collateral | j.jk chapter 3
⤷Three years of playing it safe at university vanish when campus king Jeon Jungkook decides you're his new obsession. He's all dangerous ink and possessive hands, and he won't stop until your carefully curated invisibility is destroyed and you're completely his.
pairing: 전정국 x fem!reader (i guess it can be anyone, pronouns used are "you" and "your")
Genre: Romance | College AU | Slice of Life | Smut | fwb kinda| angsty
warnings (in this chapter): 18+, class differences; wealth disparity; the fear of getting hurt in a relationship; overthinking; family strain; push and pull, mentions of sex; emotional cheating; rebound sex; angst, pining; aftercare; drunk kissing; grief sex; pet names.
word count: 6.2k
a/n: thank you for your support for this ff! I have a question: How do y'all feel when y/n has a specific age or university major? Should I keep it pretty neutral? (also jk just posted his log omggggggggggg im going crazyyyyyyyyy!!!
chapter 1 chapter 2
There on the cover was Jungkook, looking more handsome than you'd ever seen him in a tailored black tuxedo that highlighted the breadth of his shoulders and the powerful lines of his body. His dark hair was styled away from his forehead, revealing the sharp angles of his face and the intensity in his eyes. He was smiling politely, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
And beside him stood a woman who was everything you weren't.
Tall and slender, with delicate features and an expensive-looking cream gown that probably cost more than your entire tuition. Her dark hair was styled in an elegant updo, and she wore diamonds at her ears and throat. She was looking up at Jungkook with an expression of adoration that made your stomach clench.
You snatched the magazine from the rack, your hands trembling as you flipped to the article inside. There were more pictures-Jungkook and the woman talking to an older couple who looked important, Jungkook's hand resting possessively on the small of her back, Jungkook leaning in to say something in her ear that made her laugh.
The caption read: "Jeon Jungkook, heir to the Jeon business empire, attends the annual Seoul Children's Charity Gala with Park Min-hee, daughter of Park Sung-hoon of Park Pharmaceuticals. Sources close to the families suggest an announcement may be imminent, marking the union of two of Korea's most powerful business dynasties."
You felt sick. An announcement? Union? He'd told you he just went to a gala, he'd never mentioned anything about an announcement, about a union.
You paid for your coffee and the magazine with shaking hands. Outside, the morning air felt cold against your skin, and you suddenly couldn't breathe. You stumbled to a nearby bench and sat down, your heart pounding.
Why hadn't he told you? If this was just business, as he'd claimed, why hide it? Why lie by omission?
You pulled out your phone, your fingers fumbling as you searched for his name. You needed to hear his voice, needed him to explain away the pictures and the captions, needed him to tell you it was all just a misunderstanding.
The call went straight to voicemail. You tried again, with the same result. Third time, same.
jk: Can't talk right now. In a meeting. Everything okay?
You stared at his message, anger and hurt warring inside you. A meeting? Was that what he was calling it now? A meeting with his suitable future wife?
You: No. Everything is not okay.
You: I saw the pictures.
You: Is there something you want to tell me?
You hit send before you could lose your nerve, then immediately regretted it. You sounded jealous and possessive...everything you'd agreed not to be. But you couldn't help it.
Your phone buzzed ten minutes later, and you answerd .
"Hello?" you said, your voice tight.
"Hey…Sorry about the meeting. My father can be... intense."
"I'm sure," you said, your tone clipped. "Busy day of business?"
"Something like that." He paused. "You saw the magazine?"
"I did," you said. "It was quite the spread. You and your... associate looked very happy together."
He sighed, and you could hear the frustration in his breath "It's not what you think."
"Really? Because it looks like you're standing next to your future fiancée at a charity gala, smiling for the cameras while the world speculates about your union."
"It's not like that" he said, his voice sharp. "It's just business. My father wants me to make connections, to be seen with the right people. It doesn't mean anything."
"Doesn't mean anything?" You couldn't keep the disbelief out of your voice. "Jungkook, they're talking about an announcement, that sounds like it means something to someone."
"To my father," he corrected. "To my mother. Not to me."
"And what about me?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Where do I fit into this business arrangement? Or don't I?"
"Of course you do," he said, but his words lacked conviction. "This is just... something I have to do. For my family."
"Your family or your business empire?"
"There's a difference?" he asked, and you could hear the weariness in his voice. "Look, I don't have time for this right now. I'm in the middle of something important."
"More important than explaining why you lied to me?"
"I didn't lie," he said, his patience clearly wearing thin. "I just didn't tell you everything because I knew you'd react like this."
"React like what?" you demanded, your anger rising. "Like a person who's hurt to find out the guy she's sleeping with is apparently getting engaged to someone else in a business transaction?"
"It's not a business transaction," he snapped. "And I'm not getting engaged to anyone. You shouldn't worry about things you don't understand!"
"Things I don't understand?!" You repeated, incredulous. "Oh, I'm sorry. I guess my simple scholarship brain can't comprehend the complexities of arranged marriages disguised as romance."
"It's complicated…family politics, business obligations, things that have nothing to do with us."
"Then why did you hide it from me?" you asked, your voice softer now, more pleading. "Why didn't you just tell me the truth?"
"Because I knew you'd overreact," he said, and his words landed like a blow. "Because I knew you'd make it about you when it's not."
"Make it about me?" You felt tears stinging your eyes. "Jungkook, you're standing next to another woman in a magazine article about your impending engagement, and you're telling me I'm making it about me?"
"I have to go," he said abruptly. "My father is calling me into another meeting."
"Of course you do," you said, your voice flat. "Wouldn't want to keep the future head of the Jeon empire waiting."
"Don't be like that," he said, his voice softening slightly. "I'll call you when I get back to the hotel tonight."
"Don't bother," you said, and hung up before he could respond.
You sat on the bench for a long time, the magazine open on your lap, your coffee growing cold beside you. Students passed by, laughing and talking, oblivious to the storm raging inside you.
Lisa found you there twenty minutes later, her expression concerned when she saw your face.
"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting beside you. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Worse," you said, pushing the magazine toward her. "I've seen the future."
She scanned the article, her eyes widening. "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry."
Lisa's arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into a side hug that felt both comforting and suffocating. I could feel her gaze on me, heavy with pity, and I hated it. I hated being the girl who needed pity.
"I'm so stupid," I whispered, the words barely audible past the lump in my throat.
"You're not stupid," Lisa said firmly, her voice a low anchor in the storm of my thoughts. "You're human. You kinda fell for a guy who happens to come with a multi-billion-dollar empire and a society-approved fiancée.”
Your words hit home with painful accuracy. The ride with Jungkook had been exhilarating. The late-night texts, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room, the feeling of his hands on your skin, the sex. It had been too good to give up.
"What do I do?" you asked, looking at her, your vision blurred with unshed tears. You felt lost, and hurt, every part of you screamed to run, to delete his number and pretend these 4 weeks weeks never happened. But another part, a weaker and more foolish part of you wanted to hear his explanation, wanted to believe him when he said it meant nothing.
"First," Lisa said, standing up and pulling you with her, "we're going back to the dorm. You're going to take a shower, and I'm going to order us the greasiest, most comforting pizza known to man."
"And after that?" you asked, letting her lead you back toward the dorms, your feet dragging.
"After that," she said, her voice gentle, "you're going to decide what you want. And then you're going to tell him."
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The pizza arrived, but you couldn't eat. Lisa put on some ridiculous show about wealthy housewives fighting over dinner party invitations, but you couldn't focus.
Your phone sat on the nightstand, silent and dark, a monument to your own foolishness. Every time it buzzed with a notification, your heart leaped into your throat, only to sink when it was just an email from a professor or a group chat notification.
Around midnight, as Lisa was dozing off beside you, your phone finally lit up with his name. You stared at it, your thumb hovering over the green accept button. Part of you wanted to answer, to scream at him, to demand an explanation. Another part wanted to let it ring, to let him feel a fraction of the uncertainty you'd been feeling all day.
In the end, you did neither. You let it go to voicemail.
A minute later, a text came through.
jk: Are you there? Please pick up.
Another minute passed.
jk: I know you're angry. Just... let me explain.
You turned your phone over, face down on the nightstand, and pulled the covers over your head. You weren't ready to hear his explanations. You weren't ready to be placated with pretty words and empty promises. You needed time to think, to figure out what Lisa had asked you to figure out: what did you want?
The answer came to you in the quiet hours of the morning, long after Lisa had fallen asleep and the only sounds were the hum of the mini-fridge and the distant chirping of crickets. You wanted to be seen. Not as the scholarship girl, not as the temporary distraction, not as the unsuitable secret. You wanted to be seen as someone who mattered, you wanted to be more than just business.
Monday was a blur of classes you couldn't focus on and professors whose words blended into meaningless noise. You moved through the day like a ghost, your body present but your mind somewhere else, replaying his words in your mind. You shouldn't worry about things you don't understand.
By the time your last class ended, you were exhausted, emotionally and physically. All you wanted was to go back to your dorm, crawl into bed, and pretend the world didn't exist.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
As you left the lecture hall, you saw him leaning against the wall near the exit. He was wearing dark jeans that hugged his muscular thighs and a simple black t-shirt that did little to hide the powerful lines of his chest and arms. His dark hair was slightly messy, falling over his forehead in a way that made your stomach clench. He was smoking his usual clove cigarettes.
Students glanced at him as they passed. He ignored them all, his eyes fixed on you. For a moment, you considered turning around, walking back into the lecture hall and hiding until he left, but then your eyes met, and you knew you couldn't run forever, and especially not from him, the man whose penthouse you knew with your eyes closed, the man who made you feel seen.
"Hey," he said, pushing off the wall and stubbing out his cigarette. "I've been looking for you."
"Congratulations," you said, your voice colder than you intended. "You found me."
He didn't back away. "Can we talk?"
"I think we said everything we needed to say on the phone."
"No," he said, his voice low. "We didn't. I shouldn't have said what I said. I was... stressed. And angry. But that's not an excuse."
You crossed your arms over your chest, a defensive gesture you couldn't help. "What do you want, Jungkook?"
"To explain," he said, stepping closer. "To apologize. To make you understand."
"Make me understand what?" you asked, your voice rising slightly. "That I'm just a distraction? That when you're done playing with me, that you'll go back to your world and marry someone suitable, just like I told you would at the diner?"
"That's not it," he said, his voice urgent. "It's not like that at all."
"Then what is it like?" you demanded, your frustration boiling over. "Because it looks to me like you're living a double life. And I'm the part you keep hidden in the shadows."
"Because I'm trying to protect you!" he burst out, his voice louder than intended. Several students turned to look at us, and he lowered his voice, his eyes pleading. "My father... he's not a good man, Y/N. He's ruthless."
"He'd what?" you challenged, though a part of you was terrified of the answer. "Have me expelled? Ruin my scholarship? Have me disappeared?" you say sarcastically.
"I don't know," he admitted, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
"So what?" you asked, your anger softening slightly. "You're just going to marry this girl? Play the part of the dutiful son? Hm? You're going to be my Archer, and I'm your Ellen Olenska?" (ifykyk)
"No," he said, reaching for your hand, then stopping himself. "I want you without hiding from anyone, but I'm trying to figure out how to have that... without destroying you in the process."
"Destroying me? By lying to me? By letting me find out from a gossip magazine that you're apparently engaged to someone else?"
"It's not an engagement," he said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's a possibility. Something my father and her father are discussing. Something my mother is encouraging. But it's not a done deal. And it's not what I want."
"What do you want?" you asked, echoing the question you'd asked yourself the night before.
"You."
You looked over at him and noticed that conflict in his eyes, like the weight of the world was sitting right on his shoulders. He felt stuck between the life he was born into and the life he craved with you, and honestly, he didn't know how to stitch the two together, not even a little.
"I need time," you said finally, your voice soft. "I can't... I can't just pretend this didn't happen. I can't just go back to your apartment and pretend everything is normal."
"I know, just... don't shut me out. Let me prove to you that I'm not the monster you think I am."
"I don't think you're a monster," you admitted. "I think you're a man who's in way over his head. And I'm not sure I'm not sure I'm strong enough to survive it."
The words hung between us, fragile and honest. You hadn't meant to say them, hadn't meant to reveal the depth of your fear, but there they were, out in the open, vulnerable and raw.
Jungkook’s expression sort of softened; the sharp edges on his jaw just… relaxed a bit as he moved another step closer.
“You’re the strongest person I know,” he said, and his voice was low. “You work a job while keeping a scholarship that half the students here can’t manage, not even with private tutors. You take care of yourself; you don’t really ask for help; you don’t complain. You make it through each day in a world that wasn’t built for you. Don’t tell me you aren’t strong enough.”
"Strong enough to survive, maybe," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "But not strong enough to be your secret. Not strong enough to be the other woman."
"You're not the other woman," he said, his frustration evident. "There's no one else. There's only you."
"Then what is she?" you asked, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "The woman in the magazine? The one your parents approve of? The one they're planning your future with?"
"She's the past," he said, his voice firm. "Or would be, if I had any say in-"
"I need to go," you said, turning away before you could change my mind. "I have a paper to finish."
"Y/N," he called after you, his voice pleading.
"I'm just... taking a step back. I need to think, to figure out what I want."
"And if what you want isn't me?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
"Then I guess we'll both have to live with that," you said, though the thought sent a sharp pain through your chest.
You walked off before he could even answer, your heart going crazy with each step. You didn’t look over, didn’t allow yourself to catch sight of the expression on his face, you didn’t let your guard down and turn around to fall back into his arms again. You just kept moving, util you finally reached your dorm room safely, with the door shut and sort of right there between us.
Lisa looked up from her textbook, her expression concerned. "You okay?"
"I will be," you said, dropping onto your bed and burying your face in your pillow. "Eventually."
"Did you talk to him?" she asked, setting her book aside.
"I did," you said, your voice muffled by the pillow. "It didn't help."
"What did he say?"
"The usual," you said, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling. "That it's not what it looks like, that he's trying to protect me, that it's all just business."
"And do you believe him?"
"I want to," you admitted. "I really, really want to. But I'm not sure I can."
"Then don't," she said simply. "Not until you're sure. Not until he's sure."
You nodded, though you weren't sure what that meant. How could he be sure of anything when he was caught between two worlds, two lives, two versions of himself?
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The next few days just slid by like time was stuck. Jungkook didn’t call or text, and you didn’t really reach out either. You threw yourself into your studies, spending these long hours in the library, trying to dodge everything by drowning in the Modernist poetry. Still, even there it didn’t feel like you could get away from him. Every single time you saw the Jeon name engraved on the library, the Art building, and the business school, it would snap you back to the world he came from.
On Wednesday, as you were leaving the library, your phone buzzed.
jk: still mad ?
you: what do you think?
jk: fair enough.
Then the chat went silent for a few minutes.
jk: i’m gonna call you now
You didn’t even have time to process the message when your phone already buzzed. You didn’t answer, and he called multiple times- way too many times for just a hookup, for just a fwb situation, and you replied with a simple “I think it’s for the best if you leave me alone for now.”
The next morning, you woke up with a headache and a heart full of regret. You'd pushed him away, and part of you wondered if you'd ever find your way back. But then you remembered the magazine, and you knew you'd made the right choice. Even if it hurt, even if it broke your heart, and maybe his too. You deserved more than that. And if he couldn't give you more, then you had to walk away, no matter how much it hurt.
You got out of bed, showered, and dressed for your shift at the bookstore. You needed the distraction, needed the routine, needed the comfort of familiar faces and predictable tasks.
When you arrived, Jimin was behind the counter at your job. He was your boss, and he was a little older than you, but he was always so nice to you, giving you extra money if you stayed over the working hours, and giving you as many days as you needed to have to recover if you were sick.
"Rough night?" he asked, his expression softening with concern as he took in your appearance.
"You could say that," you said, forcing a smile. "Just... personal stuff."
"Anything I can help with?" he asked, leaning against the counter.
"Unless you can magically make you forget your own name, probably not," you said, your voice dry.
He laughed, though his eyes were still full of concern. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. I make a mean cup of hot chocolate, and I'm an excellent listener."
"Thanks, Jimin," you said, your smile genuine this time. "I appreciate it."
"Anytime," he said, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment before he turned to help a customer.
You spent the next few hours stocking shelves and helping customers, trying to lose yourself in the familiar rhythm of the bookstore. But even there, you couldn't escape your thoughts. Every time you saw a couple browsing together, every time you looked at the stockroom, it reminded you of Jungkook; you were pulled back into the storm of your emotions.
When your shift ended, you were so tired, but Jimin had other plans.
"Hey," he said, catching you as you were about to leave. "I was thinking... since you've had a rough day, maybe you'd want to grab a drink? My treat."
You hesitated, torn between your desire to be alone and your need for distraction. "I don't know, Jimin. I'm not really in the mood to be social."
"That's okay," he said, his smile gentle. "We don't have to talk. We can just sit and drink in companionable silence. Or we can talk about books. Or we can talk about anything but the reason you're upset. Your call."
And in that moment, you made a decision, a reckless, impulsive decision that would change everything.
"Okay," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "But just one drink."
His smile widened, relieved and pleased. "Great. There's a place just around the corner. They have the best soju in town."
"Lead the way," you said, forcing a smile you didn't feel.
The bar was small and dimly, you found a booth in the corner, and Jimin ordered a bottle of soju and two glasses.
"To forgetting," he said, raising his glass in a toast.
"To forgetting," you echoed, clinking his glass before downing the contents in one go. The soju burned a trail down your throat, a welcome distraction from the ache in your chest.
Jimin refilled your glass without a word, his eyes full of understanding. You drank in silence for a while, the alcohol dulling the sharp edges of your pain, softening the memories of Jungkook's voice, his face, his touch.
"So," Jimin said finally, breaking the silence. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really," you said, shaking your head. "But I think I need to."
He nodded, his expression encouraging. "I'm listening."
"It's just... I trusted him," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "I thought what we had was real, even if we never defined it. I thought he cared about me, you know? Really cared."
"And he doesn't?" Jimin asked gently.
"I don't know," you admitted, staring into your glass. "I think he does, in his own way. But it's not enough. It's never enough."
"Because of…?" Jimin guessed, and you looked at him, surprised.
"Family, I guess."
"I'm so sorry," Jimin said, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "You don't deserve that. You deserve someone proud to be with you, someone who isn't afraid to show you off to the world."
Tears pricked your eyes, and you blinked them back, refusing to cry in the middle of a crowded bar. "I thought he was that someone," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Stupid, right?"
"No," Jimin said, his voice firm. "Not stupid. Hopeful. There's a difference."
You drank in silence again, the alcohol loosening your tongue, lowering your inhibitions. You found yourself telling him things you hadn't told anyone—not even Lisa—about the way that person made you feel, the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the rare moments of vulnerability when he'd let you see the man behind the reputation.
"He's intense," you said, swirling the soju in your glass. "Possessive. Jealous. But also surprisingly gentle, you know? In those rare moments when he lets his guard down, when he's not trying to be… whatever…and I think I might be in love with that boy."
"Then you deserve to have him," Jimin said, his voice soft. "All of him, not just the parts he's willing to share."
"I don't think that's possible," you said, shaking your head.
"Then maybe you deserve someone else," Jimin suggested, his eyes meeting yours. "Someone who can give you all of himself, without reservation."
"Like who?" you asked, your voice challenging.
"Like me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
You leaned across the table and kissed him.
It was a clumsy, desperate kiss, fueled by spite and loneliness and the burning need to forget. The cheap wooden table pressed into your ribs, a stark reminder of the public nature of this moment, but you didn't care. Let them watch. Let them see. Let the whole damn world know that you were not some possession to be hidden away, some secret to be ashamed of. You were a person with desires and needs and the right to act on them, even if those actions were born from a place of pain.
Jimin was surprised at first, his body tense with shock, his lips unyielding against yours. For a horrifying second, you thought he would push you away, would reject you, would add to the ever-growing pile of hurts that had accumulated in your heart over the past few weeks. But then he relaxed, his lips parting under yours, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. The gesture was so gentle, so accepting, that it almost made you cry.
The kiss deepened, your tongues tangling in a slow, exploratory dance. It was different from kissing Jungkook, softer, gentler, less demanding. There was no intensity, no possessiveness, no desperate need to consume and be consumed. With Jungkook, every kiss was a battle, a war for dominance, a declaration of ownership that both thrilled and terrified you. He would bite your lower lip, his hands would grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises, his tongue would invade your mouth with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. It was exhilarating and intoxicating.
Jimin's kiss was none of those things. It was nice, pleasant, but it didn't set you on fire the way Jungkook's kisses did. But it was enough to distract you, enough to make you forget, if only for a moment, the ache in your chest. The ache that had been there for weeks now, ever since you'd discovered the truth about Jungkook's other life, the life he had kept hidden from you, the life that didn't seem to have room for you in the light of day.
"Let's get out of here," Jimin whispered against your lips, his breath warm and sweet with the smell of soju and something uniquely him—mint and vanilla. It was a comforting smell, a safe smell, and you found yourself nodding before you'd even fully processed his words.
He paid the bill, ignoring the bartender's knowing smirk, and led you out into the cool night air. The streetlights cast long shadows as you walked in silence to his apartment, a small but tidy space above a bakery. The air was thick with the smell of sugar and yeast, a comforting aroma that reminded you of childhood mornings, of a time when your world was simple, and your heart was unbroken.
His lips were on yours again the moment the door closed, his hands roaming your body, exploring curves and hollows with a gentle curiosity that was both comforting and unsettling. You responded in kind, your fingers tangling in his soft hair, your body pressing against his, your mind a blur of alcohol and hormones. His hands traced the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips, each touch sending shivers through your body despite the warmth of the room.
He led you to the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours, his hands never ceasing their exploration. You fell onto his bed, a tangle of limbs and desperation, your clothes discarded in a heap on the floor—his shirt, your dress, his jeans, your panties—each piece removed with a tenderness that contradicted the urgency of your actions.
Jimin's eyes darkened with appreciation as he revealed them, his fingers tracing the delicate patterns of the lace before carefully unhooking your bra. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were afraid you might break. He kissed every inch of your skin, his lips soft and warm, his hands caressing and soothing. He took his time, mapping your body with his mouth and hands.
It was nice, pleasant, but it wasn't enough to fill the void inside you, to quiet the voice in your head that kept whispering Jungkook's name. You tried to lose yourself in the moment, to focus on the sensations, the feel of Jimin's hands on your body, the taste of his lips, the sound of his breathing, but your mind kept drifting back to Jungkook, to the way he touched you, the way he possessed you, the way he made you feel alive and desired and completely, utterly his.
Jimin must have sensed your distraction because he pulled back, his expression concerned. "Are you okay, angel?" he asked, his voice soft.
The pet name, so simple, so sweet, almost broke you. Jungkook had never called you anything like that, never a pet name.
"I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile. "Just... a little drunk."
"Me too," he admitted, his smile sheepish. "Maybe we should slow down…?"
"No," you said, your voice more forceful than you intended. "I don't want to slow down. I don't want to think. I just want to feel."
He nodded, his expression understanding, and leaned in to kiss you again. This time, you tried harder to focus, to lose yourself in the moment, to forget about everything and everyone but the two of you, in this room, on this bed.
His hands roamed your body, exploring and caressing, his lips following the path his fingers had taken. You responded in kind, your hands exploring his body, your lips tracing patterns on his skin. It was pleasant and enjoyable, but it wasn't the all-consuming fire you felt with Jungkook. It was a gentle flame, warm and comforting, but it didn't burn away the pain, didn't scorch away the memories.
He positioned himself above you, his knees between your thighs, his body hovering over yours. He entered you slowly, carefully, his movements gentle and controlled. You closed your eyes, trying to lose yourself in the sensation, to focus on the feeling of him inside you, the rhythm of your bodies moving together. But it wasn't enough. The pleasure was muted, distant, overshadowed by the memory of Jungkook's intensity, his possessiveness, his desperate need to claim every part of you.
You tried to push the thoughts away, to focus on the present, on the man above you, on the pleasure you were supposed to be sharing. But your mind kept drifting, kept comparing, kept finding Jimin lacking.
It wasn't his fault. He was doing everything right, everything a lover was supposed to do. He was gentle, attentive, and considerate. He was trying to give you pleasure, to make you feel desired, to make you forget.
But he wasn't Jungkook. And in that moment, that was all that mattered.
You felt a surge of guilt and of shame. You were using him, using his kindness, his affection, his desire, to dull your own pain. You were betraying him, betraying Jungkook, betraying yourself.
And then you felt something else: anger, defiance, spite. Jungkook had lied to you, hidden you, treated you like a dirty secret. He had no claim on you, no right to be angry, no right to feel betrayed. You were free. Free to do what you wanted, free to be with who you wanted, free to forget about him and the complicated mess he'd made of your life.
With that thought in mind, you focused on the present, on the man above you, on the pleasure you were supposed to be sharing. You arched your back, meeting his thrusts, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him deeper. You moaned his name, Jimin's name, trying to make it sound real, trying to convince yourself as much as him. For a moment, it almost worked, the pleasant friction coiled highly low in your belly. You closed your eyes, focusing on the physical sensations, the warmth of his skin, the weight of his body, the sound of his soft groans in your ear.
He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and a jolt of pleasure shot through you. You gasped, your hips rising to meet his, your body responding instinctively. "Right there," you breathed, and he obliged, his movements becoming more deliberate, more focused.
The pleasure built, slow and steady, a wave rising from the depths of the ocean. You could feel yourself getting closer, your body tensing, your breath catching in your throat. Jimin sensed it too, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more demanding.
"Come for me," he whispered against your ear, his voice husky with desire. "Let go, baby. I've got you."
But then his hand slid up your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your ribs, and your mind betrayed you. It wasn't Jimin's touch you felt, but Jungkook's—his possessive grip, his demanding caress, his knowing touch that could unravel you with a single stroke. The phantom sensation was so vivid, so real, that it stole the air from your lungs. It was the way Jungkook's thumb would press into that specific spot between your ribs, a silent, proprietary gesture that always made your heart race with a mixture of fear and exhilaration.
The wave receded, leaving you empty and aching. You could feel Jimin still moving inside you, still trying to bring you to the peak you'd been so close to reaching, but it was no use. The pleasure had faded, replaced by a hollow ache that had nothing to do with physical satisfaction and everything to do with the man who wasn't there. The gentle, rhythmic friction that had been building so beautifully now felt abrasive, a constant reminder of what was missing, of who was missing.
"Stop," you said, your voice barely audible, cracked with the effort of holding back tears. "Jimin, stop."
He froze, his body tense above you. He immediately withdrew, his concern for you overriding his own desire. He rolled to your side, propping himself up on an elbow, his face a mask of worry in the dim light filtering through the window. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," you said, shaking your head, tears finally escaping and tracing hot paths down your temples into your hair. "It's not you. It's me." The words were a cliché, a pathetic excuse, but they were also the truest thing you'd said all night.
Jimin's expression softened further, his hand coming up to gently wipe away a tear with his thumb. "Hey, angel, it's okay," he murmured, his voice gentle. "We don't have to..." He trailed off, misunderstanding completely, thinking it was a matter of discomfort or disinterest.
You shook your head again, more forcefully this time. "No, that's not... I want this. I do. It's just..." How could you explain it? How could you tell this kind, gentle man that you were using him as a human shield, a warm body to hide behind while you fought a war with a ghost? "I'm messed up," you finally settled on, the words feeling inadequate and childish. "I'm sorry."
He didn't press. He just lay down beside you, pulling the covers up over both of your naked bodies, and gathered you into his arms. It was a purely platonic gesture, one of comfort, not desire. He held you against his chest, your head tucked under his chin, his hand stroking your hair in a slow, rhythmic motion. You felt safe.
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lmk what you guys think !! <3
𝘵𝘢𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵: @mar-lo-pap, @junqkooknim @tatamicc @jksusawife @rkive994 @bambijuicee @thedelulusafespace @mokkaccinnos @pung3 @focusonkayjay @prxdajeon
(y'all are so cool and i hope i didn't disappoint)
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