brow.

With a frustrated huff, you pull the duvet up to your chin. You’re a princess, and he’s a rebel, and your parents would probably have a heart attack if they even saw you standing next to him. That thought brings a small, defiant smirk to your lips as you finally drift into a restless sleep.

The next morning, the sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your office, reflecting off the glass desk and the minimalist white orchids you have delivered every Monday. You’re dressed in a sharp, ivory power suit, elegant, intimidating, and perfectly tailored. You look every bit the heiress and professional, your hair pulled back into a sleek, low bun.

You’re halfway through reviewing a structural proposal for a new luxury hotel when your phone buzzes on the desk. Jimin’s contact photo pops up.

"Jimin, if this is about the bill for the Gianvito Rossis, I’m still waiting for the invoice," you answer, leaning back in your leather chair and swiveling toward the view of the city.

"Good morning to you too, Diva," Jimin’s voice chirps, sounding far too energetic for someone who stayed up until 4:00 AM. "I got your text. You know, you really missed out after you left. Things got... interesting."

You pick up a gold fountain pen, clicking it idly. "Interesting? Did someone spill beer on a masterpiece, or did Jungkook finally run out of black t-shirts?"

"Actually," Jimin chuckles, "JK was surprisingly quiet after you bailed. He stayed for one more drink and then spent the rest of the night cleaning his studio. Yoongi said he was in a mood."

You feel a traitorous little flip in your stomach, but you keep your voice cool. "He’s probably just annoyed he didn't get to prove me wrong. He has a very fragile ego for someone covered in so much ink."

"Is that right?" Jimin hums playfully. "Because he just walked into my office to drop off some sketches, and when he saw your name on my screen, he didn't look annoyed. He looked... challenged. Anyway, he’s actually standing right here. He wants to know if your schedule has an opening tonight, or if you're too busy being a CEO to handle a little vibration."

Before you can respond, you hear a muffled rustle, and then a much deeper, raspier voice takes over the line.

"The white leather in that car is way too clean, Y/N," Jungkook says, his tone low and dangerously casual. "It needs some character. My offer still stands. Unless you're scared your parents will see the bandage tomorrow."

You let out a soft, sharp exhale that’s halfway between a sigh and a laugh, leaning back in your chair as you twirl a stray lock of hair around your finger. You can almost picture him, leaning against Jimin’s desk, looking completely out of place in a professional setting with his tattoos and messy hair, yet somehow owning the room anyway.

"Character? Is that what you’re calling it now?" you say, your voice dripping with polished honey. "As tempting as it sounds to let you ruin my aesthetic, Jungkook, I actually have responsibilities. I’m expected at the National Gallery’s annual gala tonight. It’s black-tie, champagne, and people who actually know how to use a coaster."

You hear a faint scoff on the other end, followed by the distinct click of a lighter. "A gala," he repeats, his voice sounding flat but amused. "Right. More frames, more curated art, and more people in suits pretending they’re not bored out of their minds. Sounds like a blast, Princess."

"It’s called networking," you retort, though a part of you is already dreading the stiff conversation and the uncomfortable corsetry of your gown. "Something tells me you wouldn't survive ten minutes without trying to spray-paint the statues."

"Ten minutes? I’d give it five before I walked out," he rasps. There’s a short pause, and you can hear him exhaling smoke. "Well, don't let me keep you from your glass slippers. Just don't be surprised if you find yourself thinking about that needle while you're sipping your overpriced bubbles."

"I think I’ll manage just fine," you say, though your heart gives a stubborn little thud. "Goodbye, Jungkook. Try not to get any ink on Jimin's carpet."

You hang up before he can get the last word in, staring at the phone for a long beat. The gala felt like a prestigious obligation ten minutes ago; now, it just feels like an obstacle. You look down at your sleek ivory suit and realize that for the first time in your life, you're actually annoyed that you have somewhere to be.

Two days later, the air in your office feels stifling, and the thought of another quiet evening at the penthouse is enough to make you itch. You decide to drop by Jimin’s unannounced. You’ve traded the power suit for something casual by your standards, a pair of high-waisted, cream-colored wide-leg trousers and a cropped, soft cashmere sweater in baby blue. Your hair is down in effortless waves, and though you're wearing sneakers, they’re pristine, limited-edition designer pairs.

When you let yourself in with the spare key Jimin gave you, the loft doesn't smell like party smoke anymore; it smells like expensive coffee and old records.

"The Diva has descended," Yoongi mumbles from the sofa, not even looking up from his laptop. Taehyung is next to him, busy styling a mannequin head for some project, while Jin is in the kitchen area, looking impeccably handsome while meticulously plating some fruit.

"Nice to see you too, Yoongi," you tease, tossing your keys onto the marble island. "Where’s mimi?"

"Jimin went to pick up some supplies. He’ll be back in ten," Jin says, offering you a slice of apple with a wink. "You look... comfortable. It’s a good look for you, Y/N."

"I have my moments," you smile, taking the fruit. You look around, trying to act nonchalant as your eyes scan the room.

Yoongi finally looks up, a knowing, cat-like smirk on his face. He’s always been too observant for his own good. "If you're looking for the brat, he’s not here. Jungkook’s been at the studio since sunrise. Apparently, he’s got a project he’s obsessed with finishing."

Taehyung giggles, spinning the mannequin head around. "He’s been in a mood all morning. He kept checking his phone every five minutes. I wonder who he was waiting for?"

You feel your cheeks heat up, so you quickly take a bite of the apple to hide it. "I wasn't looking for anyone. I just came to see if Jimin survived his own party."

"Right," Yoongi draws out the word, leaning back. "Well, since you're so comfortable today, the studio is only two blocks away. He’s probably starving, but he won't leave the chair. Hoseok said he’s been working on a fine-line design that looks suspiciously like something you’d see in a high-end gallery."

You tap your manicured nails against the counter, the spoiled princess in you warring with the girl who really wants to see what he's working on.

"I suppose I could bring him a coffee," you mutter, mostly to yourself. "Purely out of pity, of course. He probably drinks that sludge from the gas station."

"Of course," Jin laughs, handing you a second cup of coffee he just brewed. "Purely out of pity. Run along, Y/N. The industrial gloom is calling your name."

You pull up to the studio, the sleek lines of your Mercedes looking utterly out of place against the cracked pavement and the industrial roll-up doors. You grab the coffee and your bag, checking your reflection one last time, looking casual still took you forty minutes, and you aren't about to let him see a single hair out of place.

The bell above the door chimes as you enter. The studio is quiet, the air smelling of ink, green soap, and that distinct, heavy scent of Jungkook’s cologne. He’s hunched over a drawing table in the back, a single spotlight illuminating a sketchbook. He doesn't even look up.

"We're closed, Jimin. Go away," he grumbles, his voice raspy and tired.

"Jimin isn't here. And you look like you haven't slept" you say, your voice echoing in the hollow space.

Jungkook freezes, then slowly looks over his shoulder. He takes in your cream trousers and the coffee in your hand, a slow, mocking smirk spreading across his face. "Well, if it isn't the National Gallery’s guest of honor. Did you get lost on your way to a brunch, or did you just miss the sound of my voice?"

"I was in the neighborhood," you lie, walking over and placing the coffee on the table far away from his sketches. "And Jin was worried you were starving yourself. I see you’re still clinging to that starving artist aesthetic. It’s a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"And I see you're still playing the charity worker for the lower class," he snaps back, spinning his stool around to face you. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, but he’s still effortlessly hot. "What's the matter, Princess? Run out of diamonds to polish?"

"At least my diamonds don't require a tetanus shot to look at," you fire back, crossing your arms.

You step closer, your eyes falling on the sketch he’s been struggling with. It’s a complex piece, a fusion of organic floral shapes and harsh, geometric lines. It’s beautiful, but it’s cluttered. It lacks a focal point.

"You're overthinking it," you say suddenly, your voice dropping the sharp edge.

Jungkook scoffs, grabbing his pencil. "Oh, please. Don't tell me you're an expert on tattoo composition now because you own a few lithographs."

"I'm an expert on space, Jungkook," you retort, leaning over the table. You point to a cluster of heavy shading in the center. "You’re suffocating the design. The geometric lines are too rigid; they’re fighting the flow of the flowers. If you break the symmetry right here—" you pick up a spare pencil and lightly trace a curve that bleeds out of the frame "—you create a negative space that draws the eye upward. It gives the piece air. It makes it look like it’s breathing, not trapped."

Jungkook starts to open his mouth to argue, but then he stops. He looks at where your pencil moved, then back at the sketch. He tilts his head, his brow furrowing as he realizes you’re right. The adjustment changes the entire energy of the piece, turning a chaotic drawing into a sophisticated masterpiece.

He stays silent for a long moment, the only sound being the hum of the refrigerator in the corner. Then, he looks up at you, his dark eyes searching yours with a new kind of intensity.

"Negative space," he repeats quietly, his voice losing its bite. He drags his stool closer, his knee brushing against your thigh. "Where did a spoiled girl like you learn to see something like that?"

"Maybe I'm not as shallow as the princess label suggests," you whisper, trapped in his gaze. "Maybe I just know how to find the beauty in the mess."

Jungkook looks down at the sketch, then back at you, a slow, contemplative look crossing his face. He lets out a breath he seemed to be holding and tosses his pencil onto the table. "Alright, Princess. I'll give you that one. It’s... actually better."

Coming from him, that’s basically a standing ovation. You can’t help the triumphant little smirk that tugs at your lips. "Just 'better'? It’s brilliant, Jungkook. Admit it, you’ve been staring at this for five hours and I solved it in five seconds."

He rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a smile. He reaches out, grabbing the coffee you brought and taking a long sip. He hums in surprise. "Wait. This isn't that burnt water from the shop next door. This is actually good."

"It’s a double-shot macchiato with a hint of vanilla. I don't do 'burnt water,'" you say, leaning back against his workbench, feeling the cold metal through your cashmere sweater.

Jungkook sets the cup down and stands up. He’s much taller when he’s right in front of you, his presence filling the small space between the drawing table and the tattoo chair. He smells like ink and something warm, like sandalwood.

"You're a dangerous combination, Y/N," he murmurs, stepping closer until you’re trapped between the table and his body. He places his hands on the workbench on either side of your hips, leaning in. "You come in here looking like a dream, fix my work, bring me the best coffee I've had in months... and then you expect me to just let you walk out?"

"I have a lunch meeting at one," you say, though your voice is slightly breathy. You reach up, your fingers trailing over the collar of his black t-shirt. "And besides, I thought you didn't like spoiled brats."

"I don't," he whispers, his eyes dropping to your lips, his gaze intense enough to burn. "But I think I’m starting to realize that you’re just a brat because nobody’s ever dared to tell you 'no.'"

He reaches out, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, his touch surprisingly calloused but incredibly gentle. "So, how about it? No more excuses about galas or parents. You've got your casual clothes on. You've got your brilliant ideas. Are you finally going to sit in the chair, or are you just all talk?"

You look at the black leather tattoo chair, then back at him. The air is thick with a tension that has been building since you first stepped into that loft. You could leave. You could go back to your pristine, white-carpeted world.

Instead, you hop up onto the leather chair, crossing your legs and giving him your most challenging, spoiled look. "Fine. But I get to pick the spot. And if you make a mistake, I'm taking your bike as collateral."

Jungkook’s face breaks into a wide, genuine grin, the first one you’ve truly seen. He looks younger, more vibrant, and devastatingly handsome. "Deal. But hold on tight, Princess. I don't use the gentle needles for people with your attitude."

You settle into the black leather chair, the material cool against your skin. Usually, you are a control freak, you pick the fabric for your curtains, the exact shade of your silk scarves, and the placement of every flower in your penthouse. But looking at Jungkook as he moves around the studio, your usual need to micromanage vanishes.

"I’m letting you choose the design," you say, your voice surprisingly steady. "Don't make me regret it."

Jungkook pauses, a needle in his hand, and looks at you with a stunned expression. "You? Letting someone else have the final word? Did you hit your head on the way in, or is the lack of champagne finally getting to you?"

"I just know talent when I see it," you retort, tilting your head. "And despite your horrific personality, your art is... acceptable."

"Acceptable. Wow. I’m honored," he dryly mocks, but you see the ghost of a proud smirk on his face.

He turns to his iPad, his fingers moving with fluid, practiced ease. You find yourself leaning back, simply observing him. In the harsh, clinical light of the studio, Jungkook is breathtaking. The way the muscles in his forearms ripple as he sketches, the intense focus in his dark eyes, and the way he subconsciously bites his lower lip when he’s concentrating. He looks raw and powerful, a stark contrast to the polished, empty men you usually spend your time with.

He’s wearing a thin black tank top now, and the tattoos on his shoulders shift and move like living art. You realize he isn't just effortless hot, he’s magnetic.

"Stop staring, Princess. You’ll wear a hole in my shirt," he murmurs without looking up, his voice dripping with playful arrogance.

"I’m not staring. I’m observing the process," you lie, shifting in the chair.

"Right. The process," he chuckles, finally turning the iPad screen toward you.

The design is a masterpiece. It’s a delicate, fine-line interpretation of a lily symbolizing purity and rebirth but with sharp, geometric thorns weaving through the petals. It’s beautiful, dangerous, and perfectly you. It’s exactly what you would have chosen if you had his vision.

"It’s perfect," you whisper, the diva in you momentarily silenced by the sheer beauty of his work.

Jungkook’s gaze softens as he looks at you, the teasing light in his eyes replaced by something much deeper. He walks over, his presence suddenly overwhelming as he stands between your legs to reach your side.

"I told you," he says softly, his voice a low vibration. "I don't do boring. Now, let's see how much of a heart you've got under that designer sweater."

The hum of the tattoo machine fills the small space, a steady, rhythmic buzz that should be terrifying, but with Jungkook’s hand steady on your skin, it’s strangely grounding. He’s meticulous, his touch light but firm as he stretches the skin on your ribs. You flinch slightly at the first bite of the needle, a sharp intake of breath escaping your lips.

"Stay with me, Y/N," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the needle. "Breathe. You're doing fine."

"I'm not going to cry, if that's what you're hoping for," you manage to say, though your voice is tight. "I’ve survived three-hour fittings in couture that was basically made of wire. I can handle this."

He chuckles, a low vibration you can feel through the chair. "Always the fighter. You know, I thought you were just another one of those girls who views people like me as a weekend adventure. Someone to tell your rich friends about to sound 'edgy.'"

"Is that what you think?" You look down at the top of his head, noticing how soft his dark hair looks. "That I’m just here for the thrill?"

"Usually, yeah," he admits, wiping away a drop of ink with a gentle swipe of a paper towel. "But then you solved that sketch. You didn't just look at it; you understood it. Most people in your world look at art for the price tag. You look for the soul."

You stay silent for a moment, the pain dulling into a strange, warm thrum. "My parents... they don't see the soul either. They see the investment. Every dress, every gala, even every 'friend' I make, it’s all part of a portfolio. Sometimes I feel like I'm just a piece of furniture in my own life."

Jungkook stops the machine for a second, looking up at you. The teasing mask is gone. His eyes are raw, honest. "I get that. My old man wanted me in a suit, sitting in a cubicle. He said tattoos were for losers. I had to burn bridges just to be able to breathe."

"You're lucky," you whisper. "You had the courage to burn them. I just keep polishing the railings of the bridge I'm trapped on."

"Maybe," he says softly, his gaze lingering on yours before he goes back to work. "But you’re here now. In a dusty studio in a bad part of town, getting inked by a 'cliché.' Seems like the polish is starting to wear off, Princess. And I like the version of you underneath a lot more."

For the next hour, the banter dies down. You talk about things you’ve never told the people in your circle, your fear of being ordinary, his obsession with perfection. You realize that despite the silk and the ink, you’re both just trying to find something real in a world full of performance.

When the machine finally stops, the silence feels heavy and intimate. He cleans the area, his fingers lingering on your skin a second too long to be professional.

"There," he says, stepping back to let you look. "A little piece of character for your perfect life."

You look in the mirror, and for the first time, you don't just see a beautiful girl in a designer outfit. You see someone who finally has a secret of her own, something permanent, something beautiful, and something that belongs only to you and the boy with the ink-stained hands.

The sharp, digital trill of your phone shatters the intimate silence of the studio like a stone through a glass window. You flinch, the spell broken. You reach for your bag and look at the screen: Father.

The weight of your reality settles back onto your shoulders, heavy, cold, and demanding. You let out a long, weary sigh, the vulnerability of the last hour evaporating as you snap your Princess mask back into place.

"I have to go," you say, your voice suddenly clipped and professional.

You stand up, adjusting your cashmere sweater, and reach into your bag. You pull out a thick stack of bills, far more than any tattoo, even one of this quality, would ever cost, and lay it firmly on his workbench.

Jungkook looks at the money, then at you, his eyes narrowing. The softness you saw earlier vanishes, replaced by a cold, sharp pride. "What is that?"

"Payment, Jungkook. I don't like being in debt," you say, not looking him in the eye as you reach for your jacket.

"I told you the first night, it was my treat," he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low growl. He picks up the cash and holds it out to you. "Take it back, Y/N. I’m not one of your service staff."

"Just take it," you snap, your frustration with your phone, your parents, and your life bubbling over. "It’s for your time. For the coffee. For... everything. Don't be difficult."

Jungkook steps toward you, his chest nearly brushing yours. He slams the money back down on the table with a thud. "I don't want your charity! I did this because I wanted to see you, not because I wanted to pad my bank account with your family's pocket change. Do you think everything in this world has a price tag?"

"In my world, it does!" you scream back, your voice echoing off the brick walls. "This is how things work! Why can't you just make this easy for once?"

"Because I'm not a transaction, Princess!" he yells, his jaw tight. "But I guess that’s all you know how to do, isn't it? Buy people so you don't have to actually feel anything?"

The words sting like a slap. Tears of anger prick at your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. "You’re impossible! You’re just a stubborn, arrogant boy who thinks he’s too good for the world that pays his bills!"

"And you're just a spoiled little bitch who’s too afraid to let someone do something for her out of the kindness of their heart!"

"Fine! Keep the money, burn it, I don't care!" you shriek, grabbing your bag and turning on your heel.

You storm out of the studio, your heels, even the designer sneakers feeling like weapons against the pavement. You don't look back as you slam your car door and peel away, the engine of the Mercedes screaming as you leave him standing in the shadows of the studio, the money still sitting untouched on the table.

The engine of your Mercedes roars as you tear away from the curb, but the sound can't drown out the echoing ring of his voice in your head. Too afraid to let someone do something for her out of the kindness of their heart.

The words burn. They feel like hot ink being stitched into your soul, deeper and more permanent than the lily on your ribs.

You grip the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turn white. It’s the same old story. To the world, you’re just a beautiful shell, a collection of high-end labels and cold transactions. Everyone sees the Spoiled Little Bitch, your parents see a trophy, your peers see a rival, and now, the one person you actually opened up to sees a coward.

Hot, angry tears finally spill over, ruining your perfect makeup. You hate that he’s right about the fear, but he’s so wrong about the rest. They don't see you when you anonymously donate half your trust fund to the shelters in the city. They don't see you when you spend your weekends quietly fixing structural plans for community centers just because you want them to be safe.

You have a heart, a massive, aching heart that you’ve spent your whole life protecting with diamonds because the world is too sharp to handle it any other way.

When you get home, you don't even turn on the lights. You go straight to the floor-to-ceiling window and look out at the city. You touch the bandage on your side, the skin underneath still throbbing.

You realize you didn't leave because of the money. You left because for the first time in your life, someone gave you something you couldn't buy, and it terrified you. You were so busy trying to stay in control that you pushed away the only person who actually looked at you and didn't see a price tag.

Your phone buzzes on the marble counter. It’s a text from Jimin.

Jimin: JK just called me. He sounded like he wanted to punch a wall, but mostly he just sounded miserable. Y/N... he’s not mad about the money. He’s mad because he thinks you don't trust him.

You stare at the screen, your heart heavy. You’re a good person, trapped in a life that forces you to be a diva. But as you look at the silhouette of the city, you know one thing for sure: the Princess is tired of her palace.

You stare at Jimin’s message, the blue light of the phone blurring through your tears. Your fingers tremble as you type back, each word feeling like a surrender.

To: Jimin He’s right, Jimin. He’s absolutely right. I am a spoiled bitch. I don’t know how to be anything else because this is the only language I’ve ever been taught to speak. If I can't buy it or control it, I break it. I think... I think I need to go. Tell him he’s better off without a "project" like me. I’m going to stay away for a while. Don't look for me.

You toss the phone onto the silk duvet and wrap your arms around yourself. The penthouse feels massive, hollow, and suffocatingly quiet. Every corner of the room is filled with perfection, yet all you can think about is the messy, ink-stained studio and the way Jungkook looked at you before the shouting started.

You go to your dressing room and catch your reflection in the three-way mirror. You look exactly like the girl everyone expects you to be, pristine, expensive, untouchable. But underneath the cashmere, the skin on your ribs is burning, a permanent reminder of a night where you almost let yourself be real.

Distance is your only defense. You’ve spent years building these walls out of gold and ego, and you aren't ready to let them crumble just because a boy with a lip piercing saw through them. You decide right then to immerse yourself in work, in galas, and in the mindless luxury of your social circle.

If being a spoiled bitch is the only thing that keeps you safe, then you’ll play the role until you believe it again. But as you lay in the dark, the silence is haunted by the ghost of his voice, and you realize that distancing yourself from him is going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

The weeks that follow are a masterclass in distraction. You bury yourself in your work, redesigning hotel lobbies and attending every high-society event on your calendar. You are the perfect Princess again, sharp, witty, and impeccably dressed. You stand in ballrooms sipping vintage champagne, surrounded by men in suits who speak in percentages and women who speak in hushed rumors.

On the surface, your life is back to its flawless, white-leather rhythm.

But late at night, when the city lights reflect off the glass walls of your bedroom, the silence becomes unbearable. You find yourself standing in front of the mirror, tracing the delicate lines of the lily on your ribs with your fingertips. It has healed beautifully, a hidden masterpiece that nobody in your perfect world knows exists.

Every time you see a black motorcycle weave through traffic, your heart skips a beat. Every time you catch the scent of clove cigarettes or sandalwood on a stranger, you have to remind yourself to breathe.

You take comfort in the fact that your paths never cross. He doesn't go to the operas you attend; you don't go to the underground clubs he frequents. You are safe in your world, and he is king of his.

But then, you receive an invitation to a massive charity auction for the city's youth arts program, a cause you’ve supported for years. As you scan the list of Featured Local Artists whose work will be auctioned for thousands of dollars, your blood runs cold.

Halfway down the page, in bold, unapologetic letters, stands one name: JEON JUNGKOOK.

Suddenly, the distance you worked so hard to create feels like a paper-thin veil, ready to be torn apart.

Your phone vibrates on your desk, and for the first time in weeks, you don't hesitate to check it.

Jimin: The Youth Arts Auction is tomorrow night. JK’s big debut in the gallery world. I know you’ve been "busy," but this is a big deal for the kids. Are you coming?

You stare at the screen. Your heart is doing that familiar, frantic dance against your ribs. You could make an excuse. You could say you have a board meeting or a headache. You could stay safe in your pristine, white-walled world where no one challenges you.

But then you think about the lily on your side. You think about the spoiled bitch comment that still stings every time you look in the mirror. You think about the fact that you’ve been supporting this charity for years, and skipping it now would be an admission of defeat.

You aren't a coward. And more importantly, you aren't going to let him think he scared you off.

To: Jimin Tell the caterers to chill the good champagne, Mimi. I wouldn't miss it for the world. And tell your friend to dress up it’s a gala, not a garage sale.

As soon as you hit send, a rush of adrenaline hits you. You spend the rest of the afternoon in a whirlwind of preparation. You call your stylist and demand the most breathtaking, formidable gown in the collection. If you're going to see him again, you aren't going as the girl in the cashmere sweater who cried in her car. You’re going as the Queen.

The night of the auction, you arrive in a dress of midnight-blue silk that clings to your curves like a second skin, with a slit that shows off your legs and a back so low it almost reveals the very edge of his tattoo. Your hair is swept up, and your diamonds are cold and brilliant.

When you walk into the gallery, the air seems to shift. You see Jimin immediately, looking sharp in a velvet blazer, but your eyes instinctively scan the room for someone else.

"You actually came," Jimin says, gliding over to take your hand. He leans in, whispering, "He’s in the north wing, by his main piece. He’s been pacing like a caged tiger all night."

"I'm here for the charity, Jimin," you say, lifting your chin and taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "Anything else is just... background noise."

You walk toward the north wing, your heels clicking with a lethal precision. The crowd parts for you, as it always does. And then, you see him.

Jungkook is wearing a black suit, no tie, the top buttons of his shirt open, revealing the tattoos climbing up his neck. He looks uncomfortable but devastatingly handsome, a rebel forced into a cage of high society.

He’s staring at his painting when he senses you. He turns slowly, and the moment his dark eyes lock onto yours, the rest of the room, the music, the voices, the clinking of glasses, simply ceases to exist.

"Princess," he breathes, his voice a low, rough shadow that cuts through your armor instantly. "I thought you'd be halfway to Paris by now."

You offer him a faint, practiced smile, the kind that usually keeps people at a distance, but your eyes soften as you turn your gaze to the canvas. It’s a large-scale piece, a chaotic yet controlled explosion of ink and oil paint. It has the same raw energy as his tattoos, but there’s a vulnerability in the brushstrokes that catches you off guard.

"I didn't know you made fine art, Jungkook," you say softly, stepping closer to the painting. "I thought you only worked on living canvases."

He shifts his weight, looking almost bashful for a split second before his usual cool exterior slides back into place. He shoves his hands into his suit pockets, looking at the floor rather than the masterpiece he created.

"I don't, usually," he admits, his voice low so only you can hear. "It’s just something I do on the side. Sketches, mostly. But Jimin wouldn't stop pestering me about this auction. Since it’s for the kids... I figured I could spare one piece."

He looks at you then, searching your face for the critique he’s clearly expecting. You ignore the high-society vultures circling the room and focus entirely on the work. It’s a depiction of a city skyline, but it’s distorted, viewed through what looks like shattered glass. It’s lonely and beautiful at the same time.

"It’s stunning," you whisper, and for once, there isn't a hint of sarcasm or diva in your tone. "The way you captured the light reflecting off the edges... it’s honest. It’s the most honest thing in this entire room."

Jungkook lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. A small, genuine smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Careful, Princess. If you keep being nice to me, people might start to think you have a heart of gold under all those diamonds."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," you retort, finally looking back at him, your eyes dancing with the old fire. "I’m just appreciating the art. The artist is still a massive pain in my neck."

"And you're still a brat," he counters, his dark eyes lingering on your bare shoulders. "But you're a brat with surprisingly good taste."

The tension from your fight at the studio is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but the anger has faded. Standing there in the middle of the crowded gallery, it feels like the distance you tried to create was nothing more than an illusion. You’re two different worlds, yes, but tonight, those worlds are overlapping again.

You wait until the auction officially begins, slipping away from the main hall into the shadows of the VIP lounge. You don't want to see the looks on people's faces, and you certainly don't want to see Jungkook’s reaction when he realizes who is driving the price up.

Using your private assistant’s account, you place a proxy bid that effectively shuts down the room. The amount is staggering, but you don't care. It’s not about the money anymore, it’s about making sure his talent is recognized with the weight it deserves, and ensuring that the kids get a donation they'll never forget.

A few minutes later, you see the "SOLD" tag being placed next to his canvas. A small, secret thrill runs through you.

You smooth out your midnight-blue silk dress and glide back into the main gallery, looking every bit the detached heiress. You find Jimin, Namjoon, and Jin standing near the bar and slide in beside them, taking a fresh glass of champagne.

"Did you see that?" Jin whispers, leaning in with wide eyes. "Someone just dropped a fortune on JK's piece. The director is practically hyperventilating with joy."

"Is that so?" you say, taking a calm, elegant sip of your drink. "Good for the charity. It was a decent piece of work."

Jimin narrows his eyes at you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He knows you too well. "Just decent, Y/N? You’ve been staring at it for twenty minutes. And you're remarkably calm for someone who usually has an opinion on every high-bidder in the room."

"I'm just enjoying the atmosphere, Jimin," you retort, tilting your head back to catch a glimpse of Jungkook across the room.

He’s surrounded by a group of gallery owners and patrons, but he looks completely overwhelmed, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. He looks like a man who just realized his life might have changed, but he’s still searching the crowd.

When his eyes finally find yours over the tops of the champagne flutes, you don't look away. You lift your glass in a subtle, silent toast, a tiny, mysterious smile on your lips.

He knows. Even from across the room, the way his jaw drops slightly and his gaze intensifies tells you he’s put the pieces together. You didn't just buy a painting; you made a statement. And as you turn back to Jin and start discussing the catering, your heart feels lighter than it has in weeks. You might be a spoiled bitch to the world, but tonight, you’re his biggest, and most expensive fan.

The cool night air hits your skin as you step out of the gallery, the heavy doors muffling the applause inside. You’re waiting for your driver when the door swings open again with a violent force.

"Are you serious right now?" Jungkook’s voice slices through the quiet of the alley.

You turn, your heels clicking on the pavement. He’s walking toward you, the expensive suit jacket open and flapping in the wind. He looks furious, his face flushed with a mix of adrenaline and genuine anger.

"I assume you're talking about the auction," you say, your voice perfectly level, though your heart begins to race. "It was a successful night for the charity."

"Don't give me that corporate PR bullshit, Y/N!" he snaps, stopping just inches from you. "That bid was a joke. You turned my work into a punchline. What was it? A pity prize? Did you think, 'Oh, poor little tattoo artist, let me throw him some of my pocket change so he feels like a real man'?"

"It wasn't pity, Jungkook. It was a fair price for—"

"It was mockery!" he shouts, stepping into your space. "You just wanted to prove that you still own everything. That even my art, the one thing I have that you can't buy, is just another toy for you. You’re so obsessed with being the Princess that you’d rather insult me with your money than actually respect me."

He lets out a harsh, jagged laugh. "You’re exactly what I thought. You're hollow. You’re just a bored, rich girl playing with people's lives because your own is so pathetic and empty."

The words hit you like a physical blow. You feel the familiar sting in your eyes, but this time, it’s not just anger, it’s a deep, raw ache. Your hands start to tremble at your sides.

Jimin steps out of the door behind him, his expression dropping as he hears the tail end of the outburst. "Jungkook, stop. You don't know what you're talking about—"

"No, Jimin, I know exactly what she is!" Jungkook gestures wildly at your midnight-blue dress and the diamonds at your throat. "She’s a fake. She’s a ghost in a designer dress who thinks a checkbook can fix her soul."

Your facade doesn't just crack; it shatters. You take a step forward, your voice trembling but dangerously low, vibrating with a pain you’ve never let him see.

"You think you have me figured out?" you whisper, the tears finally spilling over but your gaze remaining lethal. "You don't know me. You don't know anything about the things I do when the cameras aren't watching. You don't know the weight of the walls I have to build just to survive people like you who judge me before I even speak."

You poke a finger sharply into his chest, right over his heart.

"I bought that painting because I saw you in it. Because for a second, I thought you were the one person who actually saw me back. But you’re just as blind as the rest of them."

Your voice cracks as you pull your hand back. "So be quiet, Jungkook. Just... be quiet. You’ve said more than enough to prove how little you actually understand."

Jimin stands frozen, looking between the two of you, while Jungkook’s expression falters, the rage in his eyes flickering into a sudden, horrifying realization as he sees the genuine devastation on your face.

The silence that follows your words is heavy, thick with the scent of rain and the distant hum of the city. Jungkook reaches out, his fingers twitching as if he wants to grab your hand, but you pull back before he can even make contact.

"I’m done," you say, your voice cold and brittle, like ice about to snap.

"Y/N, wait—" Jungkook starts, his voice dropping the aggressive edge, replaced by a sudden, jagged uncertainty. "I didn't mean... I was just—"

"I don't care what you meant, Jungkook," you cut him off, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with a sharp, elegant motion. You look over at Jimin, who is watching the scene with a pained expression. "Jimin, I'm leaving. I'm not going back in there to smile and pretend everything is fine while my investment is being toasted."

"I'll come with you," Jimin says quickly, stepping toward you, but you shake your head.

"No. Stay. It’s his night. Go celebrate his mockery of a success," you say, the sarcasm tasting like ash in your mouth.

You turn your back on both of them, your midnight-blue train whispering against the wet pavement. You see your black sedan pulling up to the curb, the headlights cutting through the darkness of the alley.

"Y/N! Stop!" Jungkook calls out, his footsteps echoing as he follows you. "Just talk to me for a second. I overstepped, I know, but—"

You stop at the car door, your hand on the cold handle. You don't turn around. "You didn't just overstep, Jungkook. You showed me exactly where I stand in your world. I’m just a hollow fake to you, remember? And I have no desire to spend my night proving to a stranger that I have a soul."

"You're not a stranger," he rasps, his voice sounding closer now, thick with a frustration that sounds more like desperation.

"Tonight, you are," you reply.

You slide into the back seat, the leather feeling cold and indifferent. As the driver closes the door, you see Jungkook standing under the dim streetlamp, looking small and stranded in his expensive suit. His shadow stretches long across the pavement, reaching for a car that is already pulling away.

As the gallery fades into the distance, you lean your head against the window, watching the city lights blur. The lily on your ribs feels like a burn, a permanent mark of a girl who tried to be real and paid the price for it. You’re going home to your tower, to the silence and the perfection, where at least the walls don't talk back.

The ride home is a blur of passing streetlights and cold silence. When the elevator doors of your penthouse slide open, the quiet of the apartment feels like a physical weight. Everything is exactly where it should be, the marble floors are polished to a mirror shine, the air is perfectly climate-controlled, and the expensive art on the walls stares back at you with indifferent beauty.

For the first time, the perfection feels like a tomb.

You kick off your designer heels, the sharp thud they make on the floor echoing through the vast living space. You don't turn on the lights. You walk through the shadows to your bedroom, unzipping the midnight-blue silk dress and letting it fall in a heap on the floor. You don't care if it wrinkles; right now, it just feels like a costume for a character you're tired of playing.

In the bathroom, you step into the walk-in rainfall shower. You turn the handle until the water is steaming, almost scalding. As the glass fogs up, you lean your forehead against the cool tile and let the water wash away the scent of the gallery, the expensive perfume, and the traces of the night.

Your fingers brush against the tattoo on your ribs. The skin is smooth, but the memory of his hands, the way they felt so steady and sure, makes your chest ache. You think about his words again. Hollow. A ghost. You close your eyes tightly, letting the steam fill your lungs until you can't think about his angry silhouette under that streetlamp anymore.

After the shower, you don't reach for your usual silk nightgown. You pull on an oversized, soft cotton shirt and crawl into your massive bed. The sheets are crisp and high-thread-count, but they feel cold.

You turn your phone face down on the nightstand without checking for messages. You know Jimin has probably called. You know Jungkook might have tried to text. But tonight, you aren't a CEO, an heiress. You’re just a girl who tried to do something kind and got her heart bruised in return.

You pull the duvet up to your chin, watching the moonlight crawl across the ceiling. Slowly, exhaustion wins over the hurt, and you drift into a heavy, dreamless sleep, finally safe behind the high walls of your ivory tower.

The next morning, the sun hits the glass walls of your bedroom, but you stay under the covers, staring at nothing.

While you are drowning in silence, the air in the studio blocks away is thick with regret. Jungkook hasn't slept. He’s still in the suit trousers from last night, his white shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned, sitting on that same stool where he once tattooed you.

He keeps replaying the moment you poked him in the chest. He sees the way your eyes glassed over, not with the fake tears of a drama queen, but with the raw, jagged hurt of someone who had actually let their guard down.

In Jungkook’s world, everything is a fight. People only give you something if they want to own a piece of you. He grew up learning that kindness was just a shiny wrapper for a hidden agenda. When he saw that massive bid, his instinct wasn't gratitude; it was survival. He thought you were trying to buy his dignity, to turn his passion into just another one of your high-end accessories.

But then he remembered your face.

He remembered the way you looked at the canvas, the way you saw the negative space and the soul of the piece. He realized that a person who only cared about money wouldn't have looked at his art like it was a lifeline.

"I'm an idiot," he mutters into the empty studio, dropping his head into his hands.

He realizes now that for you, spending that money wasn't a power move; it was the only way you knew how to say, I believe in you. In your world, value is shown through investment. You weren't mocking him; you were honoring him in your own language. And he had responded by spitting on the only gift you knew how to give.

He looks at his phone, the screen glowing with a draft of a text he’s written and deleted twenty times. He’s a man of ink and steel, but right now, he feels completely powerless. He didn't just insult a spoiled bitch, He broke the heart of the only girl who ever looked at the man behind the tattoos and saw something worth protecting.

He knows he’s messed up. He knows that staying at a distance is exactly what you’ll do, because that’s what people like you do when they’re hurt, they retreat into their gold-plated fortresses. And for the first time in his life, Jungkook doesn't want to fight the world; he just wants to find a way to climb your walls.

For the next few weeks, you become a ghost in your own city. You lean into your work with a cold, relentless focus that leaves your assistants trembling. You take every business trip offered, Singapore for a hotel launch, Milan for a private viewing, London for a structural consultation.

You live out of designer suitcases and five-star suites, finding comfort in the anonymity of luxury. In these places, nobody knows about the girl who sat in a dusty tattoo studio. Nobody knows about the lily hidden beneath your silk blouses. Here, you are just a name on a contract, a formidable force of nature with a perfect manicure.

You've blocked the noise. You haven't spoken to Jimin in weeks, ignoring his frequent "Are you alive?" texts. You’ve successfully scrubbed the image of Jungkook’s angry face from your mind, or so you tell yourself.

The distance is your sanctuary. You stay in the light of the high-end world where everything has a place and every emotion is moderated by etiquette. You tell yourself you’re happy. You tell yourself that the sting in your chest is just fatigue from the constant travel.

But sometimes, in the quiet of a hotel room in a city where no one knows your name, you find yourself tracing the lines of your tattoo through your clothes. You think about how you're finally doing what you said: you’re at a distance. You're safe. And yet, the perfection of your life feels more like a vacuum than ever before, silent, empty, and devoid of the one thing that actually made you feel alive: the friction of someone who dared to challenge you.

After a month of living out of suitcases, the familiar skyline of your home city finally pulls you back. You agree to meet Jimin for lunch at an exclusive rooftop restaurant, one with a strict dress code and even stricter privacy. You’re wearing a sharp, charcoal-grey blazer over a silk camisole, looking every bit the composed professional you’ve reclaimed yourself to be.

The conversation starts light. You talk about the architecture in Milan and the frantic energy of London. Jimin listens, picking at his lobster salad, until the pleasantries finally run dry.

"You look good, Y/N," Jimin says, leaning back and studying you with those perceptive eyes. "But you’re also wearing that CEO mask again. The one that’s impossible to crack."

You take a slow sip of your sparkling water, looking out at the city. "It’s a functional mask, Jimin. It gets the job done."

"Right," he sighs, his voice dropping an octave. "Look, I know you said you wanted distance. And you’ve certainly taken it. But things have been... intense back here."

You stiffen slightly, but keep your gaze fixed on the horizon. "How is everyone?"

"The guys are fine. But Jungkook..." Jimin pauses, watching your reaction. "He’s practically living at the studio. He hasn't been out with us once since the auction. He’s taking on double the clients, working until three or four in the morning every night. Yoongi says he’s like a machine. No breaks, no talking. Just ink and silence."

A small, sharp pang hits your chest, but you push it down. You trace the rim of your crystal glass with a manicured finger.

"Maybe it’s good for him," you say quietly. "He always wanted to be taken seriously as an artist. Now he has the investment to prove he is."

"He’s miserable, Y/N," Jimin counters gently. "And he knows he was a jerk. He’s working like that because it’s the only way he knows how to keep his head from spinning."

You let out a long, weary breath, finally looking at Jimin. Your composure wavers just for a second. "I really thought... for a moment there, that we understood each other. I thought he could have been a truly good friend. Someone who actually saw through all the noise of my life. But I guess we’re just too different. He looks at me and sees a predator, and I look at him and see a risk I can't afford to take."

"He doesn't see a predator," Jimin says firmly. "He sees someone he doesn't know how to deserve. That’s why he lashed out."

"It doesn't matter now," you say, straightening your blazer and putting the mask back on. "He made his choice, and I made mine. I’m glad he’s working. At least one of us is being productive with our regrets."

Jimin looks like he wants to say more, but he sees the finality in your eyes and stays quiet. The rest of the lunch is spent in a polite, hollow comfort, but the image of Jungkook alone in that dark studio, working himself to exhaustion, follows you all the way back to your office.

The opportunity for the inevitable collision comes two weeks later. Jimin, the master of accidental social engineering, organizes a private gathering at a secluded, ultra-chic lounge in Gangnam. It’s a celebration for one of Jin’s business ventures, meaning the entire circle is there, including the one person you’ve spent every waking hour trying to forget.

You decide to lean into the Princess persona with lethal intent. If you're going to see him, you’re going to be a masterpiece he can’t touch. You wear a black, body-con mini dress that looks like it was poured onto your skin. It features a daring, sharp cut-out along your right ribs, framed by delicate gold chains. It doesn't just hint at the tattoo; it puts the edge of the ink on full display his work, on your body, for everyone to see.

When you walk in, the room is already buzzing. You spot the group in a plush velvet booth in the corner.

Jungkook is there, sitting with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looks effortlessly hot a simple black t-shirt that clings to his chest, faded denim, and his hair slightly tousled as if he just rolled out of bed or off his bike. The contrast between your high-fashion armor and his raw, casual energy is electric.

Your eyes meet for a split second, a spark of pure friction igniting in the air, but you look away first.

"Y/N! You actually made it!" Jimin chirps, pulling you into the booth.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," you say, your voice smooth as silk. You sit directly across from Jungkook, crossing your legs slowly. You don't acknowledge him. Not a nod, not a "hello."

"Drink?" Namjoon asks, sensing the atmospheric pressure in the room dropping.

"Champagne. The vintage brut," you reply, flashing a smile that doesn't reach your eyes.

For the next hour, you are the life of the party. You laugh at Jin’s jokes, you discuss art with Hoseok, and you flirt harmlessly with a young architect Jimin brought along. You act as if Jungkook is part of the furniture, a ghost in a black t-shirt.

He plays the game just as well. He talks to Yoongi about music, his deep voice rumbling through the music, but he never addresses you. He doesn't look at you at least, not when you’re looking at him. But you can feel his gaze. You feel it every time you move, every time the gold chains of your dress clink, every time the light catches the lily on your ribs.

He’s fuming. You can tell by the way his jaw is set tight and the way he grips his glass.

"So, Y/N," Hoseok says, leaning in. "That tattoo... I don't think I've seen the whole thing properly. The detail is incredible."

"It was a whim," you say casually, swirling your champagne. "A talented artist did it, though he was a bit temperamental. I treat it like any other piece of jewelry, beautiful to look at, but ultimately just a surface-level decoration."

You see Jungkook’s knuckles turn white. He finally looks at you, his dark eyes burning with a mix of desire and pure, unadulterated frustration.

"Is that all it is?" Jungkook finally speaks, his voice a low, dangerous growl that cuts through the table's conversation. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you in weeks. "Just a decoration?"

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with icy calm. "What else would it be, Mr. Jeon? I’m a woman of luxury. I like pretty things. Once they’re paid for, I don't usually spend much time thinking about the process behind them."

The table goes silent. Jimin looks like he wants to hide under the velvet cushions. The stranger act is working, but the air between you and Jungkook is so thick with unspoken words that it feels like the whole room might catch fire.

The night drags on in a war of nerves. You continue your performance, laughing a little too loudly and leaning into conversations with everyone but him. Jungkook plays his part too, leaning back with a deceptive coolness, though his eyes follow the movement of the gold chains against your skin like a predator tracking its prey.

One by one, the group thins out. Jin leaves for an early flight, Namjoon and Yoongi head out to a late-night studio session, and finally, a very reluctant Jimin is dragged away by Hoseok, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence in their wake.

The lounge is nearly empty now. The music has shifted to something low and atmospheric, all bass and shadows. You stay seated, slowly swirling the last of your champagne, refusing to be the first one to break.

"You're really going to keep this up?"

Jungkook’s voice is rough, stripped of the playful edge he usually carries. He’s leaned forward now, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor between his boots.

"Keep what up, Jungkook?" you ask, your tone bored, though your heart is hammering against your ribs, right where his art sits.

"This." He gestures vaguely between the two of you. "The Mr. Jeon bullshit. The way you’re sitting there in a dress designed specifically to remind me of every second I spent with my hands on your skin, while pretending I don't exist."

"I told you," you say, finally looking at him. Your eyes are cold, but your mask is starting to feel heavy. "I’m just a ghost in a designer dress. Why would a ghost need to speak to you?"

Jungkook lets out a sharp, frustrated breath and stands up. He walks around the table until he’s standing over you. The scent of him, leather, expensive whiskey, and that faint hint of tattoo ink, hits you like a physical force.

"I deserved that," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I deserved every cold look you’ve given me tonight. I said things that were ugly because I was scared. Because I realized I actually liked a girl who could buy and sell me ten times over, and it made me feel small."

You look up at him, your composure finally faltering. "You didn't just make me feel small, Jungkook. You made me feel like every kind thing I’ve ever tried to do was just a lie I told myself."

He drops to his hunkers so he's at eye level with you, his proximity overwhelming. He reaches out, his fingers hovering just inches from the cut-out in your dress, tracing the air above the lily.

"It wasn't a lie," he rasps, his dark eyes searching yours. "I saw the look on your face when you left. I’ve seen it every night since. You aren't hollow, Y/N. You’re the most real thing I’ve ever touched, and I’m a goddamn idiot for trying to push you back into that box just to protect my own pride."

He finally lets his fingers brush against the edge of the tattoo, the heat of his skin sending a jolt through you that makes your breath hitch.

"I don't want to be strangers," he says, his gaze dropping to your lips. "And I don't think you do either."

The air between you is thick, charged with weeks of unspoken tension and the sudden, raw honesty in his voice. Jungkook’s hand is still warm against your skin, his thumb tracing the curve of the lily he gave you. He leans in, his eyes dark and focused, and for a split second, the world outside the booth ceases to exist.

Just as the space between your lips vanishes, the heavy lounge doors swing open with a violent thud.

"Y/N! Jungkook! You won't believe—"

Jimin comes skidding into the room, his face flushed and his phone clutched in his hand. He stops dead, his eyes darting between Jungkook’s proximity and your flustered expression. The romantic atmosphere doesn't just break; it shatters into a thousand pieces.

"Oh," Jimin squeaks, his voice hitting a high note. "I... uh... did I... am I interrupting a moment?"

The spell is broken. The Princess in you slams the armor back into place instantly. You stand up abruptly, smoothing out the black silk of your dress and adjusting the gold chains over your ribs. The cold, professional mask is back on before Jungkook can even stand up.

"You’re not interrupting anything, Jimin," you say, your voice remarkably steady despite the roar of your heartbeat.

Jungkook stays on the floor for a moment, his head hanging as he lets out a long, frustrated groan that vibrates through the floorboards. When he finally stands, he looks at Jimin with a gaze that could melt steel.

"I have to go," you announce, reaching for your clutch. "It’s late, and I have a board meeting at 8:00 AM."

"Wait, Y/N—" Jungkook reaches for your arm, his fingers brushing the silk of your sleeve. "We aren't finished talking."

"Actually, I think we are," you say, not looking him in the eye because you know if you do, you’ll stay. You turn to Jimin, who is looking back and forth between you like he’s watching a tennis match. "Goodnight, Mimi. Thank you for the evening."

You don't wait for a response. You turn on your heel, your heels clicking a sharp, rhythmic beat against the floor as you head for the exit. You don't look back at the boy in the white t-shirt who finally admitted he was wrong, or at the friend who just accidentally saved you from making a very complicated mistake.

As you step out into the cool night air and signal for your driver, you touch your ribs through the cut-out of your dress. Your skin is still tingling where he touched you. You're heading back to your quiet, perfect apartment, but for the first time, the Princess feels like she’s just running away from the only person who actually knows how to make her feel alive.

The next morning, the board meeting is a blur of numbers and faces you barely recognize. Your mind is stuck in that dimly lit lounge, replaying the heat of his touch. During a coffee break, your phone buzzes with a notification that makes your heart skip a beat.

@Jungkook_Art has posted a new photo.

You click it, and your breath hitches. It’s a close-up, black-and-white shot of your ribs from the night he finished the tattoo. It’s intimate and raw. The lighting highlights the delicate curve of your waist and the sharp, beautiful lines of the lily. He didn't show your face, but anyone who knows you or saw you last night would recognize that skin, that silhouette.

The caption is simple:

“Some art is too stubborn to stay hidden. My favorite work to date.”

Your fingers hover over the screen. You should ignore it. You should stay the "mysterious heiress." But the spoiled bitch is tired of playing safe. You type a comment, your heart racing.

@YN_Official: I hope you aren't charging me for the publicity, Mr. Jeon. It looks better in person.

The internet goes into a frenzy immediately, but you put your phone away, a small, triumphant smirk on your lips.

Ten minutes later, a private message pops up.

Jungkook: You’re right. It does look better in person. Especially last night.

Jungkook: I can't stop thinking about how Jimin’s timing is officially the worst in human history.

Jungkook: Can I see you today? No galleries, no luxury lounges, no crowds. Just us.

You stare at the message. The walls of your office feel like they’re closing in. You look at your schedule, a lunch with investors, a site visit, a gala prep. You should say no. You should keep the distance.

To: Jungkook My driver is dropping me off at 7:00 PM. Don't make me regret opening the door.

Jungkook: I’m already on my way to get the good coffee. See you at 7, Princess.

For the first time in weeks, the Princess isn't looking at the clock wishing for the day to end. She’s counting down the seconds until it starts.

The car pulls up to the familiar, slightly weathered brick building, and for the first time, the sight of the industrial neighborhood doesn't make you want to roll up the windows and lock the doors. You step out onto the pavement, your silk trench coat fluttering in the breeze, and head straight for the heavy metal door.

You don't even have to knock. The door swings open before you reach it, and there he is.

Jungkook is leaning against the frame, looking exactly like he did in your dreams, relaxed, a bit messy, and completely focused on you. He’s ditched the suit for a pair of baggy black cargos and a worn-out band tee, his hair tucked behind his ears. The scent of fresh coffee and cedarwood drifts from the studio, hitting you like a wave of nostalgia.

"You're late," he says, a teasing glint in his eyes as he checks a non-existent watch on his tattooed wrist. "I was starting to think you'd gotten stuck in a board meeting about the price of gold."

"Traffic was horrific," you retort, stepping past him into the warmth of the studio. You drop your designer bag on the workbench, the expensive leather looking wildly out of place next to his ink bottles. "And for your information, it was a meeting about urban infrastructure. Much more boring."

The door clicks shut behind you, and the muffled sounds of the city outside vanish. Suddenly, the space feels very small, and the tension from the night before returns, but this time, it’s not sharp or angry. It’s soft.

Jungkook walks over to the small kitchenette area and hands you a steaming ceramic mug. "No gold-rimmed china here, Princess. Just the best roast in the city."

"I'll manage," you whisper, taking the mug. Your fingers brush against his, and you feel that familiar spark crawl up your arm.

He doesn't move away. He stays close, his presence grounding you in a way your penthouse never could. He looks down at you, his gaze dropping to the collar of your coat, knowing exactly what’s hidden beneath the layers.

"I didn't think you'd actually come," he admits, his voice losing its playful edge. "After everything I said... I figured you'd have replaced me with a more polite hobby by now."

"I tried," you say, looking up at him, finally letting the mask fall completely. "But it turns out everything else is just... boring. And I've spent enough of my life being bored, Jungkook."

A slow, genuine smile spreads across his face, the kind of smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your cheek.

"Good," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, intimate vibration. "Because I have a lot more than decorations to show you."

You take a slow sip of the coffee, the warmth spreading through you, but your expression remains guarded. You look up at him, your voice barely a breath against the quiet hum of the studio.

"Jungkook," you whisper, your eyes searching his. "I don't do this. I don't date. My life is a series of schedules, reputations, and expectations. I can't have a relationship. I can't give you... whatever it is people like us are supposed to give."

You expect him to look disappointed or to pull away. In your world, everything is an all-or-nothing contract. But Jungkook just leans back against the workbench, a lazy, unbothered smirk playing on his lips. He doesn't look like a man who just got rejected; he looks like a man who just won a bet.

"Who said anything about a relationship, Princess?" he asks, tilting his head. He reaches out, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with agonizing slowness. "I'm a busy guy. You're a busy woman. I don't need a label, and I definitely don't need to attend your fancy galas as a plus-one."

He steps closer, closing the gap until the heat radiating from his body makes your breath hitch. He looks down at you, his dark eyes filled with a playful, dangerous light.

"How about this?" he murmurs, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that makes your knees weak. "We can just be friends. Friends who hang out, friends who talk about art... and friends who occasionally lose their minds and kiss each other when the silence gets too loud."

He leans in, his lips hovering just an inch from yours, giving you every chance to pull away. "Does that fit into your busy schedule? Or do I need to send a formal request to your assistant?"

You let out a shaky breath, the last of your defenses crumbling. You realize he’s offering you exactly what you need, the fire without the cage.

"I think," you whisper, reaching up to grab the front of his worn-out tee, "I can find a small opening in my calendar for that."

Jungkook doesn't wait for another word. He tilts his head and finally, without Jimin or the world watching, he claims your lips in a kiss that tastes like coffee, rebellion, and everything you’ve been starving for.

The kiss is deep and frantic, a release of all the bitterness and longing from the past weeks. You taste like expensive cherry lip oil and sweet champagne, while he tastes of cool mint and the dark, earthy coffee he just brewed. The contrast is intoxicating.

Jungkook doesn't play fair. His hands slide from your waist down to your thighs, and with one powerful lift, he hoists you onto the workbench. Your silk trench coat flutters open, and as your short dress hitches up, the harsh studio lights catch the sparkle of your pink lace thong, the rhinestones shimmering against your skin.

He pauses for a split second, his dark eyes darkening further as he takes in the sight of you, completely smooth and perfectly groomed, a stark contrast to his rough, ink-covered surroundings.

"Princess," he growls, his voice vibrating against your skin. "You're a goddamn masterpiece."

He doesn't waste another second. He drops to his knees between your legs, his large, tattooed hands gripping your thighs to pull you to the very edge of the counter. When his tongue first makes contact, you let out a sharp, choked gasp, your fingers digging into his hair, pulling him closer. He is precise and relentless, swirling and flicking with a hunger that tells you he’s been thinking about this since the moment you first walked into his shop.

The heat building in your core is a fever. You’re arched back, your head hitting the brick wall behind you, your breath coming in ragged hitches. You are seconds away, literally on the precipice of screaming his name—when the heavy metal door of the studio slams open with a familiar, cheerful bang.

"JK! Tell me you didn't leave the stove on, the whole hallway smells like—"

Jimin.

You freeze. Jungkook’s head snaps up, his eyes blown wide, his face flushed. With the reflexes of a man used to getting caught in bad spots, he lunges forward, standing up and shielding your lower half with his broad shoulders just as Jimin rounds the corner of the partition.

"Whoa! Y/N! You're back!" Jimin beams, oblivious to the fact that you are currently panting, half-dressed, and vibrating from a ruined climax.

You scramble to pull your coat over your lap, your hands shaking as you smooth down the silk. The sudden halt to the sensation feels like a physical ache, a hollow, frustrated throb that makes you want to throw your coffee mug at Jimin's head.

"Jimin," Jungkook rasps, his voice sounding like he just swallowed glass. He’s standing stiffly, his back to you, trying to block Jimin’s view of the workbench. "What are you doing here? It's late."

"I forgot my keys! And I figured I’d see if you two finally stopped being stubborn," Jimin says, hopping onto a stool a few feet away, completely missing the murderous look in Jungkook's eyes. "So? Did you guys talk it out? Are we all friends again?"

You take a shaky breath, trying to force your voice to sound like a CEO and not a woman who was just seconds away from coming. "We... we were just discussing the, uh, final payment for the painting, Jimin."

"Business as usual, then?" Jimin grins, swinging his legs. "Good. I hate it when my favorite people fight."

Jungkook closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep, steadying breath. He looks back at you over his shoulder, a flash of pure, unadulterated frustration and hidden promise in his gaze. He knows he just robbed you of the best moment of your week, and he knows Jimin has absolutely no idea.

"Yeah, Jimin," Jungkook says, his voice low and tight. "Everything is... exactly where it's supposed to be."

The sudden drop in adrenaline leaves you feeling lightheaded and physically aching. You can still feel the ghost of his tongue, the cold air hitting your damp skin, and the frustratingly sharp almost that Jimin so cheerfully interrupted.

Without meeting either of their eyes, you slide off the workbench. Your legs feel like jelly for a second, but you lock your knees, pulling your silk trench coat tightly around your waist and knotting the belt with trembling fingers.

"I really should get going," you say, your voice a pitch higher than usual. You grab your bag from the counter, your movements frantic and uncoordinated.

"Wait, Y/N, you just got here!" Jimin says, looking genuinely confused by your sudden rush. "I was going to suggest we grab some late-night ramen."

"I have a very early meeting tomorrow," you lie, finally looking toward the door. "Actually, my driver is probably circling the block. Jungkook, Jimin... goodnight."

Jungkook is standing like a statue, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to hide how badly he wants to reach out and pull you back. His jaw is so tight you can see the muscle pulsing. As you pass him, he shifts just enough for his shoulder to brush yours, a heavy, silent promise that this isn't over.

"See you around, Princess," he says, his voice a low, rough vibration that sends one last shiver down your spine.

You don't answer. You practically bolt out the door, the heavy metal clanging shut behind you.

The cool night air is a shock to your system. You climb into the back of your car and lean your forehead against the window, closing your eyes tightly. Your heart is still thumping a wild, uneven rhythm against your ribs. You’re frustrated, you’re flustered, and you’re absolutely certain of one thing:

Being just friends with Jungkook is going to be the most dangerous thing you've ever done.

The ride back to your penthouse is an agonizing exercise in self-control. Every bump in the road is a reminder of the friction you just lost, and the silence of the car is deafening compared to the raw, heavy breathing that filled the studio moments ago. You stare out at the neon lights of the city, feeling like a wire pulled far too tight.

As soon as you step inside your apartment, you don't even turn on the lights. You drop your bag on the marble floor and lean back against the cold mahogany of your front door, sliding down until you’re sitting on the floor.

Your phone vibrates.

It’s a text from him.

Jungkook: Jimin just left. If he wasn't my best friend, I’d have thrown him off the roof.

Jungkook: I can still taste you. I’m going to lose my mind tonight thinking about how close we were.

You let out a shaky breath, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard. You should be professional. You should be the Princess who doesn't let a man affect her this way. But the memory of him kneeling between your legs, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, is too strong.

To: Jungkook

You’re a tease, Mr. Jeon. And for the record? My schedule for tomorrow just became suspiciously empty.

Jungkook: Good. Because I have no intention of letting you leave the studio until I finish what I started. Wear that dress again. Or don’t wear anything at all. I don’t think I’ll care.

You toss the phone onto the rug, a small, genuine laugh escaping your lips. The distance you tried so hard to maintain has completely evaporated. You aren't just friends, and you aren't just a client. You’re two people playing a very dangerous game with very high stakes.

You walk toward your bedroom, unknotting the belt of your coat. As you pass the full-length mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself hair slightly messy, lips bitten red, and a wild look in your eyes you’ve never seen before.

You look alive.

You fall into your massive, empty bed, the silk sheets feeling like a poor substitute for his hands. Tomorrow, the Princess will have to deal with board meetings and reputations. But tonight, she’s just waiting for the sun to come up so she can go back to the shadows where the real art happens.

The next morning, you move with a calculated sense of purpose. You spend hours at your private spa, undergoing the full ritual: a meticulous pedicure, a skin-softening body scrub, and a fresh waxing that leaves you feeling like polished silk. You are preparing for him like you’re preparing for a takeover every detail perfect, every surface flawless.

When evening finally rolls around, you choose a simple, high-necked black knit dress. It looks modest enough from the outside, but the heavy fabric clings to your curves, and more importantly, it hides the fact that you have no underwear on underneath. The cool air against your skin as you walk from the car to the studio is a constant, electrifying reminder of your secret.

You push open the heavy studio door, the bell chiming softly.

Jungkook is at his station, his back to you. He’s leaning over a young woman, his gloved hands steady as he works on a delicate piece on her forearm. The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the room, a rhythmic, hypnotic sound.

He glances over his shoulder, and for a split second, his focus falters. His eyes sweep over you taking in your calm expression, your perfectly styled hair, and the way you’re carrying yourself with an almost regal grace.

"Hey," he rasps, his voice a little rougher than usual. "I’m just finishing up here. It’ll be another twenty minutes."

"Please, don't rush on my account," you say, flashing him a smile that is far too innocent for the reality of your situation. "I'm happy to wait."

You walk over to the lounge area with a graceful sway of your hips. You greet the girl on the table with a warm, genuine "Hello," and a compliment on her choice of design. You look like the perfect, friendly socialite poised, polite, and completely at ease.

You take a seat on the leather sofa directly in his line of sight. You cross your legs slowly, the hem of your dress riding up just a few inches higher than necessary. You can feel the slight draft, the absence of the lace you usually wear, and the knowledge of what's waiting for him makes your blood hum.

Jungkook tries to turn his attention back to his client, but you see the way his neck muscles tense. He wipes the ink from the girl’s arm a little more aggressively than usual. Every time he has to reach for a new needle or adjust the light, his gaze involuntarily flickers toward you.

You pick up an art magazine from the coffee table, flipping through the pages with a soft, idle hum. You are the picture of patience, a friend just waiting for a chat. But every time you shift your weight or catch his eye, you see the flicker of dark, possessive heat in his expression.

He knows you're up to something. He can see it in the way your eyes dance when you look at him. He just doesn't realize yet that the Princess didn't come to talk, she came to finish what Jimin interrupted.

The buzz of the machine continues, a steady drone that underscores the hushed conversation between Jungkook and his client. He’s being professional, explaining the aftercare in that low, soothing voice he uses when he’s focused, but you can see the slight sweat on his brow. He’s distracted, and he’s trying like hell not to show it.

"Make sure you keep it covered for at least four hours," he tells the girl, his voice sounding a bit tighter than usual.

"Thanks, Jungkook. It’s perfect," she chirps, clearly charmed by him.

You smile at them over the top of your magazine, the epitome of grace. "It really is a beautiful piece," you add helpfully.

As they finish up the paperwork, you decide to make yourself useful. You stand up, the knit of your dress shifting over your bare skin with a soft, sliding sensation that makes your breath catch. You begin to move around the peripheral area of the studio, picking up some stray sketch papers and organizing the messy stack of art books on the side table.

You lean over to reach a stray pencil on the floor, knowing exactly how the fabric of your dress pulls tight over your hips as you do. You aren't being overt; you're just helping.

Jungkook’s eyes follow you like a hawk. He’s mid-sentence with his client, but he completely loses his train of thought when you stretch upward to place a heavy book on a high shelf, the hem of your dress lifting just enough to be dangerous. He clears his throat loudly, turning back to the girl with a forced smile to take her payment.

"I’ll... uh, I’ll see you for the touch-up in three weeks," he says, almost ushering her toward the door.

You continue your "cleaning," huming a soft tune as you wipe down a nearby counter with a paper towel. You can hear the girl’s footsteps fading down the hallway and the heavy clack of the door bolt sliding into place.

The silence that follows is thick enough to cut with a knife.

"You're a very helpful 'friend,' Y/N," Jungkook says from behind you. His voice is deep, vibrating right at the base of your neck.

You don't turn around yet. You just keep tidying, your back to him. "I just thought I’d save you some time. You seemed... busy."

He’s standing right behind you now. You can feel the heat radiating from his chest. He reaches past you, his tattooed arm caging you against the counter, and grabs the paper towel from your hand.

"The cleaning can wait," he growls, his nose brushing against the shell of your ear. "And we both know you didn't come here to organize my books."

He turns you around slowly, his hands gripping your waist. His eyes are dark, searching yours with an intensity that makes your heart hammer. "So, Princess... tell me. Why are you being so helpful tonight?"

You look up at him, your long lashes fluttering as you hold his gaze with an intensity that strips away any remaining pretense. You reach out, your fingers tracing the firm line of his jaw before sliding down to the collar of his shirt.

"I'm a very efficient woman, Jungkook," you whisper, your voice a low, sultry purr that vibrates between you. "And I hate leaving business unfinished. I’m here to pick up exactly where we were interrupted yesterday."

Jungkook’s pupils dilate until his eyes are almost entirely black. He doesn't say a word. He simply hooks his hands under your thighs and hoists you back onto that same workbench, moving with a feral, urgent energy. He hikes the knit fabric of your dress up to your waist in one swift motion, and his breath hitches in his throat when he realizes there is nothing but smooth, soft skin waiting for him.

"No underwear, Princess?" he rasps, his voice thick with a mix of shock and pure, unadulterated lust. "You really are trying to kill me."

He wasted no time. He knelt between your legs, his hands gripping your hips so hard his knuckles turned white. When his tongue made contact, it was a revelation, hot, wet, and incredibly skilled. You arched your back, your head hitting the wall as a jagged moan escaped your lips. He was relentless, using his thumb to create a friction that sent white-hot sparks behind your eyelids. You were climbing, faster than before, your body beginning to tremble as the pressure coiled tight in your lower belly.

You were right on the edge, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you prepared to shatter—

"HEY! Party’s moved here! We brought fried chicken!"

Hoseok’s booming voice echoed through the studio, followed by the sound of at least four pairs of footsteps and Jin’s distinctive laugh.

"Is the door open? JK! We’re coming in!"

The shock hits you like a bucket of ice water. Your orgasm, which was literally a heartbeat away, vanishes into a cloud of frustration so intense it makes your eyes sting.

"Are you kidding me?!" Jungkook snarls against your skin, but he’s already moving.

Before the guys can turn the corner into the main workspace, you’ve already scrambled off the counter. You don't wait for an explanation, and you don't stay to play the friendly socialite this time. You’re too flushed, too breathless, and far too close to a breakdown.

You bolt toward the small bathroom in the back of the studio, the hem of your dress flying as you run. You slam the door and lock it just as you hear Namjoon’s voice.

"Jungkook? Why do you look like you just ran a marathon? And why is it so quiet in here?"

Inside the cramped bathroom, you lean against the door, your chest heaving. You look in the mirror; your hair is a mess, your lips are swollen and dark, and your skin is flushed a deep, tell-tale pink. You sink to the floor, putting your head in your hands.

Twice. In twenty-four hours. You are starting to think the universe, and your friends, are actively conspiring against your sex life. Behind the door, you can hear the clatter of food containers and the guys' boisterous chatter, completely unaware that they just committed the ultimate social crime.

You stay in the bathroom for a few minutes, splashing cold water on your face and smoothing your hair until the mask is firmly back in place. You take a deep breath, adjust your knit dress, and unlock the door.

When you walk back into the main room, the scene is chaotic. Hoseok, Jin, Namjoon, and Jimin are spread out around the studio, opening boxes of fried chicken and setting out drinks. Jungkook is standing by his workbench, scrubbing a spot on the counter with a cloth, looking like he’s trying to manifest a hole in the floor to swallow his friends whole.

"Ah, Y/N! There you are!" Jin beams, waving a drumstick at you. "We were wondering where the guest of honor went."

You offer a calm, slightly tired smile, walking toward the group with perfect composure. "Just freshening up. It’s been a long day of consultations."

Jungkook looks up, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a lingering heat in his gaze, a mixture of "I’m so sorry" and "I still want to finish this", but he follows your lead.

"So, what’s the occasion for the secret meeting?" Jimin asks, looking back and forth between you two with that annoying, intuitive spark in his eyes.

"Nothing secret, Jimin," you say smoothly, reaching for a napkin. "Jungkook and I were just finishing the final sketches for my next piece. We were discussing a new tattoo."

"Another one?" Namjoon asks, leaning in. "Where? What’s the design?"

"It’s a larger piece," you lie effortlessly, gesturing vaguely toward your back. "Something intricate. It takes a lot of... positioning and planning to get the lines right. We were just finalizing the placement when you all burst in."

Jungkook clears his throat, finally finding his voice. "Yeah. It's a complex design. Very... hands-on work. We needed the silence to focus."

"Well, sorry for the interruption, but you have to eat!" Hoseok says, handing you a drink.

You sit down with them, joining the conversation about everything and nothing. On the surface, you are the perfect, elegant friend, laughing at Jin's jokes and asking about Namjoon's music. But underneath the table, your leg brushes against Jungkook’s.

He doesn't move away. Instead, he presses his thigh firmly against yours, a silent, burning reminder of what was happening just five minutes ago. You take a bite of chicken, looking perfectly poised, while your body is still screaming for the touch that Jimin and the others just stole from you for the second time.

As the guys settle into their food, the conversation naturally drifts toward the mundane—Jimin’s gym routine, Jin’s latest gaming obsession, and the chaos of the city. You play along for a while, but eventually, the focus shifts to you.

"So, Y/N," Namjoon says, leaning back with a look of genuine curiosity. "What does the future heir actually do all day? Or is it all just signing papers in high-rise buildings?"

You set your drink down and lean forward, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. This is your home turf. "Actually, I spent most of today on a secure call with a team in Dubai. We’re working on a Luminescent Urban Grid, it’s a project that uses bioluminescent concrete for city walkways."

"Glow-in-the-dark sidewalks?" Hoseok asks, his eyes wide.

"In a way," you explain, your voice becoming animated as you describe the fusion of biology and architecture. "It captures solar energy during the day and emits a soft, natural blue light at night. It’s completely sustainable, and it removes the need for traditional streetlights in public parks. We had to negotiate the chemical stability because the humidity in the Middle East is brutal on the synthetic proteins."

You go on to describe the high-stakes world of international bidding and the "architectural espionage" involved when rival firms try to steal your engineering blueprints. The guys are genuinely hooked, hanging on every word as you describe a world of billions of dollars, secret tech, and futuristic cities.

Beside you, Jungkook is uncharacteristically quiet. He’s watching you, but not with the frustrated lust from five minutes ago. He’s looking at you with a new kind of intensity, a quiet admiration. He’s seeing the side of you that runs an empire, the sharp, brilliant mind that commands rooms full of men twice your age.

"Wow," Jimin says, shaking his head. "And here I thought my biggest problem today was picking the right filter for my dance cover."

"It’s just a different kind of art, Jimin," you say, catching Jungkook’s eye. "It’s about taking something raw and turning it into something beautiful and permanent."

Jungkook’s hand finds yours under the table, hidden by the shadows. His thumb slowly circles your palm, a secret, grounding touch. He doesn't say anything, but the way he looks at you—respectful, intrigued, and still hungry—tells you that he’s realizing there is so much more to you than just a "spoiled" girl in a silk dress.

You’re a force of nature, and for the first time, he looks like he’s actually excited to keep up.

The energy in the room is warm and full of laughter, but the physical ache of the interrupted moment is still humming in the back of your throat. You check your watch—a deliberate, elegant gesture—and set your napkin down.

"As much as I'd love to stay and finish this chicken, I actually have an early morning call with London," you say, standing up with effortless grace.

"Already?" Jin pouts, his mouth half-full. "But we just got to the good part of the story!"

"Duty calls," you smile, smoothing down your knit dress. You can feel Jungkook’s eyes tracking the movement, his gaze dark and heavy.

"I'll walk her out," Jungkook says immediately. He stands up before anyone can offer, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Jimin looks up, a knowing, slightly mischievous smirk playing on his lips, but he just waves a drumstick at you. "Goodnight, Y/N! Don't let the bioluminescent concrete keep you up too late!"

The walk to the heavy metal door is silent. As soon as you step into the dim, cool hallway and the door clicks shut behind you, the atmosphere changes instantly. The muffled sounds of the boys' laughter fade, replaced by the sudden, sharp tension that has been building all night.

Jungkook doesn't say anything until you reach the heavy street door. He leans one hand against the frame, blocking your path, and looks down at you. The streetlights from outside cast long, dramatic shadows across his face, highlighting the frustration etched into his features.

"Two times, Y/N," he rasps, his voice low and dangerous. "I am officially banning Jimin from this building after 8:00 PM."

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, leaning back against the cool brick wall. "I think the universe just likes watching us struggle, Jungkook."

"I don't like struggling," he murmurs, stepping closer until he’s completely in your personal space. He reaches out, his hand sliding under your hair to cup the back of your neck. His thumb traces the line of your ear, sending a fresh wave of heat through you. "And I really don't like letting you go home like this."

He leans in, his forehead resting against yours. "You were incredible back there, by the way. Talking about your work... I don't think I've ever seen you look so powerful."

"And yet," you whisper, your hand finding the hem of his shirt, "I'm the one standing in a hallway without my underwear, waiting for a boy to kiss me."

Jungkook captures your lips in a kiss that is anything but friendly. it’s desperate, hard, and full of the promise that next time, no matter who knocks, he isn't letting go.

"Go home, Princess," he breathes against your lips, finally pulling back just an inch. "Before I decide the hallway is private enough."

You smile, your heart racing as you step out into the night air toward your waiting car. You don't look back, but you can feel his gaze on you until the car pulls away a silent, burning promise that the unfinished business is only going to get more intense.

The next morning, you’re sitting in the back of your car, staring out at the rain-slicked streets of Seoul, when your phone buzzes. It’s not a text to your official work phone it’s the private one, the only one he has the number for.

Jungkook: Forget the studio. Too many interruptions, too many friends with keys. Come here tomorrow at 8.

Attached is a pin for a location in a quiet, upscale corner of Hannam-dong. It’s not the gritty industrial vibe of the shop; it’s a residential address. A private sanctuary.

Jungkook: No clients. No Jimin. Just a door that actually locks.

You feel a thrill run down your spine. Sending a private home address is a massive shift in the just friends dynamic. It’s an invitation into the one part of his life he keeps hidden from the public eye.

To: Jungkook

Hannam-dong? You’re stepping up your game, Mr. Jeon. I’ll see you at 8. And Jungkook?

Jungkook: Yeah?

To: Jungkook

Make sure you have something stronger than coffee. It’s been a very long week.

Jungkook: Consider it done. Wear something that’s easy to get out of. I’m done waiting.

You put the phone away, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across your face. The Princess has spent her whole life playing by the rules of others, but tomorrow night, the only rules that matter will be the ones made behind that locked door.

The rest of your day is spent in a blur of efficiency. You crush your meetings, you finalize the Dubai contracts, and you do it all with a secret glow that has your assistants whispering. They think it’s the thrill of a successful deal.

They have no idea it’s the thrill of a man who finally knows exactly how to handle you.

The address leads you to a sleek, modern building tucked away in a quiet, affluent pocket of Hannam-dong. It’s far more refined than the gritty, industrial aesthetic of his studio, all clean lines, dark glass, and high security.

Despite the luxury of the location, you’ve kept your look low-key. After two nights of high-fashion armor and agonizing interruptions, you couldn't bring yourself to go all out again. You’re wearing a simple, high-waisted mini skirt and a soft, cropped knit top, comfortable, yet still undeniably you with your signature sky-high heels.

When you reach his floor and press the buzzer, the door doesn't just open; it’s practically burst through.

Before you can even see Jungkook, a massive, muscular blur of black and tan fur comes charging at you. It’s a Doberman, but instead of the guard dog you might expect, he’s a giant, wiggling mess of excitement.

"Bam! Hey! Down, buddy!" Jungkook’s voice calls out, but it’s too late. The dog has already leaned his full weight against your legs, his nub of a tail wagging so hard his entire back half is shaking.

You can't help it. The Princess mask shatters instantly, replaced by a genuine, bright laugh as you stumble back a step. "Oh! Well, hello there!"

You drop to your hunkers, heedless of your skirt or your heels, and immediately bury your hands in the dog's soft ears. Bam lets out a happy huff, licking your cheek and nudging his head under your hand for more attention.

"I’m so sorry," Jungkook says, leaning against the doorframe. He’s dressed in just a pair of grey sweatpants and a black ribbed tank top, looking relaxed and domestic in a way that is dangerously attractive. "He’s a bit of a socialite. He hears a guest and thinks the world is ending if he doesn't say hi first."

"He’s beautiful," you laugh, scratching Bam’s chest. The dog leans into you, closing his eyes in bliss. "I wasn't expecting a roommate, Jungkook."

"Bam's the real owner; I just pay the mortgage," he jokes, his voice softening as he watches you. There’s a look in his eyes, a mix of surprise and something deeply affectionate, seeing the sophisticated woman he’s been chasing covered in dog fur and laughing on the floor.

He reaches out a hand to help you up. "Come in. And don't worry—I checked the perimeter. No Jimin, no Hoseok, and I’ve already triple-locked the door."

You take his hand, pulling yourself up while giving Bam one last pat. As you step into the foyer, you realize his apartment is stunning, minimalist, filled with high-end tech and oversized canvases, with a view of the Han River that rivals your own.

"You live better than you let on, Mr. Jeon," you murmur, looking around at the tasteful, expensive space.

"I have my moments," he says, closing the door behind you. The click of the lock echoes in the quiet hallway, a final, satisfying sound. "Drink?"

You nod, taking a moment to breathe in the atmosphere of his private world. It feels different here, calmer, more intimate. Jungkook heads to a sleek, dark wood bar in the corner of the open-plan living room. You watch the practiced, rhythmic way he shakes the drink, the ice clinking against the metal.

He hands you a Whiskey Sour, the foam perfectly frothy and topped with a single dried orange slice. "To finally being alone," he says softly, clinking his glass against yours.

While he sips his own drink, you wander further into the space. You’re naturally curious; for someone who knows the contours of your skin so well, he’s remained a beautiful enigma. Your eyes are immediately drawn to a gallery wall near the large floor-to-ceiling windows.

It’s a collection of framed photographs and sketches. In some, he’s on his motorcycle, the wind blowing his hair back, a wide, genuine grin on his face. In others, he’s at the studio, covered in ink and laughing with the guys. There are pictures of him traveling, standing in front of a sunset in a place that looks like Italy, looking relaxed and effortlessly happy.

He looks so different in these moments, less like the temperamental artist and more like a man who truly loves his life.

"You're a very good photographer," you murmur, leaning in to look at a candid shot of him and Bam playing in a park. "Or you just have a very good subject."

"Those were mostly taken by the guys," he says, stepping up behind you. You can feel the warmth of his chest against your back. "I usually prefer being on the other side of the lens. But Jimin and Hoseok... they have a habit of documenting everything."

You turn slightly to look at him, the light from the Han River reflecting in your eyes. "You look so happy in these, Jungkook. It’s nice to see that version of you."

"I am happy," he admits, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register. He sets his glass down on a nearby side table and rests his hands on your waist. "But I think I've been missing something lately. Something... stubborn and expensive and far too fond of high heels."

He pulls you closer, his gaze dropping to your lips. "Did you bring your CEO brain with you tonight, or can we just be Jungkook and Y/N for a few hours?"

You set your glass down on the console table next to his, the sound of the crystal hitting the wood muffled by the low hum of the city outside. You look up at him, the sharp lines of your professional persona softening until there is nothing left but the woman who has been thinking about this moment for days.

"I’ve spent the whole day being the good girl,'" you whisper, your hands sliding up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath the ribbed fabric of his tank top. "I would very much like to just be Y/N for you."

Jungkook doesn’t pull you into a frantic, desperate embrace like before. Instead, he lets out a soft, relieved breath, his forehead resting against yours for a lingering heartbeat.

Then, he kisses you.

There is no urgency this time. No frantic scramble against a ticking clock or the fear of a friend bursting through the door. It is a slow, languid exploration, a kiss that tastes like the tartness of the whiskey and the cool edge of his minty breath. He tastes every corner of your mouth, his tongue sweeping against yours with a gentle, possessive rhythm that makes your toes curl in your heels.

One of his hands stays anchored at the small of your back, while the other travels up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone with a tenderness that feels almost more intimate than the physical act itself. It’s the kind of kiss that says we have all night.

You melt into him, your body pliant and warm. The silence of the apartment is a luxury in itself, broken only by the soft sound of your breathing and Bam’s rhythmic snoring from his rug in the corner. For the first time since you met him, there is no battle of wills, no "stranger" act, and no interruptions.

He pulls back just a fraction of an inch, his lips still brushing against yours as he speaks.

"Finally," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, rough rumble. "Just us."

The slow, tender kiss shifts into something far more primal as the reality of your privacy finally sinks in. Jungkook’s hands slide down from your face to the hem of your top, his eyes never leaving yours as he pulls the fabric over your head and tosses it onto the floor.

When he reaches for the fastening of your skirt, his fingers are steady, but his breathing is heavy. The skirt pools at your feet, and you stand before him in nothing but your heels.

"You are incredible," he whispers, his voice thick with awe.

He stands up and begins to strip out of his own clothes. As he pulls the tank top over his head and kicks off his sweatpants, you find yourself completely speechless. You’ve seen his arms and his neck, but seeing him fully naked is a different experience entirely. His body is a masterpiece of lean muscle and intricate ink, tattoos flowing across his chest, down his torso, and disappearing into his thighs. He looks powerful, raw, and devastatingly beautiful.

He doesn't give you long to stare. He leads you toward the oversized, plush sofa, and before you can say a word, he has you lying back against the cushions. He parts your legs with a gentle but firm pressure, his eyes burning with a dark, focused hunger.

"I've been waiting three days to finish this," he growls.

He drops between your thighs, his large hands anchoring your knees wide. When his tongue first makes contact, you let out a broken, high-pitched cry that echoes through the quiet apartment.

He is eating you good, relentless and incredibly skilled. He knows exactly how to use the pressure of his tongue and the soft suction of his lips to drive you to the brink. Unlike the frantic moments in the studio, he takes his time here. He explores every sensitive inch of you, his tongue swirling in slow, agonizing circles before flicking with a precision that makes your vision blur.

You’ve never felt anything like this. The "Princess" who was always in control is gone, replaced by a woman arching her back, her fingers digging into the leather of the sofa and her head tossing from side to side. The sensation is overwhelming, a building pressure in your lower belly that feels like a coiled spring about to snap.

"Jungkook," you gasp, your voice trembling. "Please... I can't..."

He looks up for a split second, his chin glistening, his expression one of pure, possessive triumph. "Not yet, Y/N. I want you to feel every bit of this."

He goes back down, his pace increasing, his tongue more insistent. You feel the wave crashing over you—bigger and more violent than anything you’ve ever experienced. Your muscles tighten, your breath hitches in a ragged sob, and finally, you shatter.

Your climax hits you in long, rolling pulses that leave you shaking and breathless. You cry out his name, your body vibrating with the intensity of it. He doesn't pull away; he stays there, holding you through the aftershocks, his mouth warm against you until you finally go limp against the cushions.

He crawls up your body, hovering over you, his eyes dark and satisfied. "Now," he whispers, his voice a low vibration against your lips. "Are we still 'just friends'?"

You don’t even answer with words. Instead, you give him a slow, feline grin, the kind of look that tells him exactly who is in control of the room now. You slide downward, your body slick and warm against his, until you’re kneeling on the plush rug between his legs.

If he thought he was the only one who could be relentless, he’s about to learn a very expensive lesson.

You look up at him through your lashes, seeing the way his breath hitches as your fingers wrap around him. He is thick, pulsing, and perfectly formed, and you take your time admiring him before leaning in.

When you finally take him into your mouth, Jungkook lets out a sound that is half-groan, half-growl, his head snapping back against the sofa cushions. You are blowing him with a deliberate, rhythmic focus, using everything you know to drive him crazy. You swirl your tongue around the head, teasing him, before taking him deeper, your eyes locked on his face to watch the way his composure shatters.

"Y/N... fuck," he gasps, his hands flying to your hair. He doesn't pull you away; he grips your head, his knuckles white as he tries to ground himself.

You don't stop. You pick up the pace, your hand working in perfect synchronization with your mouth. You can feel the muscles in his thighs tensioning, his hips beginning to thrust upward instinctively. The cool, quiet air of the apartment is now thick with the sound of his ragged breathing and the wet, rhythmic slide of your lips.

He’s a man who usually prides himself on his stamina, but under your focus, he’s unraveling fast. He’s shaking, his breath coming in sharp, jagged bursts.

"Princess, stop... I'm gonna—" he chokes out, his fingers tightening in your hair as he reaches his limit.

You don't pull back until the very last second, looking up at him with a triumphant, messy smile as he finally boils over, his body shuddering with the force of his release. He sags back against the sofa, completely spent, looking at you with a mix of shock and pure, unadulterated adoration.

You reach up and snag your glass from the table, the ice rattling against the crystal. You take a long, slow swallow, the sharp burn of the whiskey and the tart citrus of the sour cutting through the hazy, sweet heat between you.

With the taste of the liquor still sharp on your tongue, you crawl back up his body. You look like a vision, flush-faced, messy-haired, and completely unbothered by the fact that you’ve just completely unstrung one of the most sought-after men in the city.

You lean over him, your damp skin sliding against his tattoos, and capture his lips in a kiss that is heavy with the scent of oak and rye. It’s a bold, heady kiss, transferring the last lingering sting of the whiskey to him.

Jungkook groans into your mouth, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against his chest. He tastes the whiskey on you, his tongue tangling with yours as he drinks you in. He’s still coming down from the high, his heart thudding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, but he holds you like he never wants to let you go.

"You're dangerous," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb tracing the swollen line of your lower lip. "I thought I was the one in control here."

You let out a soft, triumphant hum, resting your chin on his chest. "You should know by now, Jungkook... I don't enter into any contract unless I know I can win."

He laughs, a genuine, deep sound that vibrates through your entire body. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze softening in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the woman sitting in his lap.

"Well," he whispers, flipping you over so you’re tucked securely into the crook of his arm as you both stare out at the shimmering lights of the Han River. "Consider the deal closed. You've got me."

For a long time, neither of you speaks. There’s just the sound of the city in the distance, the quiet hum of the fridge, and the steady breathing of a sleeping Doberman. For the first time in years, the "Princess" isn't thinking about tomorrow's schedule or the weight of her reputation. She’s just a girl, safe in the arms of a man who finally sees her.The heavy silence of reality begins to seep back into the room, chilling the air that was so hot just moments ago. You’re sitting naked on his lap, your skin flushed against his, your lips trailing soft, lingering kisses along the corded muscles of his neck. But even as you hold him, the invisible weight of your name and your family’s expectations sits between you like a wall.

"We both know it’s not that simple, Jungkook," you whisper against his skin. "My parents... they would lose their minds if they knew about this. If they knew about us."

You pull back slightly, looking into his dark eyes, and see that he knows it too. He lives in a world of ink and freedom; you live in a world of glass and iron-clad reputations.

"I can't stay the night," you say softly, the words tasting like ash. "I have a board meeting at 7:00 AM with my father. If I’m not at my apartment when the car arrives, he’ll start asking questions I’m not ready to answer."

Jungkook’s jaw tightens for a brief second, but he nods, his hands giving your waist one last, possessive squeeze before he lets go. He understands the game you play, even if he hates the rules.

"I get it," he rasps, his voice still thick from the night. "Duty calls."

He looks at you, his gaze softening as he reaches out to brush a stray hair from your forehead. "Do you want me to drive you? It’s late, and you look exhausted."

You offer him a tired but deeply grateful smile, touched by the protective edge in his voice. "Thank you, truly. But I have my own car downstairs. It’s better if I just go now while the streets are quiet."

You stand up, the cool air hitting your bare skin, and begin the lonely task of gathering your clothes from the floor. The Princess is putting her armor back on, piece by piece, but as you look back at him sitting there in the shadows, you know that no matter how many meetings you attend tomorrow, your mind will be right here, in this room, with him.

The following week is a blur of high-stakes negotiations and relentless back-to-back meetings. You spend your days under fluorescent lights, navigating the cold, calculated world of international infrastructure while your body still feels the phantom touch of Jungkook’s hands. Your father is being particularly demanding, keeping you pinned to your desk until the city lights begin to flicker on outside your office window. By Thursday, you're exhausted, but the craving to see him has become a physical ache that no amount of caffeine can dull.

You pull out your private phone during a five-minute break between calls and send a quick message.

To: Jungkook

Are you at the studio? I’m starving, and I have a feeling you haven't eaten anything but instant ramen and caffeine today.

A few minutes later, the screen lit up.

Jungkook: I'm here. Burrowed into a sleeve piece. And you're right... the ramen was mediocre at best. Why? Are you coming to save me?

You don't reply. Instead, you have your driver make a detour to the most exclusive Italian restaurant in the city the kind of place where you usually need a reservation months in advance, but for you, they have the order ready at the door. You walk into the studio twenty minutes later, the smell of fresh truffles, handmade pasta, and expensive red wine immediately cutting through the scent of ink and green soap.

The shop is quiet, the usual chaos of the guys absent for once. Jungkook is hunched over his station, his brow furrowed in concentration, but he looks up the moment he hears the click of your heels. A slow, tired smile spreads across his face as he sees you standing there, holding several elegant white bags embossed with gold lettering.

"You look like a dream, and you smell like my favorite restaurant," he says, peeling off his gloves and standing up to stretch his back. The sight of him, disheveled, focused, and undeniably glad to see you, makes the stress of the week melt away instantly. "I thought you were buried under a mountain of blueprints."

"I was," you say, setting the gourmet feast down on his workbench and pushing aside a stack of sketches to make room. "But even the Princess needs a dinner break. And I wasn't about to eat this much truffle pasta alone."

You realize Jungkook isn't alone; a young man is sitting in the chair, his forearm half-covered in a stunning geometric pattern. He looks a bit intimidated by your sudden entrance the sharp tailoring of your blazer and the sheer aura of money that follows you usually has that effect on people.

"I hope you’re hungry," you say with a warm, disarming smile, pulling out a container of saffron arancini and a second portion of pasta. "I brought far too much for just two people. Please, help yourself."

The client blinks, looking surprised that someone like you is offering him a gourmet meal. "Oh, wow. Really? Thank you so much. That's... that's incredibly kind of you." He takes a bite and his eyes practically double in size. "Man, JK, your girl has amazing taste."

Jungkook chuckles, catching your eye with a look that says you’re far too good at this. "She doesn't do anything halfway," he murmurs, leaning against the counter as he starts on his own meal.

You don't want to hover or distract them from finishing the work, so you retreat to the small lounge table. You pull your iPad from your bag, the screen immediately glowing with complex spreadsheets and architectural renderings. While they eat and chat about the tattoo, you dive back into your world. Your fingers fly across the glass, marking up structural plans and replying to urgent emails from the London office.

The contrast is striking: the low buzz of the tattoo machine starting back up, the smell of expensive Italian leather mixed with ink, and you, the high-powered executive silently running an empire from a worn-out velvet sofa. Every now and then, Jungkook looks over at you. He sees the way your brow furrows in deep concentration and the professional sharpness in your eyes.

He likes this. He likes that you aren't just a trophy or a secret; you’re a force. And even though you're busy, the fact that you chose to spend your only free hour sitting in his messy studio just to be near him speaks louder than any expensive dinner ever could.

The buzz of the machine finally dies down, and Jungkook spends a few minutes carefully wrapping the client’s arm and giving him the standard rundown of instructions. The young man stands up, looking at his new ink with pure awe, and then turns to you with a respectful nod. "Thanks again for the food, seriously. That was the best meal I’ve had in months."

"It was my pleasure," you say, looking up from your iPad with a polite smile. "Take care of that arm."

As soon as the door clicks shut and the 'Closed' sign is flipped, the professional mask Jungkook wears begins to slip. He exhales a long, heavy breath and walks over to the lounge area, sinking into the sofa beside you. The studio feels cavernous and quiet now, the only light coming from the lamp over his workbench and the glow of your screen.

"Finally," he sighs, reaching over to drag the containers of pasta closer to the two of you. "I thought he’d never leave. My back is killing me."

You set your iPad aside, finally closing the tabs on the Dubai project, and move closer to him. You pick up your fork and start eating, the rich flavors of the Italian food a welcome comfort after a day of nothing but black coffee. For a few minutes, you both just eat in a comfortable, domestic silence, the tension of your respective workdays slowly bleeding away.

"You're a lifesaver, Y/N," he says between bites, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that always makes your heart skip. "I was about ten minutes away from a caffeine-induced breakdown."

"I could tell," you tease, nudging his shoulder with yours. "You had that 'I'm about to fight a printer' look on your face when I walked in."

He laughs, the sound rich and warm in the empty studio. He puts his fork down and shifts, resting his arm on the back of the sofa behind your head. "I missed you this week. It felt like every time I checked my phone, you were in another meeting or on another flight."

"I missed you too," you admit softly, leaning your head back against his arm. "It’s been exhausting. Sometimes I feel like I'm just a series of appointments held together by a silk suit."

Jungkook reaches out, his thumb tracing the tired line of your jaw, his touch gentle and grounding. "Well, right now, you're just here. No suits, no appointments. Just us and some very expensive cold pasta."

He leans in, his nose brushing against yours, the scent of the studio, leather, ink, and a hint of his cologne—wrapping around you like a blanket. "Stay for a bit? Just... let me look at you without a screen in between us."

You set your fork down and look around the quiet studio, noticing the scattered ink caps and used paper towels near his station. Even though you’re exhausted from a week of high-level corporate warfare, there's something therapeutic about the idea of doing something manual,something simple, with him.

"Do you want some help closing up?" you ask, brushing a stray crumb from the table. "Two pairs of hands are faster than one, and I'd like to get you out of here sooner."

Jungkook looks a bit surprised, his eyes darting to your expensive clothes and then back to your face. He clearly didn't expect you to volunteer for studio maintenance. "You sure? I don't want you getting ink or disinfectant on that outfit. Your father would probably sue me if I ruined your wardrobe."

You let out a soft laugh and stand up, tucking your iPad safely into your bag. "I think I can handle a spray bottle and some paper towels, Jungkook. Lead the way."

He grins, a boyish, genuine spark in his eyes, and hands you a bottle of medical-grade cleaner. For the next twenty minutes, you work in a rhythmic, comfortable flow. You wipe down the guest counters and organize the waiting area while he meticulously breaks down his machine and cleans his workstation.

There’s no high-stakes pressure here, no board members to impress. It’s just the two of you moving through the dim light of the shop, the only sounds being the occasional spray of the bottle and the soft thud of books being stacked.

"You're actually pretty good at this," he teases, watching you perfectly align the art books on the coffee table. "If the infrastructure business ever goes south, I might have a job for you as a shop manager."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Mr. Jeon," you retort with a playful wink. "My hourly rate is significantly higher than what you pay your apprentices."

When the floors are swept and the counters are gleaming, Jungkook flips off the main lights, leaving only the soft neon glow from the window sign. He walks over to you, his silhouette dark and powerful in the shadows, and pulls you into his arms.

"Thanks, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your forehead. "It's nice... having someone to share the boring parts with."

You lean into him, closing your eyes and breathing in the scent of him. "I like the boring parts. Especially when they're with you."

You walk out of the studio together, the cool night air hitting your skin as the heavy door locks behind you. Parked right at the curb is your new car, a sleek, high-performance masterpiece of German engineering that looks more like a low-slung predator than a vehicle. In the moonlight, its matte finish and carbon fiber accents scream power and exclusivity.

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks. His eyes go wide, and he slowly circles the car, his gaze tracing the aerodynamic lines and the oversized ceramic brakes. For a second, the cool, tattooed artist vanishes, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated awe.

"Y/N," he breathes, his voice full of reverence. "I knew you had taste, but this... this is a literal beast. The horsepower on this thing must be insane."

You lean against the passenger door, dangling the key fob from your finger with a playful smirk. You’ve seen him look at you with desire, but seeing him look at your car with the same intensity is almost more entertaining.

"You want to see what it can do?" you ask, tossing the keys into the air and catching them. "Do you want to drive, Jungkook?"

He looks at you, then back at the keys, his face lighting up like a little boy on Christmas morning. He actually lets out a short, breathless laugh, his excitement completely breaking through his usual "cool guy" exterior.

"Are you serious? You'd trust me with this?" he asks, his hand already reaching out.

"I've seen how you handle a tattoo needle and a motorcycle," you say, pressing the keys into his palm. "I think you can handle a steering wheel. Just... don't get us a ticket. My father already thinks I'm too rebellious."

"No promises," he grins, his thumb grazing yours as he takes the fob.

He practically jogs around to the driver's side, and as the engine roars to life with a deep, throaty growl that vibrates through the pavement, he looks over at you with the biggest, most genuine smile you've seen all week. For tonight, the "CEO" and the "Artist" are gone, it's just two friends, a fast car, and the open city lights of Seoul ahead of them.

The interior of the car is bathed in the soft, futuristic glow of the dashboard lights, casting sharp highlights across Jungkook’s profile. He looks completely in his element behind the wheel, his movements precise and effortless as he navigates the winding streets of Seoul. There’s a quiet confidence in the way he shifts gears, his eyes focused on the road with a sharp, predatory intensity that makes your breath hitch.

Watching him like this, relaxed yet powerful, with the city lights blurring in the windows, you realize he’s never looked more attractive.

As the car hits a long, open stretch of the highway, he settles back into the leather seat. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reaches out with his right hand and rests it firmly on your thigh. It’s a casual, grounding gesture, but the heat of his palm seeps through the fabric of your skirt, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your heart.

"This thing handles like a dream, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that competes with the purr of the engine. "I might not want to give the keys back."

You lean your head back against the headrest, watching the way his tattooed knuckles flex against your skin as he adjusts his grip. You should probably tell him to focus on the road, or remind him that you're just friends, but the weight of his hand feels too right to contest.

"You're a natural," you say softly, your voice sounding a little breathier than you intended. "Most people are intimidated by the torque, but you're driving it like you own it."

He glances at you for a split second, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He doesn't move his hand; instead, his thumb traces a slow, absent-minded circle against your leg, a silent acknowledgment of the tension that’s always hummed between you.

For a moment, the high-stakes world of your father’s boardroom and the gritty reality of his tattoo shop feel miles away. It’s just the hum of the engine, the blur of the neon city, and the heat of his hand keeping you anchored in the present.

The city lights of Seoul streak past the windows in a neon blur as the car hums with a powerful, low-frequency vibration. The tension that has been building all week, the phone calls, the meetings, the distance—suddenly feels like a physical weight in the small, luxurious cabin. Jungkook’s hand is still heavy on your thigh, his thumb pressing rhythmically into your skin, and the air between you is thick enough to choke on.

You don't say a word. You simply reach over. Jungkook glances at you, his brow furrowing in confusion for a split second, but he doesn't slow down.

"Y/N? What are you—"

He stops mid-sentence as you shift, sliding your body over the center console. You lean down, your hair brushing against his leg, and the moment he realizes what you’re doing, his grip on the steering wheel tightens until his knuckles turn white.

You work quickly, your fingers deft as you open his jeans. When you take him into your mouth, Jungkook lets out a low, jagged groan that is almost lost to the sound of the wind rushing past the car. His head falls back against the headrest for a moment before he forces his eyes back to the road, his jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might snap.

"Fuck, Princess," he rasps, his voice trembling with the effort to stay focused on the high-speed traffic. "You're going to get us killed."

You don't stop. You lean deeper into the space, the leather of the console pressing into your ribs as you use your tongue and lips with a slow, agonizing precision. You can feel the muscles in his thighs twitching, his body straining against the seat. Every time he has to shift or brake, his breath hitches, a sharp, broken sound that fuels your own desire.

The thrill of the danger, the speed, the possibility of being seen, the sheer recklessness of it, makes your heart hammer against your chest.

Jungkook reaches down, his hand finding the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. He isn't pushing you away; he’s guiding you, his hips beginning to thrust instinctively into the rhythm you’ve set. The car swerves slightly as a wave of pleasure hits him, and he lets out a hissed breath through his teeth, pulling the steering wheel steady at the last second.

"I can't... I can't breathe when you do that," he chokes out, his voice a raw, desperate whisper.

You look up at him through your lashes, seeing the way his eyes are blown wide, his gaze darting between the road and you. He looks completely undone, his "cool artist" persona shattered by the woman kneeling in the footwell of his dream car. You go back down, determined to finish what you started, driving him toward the edge as the speedometer climbs higher and higher.

The hum of the high-performance engine becomes a backdrop to the frantic sound of Jungkook’s breathing. He’s pushing the car faster now, the needle climbing as his self-control begins to fray. His hand is buried deep in your hair, not pulling, but holding you there as if you’re the only thing keeping him grounded while the world blurs into a streak of white and red lights.

"Y/N... stop... no, don't stop," he groans, his voice breaking. He’s fighting the urge to close his eyes, his focus split between the winding highway and the incredible sensation of your mouth.

You pick up the pace, your hand working at the base while you take him as deep as you can, knowing exactly how close he is. You feel his entire body go rigid, his thighs tensing like steel cables against your shoulders. The car lets out a low, mechanical growl as he downshifts instinctively, his heart hammering so hard you can feel it through his skin.

"Princess, I’m—"

His words cut off into a sharp, strangled cry. He arches his back, his hips jerking upward as he finally loses the battle. You feel the hot, rhythmic pulses of his release, and he let out a long, ragged exhale that sounds like a surrender. For a few dangerous seconds, the car drifts slightly toward the edge of the lane before he grips the wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, forcing his breathing to level out.

The silence that follows is heavy and electric. You slowly sit back up, smoothing your hair and adjusting your top as you slide back into the passenger seat. You reach for a silk handkerchief from the glove box, wiping your mouth with a slow, triumphant elegance that makes him look over at you in disbelief.

Jungkook pulls the car over onto a quiet shoulder under the glow of a flickering streetlamp. He kills the engine, and the sudden silence is deafening. He slumps back against the seat, his chest heaving, his hair a mess and his eyes dark with a mix of shock and pure adoration.

"You are absolutely insane," he whispers, his voice still shaking. He reaches over, his hand trembling slightly as he cups your cheek. "I could have crashed the car. I could have lost my license. I could have lost everything."

You lean into his palm, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. "But you didn't. And admit it, Jungkook... you've never felt more alive."

He lets out a rough, breathless laugh, shaking his head as he leans in to press a hard, messy kiss to your lips. "God, I hate how right you are. You're going to be the death of me, Y/N."

"Maybe," you hum, clicking your seatbelt back into place. "But what a way to go."

After a few minutes of catching his breath, Jungkook restarts the engine. The drive back to his place is much quieter, the air filled with a comfortable, lingering heat. He maneuvers the car back through the gates of his apartment complex, the tires crunching softly on the gravel.

When he pulls into the drop-off circle, he turns off the ignition and hands you back the keys. His eyes are dark, searching yours in the dim interior light.

"I don't think I can ever drive a normal car again," he says softly, his voice still a bit husky. He reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "And I definitely don't think I can go back to being 'just' anything with you."

"Get some sleep, Jungkook," you say with a small, knowing smile, leaning over to give him a brief, lingering kiss on the cheek. "You have a long day at the studio tomorrow."

"Stay safe," he murmurs, his gaze following you as he steps out of the car.

He stands on the pavement, watching as you slide into the driver's seat. You catch his reflection in the rearview mirror, a lone, tattooed figure under the streetlights—as you pull away.

The drive back to your own penthouse is lonely in comparison. The silence of the car feels heavy now that his hand isn't on your thigh. By the time you pull into your private garage, the "Princess" mask is firmly back in place. You check your phone one last time before heading up: a list of missed calls from your father's secretary and a final text from Jungkook.

Jungkook: The car is fast, but you're dangerous. See you soon, Y/N.

You lock your door, the click of the bolt a reminder that tomorrow morning, you'll be back in a boardroom, worlds away from the man who just drove you to the edge of the city.

The transition from the boardroom to the real world is always jarring. You had just spent six hours tearing apart a subpar logistics proposal, and you haven't had a chance to breathe, let alone change. You arrive at the dimly lit, loud gastropub where the guys usually hang out, still wearing your tailored charcoal power suit, your hair pinned back in a perfect, unforgiving bun, and those signature heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor.

You look like a million dollars, but you also look like you’re about to fire everyone in the room.

Jungkook is already there with Jimin and Hoseok. He’s dressed in an oversized hoodie and baggy pants, his tattoos peeking out from his rolled-up sleeves. He looks up when you approach, but instead of the usual spark of excitement, his expression is tight. He’s been waiting for forty minutes.

"You’re late," he says flatly, not even standing up to greet you.

"The meeting ran over, Jungkook. It’s called a career," you retort, sliding into the booth. You immediately signal a waiter with a sharp flick of your wrist that screams 'Diva.' "I need a dry martini. Extra olives. Now."

Jimin and Hoseok exchange a worried glance. The energy you brought in is cold, sharp, and completely at odds with the laid-back vibe of the table.

"We were supposed to just relax tonight," Jungkook says, his voice dropping into a frustrated register. "But you walk in here like you’re still at the head of the table. Can you just... turn it off for one night? The Princess act is getting exhausting."

You stiffen, your eyes flashing. "The act is what pays for the lifestyle you seem to enjoy driving around in, Jungkook. I don’t have the luxury of sitting in a studio all day drawing on people. I have responsibilities."

"Oh, here we go," Jungkook groans, leaning back and rubbing his face. "The 'I work harder than everyone' speech. You’re so wrapped up in your status that you don't even know how to be a person anymore. You’re just a suit with a temper."

"And you're just a boy who's annoyed he didn't get his way the second he wanted it," you snap back, your voice ice-cold.

The table goes dead silent. Jimin suddenly finds his beer very interesting, and Hoseok looks like he wants to disappear into the upholstery. Jungkook stares at you, his jaw pulsing, his eyes dark with a genuine, stinging irritation. He isn't charmed by the Diva tonight; he’s just plain fed up.

The air at the table is toxic. Jungkook’s frustration has curdled into something mean, and when he’s annoyed, he knows exactly where to twist the knife. He scoffs, leaning forward so only you can hear the bite in his voice over the pub's music.

"That's the problem, isn't it?" he sneers. "You don't even see how spoiled you are. You walk in here expecting everyone to bow because you had a busy day. You're so insulated by your daddy's money and your designer armor that you've forgotten how to actually connect with anyone who isn't on a payroll."

The words hit like a physical slap. You feel the heat rise to your face, but it isn't just anger,it’s the sting of being misunderstood by the one person you thought actually saw the real you.

You stand up abruptly, the screech of your chair against the floor drawing eyes from the neighboring tables. You don't care about being The Princess right now; the mask is cracked, and your eyes are shimmering with unshed tears.

"You are such an asshole, Jungkook," you say, your voice trembling but sharp. "The only person at this table who constantly brings up my money is you. Jimin and Hoseok accept my life. They see how hard I work. But you? You use it as a weapon every time you feel small."

Jungkook’s expression falters instantly. The smugness vanishes from his face as he sees the genuine hurt in your eyes. He starts to reach out, his voice losing its edge. "Y/N, wait—"

"No," you snap, stepping back from his touch. "If I’m just a 'suit with a temper' to you, then why are you even bothering? Go back to your real world, Jungkook. I’m going home."

You turn on your heels, the sharp *click-clack* sounding like gunfire in the silent wake of your exit. You don't look back at the guys, and you don't look back at him. You push through the heavy doors of the pub, the cold night air hitting your face as you stumble toward the curb.

You feel exposed and raw. For the first time in a long time, the expensive heels and the tailored suit don't feel like armor they feel like a cage. You pull out your phone to call your driver, your hands shaking as the first tear finally escapes and tracks down your cheek.

You don't even look back. You just walk, the sharp rhythm of your heels hitting the pavement in a jagged, angry beat. The cold night air of Seoul bites at your skin, but you welcome it; it’s better than the suffocating heat of that pub and the sting of Jungkook's words.

Every word he said loops in your head, spoiled, insulated, a suit with a temper. It hurts more because it came from him. He was the one person you let into your private world, the one person you thought understood that the Diva was just a shield you had to wear to survive in your father's world.

You reach the corner of the street and stop under the harsh, white glow of a streetlamp. You pull out your phone, your fingers trembling slightly as you pull up your driver's contact.

To: Mr. Han

Pick me up at the corner of Dosan-daero. Now.

You stand there, hugging your arms across your chest, trying to maintain your composure. You refuse to break down in the middle of the street where anyone could see you. You are the daughter of an empire; you are supposed to be untouchable. But as you watch the headlights of passing cars, you feel incredibly small.

Behind you, the door of the pub swings open again, the muffled sound of bass spilling out for a split second before the heavy wood thuds shut. You don't turn around. You just keep your eyes fixed on the road, waiting for the black sedan that represents your safety, your status, and currently, your loneliness.

You hear the heavy thud of the pub door closing again, followed by the sound of rapid, heavy footsteps hitting the pavement behind you. You don't turn around. You keep your gaze fixed on the distance, searching for the familiar headlights of your black sedan, your jaw set in a hard, trembling line.

"Y/N! Wait—"

Jungkook’s voice is close now, stripped of the biting arrogance from moments ago. He sounds breathless, his footsteps skidding to a halt a few feet away from you. You don't acknowledge him. You just stare at the glowing screen of your phone, watching the little GPS icon of your driver getting closer.

"I’m an idiot, okay?" he says, his voice low and raw. "I shouldn't have said that stuff. I was just... I was frustrated and I took it out on you. I know how hard you work. I know it’s not just 'daddy’s money.'"

You finally turn your head, eyes red-rimmed but blazing with cold fire. "You don't get to do that, Jungkook. You don't get to tear me down in front of everyone just because you’re bored or annoyed, and then expect me to just stand here and take it when you decide to be 'nice' again."

He steps into the circle of light under the streetlamp, looking disheveled and genuinely pained. The asshole persona has completely evaporated, replaced by the guy who looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

"I know," he whispers, reaching out cautiously as if he’s trying to pet a wounded animal. "I'm a prick when I'm tired, but that's no excuse. I saw your face when you left. I didn't mean to make you cry, Princess. Truly."

The use of the nickname the one that usually felt like a secret between you now feels like salt in the wound. Just as you’re about to snap back at him, the sleek black sedan pulls up to the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the harsh streetlights.

Your driver, Mr. Han, steps out, looking between you and the tattooed man standing too close to you. He senses the tension immediately. "Miss? Are you ready to go?"

You look at the car, the symbol of the life Jungkook just mocked and then back at him. He looks desperate, his hand hovering in the air between you, wanting to pull you back but knowing he doesn't have the right.

"I have a meeting at six," you say, your voice flat and professional, though it cracks at the very end. "I don't have time for this."

Would you be making a mistake giving up after being together for 2 years? You don't want to throw away all the beautiful memories and moments created together, but how much longer would you be a secret?

"I think you should really just go, Tae," you manage to get out.

As you stare into the mirror, you can't help but think your mom was right. If the two of you were in a relationship, why was he always spotted with different actresses or models? You didn't want to come across as an insecure girlfriend, so you rarely questioned him. When you did, however, you'd get somewhat the same range of responses anytime you brought up a new rumor.

Business Dinner.

Networking.

Charity Event.

Music Collab.

It wasn't anything you could really argue about because, at the end of the day, everything was connected with his career, and he didn't exactly have a normal career. He just happened to have the one where you could never be seen with him, or so he made it seem. Then again, he met you while on vacation, and what should have just been a short summer fling turned into more.

He chased you down the beach and asked for your number on the last day of your vacation.

He flew you out to Korea to witness his comeback performance live.

He introduced you to his friends and parents.

He moved you into your own luxury apartment not too far from him.

"I'm not leaving. Can we talk about things?" The desperation in his voice grows with each word.

"There's nothing for us to talk about," you reply, feeling more sure of your decision.

The rattle of the doorknob causes you to turn around as Taehyung continues to struggle with it, except it won't budge. You needed your space from him; it was the only way you could think clearly.  

"Y/N, unlock the door for me. You can't just end things like this!" His voice rises at the end, and you can hear the frustration building up.

"Well, this is me ending things, Taehyung. Just leave," you say louder, your voice feeling even more firm and steady as things start to add up in your mind.

"Open this door and stop hidin-"

"Stop hiding?!" Your hand swings the door open and Taehyung stumbles from the sudden loss of support. He quickly regains his balance, hands reaching towards your face.

"You want to talk about hiding?" You swat his hands away from your face as you try to push past him, but before you can get further, his fingers circle your wrist, pulling you to him.

"YOU'VE BEEN HIDING ME OUR ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP!"

You shout, yanking your wrist from his hand, watching his eyes widen at your sudden outburst. You had never said it out loud before, and it even shocked you. It was a small ember that was slowly building in your relationship for months, and it wasn't until this moment that it finally erupted into flames.

Taehyung opens his mouth to respond just as a knock sounds from the door.

"Taehyung? Y/N? Everything okay in there?" Namjoon's voice is full of concern, and suddenly you realize the entire hall must've heard the two of you.

You can see the wheels turning behind Taehyung's eyes as he stands there, tongue pressed against his cheek before turning away from you. His fingertips brush through his honey blonde hair as he opens the door, not to find only Namjoon, but Jungkook and Jimin standing at his sides as well.

"Y/N, hey, are you okay?" Jimin pushed past Taehyung, not even glancing at him as he walked straight over to you. You hadn't realized it, but at some point tears began to fall, and now they were running uncontrollably down your cheeks.

"What did you do?" Jungkook pressed as he walked up to Taehyung.

There was no point in questioning him. Taehyung couldn't take his eyes off you and the way you tried to turn away from him, almost burrowing into Jimin's arms so he couldn't see you.

"I want to leave."

You manage to get the words out softly without your voice cracking.  

"Y/N, maybe you guys should talk befo-"

"Please, Namjoon. I can't." The words are so soft and barely above a whisper as more tears begin to fall.

"Oka-"

You flinch, turning around to see Taehyung with both hands against the wall, his shoulders rising and falling quickly with each heavy breath. The clenching and unclenching of his right hand is enough for you to register the loud sound that came from his hand slamming into the wall. You didn't like to see him hurting, but it was unfair for you to be hurting as well.

"Look, maybe you two just need some space to cool down, and you guys can talk later," Namjoon explains to Tae with a reassuring hand on his back. He leans in and whispers something in his ear, but you can't make it out.

All you witness is the slight nod from Tae as he straightens up and runs a hand across his face before turning to face you. He takes a step in your direction, and you can't help but take a step back. You could feel the blood rushing through your veins.

You weren't scared of him, not one bit. You could never be scared of him. You were scared of falling back into his lap, easily giving in to keep the peace and returning to being his secret.

Tae closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, visibly hurt by you stepping away from him.

"We can talk after the concert. I'll give you some space," he breathes out, quickly leaving the hotel room, not giving anyone a chance to speak.

"I'll go talk to him," Namjoon manages to say, giving Jungkook and Jimin a look before rushing out of the room.

"It's my fault. I should've left a long time ago," you say, sliding your body down until you're sat on the floor, arms wrapped around your legs.

"Hey hey, that's not true," Jungkook says, walking over and crouching down to your level.

"Yeah, we all know how much Taehyung loves you. You're all he ever talks about," Jimin chimes in as he runs his hand across your back.

"I just feel like I can't handle it anymore. I've been a secret for so long. It's so hard living in the shadows," you express, resting your head across the top of your knees.

"Okay, how about this? You take a bubble bath, relax, clear your thoughts, and just put on a movie instead of coming to the concert," Jimin suggests as he begins walking towards the bathroom door.

You look up at Jimin, not expecting that response at all. Tae would be expecting you there and probably looking out for you in the crowd. Even during previous fights, you would always show up, standing in the same designated spot for him to find you.

"Wait, Jimin, I don't know if Tae would be okay-"

Before Jungkook can finish his sentence, Jimin is already cutting him off with an explanation.

"They need a little bit of space; missing one concert isn't going to ruin things."

Jungkook hesitantly nods before standing to his full height and reaching his hands down to help you up.

"Grab your clothes, and we'll run you a bubble bath before we leave," he smiles before rubbing your head, ruffling up your hair, and chuckling as you rush to fix it.

You watch as he follows Jimin into the bathroom and softly closes the door. As you move to rummage through your suitcase, the steady sound of water falling into the tub fills the room. You settle on some fluffy pajama pants and one of Tae's old oversized T-shirts you slept in every night.

Even though the running water echoes through the room, you can still hear the quiet mumbles of Jimin and Jungkook. It sounds like they're going back and forth, and you can't help but step closer to the door.

"Come on, Jimin, you know it's not right!"

The roughness in Jungkook's voice takes you by surprise. What could cause such a reaction from him?

"It's not our place at all. It's not our relationship," Jimin's voice sounds seconds later, just as rough.

It's Jungkook's next sentence that causes your heart to drop. It feels like the wind is blown out of you as a truth is revealed. Your head begins to spin as question after question clouds your mind.  

"Management told him two months ago he could go public with their relationship. So why hasn't he?"

❥ Don’t forget to like, comment and reblog! I love to hear your thoughts ✨

The knocks came in the same sharp, impatient pattern as always — three firm raps with absolutely no hesitation. You didn’t even have to check. You already knew exactly who was on the other side of the door.

A small, satisfied smirk pulled at your mouth as you walked over. You had chosen the silk nightdress on purpose — thin, barely skimming mid-thigh, with absolutely nothing underneath. You knew exactly how easy he was to piss off, and after the way he had left you aching and unfinished the other night, you weren’t feeling particularly merciful.

You opened the door slowly.

Jungkook stood there in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jaw tight, eyes already scanning you in one long, irritated sweep. The second he registered the thin silk and the obvious lack of anything beneath it, his expression darkened.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he said flatly.

You leaned against the doorframe, unbothered. “Doing what?”

His gaze dropped again, lingering on the way the fabric clung to your body, then flicked back up to your face. “Don’t play dumb.”

You stepped aside just enough to let him in, watching as he walked past you. The door clicked shut. And for a moment neither of you spoke. Expectation buzzed in the space around you. leftover anger from the other night still sitting heavy under the surface.

“You’re still mad,” he said eventually, turning to face you, raising his brow.

“You left.” Your voice was calm, but the edge was there. “In the middle of it — like it was nothing.”

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. Then he took a step closer. “It wasn’t nothing, Ms. ___, it was a consequence.”

“For ignoring your texts?” You let out a short, humorless breath. “You edged me and walked out. Then you act surprised when I find someone else to finish the job.”

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes at the reminder. He closed the remaining distance in two strides, one hand coming up to grip your jaw — not hard enough to hurt, but definitely firm enough to tilt your face up to his.

“You fucked him to get back at me,” he said quietly. “Just say that.”

You held his gaze, unflinching. “I fucked him because I felt like it. The fact that it bothered you was just a bonus.”

He frowned.

Then his thumb brushed once over your bottom lip, almost thoughtful, before his mouth replaced it — kissing you hard, with all the frustration and heat. The silk of your nightdress shifted under his hands as he backed you toward the nearest wall, palms already sliding down your sides, feeling the bare skin underneath with a low, rough sound.

“You’re going to regret trying to replace me,” he muttered against your lips.

You kissed him back just as roughly, fingers curling into his shirt. “Then finish what you started.”

. . .

You expected him to fire back. To argue. To get cocky and remind you why he walked out last time. But instead, Jungkook only kissed you — so thoroughly that you didn’t even register him walking you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed.

The silk nightdress was gone in one rough pull, discarded somewhere on the floor without care. His own clothes followed just as quickly, and then you were both bare on the wide mattress, the cool sheets were a contrast against heated skin.

He didn’t waste time with more talking. His mouth moved lower and closed over your breast, tongue circling the peak before sucking hard enough to make your back arch. At the same time his hand slid between your legs, two fingers spreading you open so his thumb could find your clit and start slow circles.

It felt insanely and unfairly good.

You hated that it did. Hated the way your body responded so easily to the same man whose company you spent every other day trying to undercut. Hated that the CEO you actively worked to sabotage could touch you like this and make the rest of the world temporarily irrelevant.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured against your skin, teeth grazing lightly before he moved to the other breast. His fingers never stopped their steady rhythm on your clit. “Usually you’re running your mouth by now.”

You let out a short, breathless scoff, even as your hips shifted into his hand. “Don’t get cocky. I’m just deciding how much I still hate you.”

Jungkook huffed a dark sound that might have been a laugh and pressed harder against your clit, circling with more pressure. “Hate me all you want, my dear. We both know that your body already made its choice.”

You reached down and wrapped your hand around his cock in retaliation, stroking him firmly enough to make his breath hitch. “Keep talking. I’ll make sure you don’t finish either this time.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, darkening, but there was no real threat in them — only heat and the clear decision that he wasn’t walking away again. He caught your wrist, pinned it firmly above your head and went back to working you open with his fingers while his mouth stayed busy on your breasts.

Every stroke of his thumb was precise. Every drag of his tongue was intentional. The same competitive edge that defined every business move between you was present here too, except this time he seemed determined to follow through. You could feel how hard he was against your thigh, could feel the restraint in the way he touched you — like he was choosing to take his time instead of rushing toward the main event.

“Was he actually good?” he asked suddenly, voice low against your skin as he slid one finger inside you, then a second, curling them while his thumb kept its rhythm on your clit.

You clenched around his fingers on purpose, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Jeon.”

“I’m not jealous.” He added a third finger, stretching you carefully, watching your reaction. “I’m just making sure you remember who actually knows how to fuck you properly.”

The worst part was that he did.

Your thighs were already starting to tremble, the dual attention of his mouth and hand were heavenly. You still hate him, of course — hate his company, hate the way he always seemed one step ahead in the boardroom, hate that he could make your body respond like this even while you actively plotted against him.

But the sex had never been the actual problem.

Jungkook pressed a lingering open-mouthed kiss between your breasts, then looked up at you again, fingers still moving with maddening consistency.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you moaned.

The corner of his mouth curved into a slow, satisfied smirk. And without warning he withdrew his fingers slowly, leaving you clenching around nothing. The sudden emptiness made your hips twitch in protest.

You pushed up onto your elbows, frowning. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He already knew what you were thinking. Because this time he was supposed to finish what he started.

But instead of answering, Jungkook stood up from the bed. Completely naked, cock hard and heavy, he wrapped a hand around himself and gave it a few lazy strokes while looking down at you. Then he tilted his chin slightly — silent, clear instruction.

“On your knees.”

You rolled your eyes hard. “Seriously?”

“You spent the last few days running your mouth,” he said evenly. “Now you can put it to better use.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Get down here.”

You held his gaze for another second, stubborn, before finally sliding off the bed and dropping to your knees in front of him. He watched every movement, eyes dark, still slowly stroking himself as you settled between his legs.

“Happy?” you asked flatly, looking up at him.

“Not yet.” He brushed the head of his cock against your bottom lip. “Open.”

You did — partly out of defiance, partly because the heat between your legs hadn’t faded — and took him into your mouth. Jungkook’s breath left him in a rough exhale as your tongue dragged along the underside. His hand came to rest at the back of your head, he wasnt pushing; just resting there as you started to move.

“That’s it,” he muttered, watching you. “You talk so much shit when you’re not on your knees. Now you look better like this.”

You hollowed your cheeks in response, taking him deeper just to wipe the smugness off his face. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair, a low sound catching in his throat.

The banter didn’t fully stop. Even with your mouth full of him, the competitiveness stayed present — every time he made a comment, you answered with a sharper suck or a deliberate swirl of your tongue that made his hips twitch. He never looked away from you, and you never gave him the satisfaction of being fully obedient.

Still, you kept going, letting him use your mouth the same way he had used his fingers earlier: controlled, intentional, and very clearly determined not to walk away unfinished this time.

. . .

You kept the rhythm steady, taking him deeper each time, tongue working along the underside as his breathing grew heavier. His fingers tightened in your hair, hips starting to shift with more urgency. You could feel him getting closer — the subtle tension in his thighs, the way his grip turned less controlled.

So you pulled off completely.

Jungkook’s cock left your mouth with a wet sound, flushed and glistening. He looked down at you, eyes still dark, chest rising a little faster than before.

A low, rough chuckle left him — quiet, almost amused, but edged with something hungrier.

“Payback, huh?” he asked, voice deeper than usual.

You wiped the corner of your mouth with your thumb and shrugged, still on your knees. “Something like that.”

Before you could say anything else he leaned down, hooked his hands under your arms, and lifted you clean off the floor like you weighed nothing. In two steps he had you back on the bed, dropping you onto the mattress and following immediately, settling between your thighs.

You bit your lip, watching his movements.

His cock dragged against your wetness as he braced himself over you, still hard, still clearly not done.

You whimpered a little.

“Cute,” he muttered, lining himself up. “Do that again.”

“You wish.”

Without another word he pushed inside in one deliberate thrust — burying himself to the hilt — and then stopped completely.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden stretch. He stayed right there, hips flush against yours, not moving an inch. The thick heat of him pulsed inside you while he held himself perfectly still.

“There,” he said quietly, voice low. “Since you want to be difficult.”

You clenched around him on instinct, trying to get him to move. He only pressed his hand to your hip, keeping you in place.

“Stay like this,” he ordered, leaning down until his mouth was close to your ear. “Feel how full you are. That’s your punishment for running your mouth again.”

He remained buried deep, cock warming you with control, refusing to give you the friction you wanted while the tension between you stayed unbroken.

You shifted under him, testing his hold. His hand on your hip only tightened.

“You’re actually just going to do this?” you asked, voice tight.

“Yes.” Jungkook’s tone was calm, almost lazy.

You let out a short, frustrated breath. “This is your idea of finishing what you started?”

“This is me making a point.” He rolled his hips once — barely a movement — then went still again. “You fucked Namjoon to get under my skin. Congrats. It worked. Now you get to deal with the consequence.”

You scoffed, even as your body clenched around him. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“I’m hung up on the fact that you used him like a tool.” His eyes stayed locked on yours. “And that you thought it would put you back in control.”

“It did. You literally showed up at my door looking pissed.”

Jungkook leaned down closer, the shift making him sink even deeper inside you. “I showed up because you keep stealing deals that should’ve been mine and then acting surprised when I retaliate.”

“Stealing?” You laughed under your breath, the sound strained. “I outmaneuvered you, Jeon. There’s a difference.”

“You undercut my Southeast Asia partners three weeks ago. You have your people watching every move I make. Oh and don't forget about the shit you pulled with Hublot. His voice stayed low, controlled, even while he remained fully inside you. “And then you have the nerve to look me in the eye and act like you’re the only one playing dirty.”

You let out a short chuckle. “Please. You’re a nepo baby who inherited half his leverage and still acts like every win is pure genius. Don’t act like your hands are clean.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t pull out. If anything he settled there , keeping you pinned under the weight of him and the argument.

“I built on what I was given,” he said. “You just specialize in burning what I’ve already built.”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” you muttered.

“And you’re so fucking stubborn.” He brushed his mouth along your jaw, still not thrusting. “Even now, you’d rather argue than admit you want me to make you cum.”

That did it.

You shoved at his chest hard enough that he had to catch himself. Before he could settle back into place, you pushed him fully onto his back and followed, straddling his hips in one smooth motion. His cock slipped free for a second — both of you hissing at the loss — before you reached down, lined him up, and sank back down onto him in one controlled drop.

Jungkook’s head tipped back against the pillow, a rough sound leaving his throat as you took every inch on your own terms.

“There,” you said, bracing your hands on his chest and slowly rolling your hips once. “Since you’re so committed to not moving.”

His hands flew to your waist, fingers digging in, but he didn’t try to flip you back over. His eyes were heated, watching you with a mixture of irritation and raw want.

“You always have to make everything a competition,” he said, voice strained as you started to ride him properly — lifting almost all the way off before sinking down again.

“You started it.” You leaned forward slightly, changing the angle so he dragged against that spot inside you with every movement. “I’m just better at finishing.”

Jungkook’s grip tightened. He thrust up to meet you once, hard, but you matched the rhythm immediately, refusing to let him take over. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room as you set a steady, demanding pace, using him the same way he had tried to use the stillness against you.

“Still think you’re in control, Jeon?” you asked, breathless, looking down at him.

His jaw clenched. One of his hands slid up your back, pulling you down closer so he could speak against your mouth.

“Of course,” he muttered, “Don’t you worry, ___. I’ll remind you exactly who this pussy responds to.”

You only clenched around him harder and picked up the pace, determined to make him break first.

Every time he tried to thrust up and take over, you met him harder, refusing to let him set his own rhythm. The wet sound of it filled the room, mixed with sharp breaths and the occasional muttered curse.

“Fuck— ___, you're doing too much.” he gritted out, fingers digging into your hips.

“Am I?” you shot back, rolling your hips in a way that made his jaw clench. “You’re the one who showed up, right? You’re the one who couldn’t stay away from me.”

Jungkook’s eyes flashed. “And you’re the one riding my cock like you need it.”

You frown.

“I don’t need it. I just like watching you lose.”

You leaned forward slightly, changing the angle so every downward movement dragged him against the spot that made your thighs tighten. His breathing had turned uneven. Yours wasn’t much steadier, but you still refused to ease up.

“You’re so obsessed with me it’s embarrassing,” you said, your voice rough. “Are you falling in love, Jeon? Is that what this is?”

He let out a harsh, humorless breath and suddenly sat up, the shift burying him even deeper. One hand shot up to grip your jaw, holding your face still as he kissed you hard — messy, open-mouthed, all heat and anger. You kissed him back just as fiercely, neither of you softening.

“I hate you,” he muttered against your lips, the words almost lost between kisses. “I hate you so fucking much. I hate that no one else gets this kind of reaction out of me.”

“Oh, my dearest,” you breathed, almost mockingly, and still moving on him. “I’m honoured. Genuinely.”

His free arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you down to meet every upward thrust as the rhythm turned desperate. The insults didn’t stop — short, breathless, half-swallowed between kisses — but the edge of competition only pushed both of you closer. You could feel him swelling inside you, and you could feel your own orgasm building quickly.

“F-fuck you,” he groaned against your mouth.

“Fuck you too,” you answered, voice breaking.

The kiss turned sloppy as the pleasure crested.

You came first, clenching hard around him with a muffled sound against his lips, and he followed almost immediately, burying himself deep and pulsing inside you while still kissing you through it.

Neither of you pulled away.

And for a really long moment afterward you stayed like that — foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, both of you breathing hard.

The room felt too quiet after everything. Then, almost at the same time, a short, reluctant chuckle left each of you. It was not soft, nor affectionate. Just the exhausted, bitter sound of two people who still hated each other and somehow kept ending up right here anyway.

Jungkook’s thumb brushed once over your jaw before he let go.

“Still hate you, Ms. ___,” he muttered, forehead still resting against yours.

You smiled. “Still hate you too, Mr. Jeon.”

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·