Starstruck (2)

starstruck (2)

Starstruck (2)

the world of flashing lights, screaming people and new projects and jobs are all new to you - luckily jungkook is right by your side for every step of it.

word count: 5.471

warning: unsolicited touching/fingering, power imbalance, manipulation, guilt tripping :{, oral sex, smut, unprotected sex, praising, dirty talk, rough sex, overstimulation, possessive behavior,

part one

“What do you think the blogs would say about us?” Jungkook jokes, a soft smile on his thin lips. He glances away from the obvious pap with a camera and eyes you. 

“Nothing too bad I hope.” you laugh. 

You don’t want to follow Jungkook’s eyes and catch the cameraman - or several - all pointing and snapping pictures at the two of you. They were mainly here for Jungkook, of course, as you were still a fresh face.

Jungkook had asked you to go to lunch today. Shooting didn’t start until later on so it was easier to agree. Months of shooting the movie, it was easier to say that Jungkook and you were growing closer as co-workers.

Friends?

Could you say Jungkook and you were friends? Everytime you think about how you and he slept together - for the sake of the movie, of course - it makes your body hot. But damn did it also make the scenes easier when you had to pretend to moan a certain way. Jungkook had told you to just remember how good you felt for him that night and to pretend that it was all real now.

“What could they say?”

Jungkook smiles at the server as she drops two plates on either side of you. You only got a salad while Jungkook opted for a steak.

“They’ll probably be dating rumors.” Jungkook speaks again. He’s cutting into his steak, his eyes watching it intently. 

“Really?” you murmur. Your eyes glances out the window to see if there’s anyone you notice snapping pictures, your nerves flowing.

“Don’t look so scared.” Jungkook laughs, sinking his teeth into the steak. His eyes are now watching you closely, taking in your soft features. “Besides, it’ll be good press.”

You knit your brows. “Good press?”

Jungkook nods. You aren’t accustomed to this lifestyle and still - months in - he finds it cute. “We’re going to have to promote the movie before and during its release.” he explains just as you begin to pour the cup of dressing onto your salad.

“You’re right.” you snort at yourself. This was a big movie and that meant promotion. The movies you’ve acted in before didn’t require that in the slightest. “I’ve never had to do that before. Do we just…talk about the movie?”

Jungkook nods his head. “Yes. We say enough without disclosing too much until after it’s released. But…” he trails off, wiggling his eyebrows. It causes you to giggle a bit, lifting the salad to your mouth and munching. “....it’d be a better promotion if people assume we’re a couple.”

You hum, tilting your head. You suppose he was correct. If people thought Jungkook and you were a couple, it would get even more eyes on the movie. It would get people pondering about you and him - especially you as the upcoming actress alongside such a powerful face. 

“Until they see the movie and witness just how toxic everything is.” you joke a bit.

Jungkook takes another bite of his steak. “People love toxic.” he shrugs one shoulder. “Some people are going to find it hot. Find us hot.”

Your body warms once more with how Jungkook says it. The way his eyes are staring right through you is an added bonus, reminding you of just how well he’s gotten to know you in such a short amount of time. 

“We have to give the people what they want, right?” Jungkook raises one brow, awaiting your response.

You’re silent at first, unsure of what to do or say. Then, you nod your head. It was obvious that Jungkook wanted you to - and wanted for the two of you to go through with what he suggested. He was the one with the experience, after all.

As for Jungkook, he offers a warm smile. His eyes sparkle a bit as he watches you, knowing full and well that the camera outside the restaurant was going to capture this genuine moment between the two of you. He holds out his right hand for you to take and slowly, you do, a bit uncertain. 

“You,” Jungkook begins, his thumb rubbing along the top of your hand. “are going to be a star, Y/N. I’ll make sure of it.”

Your cheeks are warm and you nod your head. It was as if you were in a trance, fully captivated by the performance that Jungkook was putting on - if this was even a performance in his eyes or not.

Starstruck (2)

“So tell us, how do the two of your characters meet in the movie?” the interviewer asks, dancing her eyes between you and Jungkook. “I’ve seen the trailer of it and it’s…” she shakes her head, a smile forming on her lips that shows a tint of mischief. “...hot to say the least.”

“And toxic.” Jungkook chuckles, turning his head to the left to glance your way.

Your eyes catch his and you return his smile. “Sooo toxic.” you agree, a short laugh passing your lips immediately after. “When the trailer released, I wasn’t expecting all the positive feedback on a horror-like movie. But this is also my first big movie I did, so it’s all surreal.”

The camera man is sure to capture the looks between you and Jungkook, the way his smile would brighten when you’d look his way.

“But, our characters meet in a club in which I’m a bartender.” you explain. You’re seated so close to Jungkook that your shoulder brushes his. 

“Strip club.” the interview nods, raising her brows. 

“Yes,” you chuckle, nodding your head. “a strip club. We filmed in an actual club downtown where I was shown how to serve the drinks and all.”

Jungkook watches the way you explain, moving your hands to explain further. His mind wanders to the club scene, recalling the way you were dressed for said scene. He licks his lips, his mind flashing to the leather you wore. Backless halter top with matching tight leather pants that looked entirely too appealing on you. 

“And my character pays for a lapdance from her. In the movie, it’s a big deal since she’s not a dancer, but a bartender.” Jungkook explains, glancing at the interviewer. “It’s, of course, supposed to show that my character was someone with power and money. Especially if he paid for her the entire night.”

There was another look shared between you and Jungkook. Once more, you both laugh sheepishly, recalling the many times you had to give him a lap dance simply because you or him were messing up.

“In the movie, he came with his friends but he was the birthday boy.” you say, knocking your shoulder into Jungkook’s playfully. “When you watch the movie, it really shows how complex his character is.”

The interviewer raises her eyebrows. “How so?”

“At first, he’s…shy. Nervous even.” Jungkook answers. “And each time he comes back to the bar, he’s more confident. He doesn’t show who he really is until later on into the movie.”

“I guess that’s what makes it a thriller.” the interviewer wiggles her eyebrows. “What were your favorite scenes you did together?”

The camera captures you and Jungkook glance at one another again, both of you putting on an amazing show of chemistry. Ever since shooting wrapped up and now, the trailer dropping, you and Jungkook were all anyone could talk about. You had people who shipped you two together, coming up with couple names already while others made up their own synopsis of what the movie would be about with what little they were given.

With Jungkook, it was never truly a dull moment. Even during photoshoots, he and you had fun. Witnessing him become the Jungkook you know - funny, sweet and caring, to the character was amazing. He knew how to turn it on and off and even during photoshoots, he showed it. The movie poster behind you and him now captures the possessiveness his character has over yours. His arms wrapped around you, eyes staring right at you while yours were instructed to look towards the camera. The movie title is displayed right about you, yet seems to fade off a bit to solely focus on you and him.

“Mine would have to be…” you trail off, thinking for a moment. “...when he finally shows his true colors, I suppose. He becomes possessive entirely until it’s too unbearable for her to handle.”

You turn to face Jungkook, cheeks warming when he’s already looking your way.

“My favorite would have to be a much more…intimate scene.” Jungkook states. “It comes right after we had an argument and my character charms her a bit. He’s been acting crazy and obsessive but he has a way with words.”

Your smile falls a bit as you recall the exact scene Jungkook’s referencing. Your whole body feels warm now and you shift in your seat at being reminded of it.

The intimate scene itself wasn’t what caused you to shift. You and he had done much more uncomfortable scenes for a movie such as this. No, it was how ashamed you felt at doing something like that with Jungkook.

Jungkook didn’t see a problem with it. The scene caused for you and hilton beneath the covers anyways. The director, a few crew and an intimacy coach were there and you’ve done exactly what you were supposed to do. Like the intimacy coach said, intimate moments were usually acts of camera play anyways.

Yet Jungkook fingering you in front of the unknowing crew wasn’t a part of the schedule. His lips on yours to silent your protest as his fingers forced their way through your shorts and into your panties. It’s what the script called for, right? Why pretend to do it if he could do it for real and capture your actual moans and groans - all without anyone knowing what’s going on.

The adrenaline going through Jungkook as he pumps his invasive fingers in and out of you is insane to him. His lips kiss down your neck, soft voice telling you that “everything is okay” and to just “go along with it”.

Your mind had gone blank and you didn’t know what to do yourself. You didn’t want to ruin the scene or make Jungkook out to be a creep. So you helplessly laid there, widening your thighs as Jungkook’s fingers pound in you, his palm rubbing against your wet clit. He leans away a bit to look in your fluttering eyes, a smug look on his face at the genuine pleasure on your face. Even if it wasn’t in the script, he places his lips against yours possessively. He moans during the kiss, your lips one of his favorite tastes.

 And even as it was over by you, embarrassingly, cumming all over Jungkook’s hands, the director yells cut and even compliments the both of you. “It felt so raw and real.” he stated - how right he was.

You blink a few times when you feel Jungkook’s hand on your knee, squeezing it a bit.

“Yeah.” you smile a bit, awkwardly. “I remember that scene, too.”

“Y/N, tell me,” the interview leans forward a bit. “you’re the new star. You’re the talk of the internet now.” she starts. “How was it working side by side with the infamous Jeon Jungkook?”

You lick your lips. “It was hard at first. I was new to this.” you explain. “But…Jungkook made it easier for me. We got to know one another and it made things more relaxed on set. I would say he’s become a very close friend to me.”

Jungkook simpers your way, his eyes twinkling a bit at your words. His heart does a small jolt at your praises, finding that he enjoys your praises and compliments - even if he hears them from everyone constantly.

Almost overnight, you are a star. Your name is everywhere - news articles, social media posts. Your name is screamed alongside Jungkook’s during red carpet events - events you and he both attend. While Jungkook admired how beautiful you looked while alone during your pictures, he adored holding the small of your back as it was time for you and him to take pictures together. He went as far as stating that for all events and press tours, you and he should coordinate outfits - for the movie, of course.

The movie was a success, skyrocketing your career alongside Jungkook’s. Witnessing billboards advertising your movie - a movie that actually made theaters and wasn’t a cheap made-for-tv movie - left you in awe. 

And it didn’t stop there.

People actually liked you and Jungkook together. You were told to ignore hate tweets, but those were minimal compared to the ones you’ve received that enjoyed watching the movie - even if it was a disturbing one. 

The people loving you and Jungkook together meant that you were supposed to give them what they wanted - what Jungkook wanted. “Stand a little closer to me.” he’d murmur to you, flashing lights nearly blinding you. Jungkook told you to try to not look directly into them, but past them - you didn’t get the hang of it just yet. “We should be seen more often in public.” Jungkook suggested, going as far as holding your hand and oftentimes, pressing his lips to the back of it.

You were far too shy to ask Jungkook why you and he continued going on like this. You danced around the question whenever asked about your relationship with the established man, you’d laugh nervously and just say you and he were just friends.

Even with the amount of pictures and videos of you and Jungkook at red carpet events, his hands on your waist and you so close to his side. But you had to! The crowded spaces of red carpets and microphones being shoved in your face was overwhelming - and Jungkook knew just how to react each and every time.

Jungkook enjoyed your perfume, especially when it was left on his suit at the end of the night. What he enjoyed more than your perfume on his suit, was having you in his bed at night.

Jungkook, however, wasn’t shy to speak about you. Whenever asked, his smile would brighten, as would his eyes. He could steer his interview away from him and talk about you for as long as they’d let him - “Y/N’s such a natural behind the camera,” he’d say. “It’s because of her performance that the director is thinking of a sequel,”

“I actually love Y/N very much,” your eyes widen as you listen to the interview, headphones over your ears. Your heart pumps loudly in your chest, your hands growing sweaty. “we’ve been dating for quite some time now…” he trails off with a laugh, a pink tint to his cheeks.

You tear the headphones from your ears and throw them aside. Your body is warm by his words, having been sent the interview countless times. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing the entire time that you’ve silenced your phone.

“You aren’t upset with me are you?” Jungkook asked when he arrives to your penthouse - it was a gift from him after you landed a modelling deal. He told you the cost was pocket change when you expressed concerns. He doesn’t tell you it’s because he has his own suite just on the other side of the building - not yet at least. “I thought you knew I loved you, Y/N, how could you not?”

You could never stay mad with Jungkook, especially not when he wraps you in a warm embrace. He always smells so clean  - like soap, oddly enough.

Jungkook’s lips are already on your neck, kissing down the soft skin as you shudder. “I want people to know you’re mine.” he murmurs against you, hands possessively pulling you close. “Want to show the world just how much I love and adore you.” he states.

You’re naked in a matter of seconds. You could never stay mad at Jungkook for long. A part of you believes that without Jungkook, you would be nowhere. You wouldn’t be feating upon fine dining meals with him, and instead would be eating the same take-out chinese in your much smaller apartment booking shitty horror movie gigs. 

Jungkook had done what he promised you. He had made you a star. People knew your name. They actually liked you and your performance - there was going to be a sequel set to start filming at the end of the year and you had Jungkook to thank for that; for believing in you.

Jungkook’s lips kiss down your stomach, forcing your legs apart. Your back is against your silk sheets, the coolness of them adding goosebumps to your warm skin. His hands are soft, only a bit callused as they slide down your naked body and rest on your thighs. 

“You’re so beautiful, my love. You’re my little shining star.” Jungkook murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. He doesn’t like to waste time, even if he does adore worshipping your body. 

Jungkook’s tongue, ever so slowly, teases your clit. He’s shuddering with excitement at your moans, finding them far too enticing. Far too enticing that he shoves his tongue deeper against your wet cunt.

Your hand tangles into Jungkook’s hair, lightly tugging to keep him in place. Your eyes watch the way his head bobs back and forth, devouring your pussy like his finest meal. He’s moaning against it, lapping his warm tongue against your clit over and over again. Suckling sounds are growing louder and louder, fingernails digging into your inner thigh to assure you don’t attempt to move in the slightest.

“Feels s-so good.” you whimper, grinding your hips a bit against his tongue, allowing yet another moan from parted lips. 

Eyes flicker up to look at you, clouded in darkened lust. He continues to suckle and lick, never coming up for a breath until your legs are shaking, back arching and you’re moaning so loud that it dances off the high ceilings. The scene is so beautiful, he thinks. The floor to ceiling-high windows display the city lights, but your penthouse is so high that you never close your curtains.

Your thighs close in, caging Jungkook between your legs. You’re greedily grinding against his tongue, your stomach churning and sinking in. Jungkook doesn’t go to stop you - he doesn’t mind the way your thighs are squeezing his head. Instead, he allows you to grind against his tongue until you’re cumming. 

You’re whining, eyes squeezed shut. He knows you’re going to cum, so his fingers curling inside of your already greedy cunt was just the icing on the cake. You’re babbling Jungkook’s name over and over again, voice growing higher and higher. Your pussy is soaking his lips and chin entirely and eventually, you’re cumming all over him.

“You’re so beautiful, baby, and all mine.” Jungkook grunts, removing himself from your glistening clit. “Mine, mine, mine.”

Your chest rises and falls, your pussy clenching and unclenching.

“Say it.” Jungkook demands. He starts with his shirt first, removing it from his body and discarding it. “Say that you’re mine.” he continues. He goes to his pants next, tearing them off along with his underwear. His cock is throbbing to be deep in your warm cunt.

“I’m yours.” you murmur, glading wrapping your arms around Jungkook as he hovers above you. Your hands roam his bare chest, to his shoulders then down his biceps. “I’m yours.” you repeat, fluttering your lashes innocently like you do.

Damn right you were, Jungkook thinks.

Jungkook doesn’t care about wearing a condom, but you’re also adamant on being on birth control. You just became a big star, getting pregnant wasn’t something that’s going to ruin that.

Jungkook’s cock is shoved right into you, your walls immediately tightening around him. He doesn’t hesitate to press your legs over his shoulder, gripping your thigh as he begins to pump his cock in and out of you. The way Jungkook stretches you is intoxicating, his cock ruining your pussy with how rough he is - but you’ve never complained. 

Jungkook knows he’s a great fucker - he’s been told countless times. But with you, it’s different. He cares about your pleasure. He wants you shaking with bliss with how well his cock fucks you, witnessing your arousal coating his cock and thighs. 

“My little star,” Jungkook coo’s, your face drawn in such gratification. Your hands squeeze his bicep in an attempt to slow him down, but he wasn’t going to. “you’re so beautiful on my cock, baby. All mine.”

Jungkook’s speed quickens, his skin slapping harshly against yours and it echoes off the high ceilings. It was beginning to rain, the droplets slamming against the window.  His cock is pounding so deep and you swear you can feel him in your stomach.  

“Your cock feels so good!” you gasp. Your hand squeezes his tattoo bicep for support, his tip reaching your g-spot each and every time. 

“Yeah?” Jungkook chuckles, licking his lips. Your velvety walls entice him, sinking him deeper and deeper into you. He’s positive your thighs would have fingernail marks just as his biceps would have from yours, but of course neither of you care. “My shining star looks so pretty right now. You were upset because I told everyone I loved you, huh?”

Your cheeks are warm at the “love” word, but your heart is pounding. It all feels surreal - to be loved by someone like him. You were waiting to wake up one day and be back in your small apartment and for all of this to be a dream.

“N-No,” you cry, shaking your head a bit. “I love you, too.”

You’re unaware just how easily the two of you throw around the word love. Your love is from a mentee to a mentor, your admiration for Jungkook high. You never wanted to disappoint him and you prayed often that his own likeness for you wouldn’t fade.

Jungkook’s love for you is that of obsession, now - possession. He found you, a diamond in the rough, and gave you the opportunity of a lifetime. He molded you into the perfect star that you are now, beloved by the people and soon,  you’d be at the top of the world. 

All because of him.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans, his eyes squinting into slits. “your pussy is amazing, my little star. All for me and me only.”

Jungkook forces your legs away and up against your shoulders. The new position causes you to yelp with how deep he is. He grinds his cock into you, watching your eyes widen and your lips fall apart. 

“My pussy to fuck any time I want, right?” Jungkook growls, your bouncing breast enticing him. Fuck, did you feel good around him.

“Slow…slow down, Kook-”

“No,” Jungkook hisses. If anything, he goes harder.

You cry for Jungkook to slow down, but the way you were squeezing around him indicates that you don’t want him to. You’re milking his cock right now, leaking all over your bed that he’s paid for like a little whore. Your eyes water, becoming glossier as overstimulation hits you.

“My pussy to fuck as hard as I want, too. You belong to me, my little star. Everything when it comes to you is mine.”

You were so silly, Jungkook thinks, begging him to slow down but you’re cumming all over him. Sticky juices coating his abdomen as you lay limp against your bed, twitching legs - but Jungkook wasn’t done yet, not until he was cumming.

Your eyes are fluttering, moans a hushed whimper now as his cock pounds in and out of you sloppily, curses and grunts releasing from your lips until you feel him cum inside of you. 

Starstruck (2)

“You’re…firing me?”

You remain silent, eyes casting away as your agent looks between you and Jungkook.

“Y/N doesn’t need your surfaces anymore.” Jungkook speaks up. You and he are seated in the diner and all you’re drinking is a latte at the moment. You were too nervous and you know you won’t be able to hold anything down.

Your agent scoffs. She licks her lips for a moment, glaring her eyes to you. 

“Say something, Y/N.” she demands. “If you’re firing me, don’t have your boyfriend do it.” she scoffs with a bitter laugh.

Your body is warm with embarrassment and nerves. You didn’t want to look at her and see the look in her eyes of now being without a job. Your heart is pounding, your palms growing sweaty. 

“You’re pathetic.” she groans.

“Watch your mouth.” Jungkook pipes in, his voice dangerously low. 

The diner is nearly empty, only occupied with older people who always minded their business - one of the main reasons why Jungkook loved coming here with you. That, and the banana pancakes were the best in town.

“Fuck the both of you.” your now ex-agent spats, slamming her hands against the table. You are seated in the far back of the diner and no heads turn. “You think just because you’re an actress now that got your big break that you’re on top?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You didn’t want to be here right now. This wasn’t even your idea, you think, it was Jungkook. He was the one that suggested that he be your agent and manager as he was an actor and he understood the in’s and out’s of the entertainment industry.  He could negotiate you for bigger and better deals and movie contracts that suited you the best - not some agent who wasn’t known at all.

“I said,” Jungkook hisses, leaning against the table. “watch your fucking mouth.” he says through gritted teeth. His hand reaches out and two fingers poke against her forehead roughly and rather disrespectfully. “I was nice enough to give you another client. Don’t piss me off.”

“Jungkook,” you murmur, finally glancing up. “Stop-”

“Fuck you.” your ex-agent repeats. She stands and shakes her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Y/N.”

You weren’t sure you did.

Everything went through Jungkook first before you. With Jungkook managing you, that meant that the opportunities were endless. You were an ambassador for popular and well-known brands. You got to wear - and keep - clothing from high end brands. You stared in tv-shows and commercials and got movie deals alongside actors you’ve never thought you’d be in the same room as - all like Jungkook.

But Jungkook wasn’t just your agent and manager, but your boyfriend. He reads the things people say about you online - the good, the bad and the perverted. There were accounts that said such disgusting things about you - what they wanted to do to you.

And your toes. 

Jungkook had managed to get the site taken down, but that wasn’t the end of it. You received fanmail and gifts and he only ever kept those that were from girls, but it was hard.

“The script needs to be changed.” Jungkook scoffs, slamming the book down against the coffee table.

“What’s wrong with it?” the director asks with raised eyebrows. “Y/N is the lead. Our final girl.”

“And that’s amazing.” Jungkook shrugs. Jungkook had told them prior that if they wanted you in this movie, that you had to be the final girl. He wouldn’t allow you to play a useless character - you were his shining star and stars don’t die in movies. “But there’s a sex scene.”

The director scoffs. “Yea.” he says slowly. “This is a horror movie. Sex sells in horror.” he says. “There’s sex scenes in the movie you two did together.”

Jungkook tilts his head, unamused. There was a reason why he doesn’t care about the sex scene you and he did in his movie - and the director knows that.

“If you want Y/N in your movie,” Jungkook begins. “change. The. Scene.” he says slowly. “Or she’s going somewhere else.”

The scene was changed and at every shoot you were supposed to be on, Jungkook was there. He loves seeing you act - you were a natural. He adored driving down and seeing you on billboards or against buildings. 

Jungkook does this to keep an eye on you, of course. He trusts you, but not whatever men that were on set. 

It was even better when Jungkook and you walked together, side by side and arm in arm. You and him were the hottest couple the entertainment industry had. Jungkook made it his mission to support all your projects, supporting them during interviews and events, showing how supportive he was of you and your growing career.

You’re so busy with this new success that you don’t even notice your ex-agent never working in the industry again. Wherever she tries to tell her story of how horrible Jungkook treated her, her accounts would just get banned or people would refuse to believe it. She isn’t allowed in any event near you or him and is escorted out by security upon arrival.

You also don’t notice how everyone steer clears from you at times. Not because of anything you’ve done, but because of Jungkook. 

You haven’t heard the way he berated your co-star, not an unknown actress, but nowhere near his level, when she had accidently got in front of your shot during a scene.

You weren’t present when he threatened to make sure the director didn’t work in this industry again if he didn’t give you better clothing and lighting - his shining star deserved everything money could buy. After all, he was funding all of this.

You don’t - until you do.

You’ve never seen  Jungkook so angry. The way he yells at the stylist for daring to dress you in clothes that aren't appealing. How she had cried before apologizing, rolling the rack of clothes out of your room. Your eyes have widened at Jungkook and he shakes his head. “It’s hard to get good help.”

“That was uncalled for.” you murmur. You turn your head to face him. He’s holding a small glass of dark liquor and he scoffs. 

“Do you think I’d allow them to dress you in undeserving clothing, Y/N?” Jungkook licks his lips. “You deserve better.”

“You made her cry.” you cross your arms. “She’s just doing her job, Kook.”

Jungkook brings the glass to his lips again, dark eyes watching you as he takes another swig of it. “I’m doing my job, too.” he murmurs, licking his lips. “As your agent, manager and boyfriend.”

Your shoulders relax for a moment. You didn’t like when Jungkook was mean to people, especially at your expense. However, a side of you knew that he was doing this for your sake.

“I know.” you murmur, sighing. You drop your arms. “Still, go easy on them.”

Jungkook nods his head, but he knows more than anyone that he wasn’t going to go easy. Never when it came to you.

Whatever drama behind the scenes with Jeon Jungkook never made its way to the public. Whoever went against his orders were fired and blackballed - actors, crew, writers and directors. He had far too much pull in this industry that whatever happened behind closed doors would never see the light. 

Jungkook loves you, however. You were his shining star, after all. He adored you with every fiber of his being. It’s why he finds himself now, on one knee with the largest diamond ring you’ve ever seen in your life. The crowd is screaming and the lights are flashing even faster now. At first you’re confused, until you hear everyone screaming “say yes”.

Your head turns to Jungkook and your eyes widen. Your heart is pumping so loudly in your ears that you find it hard to breathe. Your palms grow sweaty, nervousness building up. You were on the red carpet for a new movie - not a proposal.

Jungkook’s eyes narrow as you continue to look at him, a glint in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. It causes you to blink a few times before smiling widely. “...Y-Yes!” you squeal.

Jungkook slides the sparkling ring onto your finger and gets on your feet. He wraps you in his arms, kissing your forehead. 

Jungkook senses your hesitance, the scared yet slightly upset look in your eyes - maybe because this was your moment that he had made about the two of you. Yet he does what he does because he loves you - you’re his shining star. He had molded you from the unknown actress in shitty movies, to a star whose light hadn’t faded all in under two years. He’s made you the top model, actress and ambassador - the least you could do was show him more appreciation for his hard word and investment.

After all, you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Jungkook’s wrath. He could show you another side of him that you wouldn’t love in the slightest.

@darkuni63 @sweetempathprunetree @chimmy-licious @investedreader @allie-in-the-moon @iveivory @annyeongbitch7 @minshookie29 @honeymeraki @keen-li @minimoninini @parkinglot-nights @frxnkiie @haru-jiminn @whothefuckisthishoe @mar-lo-pap @jimineepaboya @lola75111 @crybaby29 @bluelavendre

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animal farm. ☆ j.jk + k.th

Animal Farm. ☆ J.jk + K.th

⋆ TAGS — dark!tae + jk, morals are zero bc it’s the apocalypse, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, TW: non-con to dub-con as oc adapts to survive, captivity, breeding kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampies, pregnant sex, fingering, creepy sleazy!tae, yandere elements, open-ending beware it’s not a good one, angst, death (just the zombies lol), jk’s a hunky daddy, possessive tae and jk, obsession, somnophilia, mentioned abortion, “fuck them kids” - oc, debatable happy ending, misogyny and objectification, outdoor sex(?), thigh fucking, mentioned/hints of body dysmorphia bc oc DOES NOT want to be pregnant

⋆ WORD COUNT — 13.3k

⋆ now playing: animal farm - bibi ⋆

Animal Farm. ☆ J.jk + K.th

You’re not sure how much time has passed since the outbreak—days, months, years—time was a relatively foreign concept, all that was left was to survive. Didn’t matter what day of the week it was or whether it was night or day, the days were all the same in the end.

The day it happened started like any other day: you woke to a flurry of messages wishing you happy birthday, and you were greeted by the sight of your pup running around in excitement as you prepared for the day. You were going to work a short shift that day (courtesy of your boss) all your co-workers had pitched in to buy you a nice cake from the bakery down the street. Your mom even promised to call you later on given the distance between you and her.

Everything was just as you remembered—a blue sky, people commuting, the sounds of traffic—it was just another regular day. After work you stopped to buy a bottle of wine, too busy chatting with the cashier to notice the storm of police cars, ambulances, and firetrucks passing by. The rest of the way home you listened to music, blissfully unaware of the nearby fires and rising smoky black skies.

Night came, prepared a delicious pasta and served a rather large serving of wine. Your dog sat by the front door the entire time, posture stiff and tail straight as he stared at seemingly nothing. That should have been the first sign.. After setting the pasta aside to cool your phone rang and you smiled. “Mom-”

“Listen to me,” she sounded desperate, “do NOT go outside, no matter what you hear or see y/n, STAY INSIDE.” She bites out in a fearful tone, “Your father and I are going to try and head over there, for the love of God please stay inside.”

“Mom, what's happening? Is everything okay? Are you and dad oka-” Suddenly the sound of a nearby building blowing up makes you jump. Your apartment rattles and you lose your balance, falling over as the phone slides away from you, “Mom?!” You scramble to your feet and run to the windows, yanking them all the way back to reveal the chaos unfolding..

The world around you is in flames, people are running and cars are being crashed or abandoned. You see helicopters storming the sky all around, endless police cars are scattered below your apartment and you hear the sounds of gunshots from every direction. Your eyes widen in horror as a plane comes crashing down somewhere downtown, and then more screams erupt alongside a few rather..inhuman sounds.

“y/n?! y/n?!” You snap your attention back to the fallen phone.

“M-Mom?” You crouch down and pick up the phone, “What’s happening?” You tearfully whisper. You hear the same chaos unfolding on the other side of the line, your dad is yelling something in the background while your mom tries to tell you a bunch of things all at once.

“Oh my sweet girl,” she softly whispers in a wobbly tone, “we love you so much, never forget that.” You hear a gunshot and your dad yelling some more, “Get to your uncle,” she cuts off by a loud screeching noise, “we’ll meet you there—!” She gasps as the screeching turns into animalistic noises, “Never forget—we love you.” The line cuts dead. You stand there in complete silence with an endless flow of tears streaming down your face.

The wine and pasta sat cold all night, then the night after that, and after that. If you were to go back there you’d probably see what was left of your apartment, most likely scavenged and destroyed by either survivors or whatever the hell those things were.

And to think that it had been just another random day..

You never did get to see your parents. You wondered if they died on their way to the farm or if they never stood a chance leaving in the first place. You like to believe they’re out there somewhere safe, that they found refuge with other groups far away from chaos. Like your father had once said: you keep finding something to fight for.

And that’s what you intended.

+

“Dammit.” You whispered under your breath while pushing through the endless shrubs and tree branches in your way.

By now every city was covered from head to toe in vines and other plant life. Apart from the obvious decay everything would have looked normal if it weren’t for the fact that there was a darkness lingering in the shadows. Cars, bikes, and trucks were scattered around, sitting as a reminder of the way things were once. It played like a bittersweet memory in the back of your mind as you pushed forward.

You brushed your hands over the front of your shorts and looked around the area. It was quiet all around with the only sounds being the wind blowing the overgrown grass all around. You had finally made it to Daegu after walking for two months straight. Your body ached and you were sure your feet had blisters from all the walking (occasional running) you did.

A few times (more than you would like to admit) you reached a breaking point where you wanted nothing more than to give up and go back to your uncle’s farm. Yet somehow some-way you would regain your strength and keep pushing—for family. It’s how you ended up all the way down in Daegu, just another month or two (maybe three) away from Busan.

You were far too deep to stop now.

You uncapped your water jug and took greedy sips as the water ran down your chin and throat. “That’s better.” You murmur softly as your parched throat absorbs every last drop of the water. You take a second to sit down on a nearby rock to bring your map out.

“Okay.. If I’m here,” you trail off while running your finger over the lines of the map, “then that means I go this way..and turn here to—” You immerse yourself in your own thoughts, ignoring the sound of your stomach growling. You shift from side to side, ignoring the heavy weight of your shotgun tucked away in your backpack, sticking out like a sore thumb.

So far you didn’t need to use the gun (yet), your encounters with those unruly beasts were minimal since they had taken to hiding in buildings. Crazed survivors were unlikely, most were hidden away too and if they were out you simply snuck past them until you felt like you could breathe again. You’d say you were doing a pretty damn good job at conserving your ammo etc.

“Alright,” you sigh heavily and put your map away, “up I go.” You mumble and start heading down the grassy street, just looking all over the area. You always did want to visit Daegu, guess it was your lucky day.

The street comes to a dead end as you stop in front of two tilted buildings crashed into each other with endless rubble surrounding the area. “Just my luck,” you groan out, seeing as there isn’t another option as you hop up the rubble, making your way into the dark desolate building.

With every step you take your heart begins beating faster, chances that those things are swarming the building are high. Your heart drops even more when you realize that the only way out that was straight ahead of you is blocked off by debris. You stop in the middle of the room, looking up as you inhale deeply.

“Only way out is going up then..” You mutter and grab your flashlight.

Everything is silent around you save for the drops of water hitting the ground and echoing off the empty halls. You work your way around the decaying bodies and thrown furniture surrounding the halls. Finding another way out of the building was something you had not planned on doing, but it seemed like you were going to have to get to higher ground to scope the surroundings out for an exit.

“Ah-ha,” you light up when you realize this building has balconies. A triumphant smile forms on your lips as you head up a small flight of stairs to reach the next floor where the balconies were located. You kept a close eye and ear out for any strange movements, you weren’t alone after all.

As you move to step over a piece of debris, suddenly a large part of the ground rumbles before breaking off and falling through the second floor. Your entire body goes still. You begin breathing heavily as you shakily reach for the shotgun in your backpack. Seconds of silence pass, you stand there with the shotgun in your hands and your face twisted in fear.

Nothing happens until you hear it..

A low faint croaking sound—click, click, click—there’s soft thuds as the creature moves around, getting closer and closer. You’re too scared to turn around or even make a sound. The floor behind you creaks and the creature gets closer, idly squeaking and croaking. Your only mistake is letting out a fearful breath, because suddenly the creature stops and screeches loudly, lunging at you at full speed.

You take off down the hall, pushing past the stone and rubble with the damned thing hot on your heels. Right as you think it’s about to snatch you right up with its bubbly deteriorating arms, an arm lunges out and yanks you into a room pressing you right up against the wall. You flinch violently and stare at the mysterious person in front of you, you can’t help but tremble as you open your mouth.

The stranger gives you a pointed look, slamming his hand over your mouth as he presses himself tight against you, “If you don’t wanna end up dead just sit the fuck still and be quiet,” he harshly whispers while looking out the corner of his eye to see if the creature is still after you.

Your grip on your shotgun loosens, you both stare at each other in silence as the creature stops outside of the room, croaking as it looks for you. When the thing comes close by the open doorway you squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath. It doesn’t go away for another few minutes, when it does it ventures into another room across the hall, its noises slowly fading away until it’s fully gone.

The guy lifts a finger over his mouth and softly makes a “shh” sound. You nod slowly and he slowly lifts his hand off, “Follow me,” he quietly mutters and grabs your hand. You don’t even struggle as he leads you far away from the room, and out some doors that lead to a fire escape. “Careful, the metals all worn out. Don’t need you fallin’ on me.” He says as he begins climbing down.

You stand there quietly trying to think if it’s a good idea to follow this guy. Probably not but you were the one with the gun here, not him. “You coming or what?” He says in annoyance, already halfway down the ladders.

You snap out of it and quickly follow, “Yeah, yeah.” You softly whisper.

When you reach the last set of ladders the stranger is already waiting for you down on the ground, he watches you silently with no expression on his face. “C’mere,” he holds his arms out, “I’ll catch you.” You shouldn’t be so trusting but for some reason you just let yourself fall into his arms. A quiet yelp escapes your lips as you curl into yourself out of fear, “Relax, scary part’s over.” He lets out a deep chuckle.

“T-Thank you,” you mutter, still shaken up over the incident, “I really appreciate what you did back there, I haven’t seen those things since this entire thing started. I guess I wasn’t so prepared to go against one up close like that,” you mutter while kicking a rock around.

He shrugs, “I don’t think anyone can ever be prepared to face off against one of those things.” He sighs while looking around, “You got somewhere you gotta be or you just like wandering into abandoned buildings in your free time?” He shoves his hands into his pockets, a small grin grazing his lips.

It’s not the best idea to ever tell a stranger where you’re going especially given the situation the entire world is in. “I was just trying to scavenge,” you finally say after a few seconds, “I was running out of a few things so I decided to get some air while I was out.” You can’t keep eye contact with him for the love of your own life. His gaze is pretty intense and he seemed like the type of person who kept eye contact throughout an entire conversation.

“Ah,” he nods, “I was too, but then I heard the commotion and decided to see what was up, and you were there.” He chuckles, “Kim Taehyung.” He holds his hand out.

“y/n.” You reply softly and take his much bigger hand into yours, “Well, I think I’ll be going now. Can’t keep my group waiting.” You trail off nervously when his grip tightens instead of letting you go, “Um, Taehyung..? My hand?” You whisper out.

Taehyung hums, “It’s getting pretty late isn’t it? Sun down is around the corner and well, it doesn’t seem pretty ideal to walk around all by yourself in the dark now is it?” He tilts his head.

He’s right, you can see the sun start to set slowly and the world around you is painted in a dark orange-yellow hue. Your little lie wasn’t going to keep up much longer if he decides to walk you to your “group”. You nod slowly, “Yeah.. I guess so.” You rub the side of your arm as a chilly breeze sweeps over the both of you.

“Wanna come back with me to my place? Not far, just a ten minute walk from here, even got working water and electricity.” You perk up at the last two things which ends up making him laugh, “Yeah I know, you’ll see what I mean.” He begins pulling you along with him, hand wrapped tightly around your wrist.

“I wouldn’t wanna intrude or anything,” you quickly say, “I can just go back to my group, ‘s not a problem really.” You wince a little when his grip begins to become painful.

Taehyung shakes his head, “ ‘s not safe out here at night, just stop being stubborn will you? You looked ready to give up back there with just one of those things, now imagine dozens?” He chuckles humorlessly with his head still turned away, you sigh quietly and go limp finding it no use to fight back because he clearly wasn’t going to let you go which in itself looked like an entire red flag.

He leads you to another building, you notice the slight change in temperature when you walk into the darkened lobby, it’s slightly warmer.. “How did you get the electricity to work?” You wonder out loud while looking around.

“Turns out the power generator wasn’t completely ruined, wasn’t very hard to get it going again and well, now we have working water and electricity.” He shrugs while guiding you down the hall and stopping in front of a door.

You frown in confusion, “We?” You tilt your head, “There’s someone else?” Oh this wasn’t what you were expecting, now you had to stay alert for not only Taehyung but his fucking friend too.

“Yeah, Jungkook.” He says like nothing while punching in the keycode, “He’s one of the guys I met when this all happened, we stayed together—no not like that,” he chuckles, “he’s a good friend of mine.” He gives you a bright smile before pushing the door open.

You’re hit with warmth and light, the entire room is lit up and you can smell something cooking in the kitchen. This makes you reminisce about the past when you would be coming home after a long day at work, cooking something up and unwinding with your pup on the couch. Your heart twists bitterly as you clutch your backpack closer, you hear noises come from the kitchen and you turn your head in alarm.

“Relax, that’s Jungkook.” Taehyung chuckles as he guides you into the living room with his hands over your shoulders, “Jungkook, this is y/n and y/n, Jungkook.” He cheerfully introduces you two like you’re longtime friends or something, “I saved her from a clicker just now.” He briefly says to Jungkook.

Jungkook gives you one good look, dark eyes trailing over you before he turns his back, “You guys hungry?” He breaks the tension in the room, it has you sagging in relief that he wasn’t rude or didn’t see you as a threat. “She looks like she’s seen better days, don’t be fucking rude Tae let her shower n shit the food is almost ready anyways.” He comments while shaking some spices into the food he was making.

“Oh shit, forgot about that. C’mere, bathroom’s this way.” Taehyung pushes you down another hall, “Hot water n everything so go crazy. Clean towel’s there, and you’re welcome to help yourself to anything in there. I have some extra razors, don’t know if you’d need them or anything I don’t know but yeah.” He smiles, “See you when you’re done.” He leaves after that.

You stand in the bathroom quietly for a few seconds, you don’t like the ugly little feeling you get in your tummy from being around these guys. You’re grateful and all but you can’t help the distrusting feeling you get. With a heavy sigh you set your things down and begin undressing out of your clothes. The water feels so amazing against your sore muscles, you stand under the shower just basking in the luxury of hot water with your eyes closed.

Cleanup goes fairly quickly, you helped yourself to one of the razors Taehyung mentioned to you and took your time in scrubbing the dirt and grime off of your body. Now that you think about it, it made sense earlier as to why Taehyung didn’t look dirty or anything. This explains a whooolleeee lot now.

“Hey y/n,” Taehyung calls out as the door opens, “Came to give you something.” He says like it’s no big deal at all while he enters the bathroom.

“T-Taehyung..!” You gasp in shock, throwing yourself into the corner of the shower while staring at the curtains in terror, “Whatever it is, can you just please drop it somewhere! Kinda not in the best situation right now,” you clutch the loofah close.

Taehyung laughs, “Calm down, I just came to give you an extra pair of clothes. Yours are kinda worn down no offense, it wouldn’t make sense to re-dress in nasty clothes after cleaning yourself now would it?” He says as he moves around the bathroom.

“Thanks..but um..can you…?” You trail off.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he breathily chuckles, “Jungkook says the food’s ready, see you out there.” He heads out. You wait for him to close the door but when you hear no sound you peek your head out of the corner of the curtain, “My bad,” Taehyung holds up your tattered clothes, “kinda cute that they got little bears all over them.” He motions to your underwear.

Your face heats up in embarrassment, “Stop looking!”

“I will!” Taehyung lets the door slip shut, his laughter fading as he disappears down the hall. You sigh in relief and let your back hit the wall, what the hell was even that? You were definitely going to be leaving ASAP with the way Taehyung seemed to lack boundaries with literally ANYTHING. First he was touchy and now he’s looking at your underwear shamelessly? That was a no-go.

“I swear I locked it..” You mutter while washing your hair.

After your hot shower you slip out and dry yourself with the towel, you were curious to see what clothes he brought you. You notice it’s a large black shirt and a pair of boxers sitting neatly folded on the counter. Better than nothing you guessed while dropping the towel and dressing yourself. The boxers fit like oversized shorts on you which you’re pretty glad for.

Your heart drops when you see that your backpack isn’t there anymore. A lot of things seem to be running through your mind all at once, was this the end? Were you going to die now? All because of a hot shower?

“Oh there you are,” Jungkook comments when you walk into the same room from before, he notices your panicked state and chuckles, “relax, Tae put your things over there by the door. He put your clothes to wash too.” He nods his head in the direction of the laundry room, “You hungry?” He holds up a bowl of hot food.

“Thank you..” You softly whisper while going over to sit at the table, your mouth waters at the sight of hot food, another luxury you couldn’t afford in this world after leaving your uncle’s home to go to Busan.

Jungkook eyes you appreciatively in his clothes as he sets the food down in front of you, “Glad to see they fit.” He comments, “You can start eating by the way, Tae’s gonna shower so it’ll be just us two til he gets back.” He lazily shrugs while sitting across from you.

He set out an array of side dishes like rice, kimchi, wood ear mushrooms and other stuff that looks really tasty. The two of you eat in silence with Jungkook humming occasionally at the taste or something like that. You don’t really want to talk much either so you’re grateful for the quietness between the two of you. The food is really amazing too, it fills your ravenous hunger you’ve had for the past week since running out of granola bars.

“So,” Jungkook leans back in his chair, “Tae says you’re a part of a group huh?” He tilts his head, “Kinda explains the shot gun n shit. Loads of ammo too.” He picks up a piece of meat and shoves it into his mouth.

“Yeah..” You mumble, “I was just scavenging, had to cross through the building n yeah that’s how me and Tae ran into each other—or more like him saving me.”

Jungkook nods, “Okay… so why don’t you tell me the real truth? No bullshitting either sweetheart, we’ve been here for how many years and never have we ever seen or heard of a group past that building or on our side.” He smirks, “C’mon, tell me. I don’t bite.”

You stare at him in awe and realization that you’ve been caught, “Fuck okay,” you sigh heavily, “Originally I was staying with my uncle in the outskirts of Suwon after the whole apocalypse happened, for years now I’ve been believing my parents are still alive and out there, problem is out there is literally all the way down in Busan,” you see him perk up at the mention of Busan, “so I’ve been walking ever since trying to get there to find them, they’re farmers, if they’re out there they’re probably still in the old farmhouse I grew up in.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” he nods, “I’m fuckin’ impressed you made it this far, shit not even me who was stranded Ulsan when this all happened.” He shakes his head, “Guess we all got something that keeps up goin’ huh.” He leans back in his chair with a hum.

You stare down at your food, “Yeah..” You whisper softly.

The silence is broken when Taehyung comes out of the hall, towel in his hair and a pair of low hanging sweats clinging over his hips as he whistles, “Looks good,” he says to Jungkook while taking a seat next to him, it’s only then you fully see that he’s not wearing a shirt at all. You turn your head slightly in embarrassment as Taehyung laughs, “What? Something on my face?”

“No you idiot, obviously someone you fucking just met wouldn’t wanna see you half naked ‘n shit you pervert.” Jungkook elbows his friend.

“I’m not though,” Taehyung snorts, “I’m sure she’s seen worse than this,” he shoots you a wink to which you hunch your shoulders together sheepishly.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, “So did basic etiquette also fly out the window when the apocalypse happened or what?” Taehyung doesn’t reply anything because he’s too busy stuffing his face, Jungkook’s eyes land back on you and he sits up, “You look sleepy, you can take my room if you want I’ll sleep here,” he nods, “and before you panic I’ll take your backpack to you too.” He smirks.

You slump in your seat with a sigh, “Thanks..”

“No need.” Jungkook curtly replies and gets up as he brings your backpack over, “Follow me.” He treads down the hall with your things flung over his broad shoulder.

“G’Night pretty,” Taehyung grins with a wicked glint in his eyes as he looks at you up and down, “very fuckin’ pretty..” He chuckles quietly and goes back to eating.

You shiver, and not in the good way either. You follow Jungkook into another room, he’s already setting your things down and bringing out pillows, “I usually sleep without one but here’s some I had in my closet,” he sets them down, “not that there’s much to steal but please don’t take my shit. I trust you.” He gives you a firm pat, squeezing your waist as he slips by you.

“Thank..you..?” You turn to watch him.

“Yeah, yeah no funny business. Night sweetheart.” He lets the door slip shut quietly.

The first thing you do is lock it, making sure the door is jammed before you take one of his chairs he had and press it right up against the knob. When you feel like no one can enter you finally slip into the comfy bed, groaning in relief as your sore body slumps into the sheets. It’s been so long since you’ve had a proper bed to lay in. You roll around before curling over a pillow and hugging it tight to your chest.

Your tired eyes slip shut and you fall asleep comfortably for the first time in ages.

+

You pry your eyes open when a beam of sunlight hits you across your face. At first you’re confused and disoriented but then everything that happened to you yesterday comes down as you recap quickly. You slowly sit up with a loud yawn, looking around the room in daze. Everything is as you left it, and the chair is still propped up against the door.

“Time is it..” You mutter and look around. You find a clock on the wall and squint your eyes to read the time. “Oh,” it’s noon. You shuffle out of bed despite your limbs protesting as you look around for your things, you had an extra change of clothes in your backpack anyways so getting your old clothes was not a issue.

The weather as of lately has been pretty bipolar, hot or breezy so you never knew what to expect. You figured it was springtime anyways. You dressed in a loose white flower printed camisole, another pair of brown shorts over black tights and managed to slip your boots back on.

“Alright,” you bring out your map and check the streets etc, “took me here..so now we go this way,” you mutter quietly while reading the map. You had made sure to catch the name of the building before entering last night. That way it would be easier when leaving. “Okay.” You smile and fold the map back up.

You step out of the room with your belongings on your back, treading down the hall quietly as you come across Taehyung and Jungkook setting the table, “Oh you’re awake.” Jungkook says as his eyes drop to your hands where you’re clutching the straps of your backpack.

Taehyung pauses and turns to look too, “Oh…” He trails off, visibly upset that you’re already going. “ ‘s pretty dangerous out there.” He comments with a blank look.

“I’ll find a way.” You reply curtly, “I appreciate you guys letting me stay the night but I really have to go now. Thank you.” You bow in appreciation, Jungkook doesn’t say anything and instead Taehyung makes his way over to stand in front of you.

“At least stay for breakfast yeah? C’mon there’s no harm in that.” Taehyung pleads while setting a bowl down on the table, “Plus, why would you even wanna go? Those things are still out there, they’ll tear you apart the first chance they get. Just stay, yeah?” It’s no longer, stay for breakfast, rather Taehyung is now openly begging you to stay.

Your breath hitches when you see his hand come up to touch your shoulder, you jerk away and take a step back, “I’m leaving Taehyung, thank you from the bottom of my heart but I’ll be fine.” You say firmly while stepping past him.

Jungkook calmly stands there with his arms over his chest, he looks down at you and hums, “You’re not leaving sweetheart,” he calmly says, “why don’t you get that backpack off and sit down so we can all eat together.”

When it becomes apparent they have no intention of letting you leave you snap, “Get away from me!” You shove Jungkook as hard as you possibly can, watching him stumble out of shock as you duck past him and slam the front door open.

“y/n get back here!” Taehyung yells out.

You don’t waste another second and run down to the exit, kicking the door open and heading down the street towards the way you were supposed to go. Adrenaline kicks in like never before as you whip your head back occasionally to see if they’re following. You’re pretty far when you notice Jungkook and Taehyung exiting out the building looking both ways before they see you and start running.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” You whisper while jumping over fallen things and rocks.

They’re yelling a bunch of shit that you don’t care about, your main focus is to get the hell away from them. You duck into a building, taking note that it’s a mall as you manage to run up the escalator. “She went in here!” Taehyung says not far behind.

You hear their heavy footsteps as they run up the steps too. You see a rack sitting there so you throw it down and keep pushing forward. Jungkook curses loudly while he and Tae push through the mess on the ground. You see a clothing shop with a half-closed metal overhead door as you fall to the ground and slip under it to the other side.

The crawlspace was small enough for you, you’re confident Taehyung and Jungkook were going to have to pry it open (if they even could) to follow you. “Shit,” you hear Taehyung, “she went through here.”

“Move.” Jungkook reaches to yank at the door.

Your eyes widen in horror when you hear the door creak, showing signs that it would in fact be opening up more. You run to the back of the store, barreling in as you look around for a exit only to find that you’re in a simple storage room. There was no other exit, the mall in fact must not even have those backroom exits.

Your eyes tear up as you shakily back up into the wall with no other choice but to bring out your shotgun and aim it at the door. You hear nothing but your fast breathing and pounding heart in your ears. Any moment now… Your finger curled over the trigger as you bounced your knee in anticipation.

A beat passes before the door suddenly slams open, hitting the wall full force as Jungkook comes barreling in. You jump in absolute fear, aiming blindly as you pull the trigger. “Oh shit!” Taehyung yells, he doesn’t bother entering the room at first as he ducks to the side of the doorway after the bullet grazes the wall next to the doorway.

Jungkook yells something you can’t really make out through the ringing in your ears from the deafening noise. He wrestles the shotgun out of your hands, tossing it to the corner far away from you both. “Hey, hey,” he loudly curses, “calm down will you?!” He grunts.

Taehyung slips into the room and comes over to pin you down, “Shh, shh, we’re here now y/n,” he says as he leans down to nose along your shoulder and neck, “ ‘s safe with us.” He whispers in his deep baritone voice.

The fear combined with the stress (and adrenaline) of the situation sends you into a full blown panic attack. Your vision begins getting spotty and you feel like you’re on the verge of passing out. Probably from how malnourished you were given that the past few weeks you’ve been surviving on one granola bar every week.

You yell and twist around, loud sobs pouring from your lips as you thrash endlessly. “N-No! Please! Let me go,” you hiccup through your tears, “stop it,” the fight begins slowly draining out of you. They coo and murmur deceivingly sweet things in your ear, their hands roam all over your body while you lay there limp. “P..lease..” You quietly plead one last time before the world around you begins to fade.

“I’ve got you baby, don’t you worry. Never gonna let you outta my sight,” Taehyung whispers, “....s.afe..with us.” You manage to hear right before losing consciousness.

+

5 months later..

Everyday waking up felt more like a chore and the only time you ever found yourself looking forward to something was going to sleep. Sleeping was like some sort of escape from reality where you would find yourself dreaming of the day you reunite with your parents. Another dream you frequently had was you being back at your uncle’s farm living day by day in utter peace surrounded by the people you loved.

It was a pretty memory that would be ruined the moment you woke up to find either Taehyung or Jungkook over you.

They were like animals, they had no self control and acted like a bunch of hormonal teens around you. Taehyung especially, he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off nor his pants on. You lost track of the days inbetween sleeping or them fucking you like no tommorrow. Waking up sore between your legs or with cum dripping from your gaping pussy was a familiar feeling.

Taehyung was the more shameless one between the two. He’d fuck you almost every chance he got with his hands never straying from your body for more than two minutes whenever he was around you. He kept you chained in his room by the ankle on his bed wearing nothing but his shirt and those bear printed panties you came to hate. They were ruined the minute he’d lay with you, hand stuffed deep inside and his long slender fingers buried knuckle deep in your soaked pussy.

You hated that your body responded very well to his touches, hell you’d even slick up to the sound of him entering the room with the amount of times he fucked you or had his hands on you. Taehyung’s mouth was even filthier with the amount of shit he said in that husky tone whenever he had you pinned under him—knees pressed to your shoulders as he folded you in half and punched his cock deep inside your bruised cunt.

“Just needed a cock in you pretty, didn’t you,” he’d whisper while grinding his hips in slow circles with his cock rubbing up against every crevice of your pussy, his balls pressed tight against your ass as low squelching noises filled the quiet bedroom.

Jungkook was used to the sounds of the headboard banging or bed creaking against the wooden floor. He’d lay awake in his own room with a hand wrapped tight against his cock while he listened to you cry and mewl in pleasure. Other times he’d walk into the room just to see Taehyung balls deep in you with your legs spread wide and a string of white creaminess sticking to Taehyung’s pelvis and cock whenever he pulled out of your messy pussy.

At the moment you were curled into your side, balling up under the warm sheets as you tried to find more sleep. After a few more minutes of tossing and turning you begrudgingly accepted that you weren’t going to be getting any more sleep. Your puffy eyes cracked open as you stared over at the window. The curtains were closed but from the tiny corner you could see that it was night time already.

Taehyung and Jungkook had yet to come back, they said something about getting some things they needed from the mall. A tiny part of you wished they wouldn’t come back though. Maybe they’d be ambushed by those things and eaten alive (your biggest fantasy was them getting their cocks ripped off for what they’ve done to you). You could only dream, you sigh wistfully.

You sit up in bed and look around the dark room, there’s nothing much to do so you end up doodling in your sketchbook for a bit before laying back down just dreading the arrival of your captors. They get back around midnight, a little over an hour after you had woken up. Your eyes are slipped shut as you try to fall back asleep, and right when your body and mind both shut down the door is opened.

Taehyung comes in silently, humming under his breath as he sets some bags down on the ground. You don’t pay much attention, just curling into yourself with closed eyes while he goes about with whatever the hell he’s doing. The sound of Taehyung unbuckling his belt is enough to have your pussy throbbing, already slicking up for what’s about to come. He shuffles around and slips his shirt off, and then his pants.

The bed dips low and creaks under his weight when he climbs in next to you. You squeeze your eyes tight and try to breathe normally. Taehyung’s hand falls on your thigh and rubs over the soft skin slowly, each time going higher and higher until he’s playing with the waistband of your underwear. Your skin prickles all over with goosebumps as he quietly laughs under his breath.

“Look so pretty like this,” he mumbles while leaning in to hide his face in your neck, “bet your little pussy’s all wet for me too..” He dips his fingers in and slides them through your chubby folds, “Fuckin’ soaked—got you waiting for this cock huh?” He circles his fingers over your wet clit, “C’mon pretty, open up for me. Know you’re awake,” he rasps out and rubs faster.

You breathily sigh and fall into the bed pliantly while he plays with your clit between his long slender fingers. Taehyung slips his fingers between your dewy sticky folds, going right over your greedy hole. It clenches around nothing and you wait with a bated breath for him to slip them inside.

“Hear that baby?” Taehyung whispers as his lips slide over your neck and suck on a particular spot, “Messy little thing you are,” he comments while pressing his crotch over your ass and letting you feel the hard print of his swelling cock from inside his boxers, “don’t worry though—not gonna be empty for long, gonna fill you up and give it to you real good pretty.” He rasps out.

He rolls his hips in the tiniest of circles, letting out deep sighs and grunts while he plays with your pussy with one hand and the other grips your ass cheek. He squeezes the doughy cheek and pulls it apart to expose your puckered hole, “Gonna fuck you here too one day,” he rolls his hips more insistently, “gonna make all your pretty holes mine.”

You bite back a mewl when his thumb flicks over your clit in rapid sweeping motions, it has you grinding into his hand and simultaneously pushing back on his hard cock. You feel it slot between your cheeks—hot and throbbing—as it slides over the rim of your asshole. You weakly clench down on nothing, pussy pathetically spewing more slick and dribbling between your silky folds.

“One day,” he mutters, “not now.” Taehyung reaches up to steady you by the hip. You hear shuffling in the back as Taehyung kicks his boxers off, letting the dampened material fall to the ground. His hands are on you in a heartbeat, he racks the oversized shirt you’re wearing up around your waist and tugs at your panties with two fingers. “Open a little wider for me pretty—there you go, that’s it.” He purrs.

Taehyung wraps a hand around the back of your knee and holds it up as he lifts your leg into the air. You bite your lip and turn your face into the pillow to hide in, “Keep it up here for me,” he murmurs while letting go.

You can hear him fist his cock from behind you as he takes his cock and slaps it over your folds repeatedly. “Fuck,” he sighs almost dreamily while positioning the mushroomy tip at your clenched hole, “relax n let me in baby, good girl.” He murmurs while kicking his hips forward and pushing his cock into you.

Your lips part in a small ‘o’, no noise escaping as he fills you inch for inch with his heavy fat cock. This spooning position does nothing but make you aware just how big his cock is, you feel fucking stuffed and full of him with the rim of your pussy stretching a bit painfully to accommodate him. Taehyung releases a low growl and shoves himself into you impatiently. His hips smack against your ass with a loud squelch.

“Shit…” He sighs out like he’s relieved to be buried deep inside you, he shifts around and presses himself closer to you. You feel him drape himself over your back with his face buried in the junction of your neck and shoulder. He breathes your scent in and moans quietly while circling his hips slowly, cock shifting from side to side inside of you.

“God you feel so good,” he whispers as his hand grips your hip tight, “don’t think I’ll ever get used to fuckin’ this pussy.” He moans once more and presses in.

You double over and fist the pillow you’re laying on tightly, you can feel his hot thick balls press snug against your ass with each grind and thrust. Taehyung’s busy sucking marks into the back of your neck, he rolls his hips smoothly and occasionally bottoms out and presses into you deeply. His cock reemerges drenched in copious amounts of slick, the noise it makes is filthy as he pushes in deep.

“Shit, like that.” He moves faster, humping into you in quick little rolls as your cheeks smack against his pelvis repeatedly.

Your mouth opens and you quietly pant into the hot pillow, ears burning when you hear the squelching and the sound of his balls connecting to your ass from where they swing. Taehyung moans into your ear and slips his hand down your front to spread your pussy apart in a ‘V’ shape, “C’mon baby, play with yourself.” He huffs.

Most likely if you don’t do it he will so you slip your hand down and circle your clit with your fingers. You rub in circular motions, matching the speed of his thrusts. You can’t help the strangled moan that you let out because he pairs this with perfectly aimed thrusts, cockhead brushing over your g-spot repeatedly. The noises you held in begin spilling from your lips, you whimper and whine quietly while laying three fingers over your clit and rubbing side to side quickly.

“You gonna cum baby?” Taehyung gasps, “Can feel you getting tighter,” he grunts while smacking his hips into yours harder.

You throw your head back on his shoulder and gasp loudly when his cock bumps into your cervix. It hurts but the pain blends easily with the pleasure. Taehyung digs his fingernails into your side and tightly holds on to you while fucking into your pussy harshly. The slapping noises fill the entire room, the sheets shift and the bed rocks into the wall from the force of his thrusts.

“W-Wait,” you gasp breathlessly while your pussy squeezes tight, “fuck—Tae-hyung..!” A garbled cry escapes your lips as your pussy floods wetly, you cum with a high pitched cry while burying your face into his pillow—body shaking like a newborn lamb.

Taehyung hisses and quickly rolls his hips, driving his swollen cock into you over and over again like it’s the last time. He lands a tiny slap over your pussy causing you to cry out in oversensitivity. “Oh shit,” he gasps and slams into you three times before coming to a stop and riding the rest of his orgasm out with tiny grinds. He milks his cock out with a long sigh, pressing in to make sure none of it slips out.

You’re left laying there panting harshly while he warms his cock with your cunt. Only when his cock softens does he let it slip out with a nasty squelch. You can feel a sticky trail of slick and cum bubble between your folds, a small string still connected to his flaccid cock. “So messy,” he mutters while rolling out of bed to bring back a towel.

You stare at the wall with disoriented eyes and a wet ass/pussy.

The very next morning over breakfast Taehyung tells you about a surprise he has for you. You’re suspicious as hell but go along with it and wait patiently for him to give you his “gift”. Nothing good ever comes from him so you’re pretty sure this gift is something more for them than it is for you. When he pulls it out you mentally sigh, proven right.

“Aren’t these pretty?” Taehyung grins while showing off the pretty dresses, “I found ‘em in that store from last time and thought they’d look good on you.” He licks his lips, “Try ‘em on.” He’s not asking, he’s telling you.

You begrudgingly change into one, noting how short it is given that it ends right under your ass. You stand there and let out a deep sigh, “This is the worst..” You mutter while fixing the straps.

“You comin’ out yet pretty?” Taehyung calls out.

“Fucking hell, can’t you wait.” You angrily tug the dress down and unlock the door, “I’m going.” You roll your eyes and walk out of the hallway and to them.

Their eyes naturally shift lower, staring shamelessly as they lick their lips hungrily. “Fits like a glove.” Jungkook nods, “Do a little spin for me sweetheart,” he sits back and man spreads on the couch, “slowly.” His eyes drop down to your exposed thighs.

You slowly turn in a circle stopping when they ask you to. Taehyung whistles lowly while Jungkook hums in appreciation, “Maybe these pretty little dresses are the only thing you should wear around the house, makes you look like a pretty little housewife.” He chuckles.

“She does, doesn't she? If it were up to me she’d be my little housewife walking around with nothin’ underneath leaking with cum and a pussy stuffed full.” Taehyung’s eyes stay glued to your tits where they push against the dress, smushed together from how tight that area was.

“Pretty little thing was made for it.” Jungkook nods with a low hum. You’ve never felt less human.

That night, Jungkook brings you to his room and has you slip on another one of the dresses Taehyung got you. Except this one literally leaves your entire ass hanging out no matter how much you tug on it. It’s a silky dress embroidered with lace and frills, you know you’re not going to stand a chance. He’s already looking at you like he wants to eat you, he lays there with an arm behind his head on the bed, just ogling you in appreciation as you change.

It’s over the moment you turn around. Jungkook quite literally throws you on the bed and pins you down under his hard, heavy body. He wastes no time in pushing the dress up and pinning you with your knees touching your shoulders. His pace is frantic and hard, thighs smacking and balls smacking into you as he fucks like a madman.

The bed violently hits the wall and creaks loudly under the weight of you two. He really has you crying and screaming in pleasure from how rough he was with you. His own grunts and moans rising in volume to match yours. He fucks orgasm after orgasm out of you, each time hurting a little more from how sensitive you were. Your cunt’s rubbed raw, glistening with precum mixed with your slick as a ring of white forms around the base of Jungkook’s cock. Some of his creamy cum drips down between your ass cheeks and on to the rim of your puckered hole. It splatters a little when his balls collide with your ass, staining both him and the bed sheets.

The room’s hot, it stinks with sex as Jungkook fucks you over and over again on the bed. You mewl shakily and kick your dangling feet in the air when he rolls you two over the edge of the bed, your head hangs as he buries himself deep in your pussy and grinds in quick motions. Jungkook has either arm beside your head, caging you in as he watches your expressions with hooded eyes.

“Fuck.” Jungkook bites his lip and moves faster, “Look so goddamn perfect, gonna have this little cunt bred by the end of the night. You’d like that wouldn’t you baby—to be stuffed with my cum dripping?” He breathlessly asks, brow pinched in concentration as he rolls his hips.

When you don’t answer he lands a smack across your ass, tightly squeezing it in his hand afterwards. You mewl quietly and nod, “Answer me baby, wanna hear it from your sweet little lips.” He growls and lands another smack.

You hiccup and sob softly, “Y-Yes..! W-Wanna you to fill me up.” Your toes curl as you shudder when his cock hits your g-spot. All this movement and your head hanging quickly has you recoiling in dizziness as he jostles you.

Jungkook moves his hands and falls into you with your chest pressed to his. He wraps his hands around both of your ass cheeks and grips them tightly while pumping his cock in and out of you. Your thighs tremble in anticipation, cunt greedily swallowing him as low wet smacking noises begin to grow louder.

“Gonna cum sweetheart,” he rasps out with sweat dripping from his brow, “shit—so fuckin’ tight.” He shudders while leaning into you.

Your arms shakily wrap around his shoulders as you hug him tightly, sobbing when his pelvis glides over your clit and traps the sensitive bud between you and him. He fucks in quick thrusts, cock punching in and out of your creamy pussy. You lay there whining quietly as he uses you to get off. His moans turn breathier and quiet until he stops and goes silent.

His cock throbs and twitches, hot cum painting your pussy white as he empties himself in you. Jungkook lets out a ragged groan as he finally stops coming, he tiredly lays himself over you and pants, swallowing quietly as he tries to catch his breath. You didn’t cum again but you’re fine, it would have hurt anyway.

“Shit.” He mumbles as he rolls off of you lays side by side, staring up at the ceiling with his wet cock hanging out all bare without a single care in the world. You shakily roll to your side and curl up.

You knew these damn dresses were gonna be trouble..

+

Something’s off…very off.

For almost a week now you’ve been getting sick and throwing up meal after meal, maybe they were poisoning and finally putting you out of your misery. You wished.. You were sleeping way more than usual and everything just hurt more, even sex—not that it didn’t hurt before but suddenly your clit was too rubbed raw to touch and penetration was starting to hurt and ache? Something was very wrong and they knew it too.

“You think it’s the food?” Taehyung asks while sitting at the table with you and Jungkook, they often talk like you aren’t even there at times. “Or like maybe it’s the flu or something, been finding the window left open at night, could be that she got some air.”

Jungkook eyes you in worry, “I don’t think so Tae, she barely even has anything in her stomach to begin with and she keeps puking her guts out.” He sighs deeply, “y/n baby, how long has this been going on for hm? Weeks?”

You shrug and stare down at the hot food on your plate, “I dunno, not really hungry though.. Just wanna sleep.”

Taehyung frowns, “You need to eat something, wait—maybe she’s on her period or something and it’s probably hitting her really hard. Are you?” He turns to look at you as he waits patiently for your answer.

You open your mouth to say no but then sit there in shock, period.. When was the last time you even had one? Your heart begins pounding as you try to think back to your last cycle, sure you didn’t think about it too often but still it was something you kept track of so things didn’t get super messy in the middle of your travels. They call your name three times before you finally look up at them.

“I haven’t gotten a period.” You whispered, “Last I remember was I think a month ago, wait no I think two..” You begin shaking in your seat, this means one thing for sure.. You look up at them, they’re both sporting surprised looks but Taehyung’s face quickly morphs into one of excitement and happiness.

“So that means..” Taehyung grins, “ ‘s my baby,” he proudly claims, “must’ve knocked her up real good.” He chuckles quietly, dodging Jungkook’s hit, “What?? She’s the one who sleeps in my bed more than you! You’re just jealous it’s not your baby.” He smirks.

Jungkook sighs, “Tae, maybe instead of being so happy about knocking her up worry about her fuckin health.” He glares before turning to you with a soft look, “C’mere sweetheart, let’s get you something for your stomach yeah?” He stands and goes over to guide you into the kitchen, “Tae, run out and bring some pregnancy tests!”

“On it!”

You’re numb the entire time Jungkook talks to you about different meal options, his hand never leaves your waist and he occasionally strokes his thumb over your tummy. How could they be so happy knowing the circumstances behind the baby—or rather this parasite inside of you. Just thinking about the thing made you sicker, and quite frankly more angrier.

“Baby?” Jungkook looks at you in confusion, “I asked if you wanted to have some broth with crackers, it’ll be light on your stomach and will do good for the baby.” Baby… You looked down at your stomach and stared at it, so that’s where the little shit was. “Baby?” He cups your face in his hands.

“Anything is fine,” you mutter, “doesn’t matter now anyways, ‘m basically an incubator.” You glare.

Jungkook ignores your little aggressive comment, “Don’t be like that, ‘s not good for you or the baby. Gotta make sure you’re well fed mama,” he mumbles as he brings you closer, “gotta be a good mama for the baby alright?” He cups your tummy.

You feel frustration bubble up, “I don’t want this fucking parasite in me,” you seethe, “I didn’t ask to be pregnant, I didn’t ask for any of this! I would have been perfectly fine in Busan with my parents if you or Taehyung hadn’t bothered me!” You yell angrily, “Baby this, baby that—what about me?! I’m a human being! This is my life we’re talking about!” You shove his hands off of you.

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, “You’re just cranky and moody, understandable sweetheart,” he reaches over to grip you by the throat, “but let’s not get too over your head yeah? Is this all because of Busan? Throwin’ a fit like a goddamn child?” He glares.

“Yes! Exactly that Jungkook, I was doing so fucking fine before YOU or Taehyung.” Your eyes well with tears, “A-And now-now, I can’t even see my parents anymore because I’m stuck here everyday inside of a small ass apartment chained like a goddamn circus animal waiting to be used!” You sob hysterically, everything you’ve held in at this point just erupting.

You hate that he gives you a sympathetic look, he brings you into his arms and you’re too weak to fight against him, “Oh baby,” he rocks you side to side, “when will you understand that your place is with us, we keep you SAFE. We feed you don’t we? We protect you? What more are you asking for?” He says softly like he’s talking to a child or something.

“I-I want to see my mom and dad,” you hiccup, “wanna g-go to Busan ‘n make sure they’re alive ‘n healthy. Please!” You paw at his arms and cling to him like a child, “Please ‘s the only thing I’ll ever ask for!”

Jungkook stares down at you while you cry and beg, he gently rubs his hand over your back and hums, “I’ll talk to Tae about it,” he pulls back to look down at you, “but you have to take care of yourself for the baby’s sake.” He calmly says, “No ifs or buts, if you don’t we’re not going anywhere.”

You bite back the protest sitting on the tip of your tongue, “...Okay..” You mutter.

“Good girl,” Jungkook grins and ruffles your hair, “now go sit down, I’ll call you when the soup is ready.” He ushers you out.

Taehyung and Jungkook spend the entire night talking about it, you can hear them from the bedroom where you sit in pure excitement and hope. Jungkook argues that maybe it’s time to find a new settlement out there, he says something along the lines that raising the baby in the countryside is far better as the infected are less likely to populate rural areas. Taehyung argues that they’re fine altogether given the endless supplies nearby and the running water and electricity they have.

“Jungkook you’re not understanding, I’m gonna be a dad now and I can’t be having y/n walk for almost two months straight in this state. She won’t make it,” Taehyung sighs, “she’s fine here, safe and sound where she has water and heat to keep her warm at night.”

Jungkook releases a heavier sigh, “Tae, there’s a high risk of raiders and you know it. What if we’re out getting supplies one day and someone finds her and the baby? Then what? Or how about when the baby gets here you wanna keep them inside these four small ass walls for the rest of their lives? Is that what you think is best for the baby?”

You sit with a bated breath, waiting for Taehyung’s reply. You’re fucked if he says no, because Jungkook will NOT go anywhere unless Taehyung comes with. You feel your heart twist bitterly as you stare down at your hands, if Taehyung says no you really think you’ll resort to murder just to escape..

“Fine. We’ll go but if it’s far worse we’re heading straight back got it?” Taehyung grunts, “Can’t believe I’m agreeing to this shit.” He mutters while heading out to the patio.

You smile widely and lay back with your head turned to the window, admiring the bright moon, “Soon..” You quietly whisper to yourself.

Please wait for me..

+

The three of you set out one crisp Autumn morning, you almost forgot what the outside looked like given that you were only given the luxury of the windows in the apartment. Jungkook and Taehyung keep you close with a hand around your waist or wrapped around your own in a tight hold.

“Gotta cross that bridge to catch the highway that leads us into the countryside roads to Busan,” Jungkook says while reading the map, “from there I think we should be good and just keep walking straight.” He sighs as he folds the map back up.

Taehyung hums in acknowledgment as he reaches over to slip his arm around your waist and tug you close, “You good baby?” He asks softly, “Don’t want you overworking yourself.” He leans down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek.

You nod while looking around the area, “I’m fine, wanna go now.” You tug at his hand and follow after Jungkook. They try to make conversation with you but you’re fully locked in on one thing: Busan.

It takes up almost a day to make it to the bridge and get on the highway, luckily those things aren’t out in the open so the walk is much easier and stress free. You pass the time by admiring the plant life around you and remembering what once was when you come across clothing shops and closed restaurants.

The wind blows the flowy dress you’re wearing, you would have preferred something like jeans or whatever but they swapped out almost all of your clothes for dresses. You liked them and they were cute and all but this was something you would have liked to wear for yourself back at home and not for them.

“Look,” Taehyung stops in his tracks to bring you over to the bridge railing, “kinda looks nice yeah?” He smiles as the wind blows through his hair.

The three of you stand together watching the water below calmly moving in one direction, birds fly high over your heads and into the pink-ish sunset. You smile to yourself and nod, “I like it. Super nice.”

Jungkook leans his head over your shoulder and hums, “Pretty like you.” He comments to which you ignore. The three of you stay a little longer before Jungkook pats you gently on the back, “Alright, time to go. Gotta find somewhere before sundown.” He warns and takes your hand in his, leading you away from the peaceful sight.

You insist to them you’re more than fine walking through the dark with them but Taehyung’s absolutely not having it. He gives you one glare and you’re left to sulk in the dark quietly, begrudgingly following the two into a spot for the night somewhere off the road in the overgrown grass. Jungkook makes sure the area is clear before he lays out your sleeping bags on the ground.

“Calm down, Busan ain’t going nowhere sweetheart,” Jungkook comments when he sees how uneasy you are, “here lay down.” He pulls you in and tucks you into the warm sleeping bag, “All this walking won’t be any good on you,” he leaves the ‘or the baby’ out given your feelings about the pregnancy, “gotta have you well rested.” He mumbles and leans down to press a gentle kiss over your lips.

You stare at him with an incredulous look, you rather keep walking day and night if meant getting away from them two and reaching your parents quicker. Any more of this and you’re going to lose it, you grumble quietly and snuggle into the sleeping bag turned away from them. “Night.” You curtly reply.

“G’night pretty.”

.

Sleep comes fairly easy but you’re still a bit uncomfortable from laying on the cold hard ground. You spent at least a good hour tossing and turning before sleep took over and sent you into a state of peace. Though by now you knew that peace was never an option, not with these two on your ass half the time.

Your eyes flutter open in confusion, you take in your surroundings for a few seconds before realizing you’re flat on your back. You note the familiar weight sitting on top of you and the slick noises down below. “Hn?” You try to make out who it is but it’s difficult with their face buried in your neck.

“Awake pretty?” Taehyung whispers into your ear, “Was wondering when you were gonna wake up.” He runs his tongue over the shell of your ear with a low moan, “Sorry baby, couldn’t resist seeing you so pretty in the dresses we got you.” He slurs out, you notice he has a hand stuffed between the two of you with his heavy cock in his hand, “Had to have you,” he breathes out while laying his pelvis flat against yours, “feel that? You did that.”

His cock’s all slicked up and hot as it presses against your inner thigh. There’s no use in fighting back as you let your thighs fall open to accommodate him. Taehyung makes a pleased noise as he grinds his cock over your clothed pussy. It bumps and nudges against you which in turn makes your clit throb with excitement. You huff quietly and angle your hips low to see if his cock will bump into your clit again.

Taehyung’s cock slips and slides over your cunt, you begin to grow annoyed and reach down to shove your panties down. He eagerly helps you slide them off with the material getting stuck around your ankle. When he goes to spread you open with his fingers, you let out a pained cry and shove at his hand weakly. Your clit and hole were more sore than you thought.

“What is it baby?” He asks with worry etched onto his face.

You shake your head, “Hurts,” you reply softly and move his hand away, “don’t like it, it hurts.”

Taehyung moves his hand away from your cunt, “Won’t touch you there then baby,” he murmurs while kissing your lips as an apology.

You huff quietly and wiggle around with a pissy glare, “And now my back hurts too.” You shove at his chest and grumble, “Off, off.” Taehyung doesn’t budge, instead he lets you roll over on to your side to alleviate the pressure. Your eyes snap over to him when you feel his cock slip between your thighs.

“Shh..gonna use your pretty little thighs sweetheart.” Taehyung whispers as he rolls his hips slowly. You let your head drop back to the pillow with an annoyed huff, his cock occasionally brushes over your clit from where it sits snug against your pussy. Doesn’t hurt but it bothers you.

He quietly moans and pants under his breath while using your thighs to get off. His leaky cock leaves trails of pearly white cum smeared over your thighs and cunt. Some of it even gets your cheeks wet, making the heat you’re feeling more unbearable. “Can’t wait till you’re bigger pretty,” he whispers, “gonna look so good full of our baby.”

His hips snap upwards when he says that, “ ‘s like you were made to be bred,” he growls and reaches down to slip a hand into your dress, fondling and squeezing your tit in his hand, “got such pretty tits, look at ‘em,” he grunts while slapping one, “can’t wait till they’re leaking with milk.”

You shudder in disgust at the thought, you already felt like you weren’t in your own body, him talking about its upcoming changes has you gagging. You choose to ignore anything related to the pregnancy, closing your eyes and trying to block out his words.

“Oh fuck,” he shudders, “gonna always keep you full and swollen—gonna breed you over and over again pretty.” Taehyung rolls his hips faster and faster until he stops with a shaky sigh, cum shooting out in white ropes over you and the sleeping bag. He stays still for a few seconds before pulling his spent cock from between your thighs.

Great, he ruined your sleeping bag.

.

The air around you is hot despite the season being autumn. You trudge along behind Jungkook while toying with the sleeves of your hoodie which has long been discarded and tied around your waist. Jungkook says it’s only a matter of days before you’re all in Busan. You’re just relieved the gruesome trip is finally coming to an end and you probably won’t have to see them ever again.

Dealing with both Taehyung and Jungkook was slowly starting to work a nerve inside of you. As your pregnancy progressed so did the symptoms that came with it. Your back hurt like a bitch, your tits were sensitive, and your mood swings were very random. Everyday was a challenge with these two they just wouldn’t leave you alone and in peace. Not to mention the thing inside of you, it was the main source of all your headaches and morning sickness.

“There’s a gas station up ahead,” Taehyung points, “let’s head there to take a break, yeah? My fuckin’ feet are killing me.” He groans while adjusting his hold on the rifle in his hands. “And don’t start with me y/n, we all need a fucking break,” he shoots you a warning glance.

You kick a nearby rock and glare back, “I wasn’t going to say anything.” It comes out more snappier than usual, something about today just had every nerve in your body sending you into overdrive.

Taehyung shoots you a look, “You don’t have to, I can already feel you complaining about why we have to stop.” He mutters, “All you’ve done since we left Daegu. Not all of us wanna walk till the fucking sun starts to set.”

You whip around to give him a piece of your mind when Jungkook tugs you over to his side, “Tae,” Jungkook gives him a silent look before he turns his attention to you, “I just wanna rest in peace, so please let’s just keep our thoughts to ourselves and keep it moving. Fighting isn’t gonna get us there faster either.”

“Well maybe picking fights with a pregnant person isn’t so bright either.” You spit out angrily while walking faster.

Taehyung scoffs, “Oh so now you’re pulling the pregnant card? After all this time acting like the baby doesn’t even exist to you, I see you.”

You whip around and stop walking, “Because it doesn’t! This fucking parasite inside of me doesn’t exist to me and it never will. I never wanted it in the first place and now I’m stuck with it in MY body, so maybe that explains why I fuckin’ hate it and don’t talk about it!” You hiss.

The silence is deafening. Jungkook doesn’t seem so shocked you lashed out but Taehyung absolutely looks livid with the way you talked about the baby. You don’t care, if anything you’re smug because at least he knows you hate the thing. “If it were up to me,” you speak lowly, “I would have gotten rid of it the moment I found out.”

And with that you stomp off towards the gas station. “y/n! y/n get back here!” Taehyung yells but Jungkook says something along the lines of ‘let her be’. You huff angrily and throw the door open to the station, it’s dark and dusty as hell in there but you’re too angry to really care. “Who the fuck does he think he is?” You mutter while looking around for something edible, preferably chocolate.

As you’re looking up and down the aisles you hear a quiet thud. You briefly look up with a pinched look, “Probably one of those idiots.” You mutter quietly while going back to looking for candy. The noise gets louder and once again interrupts your search, “What the fuck.” You sigh in annoyance and look over at the backroom.

The door suddenly slams open and a mangled body comes barreling out, screeching loudly while flailing around and knocking things over. Your eyes widen and you drop the candy bar you had in your hands, “Oh shit.” You make a run for the door, head whipping back to see the zombie launch itself from the other side to you, its hands outstretched and swinging wildly.

“Jungkook! Taehyung!” You fall through the door and crawl away desperately as the thing wraps its hand around your ankle to yank you back, “Help me!” You sob and desperately kick at the thing.

Taehyung aims the rifle and shoots without hesitation, it takes at least two shots to keep the thing down. “Fuck are you okay?” Taehyung runs over to pull you up into his arms, “Did it bite you? Are you hurt?” He paws all over and inspects your body for any bites or wounds.

“I-I’m okay.” You quietly whisper and look back at the store, “I-I don’t know if t-there’s more in there.” A tiny sob bubbles up as you hide your face in his chest and grip his shirt tightly.

Taehyung looks over at Jungkook and silently nods, “Hey you’re okay, look at me,” he cups your face, “you’re fine, ‘s nothing we already got rid of it.” He whispers while brushing your hair out of your face. You weakly nod and stay close by while Jungkook checks for any more infected inside of the station.

Taehyung’s practically glued to you after that, and not that you want him close by but in a way he helps calm you down. Jungkook had quickly gathered food and water before the three of you set back out. The walk was silent save for the sounds of birds chirping and crickets hiding in the tall grass. Everything just feels so unreal right now as you still process your near death experience.

“I think we have to go that way,” Jungkook quietly says, “leads to the countryside—you said your parents lived away from the city right?” He says and stops in his tracks to look at you.

“Yeah.” You look at the map in his hands. “If I’m right we only have a good hour to go, farm’s not that far from here. I recognized the road cause my dad used to take me through here whenever we were going into the city.” You say while reading one of the familiar road signs.

Jungkook nods, “Lead the way then.”

The three of you walk through the dirt, passing by big farms and bus stations that definitely make you reminisce. You haven’t been here in so long it feels weird, you would have loved to come when things didn’t hit the fan and everything went into chaos. You can’t hide the anticipation on your face, it was practically eating at you.

Taehyung notices this because he reaches for your hand and holds it tight, “Any closer?”

“Yeah.” Your heart pounds in your chest, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for. You’re not so sure you’re prepared for what’s about to come. If your parents aren’t there—no, they are, you’re so sure of it. Something tells you they’re fine. You’re so excited you nearly barf.

You come to a stop when the three of you reach the wooden gate entrance, Jungkook is quick to open the latch and push the gate open. “y/n,” Jungkook calls out in surprise because you immediately start heading to the house. You ignore them and their calls, stumbling over your feet as you make your way to your home. Your eyes get watery from the swirl of emotions you’re feeling.

‘I did it.’ You run on to the porch and push the door open, “Mom! Dad! It’s me!” You call out loudly while heading into the living room, “Mom?” You look around frantically. Everything in the house looks untouched, the windows are open as the white curtains flutter with the wind. You feel your heart drop a few times here and there but you’re more excited than anything.

“Mom! Dad!” You head into another room and look around frantically. Nothing is out of place and the house looks well taken care of, so where were your parents? You take a seat on a chair, ignoring the sounds of Jungkook and Taehyung entering the house. Where were they..? You begin to tear up.

You catch a small white envelope sitting in the corner of the table. You reach over and your eyes widen when you see that it was addressed to you. With frantic hands you tear it open and begin reading, eager to find out where your parents could be. As you’re reading Taehyung comes into the room and leans over your shoulder with a curious look. You don’t even reprimand him for reading something that doesn’t concern him.

“..I knew you would come looking for us, it’s in your nature to be stubborn as hell like your mama,” Taehyung reads out loud as Jungkook pauses whatever the hell he was looking at, “we didn’t think you would be content with staying put, and if for whatever reason you find yourself here we’re gone. We’re safe if you must know, we’ve left to a settlement with others where we hopefully can rebuild the life we once had. When you’re ready come to us, you’ve made it this far kiddo I don’t think you’ll have trouble getting to us. For now rest, I assume you’re tired, we left the animals in the barn with food that is most likely gone by now, there’s preserved foods in the bunker below that we’ve been harvesting. Hope to see you soon,” Taehyung finishes.

Your hands shake as you read the date below—you were a week late.

“I guess that’s that.” Jungkook sighs.

“Farm doesn’t look so bad, I think we can run it, don't you think Kook?” Taehyung grins, “We can raise the baby out here without a worry, can even take some horses down to the nearby town when we need to.” He leans down to kiss your neck, “What do you say pretty?..”

+

Everything hurts—your spine, your back, your feet—you can’t stand it. The baby is bigger and it weighs down on your hips horribly. Some days you pretend it isn’t there but other days are harder given the sheer size of your belly and that thing kicking you.

With an annoyed huff you rip the blankets off of your body and get up with a low pained moan. You support your back with one hand while carefully walking across the wooden floor towards the front door. The cold metal bites into your ankle unforgivingly but you’re used to it already. You thought things would be different here but you guess you were wrong.

“Fuck,” you hiss when the baby kicks you in the rib, “just you fuckin’ wait you little shit,” you mutter while standing on the front porch watching Taehyung and Jungkook tend to the farm around.

Jungkook wipes the sweat off his brow and turns to smile at you, “Something wrong sweetheart?” He calls out.

Taehyung shoots you a grin, “Baby already bothering you pretty?” You want to reply ‘been bothering me’ so bad but you hold your tongue. Taehyung’s eyes drop down to the dress you’re wearing as he whistles lowly, “Well don’t you look pretty?” He smirks as he runs his tongue over his lip.

You find yourself staring at them—one day, you’ll find a way to leave even if you have to fight tooth and nail. You suppose the parasite inside of you can come if it’s not already out yet, or hell maybe you’ll leave it with them who knows.

But one thing is for sure: you were leaving one way or another.

Animal Farm. ☆ J.jk + K.th

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful l @winkii @lifeless-firefly @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @gukiebaby @babycandy111 @looneybleus @ash07128 @gyukookswhore

[halloween m.list]

2 months ago

Terms & Conditions: Part 2 (Final Act)

Terms & Conditions: Part 2 (Final Act)

when the suit comes off, the truth does too.

pairing: CEO’s son!Jungkook x assistant!Reader

summary: You swore you came here to build a career — not fall apart in the hands of the CEO’s son.

warnings: power imbalance, office tension, explicit sexual content (oral sex m. receiving, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, possessiveness), infidelity (both parties), arranged engagement themes, physical violence (fight scene), public scandal, emotional manipulation, toxic power dynamics, angst, some hurt/comfort.

w.c: 10k

Part 1 is required reading. This is a finale part 2.

You don’t even wait until the floor clears for lunch.

There’s no strategy left in you anymore — no calculated timing, no softened voice. You step into the corridor just as the meeting room doors close behind him, your clipboard still clutched in your hand, the adrenaline already humming in your ears like static. And when he sees you, he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t pretend to be surprised. His gaze settles on yours with that same maddening calm — like the night he spent inside you meant nothing, like the woman draped over his arm the next evening wasn’t wearing the exact same shade of lipstick you left smeared across his throat.

Drawing in a single breath, you face him. "You're engaged."

It's not a question - it doesn't need to be. The silence that follows hangs heavy between you, thick enough to suffocate.

He releases a long sigh and, unusually, drops his typical facade of sarcasm and control. Meeting your gaze with unreadable eyes, he stands with hands in his pockets like a defendant who knows the verdict won't matter.

"Yes," he says simply. "I am."

You remain perfectly still, fingers tightening around your clipboard as you deliver your next words with razor-sharp precision. "So what was I, then? Disposable? Or just free?"

Your words strike true - you catch the flicker in his eyes, the subtle clench of his jaw, the shallow breath he takes. Yet he offers no apology, no explanation. Instead, he responds with the detached tone of a business presentation.

“It’s not like that.”

“No?” You step closer. Not much. Just enough to make him hold your gaze harder. “Then explain it. Explain why I was bleeding wine in front of investors while you stood there with your fiancée, saying nothing.”

He exhales through his nose, slow and tight, voice lowered now, like the weight of the conversation is finally dragging his composure down with it.

“It’s a business arrangement,” he says, words deliberate. “Old money. Shared capital. Our families have been connected since we were teenagers. This isn’t about love, or lust, or even choice. It’s about control. It’s about deals with names older than either of us.” A pause. “It’s expected.”

You laugh — short, bitter, too empty to sound like anything real.

“Expected,” you echo, your voice cracking on the word like it’s poison in your mouth. “And I was… what? Unexpected? A glitch in your system? Something to delete once the ink dried?”

His silence and downcast gaze speak volumes.

Your breath catches unsteadily as your heart pounds against your ribs. "You could've said something," you whisper, the words barely audible. "Could've stopped. Didn't have to kiss me, didn't have to stay."

His voice takes on a sharp edge. "And you didn't have to let me."

The accusation hits you like a physical blow, leaving you frozen in place. When you finally find your voice again, it emerges quiet and glacial. "I wasn't the one promising anything."

He meets your gaze, his expression unreadable but his voice carrying notes of both defense and warning. "You had a boyfriend."

The words strike deep - not because they're false, but because they expose the very wound you'd hoped he'd forgotten. He catches every micro-expression that crosses your face: the catch in your breath, the clench of your jaw, the momentary downward flicker of your eyes.

"You think this was one-sided?" he murmurs, drawing closer. "That I seduced you from nowhere? You kissed me back, begged for it, moaned my name while your boyfriend's contact was still in your phone."

You flinch but hold your ground, because beneath all the anger lies an unbearable truth: he's right. And that very fact feeds both your hatred for him and your self-loathing.

You cut him from your life completely. No acknowledgment when he stands at the printer, no response to his comments in campaign threads, no glance during Monday syncs. You give him nothing - not a breath, not a look, not a hint of the woman who once surrendered to his touch.

Though you refuse to meet his gaze, you can feel it following you - heavy and deliberate, as if trying to summon back the version of you who trembled at his voice. Instead, you present him with a carefully crafted facade: high collars, red lipstick, clipboard held like armor. This version of you is untouched by memory, unmarked by the intimacy you once shared.

Two weeks later, she arrives. Nami. Her visit is mentioned casually in a morning brief about corporate guests from London, but the moment the elevator doors open, you understand. She embodies effortless elegance - her cream suit perfectly tailored, her heels precise, her smile polished to perfection. She and Jungkook move together with practiced grace, his arm hovering near hers without quite touching, their matched presence speaking of wealth and careful calculation.

Your stomach twists as you try to ignore them, but when his burning glance finds your desk, something shifts inside you. As Minho from strategic ops approaches with coffee and a smile, you seize the opportunity. Your fingers brush his arm, your laughter flows freely, your gratitude comes with lowered lashes and a voice too sweet to be genuine.

When you finally look across the space, Jungkook stands with Nami but his eyes are fixed on you. He remains motionless except for the tightening vein at his temple and the slight shift of his jaw. In that moment, you discover something colder than satisfaction blooming in your chest - the realization that you could wound him without a single touch, just as he wounded you.

You maintain your performance with Minho, your laughter pitched just loud enough, your proximity carefully calculated. Though you don't look Jungkook's way again, you can feel his unwavering attention. When you finally return to your desk, your smile falls away like a discarded mask. You press your lips together and resume working, knowing that if you must bleed, at least you're making him feel every drop.

It’s late when he finds you again — not by accident, not by fate, but with the kind of deliberate intensity you can feel long before you hear the footsteps approaching from behind. You’re the only one left on the floor, most of the office dark now except for the hallway lamps casting low, golden streaks across the concrete, and the single strip of cold light above your desk where you sit, pretending to finish the expense report you opened twenty minutes ago but haven’t touched since.

You hear him before you see him — the soft thud of his shoes crossing the carpeted floor with just enough pressure to announce him and no one else.

He doesn’t speak your name — not at first — just lingers behind your chair for a moment too long, his presence as heavy as ever, a pull you can feel at your back like heat from an open flame.

When he finally moves, it’s slow — fingers brushing the edge of your desk, not touching you yet, just hovering like memory, like warning, until he steps closer, his voice low, already rough, already wrecked.

“You’re ignoring me.”

Silence is your only response as you click aimlessly through a spreadsheet, your eyes fixed on meaningless numbers while your throat constricts with the weight of everything left unsaid.

“Say something,” he pushes, his voice darker now, not cruel, but desperate in a way you’ve never heard it. “Or do you only speak when you’re on your knees?”

His crude remark ignites something in you. Rising with controlled fury, you send your chair rolling back with a sharp clatter. Your body turns to face him in one fluid motion as you shove his hand off your desk, stepping into his space until you're toe to toe, your carefully maintained composure finally shattering.

"Don't touch me." The words cut through the air between you, crystalline and absolute.

He remains rooted in place, breathing hard with stormy eyes and hands flexing at his sides - a man struggling against the magnetic pull between you, fighting the urge to close those final inches.

"I can't stop wanting you," he confesses through clenched teeth, each word brittle and raw. "You know that, right? You feel it too. Don't lie to me."

"You don't get to want me," you counter, your voice trembling with the effort to maintain your resolve. "Not while you still belong to someone else."

A soft curse escapes him as he reaches for your wrist, seeking something solid to anchor himself to - but you wrench away before his fingers can find purchase, your next words slicing through the tension like a blade across silk.

"Break it off."

He freezes as you fix him with an unwavering stare, your eyes blazing not with tears but with a fury that threatens to blind. "If you want to touch me again, if you want me at all," you continue, each word deliberately cruel and precise, "then end it. End your deal, your arrangement, your legacy contract or whatever the hell you call that woman, and choose me."

His jaw flexes, shoulders rigid, a muscle ticking in his cheek like the last thread holding him together. "It's not that simple," he manages finally - a hollow defense from a man suddenly realizing how little control he truly has.

Your voice drops to a whisper, steady and final. "Then this is over."

You leave him there, your heels clicking against the floor as you walk away without pause or backward glance. Your exhale trembles in your lungs as you disappear down the corridor, leaving him frozen in the harsh fluorescent light. The message is clear: if he wants you now, he'll have to earn you.

You download the app that same night, your thumb hovering over the red-pink icon for a full minute before you tap it — like even that act alone requires courage, like even pretending you’re ready to move on might tear something inside you loose.

You don’t tell yourself it’s a statement. You don’t pretend it’s casual. It’s not about hunger or curiosity or trying to bury the feeling of Jungkook’s body still inside yours. It’s about escape. About choice. About quiet rebellion in the form of swipes and curated smiles and profiles that don’t mention empires or legacies or what their family owns in London.

Dan is the first to reach out, a welcome change from chasing someone else's silence. You like the fact that he doesn’t make you chase, doesn’t smirk behind every word, doesn’t leave you staring at your phone for three hours wondering if you imagined the weight of his silence. Dan is polite, easy to talk to, refreshingly available — a man who replies in full sentences, asks about your work with genuine interest, doesn’t look at you like you’re the puzzle he wants to solve before he breaks it.

You go on your first date with him the following Friday — a corner booth at a rooftop bar, not flashy, not elite, but just nice enough to make you wear a dress that hugs your waist and lipstick that isn’t red. Dan compliments you the second you sit down. He doesn’t stare at your mouth when you speak. He orders a whiskey neat, listens when you talk, smiles when you laugh. When he walks you to the curb and asks if he can see you again, he doesn’t linger too long or press too close. He just touches your elbow, soft and brief, and waits for your answer.

You say yes, though you're unsure if it's attraction or desperation driving you - if you're trying to forget or simply reclaim ownership of your body. That night, lying alone in bed, untouched by choice, you realize it's the first time in weeks you haven't dreamed of chains against your collarbone.

Dan becomes a steady presence. Your meetings increase from weekly to twice that, each time marked by thoughtful gestures - good morning texts before important meetings, unexpected coffee deliveries, genuine interest in your work and opinions. He never mentions your past, and Jungkook remains unspoken between you. Dan represents something fresh - no complicated history, no clandestine encounters, no sin-stained conference rooms. While love hasn't bloomed, you're finally open to its possibility.

The revelation comes naturally one morning, neither planned revenge nor calculated provocation, but something far more potent: simple truth. You're standing by the design team's table, adjusting files while half-listening to Lisa, the new junior manager from strategy, chat about Gangnam restaurants. Her perfectly manicured hand curls around her cold brew as others hover nearby, feigning work while eavesdropping.

When Lisa turns to you, eyes bright with curiosity about your upcoming second date, you feel your throat tighten. Across the floor, Jungkook stands with his back partially turned, close enough to overhear. Something reckless and wounded inside you makes you straighten your spine as you answer with practiced casualness, as if your voice had never caught in his throat.

"Tomorrow actually," you say, matching Lisa's enthusiasm when she comments on Dan's apparent interest. You offer a practiced smile - the kind reserved for men who don't leave marks on your soul. "He's nice. Stable. Makes plans, follows through."

Though you don't look directly at Jungkook, you notice the shift - his fingers gripping the desk edge with barely contained violence, his jaw tightening, shoulders tensing with unspoken words. His silence speaks volumes, and you savor this moment of control, cold and satisfying like salt in someone else's wound.

The smile remains fixed until you reach your desk, where reality spins slightly behind your eyes. You remind yourself of your choice - if he claimed it wasn't simple, you're making it elementary. You're moving forward, even if the progression feels like dying.

It's been a month since you first let Dan in - not into your heart or the part that still twitches at Jungkook's voice, but into your space and body. When it happened, it was slow and considerate, with gentle hands and a mouth that didn't demand. You told yourself it was the right decision, even if it wasn't passionate or dangerous.

Dan had stayed the night, his chest warm against your back as he slept peacefully. You laid awake counting the ways his touch failed to ignite you, wondering when settling for "good" had become your compromise.

Now in the break room with your coworkers, you wear practiced casualness like armor as Mina leans in with a conspiratorial smile. "Are you still seeing that guy? The tall one?"

"Dan?" you ask, lifting your coffee cup.

She nods while Jiyoon from HR chimes in, "He's hot. Quiet, but... the good kind of quiet."

You could deflect, but something defiant stirs within you. "We've been seeing each other for a while now," you say evenly. "We slept together last weekend."

Their heads tilt forward as soft oh's and knowing mm-hmms fill the air. When Mina grins expectantly, you offer a measured laugh and a simple "He's good. Very... attentive."

It's just a casual comment, but the sudden silence behind you - where the automatic doors whisper open and closed - speaks volumes. You don't need to turn to know it's him. His presence pulses like a second heartbeat as you calmly sip your coffee, letting your words linger.

He stands frozen, tension radiating from his rigid frame, before walking away without a word. Though he doesn't speak, his silence echoes through your veins for hours as you approach the end of your workday.

You’re five minutes from slipping into your coat, catching the last train, and crawling into your apartment where Dan texted that he might stop by, and where your body aches more from stress than arousal. Your eyes are dry. Your shoulders sore. You’ve done nothing wrong all day, and yet the tension hasn’t left you since that moment in the break room — the quiet that trailed behind you like perfume, his silence thickening the air every time he passed.

The email lands in your inbox at 7:52 p.m. sharp.

From: Jeon Jungkook

Subject: Campaign Budget Review – URGENT

Need your eyes on the attached. Need edits by tonight. Stay.

The email lands without greeting or explanation - just a demand to stay late and review the campaign budget.

Though you could decline with a curt "will handle first thing tomorrow," you find yourself staying, unable to break free from the pull he still has on you after these past months. The numbers only need minor adjustments, but you meticulously revise each cell, turning the task into an act of quiet defiance.

By nine, the office falls silent save for your typing and the occasional sweep of headlights through the glass. His arrival comes not as a sound but as a presence - a shift in the air like an approaching storm. You maintain your focus on the spreadsheet, refusing to acknowledge how your pulse quickens under his gaze as he approaches your chair.

"You're sleeping with him." His words cut through the quiet.

You turn slowly, deliberately calm as you meet his eyes. "I'm sleeping with someone who isn't engaged," you say coolly. "Something new after you, I like that."

Though he doesn't flinch, his hands curl into fists. "Why?" The words strain like fraying rope. "You're bored. I know you are."

"And yet," you murmur, rising to face him, "I'm still choosing him over you."

He moves with sudden intensity, reaching for your waist with an instinctive need. You shove him away hard, your voice sharp with anger. "Don't you fucking touch me."

Instead of apologizing, he advances again, eyes burning. "You think I'm okay seeing you with someone else?" he hisses through clenched teeth. "You think I'm sleeping well at night, watching you walk around here like none of it meant anything—"

"Good," you cut in, breathless but unflinching. "Now you know how it feels."

His silence speaks volumes as he stares at you, finally understanding that what lies between you has transformed from seduction into consequence. You walk away first, knowing that this time, he has no right to follow.

It’s the kind of evening that doesn’t tolerate mistakes — an annual investor gala held at the Seoul Grand Marquis, a glass-and-marble beast of a venue tucked into the heart of the business district, where every chandelier costs more than your rent and every napkin bears the weight of legacy branding. This night is about power, about vision, about shaking hands across glass tables while making eye contact that means money, and you’ve known since the moment the invitation appeared in your inbox that this would be a war disguised as a party.

Every department has representatives attending — not just for visibility, but for survival. The gala is where acquisitions are hinted at, expansions teased, internal stars subtly ranked by who they’re standing next to and how loudly the room stops to listen when they speak. It’s also the one night each year when employees are permitted to bring a date — a silent status symbol more than a courtesy. It’s the company’s way of saying: show us who’s beside you, so we know who you are outside of your salary.

Dan had offered without hesitation. He’d even asked what color you planned to wear before choosing his tie, showed up to your apartment early that evening with flowers wrapped in white tissue and a nervous smile that looked too genuine to ignore. You’d let him help with your zipper. You’d let him kiss your shoulder as you stepped into your heels. And you’d told yourself, not for the first time, that normal wasn’t boring — that stability could be seductive in its own quiet way.

You arrive just past seven, hand resting light against his arm, your dress a sleek, open-backed slip of black satin that clings at the waist and falls like smoke to the floor, elegant but not attention-hungry, chosen precisely for its control. You wear no necklace, just earrings — thin, delicate, silver — and your lipstick is not red. You’ve been careful with every inch of yourself tonight, each detail designed to say: I am not here to play the game. I am here to win it.

Dan’s hand lingers on your lower back as you’re escorted toward the mezzanine ballroom, his voice soft, full of small compliments, polite jokes, quiet awe at the decor. You listen, you smile, you nod — and yet even as the champagne flute settles between your fingers and the soft strings of a quartet unfurl through the air like silk, there’s only one thing you’re aware of beneath your skin.

The anticipation coils within you like a rising tide. You feel it the way sailors sense an approaching storm - not with fear, but with the quiet certainty of something inevitable approaching.

The air shifts, almost imperceptibly, but with unmistakable weight.

Conversations pause mid-sentence. Laughter drops in pitch. Heads begin to turn in one slow wave, like a tide drawn toward something gravitational. And you know — before you turn your head, before you finish your breath, before you even dare glance — that it’s him.

Jeon Jungkook arrives with all the ease of someone who has never had to ask permission to exist. His suit is black, tailored within a millimeter of precision, cut to showcase the width of his shoulders and the power of his frame in ways that were never accidental. His shirt collar is open. His watch is new. His posture is effortless. And beside him — arm tucked lightly through his, gaze serene, steps measured like choreography — walks her.

Nami.

Her dress is a shade between champagne and cream, expensive in the quiet way only generational wealth understands, cut high at the neck but low at the back, revealing the smooth curve of a spine trained to never flinch. Her hair is swept into a twist that probably cost more than your entire outfit, and diamonds gleam at her ears, her throat, her wrist — no single piece overwhelming, but together they form a statement louder than any introduction.

Together, they look untouchable - a picture of perfection as she leans into him with the quiet confidence of someone who belongs there. Her fingers brush his sleeve with practiced familiarity, each gesture speaking of countless moments shared and countless more to come.

While Dan remains absorbed in conversation beside you, eagerly trying to charm the executive before him, you feel yourself drawn across the ballroom into Jungkook's unflinching gaze. The man who once whispered promises against your skin now stares at you with an intensity that makes the rest of the room fade away.

His eyes find yours deliberately, purposefully.

He looks at you — all of you — and his stare does not flinch. His gaze traces your neckline, lingers at your mouth, dips to the curve of your waist where Dan’s hand rests lightly like a placeholder. And for a long, long moment, he says nothing.

His eyes speak volumes in that moment - a dark intensity that matches your unwavering stare. When you finally break his gaze, it's not from fear or weakness, but because you've seen enough. This carefully crafted facade - the ballroom, the elegance, the man himself - has lost its luster, and you're no longer interested in maintaining the illusion.

He doesn’t come near you, not once, not even when protocol would have allowed it, not even when the polite mingling between departments would have excused a nod, a half-smile, a harmless comment about the wine or the music or the work you're both supposed to be doing — instead, he remains at a distance all evening, and yet you feel him watching you like heat from a closed door, like the memory of being touched in a place no one else can see.

There’s no space between your bodies anymore, not truly — not with how often his eyes find you across the ballroom, always in the quiet between speeches, always in the hush just before applause, in the breath before someone says your name — his gaze never lingering long enough to be obvious, but never glancing away quickly enough to be innocent, always returning, always waiting, as if his vision can reach through fabric and skin and hours of practiced indifference.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

You smile at Dan’s quiet jokes and accept the compliments from passing executives with a grace that feels like performance, not for the company, but for him, because everything about tonight has become a silent refusal to be anything less than composed — and if your spine is rigid beneath the satin of your gown, if your glass trembles slightly in your hand when you sip your champagne, no one else seems to notice.

Dan remains effortlessly attentive, not pushy, not overbearing, his presence beside you gentle in the way a safe harbor is, the kind of man who places a hand at the small of your back only when necessary — never to mark, never to command, only to anchor — and it’s during one of those moments, when you’re leaning in to listen to a conversation about the new China expansion strategy, that his fingers slide across your waist and settle low, pressing with the faintest pressure at the curve of your spine, grounding you without even knowing he’s touching a live wire.

You feel it instantly — not Dan’s touch, but the reaction it causes. Across the ballroom, Jungkook’s body shifts — subtly, almost imperceptibly, the kind of movement only someone who knows him too well would recognize — and even while mid-conversation with a group of executives near the bar, you see it, the sharp turn of his head, the flicker of his eyes, the rigid set of his shoulders the moment Dan’s hand settles exactly where Jungkook’s had once rested just before pushing you against his office door.

He doesn’t make a scene — he never does — but you see the way his jaw tightens, the way his hand flexes at his side like it’s fighting the need to close into a fist, the way his attention fractures mid-sentence as though his entire body has just become too tight to contain what he's feeling.

And then he walks away — not excusing himself, not smiling, not even pretending to maintain appearances, simply turning his back on whoever is still speaking and disappearing through the crowd with the kind of cold, singular focus that only ever means one thing when it comes to him: he’s going somewhere he isn’t supposed to be, to do something he’s no longer allowed to want.

Dan leans closer, says something about the main course arriving soon — something warm, something ordinary — and you nod, forcing a smile as if you’re still listening, still present, still in control.

But your body is already moving, your fingers setting down your glass, your eyes flicking toward the hallway behind the reception arch where the corridor leads away from the chandeliers and the silk and the curated spectacle of luxury, into the dim space lined with marble and mirror — a place built for privacy, for reapplication of lipstick and last-minute touch-ups, and, tonight, for whatever this has become between you and the man who just walked into the dark.

Without a word to Dan, you slip away into the shadows - drawn, as always, by a force stronger than reason.

The hallway behind the ballroom is dimly lit, lined with gilt-edged mirrors and low recessed sconces, the carpet thick enough to muffle footsteps, the air faintly perfumed with expensive citrus and something sweeter beneath it — and when you step past the velvet curtain that separates noise from silence, laughter from lust, you already know exactly where he’s gone.

The restroom is a cathedral of indulgence — marble floors, gold-trimmed stalls with private doors that close to the floor, velvet-paneled walls that swallow sound, plush settees for resting, reapplying, restrategizing. It’s the kind of room built for discretion. The kind of room that hears things and never repeats them.

You find him by the mirrors — his jacket off, sleeves rolled, chest rising a little too quickly for someone who claims to be fine. His eyes meet yours in the reflection first, and for a moment, neither of you speak. You stand there, inches apart and centuries away, the silence between you thick enough to drown in.

And then he turns.

“You need to stop,” he says, not as a command but as something closer to a plea, his voice rough, ragged at the edges, like he’s been holding it in all night and it’s finally breaking loose. “You can’t keep looking at me like I didn’t fuck you against a glass table and promise you it meant something.”

You don’t move. His steps are slow but certain as he closes the distance between you, and when he reaches you, his hands hover — not touching, not yet, just suspended at your waist like he’s begging your skin to remember him.

“I can’t do it anymore,” he breathes, softer now, just for you. “Not with you pretending he’s enough. Not with me standing there next to her, tasting you every time I close my fucking mouth.”

Fire burns in your gaze as you meet his eyes, wordless. Without hesitation, you pull him into a kiss.

Not gently. Not sweetly. You kiss him like punishment, like hunger, like you want to taste the lie in his throat and make it yours. His hands crash into your body the second your lips part — one gripping your jaw, the other dragging down to your hip, to your ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise. You pull him in with both fists knotted in his shirt, teeth clashing, breathless and furious and starving.

He breaks the kiss to bite at your neck, dragging his mouth down your throat as you walk him back into the furthest stall, slamming the door behind you with a force that makes the hinges rattle. He’s already unbuckling, already reaching for you, already so hard it’s like his body’s been waiting for this since the moment you left him standing in that empty office.

You sink gracefully to your knees before him, hands sliding up his thighs with deliberate intent. And when you look up at him, lips parted, breath hot, eyes blazing, you don’t need permission. You wrap one hand around his cock — flushed, thick, dripping at the tip — and lick a slow, deliberate stripe up the length, your tongue flat and obscene, your stare never wavering. He groans, low and choked, one hand flying to your hair, the other gripping the stall wall like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

You start slow — lazy, teasing, letting him feel every inch of your mouth as you take him in, lips sealing tight, jaw relaxed as you begin to move, your hand following where your mouth can’t reach.

“Fuck—” he gasps, eyes falling shut, hips jerking just slightly. “God, your mouth—fuck, I missed this—”

You hum around him — deep and wicked — and he moans so loudly it vibrates through your chest.

He can’t stay still.

He starts moving with you, thrusting gently, then harder, until one hand’s cradling the back of your head, the other buried in your hair, guiding you with slow, rough pressure as your lips slide wet and filthy down his cock again and again, saliva spilling at the corners of your mouth.

You let him take control, wanting him to come undone beneath your touch. And when you suck harder, faster, your throat relaxing, his rhythm stutters — his hips twitch, his breath breaks, and he pulls you off with a sharp, wet pop, panting, dragging you up into his arms, kissing you with his cock still hard between you, his mouth crashing into yours like he needs you to taste yourself on his skin.

The kiss deepens into something raw and primal, tongues and teeth clashing as their hands grasp desperately at each other. He spins you, presses you against the velvet-paneled wall, his hands yanking up your gown, dragging your panties down with such urgency that you nearly fall forward — but he catches you, hoists you up, lifts your thigh, and sinks into you in one deep, punishing thrust that knocks the air from your lungs and sends your moan echoing off the polished gold.

There's nothing gentle about the way he takes you - it's raw and primal, the way it's always been between you. Not when months of silence and pride and punishment collapse into a kiss against velvet and gold, into the way his hand cradles the back of your thigh and pulls your leg higher so he can fuck you deeper, so he can hear exactly how soaked and wrecked you already are for him.

He fucks you with a fierce desperation, like you're both his salvation and destruction - a sacred thing he worships even as he breaks you apart.

Every thrust is rough, brutal, breathtaking — the kind of rhythm that feels almost angry, like he’s trying to rewrite history with each snap of his hips, like he’s punishing you for every night you kissed another man and didn’t come apart like this, for every time you smiled at Dan like your body didn’t still ache for his hands.

He grunts low in your ear, hips snapping up as your back arches, as his fingers dig into your thigh so hard you know it’ll bruise, but you don’t care — not with the way he fills you, the way his cock drags inside you with punishing precision, not with the way your breath hitches every time the base of him slams against you and makes your whole body jolt.

“Fuck—” he groans, voice breaking at the edges as his forehead presses to yours, sweat beading at his temple, “You feel—fuck, you feel better than I remember.”

Your answer is nothing but a moan — low, ragged, your fingernails tearing down his back through his shirt, your teeth clenching around the chain that hangs against your throat now, heavy and swinging with each thrust, catching between your lips as you pant, as you let it cut into your tongue like it’s his name.

He grabs your hips and pulls you down harder onto him, hips pistoning now, his thrusts deeper, meaner, his teeth grazing your neck, your collarbone, biting the slope of your shoulder until you gasp and clench around him so tight he curses again, voice rough in your ear, all breath and gravel and loss.

“You miss this?” he growls, dragging his lips across your jaw, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear as his pace falters, then sharpens again, somehow harder, somehow deeper. “Miss me fucking you like this? Filling you up so deep you forget your fucking name?”

You whimper — not a word, not an answer, just the kind of helpless sound you make when there’s no more room in your head for anything but him. Your hips roll instinctively, chasing friction, clinging to him as the coil inside you twists tighter and tighter, unbearable now, heat flooding low in your stomach.

His pace never falters, his rhythm relentless and demanding. One hand leaves your thigh and slides up to your chest, yanking down the top of your gown just enough to expose the curve of one breast, and his mouth is on you instantly — tongue hot, lips sucking hard as his teeth graze over your nipple, as your head hits the wall behind you and you cry out, desperate now, pleading.

“Please— Jungkook, please—”

He groans against your skin, teeth grazing your chest, voice shaking with the effort to hold back.

“Say you missed it.”

“I— fuck, I— I missed you,” you gasp, your voice breaking as your nails dig deeper into his back, as your thighs start to tremble around his hips. “Missed this— I need— please, don’t stop—”

“I’m not gonna fucking stop,” he snarls, his pace suddenly brutal, unrelenting, his body crushing into yours, one hand tangled in your hair now, the other still fisted in your thigh, his breath hot against your lips as he kisses you again — filthy, wet, tongues colliding, teeth scraping, nothing left of restraint or dignity, just hunger clawing out of both of you like it had been caged for too long.

You come undone with a sob, your entire body trembling as your climax rips through you like fever and lightning, your hands fisting in his shirt and lips parted around his chain. Your thighs lock around him as your nails dig half-moons into his shoulder blades, marking him as yours in this moment of blazing truth.

And when you bite down on that chain — hard, trembling, gasping his name like a prayer — he follows with a broken moan into your mouth, his thrusts growing erratic, then jerking once, twice, deep, as he spills into you, his whole body shaking with it, his mouth crashing into yours like he can’t bear to come without you swallowing it whole.

You stay like that — still joined, still breathless — forehead to forehead, hearts galloping in sync, the air around you heavy with sweat, sin, and something too quiet to name.

Outside, beyond the velvet walls and marble doors, the music drifts on, while inside this sanctuary, you remain locked in an intimate silence with him, neither of you ready to voice the weight of everything left unsaid.

Your breath is still tangled in his mouth, his forehead still resting against yours, the weight of what just happened settling over you like the hem of your gown, rumpled now around your hips, clinging to sweat-slicked skin. Your heart is still galloping in your chest, still racing from the pace of him, the sound of him, the way he said your name like it had always been meant for him to say.

And Jungkook is still inside you.

He doesn’t pull out immediately — just holds you there, both of you trembling, breathing hard, his hands gentler now, soothing, one trailing down your thigh, the other brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face.

And then he smiles - not with triumph or victory, but with the resignation of a man who's accepted losing everything else just to have this moment.

“You’ve got glitter on your nose,” he murmurs, voice thick and wrecked, and when you frown, confused, he leans forward and kisses it. Just once. Softly. Playfully. As if the gala still exists somewhere far away and the only thing real in the world is this ridiculous little smear of sparkle and the woman beneath it who just broke him open all over again.

You laugh — a small, incredulous sound, still breathless, still shaking, and he grins like the sound of it is the only thing that’s ever mattered.

“I hate you,” you whisper through your smile, biting back another laugh as he kisses your jaw, your cheekbone, your collarbone where his chain left a faint indentation in your skin.

“No you don’t,” he breathes, adjusting the strap of your gown with slow, reverent fingers. “If you did, you wouldn’t still taste like yes.”

You hit him lightly on the chest, and he catches your wrist mid-slap and kisses the inside of it, then your palm, then your mouth again — slower this time, almost delicate — before you finally push him back with a grin.

“Get dressed,” you murmur, already reaching for your panties, smoothing your gown down, fingers trembling just slightly. “You look like someone who got exactly what he wanted.”

“I did,” he says simply, tucking himself back into his slacks with only half a care, his eyes never leaving you, even as he buttons his cuffs again. “And I’d look a lot worse if you hadn’t.”

It’s absurd — how easy this feels, how light, how young. How it almost resembles happiness.

You fix your lipstick in the mirror above the sink. He watches you like a man watching a storm recede, like he’s not ready for the calm yet but knows it’s dangerous to ask for more.

And then, as you open the door together, walking into the velvet-lined hallway with your shoulders back and your smiles just barely still in place — you see her.

There she stands - Nami, waiting with crossed arms and perfect posture in her immaculate dress. Her expression remains composed, but her eyes slice through both of you with devastating clarity, as if she's been anticipating this moment while hoping you wouldn't be foolish enough to make it real.

When she speaks, her voice carries a quiet, lethal precision: "Of course it's you."

You and Jungkook freeze in unison, but Nami simply turns away with the elegant dismissiveness of someone brushing dust from silk. The deafening silence lasts only a heartbeat before you both lurch into motion - Jungkook cursing under his breath as he adjusts his jacket, you stumbling after him on trembling legs, your hand reaching desperately for his sleeve as you call out her name. But she continues down the endless hallway, refusing to acknowledge either of you.

You’re still walking side by side, your steps nearly in sync but your heart thrashing beneath your dress like it knows this illusion of calm is already burning at the edges, when the sound of raised voices cuts through the ambient hush of the ballroom and makes you stop cold in your tracks.

At first, you can’t quite place the tone — it’s not yet shouting, but it carries the kind of tension that doesn’t belong among canapés and champagne, and it wraps around your spine with the certainty of something about to go very, very wrong.

Then, through the ambient hush, your name echoes through the hallway, followed immediately by his in a voice that makes your blood run cold.

You turn the corner just in time to see Nami standing beside your shared table — poised, polished, untouched by the unfolding storm — her flute of champagne still untouched in her hand, her expression unreadable in the way only women raised in legacy can manage, as if nothing happening around her is worth acknowledging. She doesn’t look at you. She doesn’t look at Jungkook, either. She looks directly at Dan, with her chin tilted slightly upward, her voice smooth and composed, as if she’s merely answering a question no one had the nerve to ask.

“I thought you should know,” she says, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly, not enough to be called a smile, but enough to make the accusation feel like a verdict, “she’s been fucking Jungkook.”

And there is no gasp, no cinematic moment of a dropped wine glass — just the collective breath of the room catching and holding, suspended like a violin string pulled tight, waiting for someone to cut it loose.

Dan stands still at first, not blinking, not reacting, just staring at Nami like he’s trying to decipher whether what she said was real or a very cruel joke told far too well. The silence that stretches in the beat that follows feels sharp enough to slice clean through your skin.

Your throat closes around his name as you take a step forward, not fast, not frantic, just instinctive — as if proximity alone could soften what he’s already begun to believe.

“Dan—”

His head snaps toward you. And in that moment, his expression — the confusion, the hope, the disbelief — shatters.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he says, and the volume of it is enough to silence every conversation within earshot. A few heads turn. More follow. By the time he takes a step back from the table, every gaze in your radius is fixed directly on the three of you.

“I defended you,” he says, voice shaking now, but loud, too loud, and cracking under the weight of humiliation. “I told people you weren’t sleeping your way up. I fucking trusted you.”

Your skin goes cold as shame washes over you, leaving you frozen and mute in its wake. His words hang in the air like smoke after a fire, and though he hasn't said it outright, that one cruel word - slut - vibrates beneath the surface of his tone, threatening to break free. Just as you brace yourself for what comes next, you feel him.

Jungkook — behind you now, still close, but his presence shifts, sharpens, becomes something solid and storm-dark in the space between your shoulder blades. You don’t even need to see him to feel the change in him — how still he goes, how quiet, how charged.

Dan sees him too. And the second their eyes meet across the chaos, Dan’s lip curls into something bitter and ugly and furious.

“Oh, now you want to show your face?” he spits, his voice rising, unhinged now. “She fucks you in secret and I get to be the dumbass holding her coat like a goddamn idiot?”

And maybe that would have been the moment it ended. Maybe if Dan had stopped there, if he hadn’t gone further, if he’d swallowed the rest of what he was about to say and let the shame stay between the three of you — maybe then it could have been salvaged.

But he doesn’t. He looks you up and down, then turns back to Jungkook, and with a voice too loud and too clear, he finishes the sentence like he’s spitting blood.

“Enjoy your office slut while she still lets you have her.”

A heartbeat of silence fills the room before Jungkook launches forward with no warning. He just steps forward with a precision so sudden it looks like instinct, his fist connecting with Dan’s jaw in one clean, devastating arc that sends the entire room spinning around them like they were never meant to witness this moment, but now can’t look away.

Dan crashes into the edge of the table behind him, knocking over wine, cutlery, crystal, dragging a stunned gasp from the nearest guests — but before he can right himself, Jungkook is on him again, grabbing the front of his suit jacket, fury carved into every line of his face as he shoves him back and shouts something you can’t even hear over the surge of movement and voices and chairs scraping the floor as people rush forward to separate them.

Someone grabs Jungkook’s shoulders. Two others pull Dan away, blood at the corner of his lip, eyes wild with disbelief and rage. Security is already on its way. The scene is already ruined. The gala is over before dessert.

And all you can do is stand there in the wreckage — exposed, humiliated, heartsick — with the taste of Jungkook still on your tongue, and the entire room watching like they’ve been waiting for this to happen from the beginning.

It isn’t just the party that ends in silence — it’s something deeper, something more private, something inside you that doesn’t know how to keep breathing once the shouting has faded and the chaos has been contained into the shallow hush of luxury’s aftermath, as if the room itself is trying to pretend nothing ever happened.

The moment Jungkook is dragged back by two men in tailored suits — the kind of men who are hired not to be noticed unless something needs fixing — and the moment Dan stumbles upright, unsteady, his lip bleeding and his tie askew like it’s choking him instead of holding him together, is the same moment your body seems to finally register what it’s done, what you’ve done, as if the weight of your choices only now decides to settle across your skin like a second gown, invisible but suffocating.

The tears don’t arrive in any cinematic fashion; there is no gasp, no trembling lower lip, no dramatic collapse to the floor — only the hot, dry sting behind your eyes that refuses to blink away, the slow withdrawal of blood from your fingers until your hands feel foreign, and the unbearable tightness in your chest that makes it impossible to breathe without thinking first, as if even your lungs are ashamed of you now.

Without running, speaking, or begging, you remain still - exposed beneath their stares. You simply stand there, the way shame always does — still and exposed and far too visible — as the room folds in around you like paper, heavy with whispers and half-averted stares, the air thick with what no one is brave enough to say aloud but everyone is already retelling in their heads.

The ballroom, once glittering with laughter and wine and curated joy, has turned into a stage abandoned mid-performance, every guest now an unwilling actor stuck in place with champagne still bubbling in flutes they no longer remember picking up, as conversations die mid-sentence and eyes flick between Dan, Jungkook, and you, tracing the messy triangle like a scandal lit in gold.

And standing at the center of it all — flawless, upright, radiant even in betrayal — is Nami. She hasn’t moved, not even a little; her posture remains exquisite, the line of her shoulders unbent, her hands still folded gently in front of her like this evening belongs to her still, like nothing has been taken from her because she refuses to acknowledge anything could ever be taken from her at all. Her gown is still perfect. Her lipstick hasn’t smudged. Her expression has not cracked.

She does not speak to you, nor look at you, nor shift so much as a breath in your direction — not because she’s uncertain, not because she’s restraining herself, but because there is nothing left in this room that requires her effort, and that includes you.

Her silence carries a devastating weight beyond mere emptiness - it's the crushing finality of everything that's been lost.

And what makes you crumble — not outwardly, not visibly, not yet — is the realization that she never needed to raise her voice, never needed to fight, never needed to defend herself or even retaliate, because she knew all along that you would lose this on your own, that the moment she said your name aloud, the rest would collapse without her lifting a finger.

Dan, still tasting blood, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wild with disbelief but now clearing, now hardening, and when they land on you, there is nothing soft left inside them — no confusion, no heartbreak, only the sharp glint of something that once trusted and now despises.

“You two deserve each other,” he mutters, his voice no longer raised, but quiet and dangerous in the way a knife is when it rests against skin, and without looking back, he turns and walks straight through the crowd, parting the onlookers like he’s been released from a cage and no longer cares who sees the wreckage left behind.

No one moves to intervene, and Jungkook remains rooted in place, making no attempt to follow. He remains where security left him — his lip split, his white shirt crumpled at the chest, his knuckles smeared with red like ink — and though he does not speak, the intensity in his gaze burns across the distance like a thread that refuses to be cut. He does not apologize. He does not look ashamed. But his eyes, dark and electric, are no longer filled with want — they’re filled with need.

He isn't asking for forgiveness - he's asking you to choose him despite everything. And you stand frozen, breath caught in your throat, unable to form words or even move beneath the weight of this moment.

Because somewhere beneath the soft echo of heels clicking away and gasps fading into murmurs, you finally feel it — the ruin, the humiliation, the spotlight you can’t step out of — and it presses down on you with a clarity so sharp you could almost laugh.

In the wake of shattered crystal and spilled wine, the gala lies in ruins. Dan stands with blood on his lip, while Nami remains pristine and untouchable in her calculated victory. And you - you are the architect of this destruction, having sacrificed everything not for ambition or vengeance, but for that most dangerous of forces: pure and consuming desire.

The night is colder than it should be, air damp and heavy with the kind of post-rain clarity that makes the concrete shimmer like glass, the luxury sedans and town cars lined up in the marble-bricked circle drive outside the venue suddenly looking less like power and more like armor no one can wear anymore. And there, near the far end of the lot, standing with his back to the building and his fists curled loosely at his sides, is Jungkook — breathing unevenly, chest rising too fast, his once-immaculate shirt wrinkled and half-untucked, the corner of his mouth still smudged with blood that hasn’t yet dried.

His knuckles are scraped. His cuff is torn. His jaw is tight in a way that suggests the only thing holding him together is the silence he’s forced to stand in.

And she is already waiting for him.

Nami stands two paces from his side, her arms folded neatly across her waist, her coat draped like a sheath of silk across her shoulders, as pristine now as when she first walked into the ballroom — her expression unreadable, but her voice, when it comes, clear and sharp and final.

“You’ll lose the London deal,” she says, no anger in it, no bitterness, only the practical coolness of someone who has been trained her entire life to count what things are worth.

And for a moment, he doesn’t respond.

Just stands there with his gaze fixed on the ground like he’s trying to burn a hole through the pavement, shoulders still shaking from the tail end of everything he just threw away.

Then he breathes — one long, low exhale — and lifts his head.

“I already lost something more important,” he answers, his voice cracked and hoarse and quieter than it’s ever been.

Nami remains silent, already understanding the weight of his words without needing them explained. When she walks away, her departure is as final as the evening itself.

It’s not until she disappears around the curve of the entrance that you step forward — slow, careful, like your body hasn’t fully remembered how to move yet, like the sight of him under the parking lot lights has knocked all the breath from your lungs again.

In the heavy silence between you, his eyes find yours - wide and bloodshot, rimmed with a shame that asks for nothing but your presence, a silent plea that you haven't turned away. While his hands tremble at his sides, your heels echo once against the stone before falling still. Without hesitation, you reach for him, your fingers finding the bruise blooming along his jaw as your thumb gently wipes away the smear of red beneath his lip.

His eyes drift closed as he leans into your touch. When you finally break the silence, your voice carries a gentle certainty that barely ripples the quiet air between you. "Let me take you home."

The simple nod he gives in response marks a shift - after months of games and secrets and unspoken wanting, he surrenders to your lead. There's nothing left to fight now, and you're the only anchor he has left to hold onto.

.

this is it for this story! please share your thoughts and feelings, your feedback means the world to me.

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2 months ago

Yandere Coworker Harem x New Hire Reader: A Meeting with the CEO

Follow up to this post

Finally fed up with it all, you decide to leave... but you learn it may not be that easy.

Content Warnings: General creepiness, yanderes, financial manipulation, manipulation, power difference, gaslighting

AN: Holy shit the first part blew up, more so than any post I've ever made on tumblr... ever. Thank y'all, and I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations? Had to ignore a few asks since they were essentially the plot to this part, haha.

Yandere Coworker Harem X New Hire Reader: A Meeting With The CEO

As nice as Jake is... it starts to wear on you. The seclusion from your other coworkers, Warren and Jax's constant attention, it all becomes too much. This was the easiest money you've ever made, but it almost felt... condescending in a way. Seriously, you feel like you haven't actually worked in months, just given simple tasks to complete so that Jax could praise you. Otherwise, you felt like you were just eye candy set in a pretty office. No more, you figure. You make up your mind to go back to HR, it's been a long time coming. They either fix it, or you're gone.

With your mind made up, you return to Leon. He'd been so kind before, surely he'd help, right? As you explain your problems to him, he nods and gently smiles. In your distress, you don't notice his hand moving to cover yours, massaging yours comfortingly. You welcome the comforting sensation, overwhelmed to the point of not really considering the implications. You look into his dark eyes as you finish, silently pleading with him for help.

"That really is something. I'm sorry to hear your experience with the company has been so distressing. Tell me, do you have any proof?"

Yandere Coworker Harem X New Hire Reader: A Meeting With The CEO

His demeanor seems to shift instantly back to the colder man you remember from your first sight of him. His fingers rubbing gentle circles into your palm shift into a harsher grip.

"Proof? I-I mean, the cameras have probably caught something?"

You'd say there were eyewitnesses, but all of your other coworkers had been avoiding you. You barely even knew their names...

"Unfortunately, our cameras have been malfunctioning lately, I doubt they'd catch anything. Without any actual witnesses, I'm afraid I can't do anything for you."

"How can you say that without even looking? This place is insane- you know what? I'm just quitting. I can't take this anymore."

You try to remove your hand but he keeps it there. His gaze is suddenly ice cold. He lets your hand go after a few moments of tension, fingers lingering before you yank your hand to your chest.

"Ah, you could quit... but I'd really recommend against it. You'd of course have to pay the dues you signed in your contract, as well as any additional fees. I'm not in charge of finances, but my estimate would be somewhere around... 200 thousand or so?"

You gasp, blood running cold. 200 thousand?! You don't remember signing that, but you also don't recall really reading over the contract in your excitement. You try to think of a way out, surely there had to be some sort of loophole-

"Of course, there's always the option of asking the CEO to change your contract, but..."

You'd tuned anything after that out, insisting to meet with the CEO as soon as possible. Which, to your surprise, was almost immediately. Almost like he'd been... waiting for you? Leon himself lead you to the CEO's room, at the very top of the skyscraper your office resided in. As you're let in, you're met with the biggest office you'd ever seen. It composed of the entire top floor of the skyscraper, massive windows encircling the entire ornate office.

You really try to ignore the feeling that you're walking into a trap.

The CEO was patiently waiting for you. Like a king on a throne, he sat in the middle of the room in front of a surprisingly simple desk. You'd heard of the CEO, Kennedy Grey, but you'd never met him in person before. He had an air of sophistication around him, an older gentlemen with salt and pepper hair and a well trimmed beard. His suit was pristine and looked expensive, probably costing more than your entire yearly salary. He smiled, urging the two of you to sit. His eyes glanced over to Leon's, a slight smirk on his face as if the two were in on a joke you weren't.

"So, what brings you two here? I've heard very good things about you from Jax. Things are going well, I presume?"

You fidget, despite his welcoming tone, he felt oddly... menacing. Like you weren't supposed to disagree with him, even if he asked you a question. You begin to explain your issues, but are quickly stopped with a firm look of disapproval when you bring up the idea of leaving the company.

"Now now, we can't have that, can we? With your contract, that wouldn't be a very smart idea, would it?"

Before you can even respond, he simply continues to talk over you.

"No, no it wouldn't. And you've just been such a good worker, we'd just hate to lose you."

"Well, I was actually hoping we could talk about the contract, I just don't think it's fair-" you can barely get your thoughts out as he cuts you off again.

"Unfair? But my dear, you signed it. I'd just hate to get my lawyers involved... they're top of the line, y'know? Besides, you don't actually want to leave, you're just... stressed. What do you need, a paid week off? A bonus for your hard work?"

"No-"

"Well, now that that's done, let's get back to work, shall we? You'll have a bonus on your next pay-"

You've had enough of his condescension and interruptions, it's time for you to interrupt him.

"You know what, I'll take the lawsuit. You people are insane. You can have the money if you want, but I'm out of here."

As you get up, you find you can't. Leon has moved behind you, surprisingly strong arms holding your chair in, preventing you from moving. You look up at him in angered confusion, but he's sharing a look with Kennedy. You once again feel like you're missing an important part of an inside joke again. You try to struggle, but you're stopped as Kennedy interrupts.

"Apartment 101, Evergreen Apartments, right?"

"W-wha-"

"You know, I've been venturing into the rental market recently. Very profitable at the moment. I actually just bought a few buildings in your area, including your little apartment. Such a shame, you know you could do better, right? All you have to do is ask..."

He smiles at you as if this was a normal conversation to him, like he was doing you a favor.

"I guess that makes me your landlord now, if you think about it!" his smile turns colder, eyes crinkling like he's laughing at you, "That being said, I just don't see how you're going to pay for the rent increase without this job. I hate to do it, but it's a necessity, y'know? Cost of living and such."

He waves his hand like it's no big deal, like he isn't playing with your livelihood and threatening you.

"You could move out, of course, but well, word gets around, and I just don't know how the other investors in the area would react to your... history."

You feel dread well up in the pit of your stomach and tears in your eyes. He... has you. What could you even do? Moving out of the city would mean starting over, and that's if you could even find a place and a job to pay for said place, and paying for the lawsuit-

In your panic, you can only whimper, "I just... why? Why me? i don't understand-"

"That's the beauty of it all, you don't have to. All you have to worry about is coming in and doing your job. We'll handle all the rest."

You jump, having almost forgotten Leon was behind you in your panic. You go to open your mouth-

"Wonderful insight, Leon. Now that we're all on the same foot, let's get back to work, shall we?"

You can only numbly nod your head, too overwhelmed to continue fighting.

You're finally allowed to sit up and begin walking towards the door, trying to speed walk out of the huge room that somehow managed to feel claustrophobic. You just wanted out at this point, you needed somewhere to think.

As you step into the elevator, Leon staying behind in the office-thank god-you're interrupted one final time.

"Oh, and I meant what I said. If you ever need any assistance, anything at all, just come to me. All you have to do is ask."

2 months ago
An Early Gift From Me To You For Taehyung's Bday. Inspired By This. Can Be Read As A One-shot. To Have
An Early Gift From Me To You For Taehyung's Bday. Inspired By This. Can Be Read As A One-shot. To Have
An Early Gift From Me To You For Taehyung's Bday. Inspired By This. Can Be Read As A One-shot. To Have

an early gift from me to you for taehyung's bday. inspired by this. can be read as a one-shot. to have the full story, read both parts.

taehyung's version co-written with @cerisekoo go read her jungkook's version.

☆ pairing: taehyung x fem!reader x jungkook

★ word count: 5.4k

☆ warnings: smut, non-con, kidnapping, implied stockholm syndrome, mention of physical violence.

You hate the cold and you hate winter. Especially when the weather goes into a frenzy like that; violent winds that make it difficult to walk through and snow covering the sidewalk that inevitably turns into slush. 

You’re going back to your dorm after your last class of the day, now being 7 p.m. and the sun has been set for a few hours. You have to walk a couple of meters to reach your dorm and you thank yourself for thinking about bringing mittens because the tip of your fingers are already starting to get numb. 

Finally getting to the sidewalk leading to your residence building, you notice a car parked near the curb. It’s on, the lights illuminating the street, meaning the person is still inside the vehicle, possibly waiting for someone. You don’t pay too much mind to it, passing by the car to get to your dorm.

But the sound of the engine stopping alerts you, though you don’t halt your walk, your heart accelerating a little. 

When you hear the distant sound of footsteps hitting the sidewalk covered in thick sleet, you involuntarily speed up your steps, trying to remain somewhat calm. For some reason, you can’t help but get a slight negative feeling at the suspicious person behind you, thinking they might be following you towards the entrance of your dorm.

You’re soon reaching the stairs, but before you can even register what’s happening, you’re suddenly being pulled back by your bicep. You gasp out of surprise, your heart now beating fast in your chest, hearing it pounding painfully in your skull.

The person grunts when you try to escape from their bruising grip, but they’re too strong for you to do anything to defend yourself. You’re about to scream at the top of your lungs, hoping for someone in your building to hear you and maybe push your aggressor off of you, but as his face comes into view, you shut up immediately.

You don’t recognize him at all, but his features are distracting you from what is going on, giving him the advantage to cover your mouth with his palm. He turns you back around and slips his free arm over your waist, forcing you to walk to the same car you saw a few seconds prior.

You reach the vehicle in a few steps and a couple of tears run down your face as you feel totally helpless, the small translucent pearls piling at the base of his fingers. You squirm against his firm chest, attempting to hit him in the stomach with your elbows, but they’re too short to touch him. 

He groans out of frustration, yanking your backpack away from you and letting it fall on the snowy ground. He opens the back door and grips your hair, lowering your head so he can push you in, your torso hitting the leather seats first. 

He immediately joins you in the backseat after having thrown your backpack inside, crawling on top of you, his knees on each side of your body. He pulls something out of his pocket hurriedly as you kick your legs and scream for help when you notice him ripping a piece of the tape he just took out. He takes a hold of your hair once again, nails digging into your scalp, and muffles down your cries with the grey duct tape. 

After that, he brings both of your hands behind your back, taping them together with the same adhesive he used for your mouth. You can hear the thumping of your heart in your rib cage and the tired sobs you let out, sensing something hard poking against your ass, eyes widening as you can only imagine it being his bulge. 

He puts his two feet on the ground and you eagerly try to move your head so you can see what he’s doing. He’s wrapping the grey tape over your ankles covered by your black tights.

You can’t process what’s happening to you, not believing that this is reality, trying to convince yourself you’re just having an awful nightmare. The position he has you in is uncomfortable, throat hurting from all your screams and calls for help.

He gets back in, but this time he shuts the door behind him. He has you totally fragile and defenceless underneath him. You can’t do anything when a burning desire spurs him on to reach under your skirt and tug down on your tights and panties. It seems like he doesn’t want to waste any time, easily sliding your clothes down your legs, leaving them bare nude under his perverted gaze. 

You cry and squirm avidly, shaking your head from side to side when you hear the sound of his fly being dragged down, pertinently knowing what he’s about to do to you.

You feel the head of his cock pushing at your entrance not long after. You let out a muffled moan of pain, the burning sensation between your legs hurting a lot. He only grunts, sinking his member deeper into your pussy, dismissing your loud cries. 

He picks up your hips, bringing your ass flushed against his hairy pelvis. 

“I knew it’d be a tight fit, but fuck,” he groans out, your tightness refraining him from going feral on your poor body, but it’s clearly not what is going to stop him from finally getting what he wants. “How tiny are you?”

He plants a foot on the ground of the car, his other leg bent at the knee beside you. 

You almost yell — if it wasn’t for the piece of duct tape on your mouth ​​— when he first snaps his hips against your butt, reaching really deep inside of you. He can’t control himself as he drives his cock in you back and forth right away, his movements impatient and uncoordinated. 

You bawl your eyes out, tears rolling over your cheeks and down to the grey tape covering your lips, making it less sticky. The side of your face is pressed down on the car seat, having no use of your arms since they are tied up behind your back. 

He grabs your asscheeks from under your skirt, digging his short nails into your flesh, moaning out at the sight of your pussy swallowing his engorged cock, stretching your cunt impossibly wide. His erection is so big compared to you, it’s amazing how you manage to take him anyway, as if you were made for this, made to please him. 

 The skin of his thighs slap against yours, the lewd and vulgar sounds of him taking advantage of you echoing in the car. He loves how your hole gets so wet for him, welcoming him in despite his large size. 

Your cries drive him insane, motivating him to go harder and harder, chasing his high like a mad man. The head of his cock keeps rubbing over your g-spot, almost impossible for him to not hit it. You shake under him and begin to cry louder, your walls clenching around him tightly. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses out under his breath, feeling his balls tightening. “Gonna make you cum and fill you full of me,” he promises and you know he’s going to stick to his words. 

You don’t want him to make you feel pleasure, and even though the stretch of your pussy is immensely painful — his cock the biggest you’ve ever taken — you feel your orgasm building up at the pit of your stomach. 

He drills his hard cock into you and it’s all it takes for your high to hit you, legs trembling.

He finally steadies his hips over your butt in a loud thud, his skin smacking your own. “Ah! Shit,” he grits his teeth, the spasms of your pussy around his girth sending him over the edge. 

He keeps an arm around your waist to hold you up against him while his other hand comes to lay just beside your head on the leather seat. His cock spurts out thick ropes of cum in you, thrusting two and three times to get everything out, and there’s so much that you feel your tummy blown out. 

You whimper under him, your hole still clenching around him avidly, recovering from your intense orgasm. He sighs above you, panting loudly as he stays inside of you, looking down at where your two bodies connect. 

He slips out just a little, just enough for him to see the white ring around the base of his shaft and his cum threatening to escape your warmth. 

“Mmh, fuck. So cute,” he says, his voice sounding almost desperate, so needy. 

The car smells so much like sex it makes your head spin, the energy slowly leaving your body. You’re tired from everything, from all the crying and the horrible position he has you in; panties and tights pooling at your ankles, back arched for your ass to meet his crotch. 

“You’re a little creamer, baby,” he coos, as if what he said is anything sweet. It seems like the messier it is, the more aroused he is. “Got my cock all slicked up in your cum.”

You moan out when he thrusts back in, and you restart to cry. He’s still fully hard and so he doesn’t want to waste any time, fucking his cock into your pussy again. He goes rough on you and you think he doesn’t really realize how his eagerness turns him almost violent. 

He leans his chest down over your back, pounding his cock into your poor, soppy pussy, loud squelching noises coming from it each time he slides in and out. 

“God, you’re so tight, I can't get enough…” He growls in your ear, his fleshy lips touching the shell of your ear. You can feel his growing facial hair stinging your skin, unconsciously clenching around his thick cock at the thought of his face, or at least at what you remember of it. “Pussy’s too good.”

Your cunt is so sensitive, already swollen, and him sliding his dick into you is so painful, your glossy eyes making you look so pathetic and fragile.

He overstimulates himself as well, being too deep into ecstasy to stop his hip thrusts. You can hear him hissing at the pain he inflicts on himself, forcing another orgasm from the both of you. 

He cums a second time, and you do too just seconds after, cunt repeatedly closing around him. This orgasm feels more intense than the precedent, and it feels good, too shamefully amazing. 

He ejaculates in you and there is less cum than the first time, but still enough to dribble out of your pussy, running down your inner thighs and staining his leather seats underneath you. He is very vocal, letting out many grunts and sucking air through his teeth while he keeps pounding into you. 

His lips remain close to your face, murmuring vulgar things into your ear and mouthing on your jaw, descending to your neck, going back up to your damp cheeks. He even traces the shape of your lips above the shiny grey duct tape, kissing you everywhere he can, leaving wet trails behind. 

He makes you orgasm for a third time, stimulating your puffy and aching clit till your high shoots through you. He does too later on, filling your pussy up to the brim. When he slips out, he can see how messy you are now, how he totally ruined your adorable princess parts. 

He passes his middle finger through your dewy folds, loving the sight of you covered in his cum, acknowledging how his entire cock is smeared in your cream, too. 

You sniffle as you hear him stuffing himself back up in his pants, zipping his fly up. You lay there uselessly, too tired to think about anything specific or attempt to fight for your escape again. That’d be foolish. 

He pulls back up your black tights and panties, not caring that your underwear is going to be all soiled in both of your releases. “All better now,” he sings when your legs are hidden again. 

He then steps out of the car and you take the opportunity to turn on your back with a lot of effort. 

You perceive his silhouette getting around the vehicle through the window, getting in the driver seat. He starts the engine and you think only about the worse. You’re done for, this is your last few moments of life. This man is probably about to drive you to a deserted area and kill you. 

As he drives away from the dorm building, you make eye contact with him through the rear mirror and your heart skips a beat when you see his face again. 

Why would a handsome stranger like him ever do that to you?

His eyes are captivating, dark orbs looking at you like he knows this is just the beginning. 

You don’t know why he chose you, why it had to happen to you, and you feel like you’ll never know the reason why. 

He breaks eye contact and reports his attention to the road, driving you to an unknown location. 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚

After a twenty minute car ride of pure silence, the vehicle abruptly stops. You watch as he turns off the car, taking the key from the ignition. You can only fear what he is about to do with you.

He steps out of the car and you hear him pulling on the handle to open the door above your head. You feel the cold breeze hitting your skin, an uncomfortable shiver running up your spine. You don’t have time to see his face again nor the place where he parked the car before he covers your eyes with a piece of cloth, tying it behind your head. 

You try to speak when you feel him picking you up, but of course your words are inaudible because of the tape muffling your voice. 

The most you can do is thrash your tied legs around, which is completely useless at this point. However, you do earn a disapproving groan from him when you kick a little too hard into his abdomen.

“Stop it.”

You freeze at the sound of his voice, his husky tone making goosebumps appear on your skin. What freaks you out, though, is the mention of your name after his warning. 

He knows you. It could have never been somebody else, he picked you because he had the intention to do so. 

You imagine him carrying you in bridal style, feeling one arm under your knees and the other around your waist. It feels weird to be so close to him in a non-sexual way, sensing the warmth of his hands and the thickness of his winter coat against your side. You have no idea who he is, yet you can hear and feel the pace of his breath. 

You guess he’s walking up stairs, then the jingling of keys and a door opening is being heard, a front of warm air hitting your freezing body. You figure that you’re in some sort of house or apartment. Or whatever place he’s decided to take you to. 

You can clearly decipher the sound of his boots walking on a wooden floor, slightly creaking with each heavy step he takes, making the situation even more stressful than it is.

You’re tossed onto a mattress, your body bouncing as it hits the soft surface. The piece of cloth covering your eyes is being pulled off, your eyes attempting to adjust to your surroundings. 

“There you go,” he softly murmurs. 

A crease appears between your brows as you have a clear view of his face, as beautiful as you remember him to be.

His jaw is perfectly sculpted, giving him a manly look with dark and straight eyebrows that sharpen his expression. You recall feeling the growing hair on his upper lip and chin on your neck back in the car, certainly unshaved for a few days. His hair is a deep brown colour, disheveled and messy, strands going in every direction, but he still looks incredibly… attractive.  

He grins at the way you’re ogling at him, the corner of his plump, heart-shaped lips lifting up, knowing you didn’t expect him to look like this. He’ll take that as a compliment.

You’re too entranced by his looks to notice him grabbing your ankles, slowly peeling the tape from your trapped legs. Your heart is beating faster, anticipating what he’s going to do. He’s freeing you, but you believe it’s only to do something else to you that you surely won’t enjoy. 

Oh, that’s such a lie, you tell yourself, remembering the three orgasms he got from you effortlessly. 

“We’re gonna get you rid of that, hm?” He proposes — talking about your two hands tied together — even though he’s still going to execute himself anyway. It’s not like you can give him consent, especially when your mouth is still taped. 

He unwraps it easily, helping you remove your boots and coat after once it’s gone. He sneaks his hands under your skirt and his fingers touching your hips makes you jump. You grab his wrists and he pauses for a moment, staring at your hands that are much smaller than his. It’s the first time you’ve deliberately touched him. 

But he rapidly recollects his thoughts, pulling your panties down your legs. He isn’t so careful while he undresses you, even more tears falling down from your reddened eyes. Your attempts to fight him are all useless, and you feel very defenceless against him, like you’re just wasting your breath. 

“I thought I told you to stop?” 

His voice reaches your ears, swallowing hard when he discards your black tights and your pair of underwear away on the floor. You form fists with your hands, closing your legs tightly so he can’t touch your private parts. 

He tries to pull your thighs apart, but you shake your head from side to side, desperately showing your disagreement. 

He catches on to it to your relief. “What’s wrong, pretty? Got something to tell me?” You then nod your head, glossy, red eyes looking at him through wet eyelashes. “Okay, okay…” 

You wince when he rips the thick duct tape from your mouth, your upper lip stinging from the fast removal.

“Oh, sorry,” he apologizes kindly, extending his arm up toward your face to rub your numb lips gently. They’re slightly covered by your saliva, but he doesn’t seem to mind, passing his large digit over your flesh. “Better, now?”

You sniff and bounce your head as a yes. His change of behaviour surprises you, but somehow you believe he really does care about you. Not in a particularly normal way, though. 

You feel like you have to listen to him, be obedient because you don’t know what to expect of him and also because you clearly have no other choice. Your hopes of getting away are gone, and even if you do find the strength to fight again, you don’t know if it’s worth it. It’s like he already possesses a part of you that you’ll never get back. 

“Can you not… touch me there? I- I’m really hurting, and I…” You babble out shamefully, looking down at your feet to avoid his serious gaze fixated on you. 

“Are you really now? Poor girl,” he empathizes, faking a pout, or maybe he actually pities your condition. 

He reaches for your thigh and separates it from the other. You let him manhandle you, biting down on your lip to hold back your tears that are threatening to fall once again. 

He looks at your pussy and passes his thumb through your lips gently. He’s crouched down in front of you so he can see how your hole indeed is still stretched to the size of his cock.

“Shit, you really are swollen,” he says almost pitifully as if he isn’t the reason for your pain. You’re embarrassed at the fact that he’s openly inspecting your bruised pussy, his index finger running between your puffy lips. He occasionally rubs your gaping hole, your legs twitching from the sensitivity.

“Yes, please,” you beg, having a little hope that he’ll spare you. 

He hums pensively, still having his eyes on your cunt, a sentiment of satisfaction passing through him when he sees some of his remains leaking from you. “I have an idea,” he states, standing up. 

Your eyes widen a bit at his words, not knowing if his idea will benefit your tired state or not. 

You then watch him undressing in front of you and you gulp, guessing what his idea might be. As he passes his t-shirt over his head, he looks at you, frowning his brows. “You need to take off your shirt, too. Plus, it’s all wrinkled.”

Not again, you think to yourself. The thought of enduring another sexual act with him makes you want to sob. You stop giving him the benefit of the doubt that he’d be somewhat normal with you, it’s useless. 

“Why…?” You question, your voice shaky and on the verge of tears. 

He doesn’t seem to like that, but he keeps his composure nonetheless. “Why what? Come on, I'll help you, then.” He wastes no time in swatting your hands away to lift up your shirt at the hem, ultimately getting you naked for him. 

He steps out of his pants, shrugging them away on the floor, joining his winter coat and boots. Only in his boxers, his bulge looks huge, and you know pertinently that it is. How he can still be hard and horny, you don’t want to know. 

He slips out of his underwear pretty soon after and you feel anxious. Maybe it’s excitement, but you can’t really describe how you’re feeling with proper words. It’s so… abnormal. Nothing you’ve experienced before. 

He backs up a little, keeping eye contact with you while he strokes his cock to be fully hard. “Lay back down on the bed,” he orders and you do so, pushing yourself to the center of the mattress to lie on your back, totally naked, hair sprawled on his grey sheets.

He bites down on his plump lip as he watches you get in this new position. Under the dim light of the room, his honey skin looks flawless, collarbones really defined and hollowed. His biceps are big and you know it’s why it was so easy for him to carry you from the car to the interior of this place. 

His legs are really long and you remember him towering over you from a head at least. His shoulders are broad and his chest isn’t too big, but still outlined. His abs are faint, though they are visible nonetheless, telling you that he has a strong core. 

Your stomach churns in a mix of anticipation and stress, wondering what he has in mind. 

When he joins you on the bed, his knees dipping into the soft mattress, your hands become sweaty and you gulp down, nervosity settling in your body. You could try to fight him, or at least escape his grip, but you don’t. 

He straddles your body, going up to your chest, his cock only centimetres away from your face. You then realize what he wants to do, and you doubt he’ll do it gently. He has no reason to be.

“I wonder what your mouth can do…” He says rather to himself than to you, his right hand holding his cock at the base and the left going to grip the back of your head. “If it’s as good as that tight cunt. Wanna let me find out, mh, baby?” 

He guides the tip of his erection to your mouth and you reluctantly part your swollen lips, opening your mouth just enough for him to fit his bulbous head inside. 

“Yeah… Just like that,” he approves, inserting more of himself in your warmth. 

He lifts your head up so he can slide inside of you entirely, your sore lips meeting his pubic bone, the sharp hair on his pelvis brushing up against your nose. You look up at him with glossy eyes when he groans out loud at the sensation of his cock nestled all the way in your throat, gritting his teeth and his thick, dark eyebrows knitting together.

He keeps your head in place over his shaft, your throat contracting around him when you gag a little from the deep intrusion. 

You tap your hand repetitively against his naked thigh, signaling for him to let you breathe. He doesn’t look like he cares that much, growling at how warm your mouth is. You tap again, only for him to get your palm away with his that was previously holding the base of his cock. 

“Shh, I know you can take it, pretty.”

You loudly whine as a protest, hoping it will at least get him to pull out. The saliva drips out of your mouth, leaking down towards his balls and his upper thighs. You sense his cock twitching in your mouth, surely pleased to be weighing down on your wet and warm tongue. 

After a few more seconds of his cock lodged in your throat, he quickly pulls out when you gag and shakes your head. 

You wheeze, coughing and inhaling heavily in an attempt to catch your breath. He smiles at this, finding your struggle to take him adorable. 

“See, wasn’t so bad, don’t you think?” 

You don’t dare to make eye contact with him, already feeling the cocky smirk on his lips.

He grabs your jaw, forcing you to turn face to his hard cock when he uses his other hand to guide it back into your mouth. You show some resistance, but it’s useless as he makes his way in, forcing your lips apart by squishing your face between his fingers. 

You feel your core heating up despite the situation, clenching your thighs to at least ease the ache between your legs. You take him all, not having any other choice anyway as he forces his length down your mouth, making your eyes sting and your throat burn. 

He starts thrusting in back and forth, letting out moans and grunts that show how pleasurable this feels for him. He won’t stop until he’s satisfied. 

As he literally fucks your mouth, he throws his head back, sucking air through his teeth, controlling himself to not cum in your right away. His dark hair sticks to his forehead because of the sweat, some strands dangling in front of his piercing eyes, wet at the ends. 

He keeps his gaze on you, precisely the way his engorged cock enters your mouth, your lips wrapping around his shaft tightly, all coated in spit and, as unpleasant as it sounds, remains of your earlier intercourse. All you want to do right now is to take a hot shower and scrub the traces of him off of your skin. 

But you doubt you’d get everything off as he’ll forever be engraved in your mind. 

You place your hands on the top of his thighs, finding it difficult to follow the pace of his hip thrusts, your fingers clenching into fists. 

His hand that was holding your jaw is now on its previous spot on the back of your head, gripping your roots and keeping you still. Saliva accumulates at the corners of your mouth and you hate the damp feeling, hate how dirty and soiled you feel. Hate it even more when you know he loves it. 

“Ah, fuck,” he chokes out, his hips stuttering and his grip tightening around your hair. Your eyebrows knit together at the hold he has on your head, forcing you to keep his cock in your throat. You know it's going to hurt badly after. 

With a twitch of his cock, he releases himself down your throat, the salty taste of his cum hitting your tongue. He slips out of you and some of his cum drips down at the corners of your lips. 

“Swallow,” he instructs, wiping off the rest with his thumb, waiting for you to swallow before putting his digit in your mouth so you can lick everything off. 

You follow his order, sucking his thumb and swallowing again. 

“Good girl,” he praises and pats your cheek. 

You recall the eye contact you shared back in the car through the rear mirror, one that meant ‘it’s only the beginning’.  

You know now that tonight was just the start. Of what, you are still wondering. 

You can’t escape as he has his arms wrapped around your naked body, his soft cock nudging your back, his chin resting on top of your head. You’re not sure if you found any sleep, but you haven’t dreamed. Or maybe you’re already in one, it’s just harder for you to wake up from it. 

You waited for the sun to arrive, or secretly wished it would never so you would slowly morph with the mattress and make one. 

The alarm setting off pulled him out of slumber and your heart palpitated at the thought of having him off of you, but this euphoric feeling didn’t last long as he left you alone in the room to go somewhere. 

The idea of someone else living there, too, hasn’t crossed your mind once until the door of the bedroom opened to reveal a man that didn’t look like the other. He was a long haired brunette with big eyes that could fool you. And he did for a good minute. 

That night, you slept between them — you really only closed your eyes. They didn’t give you a choice, nor a reason, but you think it’s in case you try anything. You could have a slight chance against one of them. The both of them, though, you have zero.

You’ve slept with them for a few weeks, then they’ve decided they wanted you alone. 

Taehyung, the one you’ve spent your first night with, leaves the apartment around dinner so he can be on time to his classes. He finishes late, and so you don’t see him in the afternoon during the week. 

He is very clingy and attached. You suppose it’s because he’s the one who knew you before. You don’t have much information about what happened before the first night. No matter how much you insist, they always refuse to tell you anything. 

Since Taehyung doesn’t see you a lot — according to him — you end up in his bed a lot. He always wants to stay inside you even after fucking you because he feels closer to you this way. You never protest, but you miss sleeping alone sometimes. Having him in you leaves you very sore. 

Jungkook is more authoritative than Taehyung. Much less clingy, but still at an unhealthy level of obsession for you. 

He goes to college during the morning, and so he spends his afternoons with you, taking advantage of the fact that Taehyung isn’t there to have sex with you. 

His sex drive is less intense than Taehyung’s — that’s something you doubt anyone would surpass — but when he demands your attention, he has to have it. There’s never any room for argument with him when you become familiar with his personality, especially when he knows he’s the least clingy one. 

You eventually got permission to wander outside Taehyung’s or Jungkook’s room, but they made you very aware of the camera hidden at the entrance of the apartment. 

You remember when you had an hour or two alone. You had rummaged through every room, every drawer and cabinet to find something, anything. 

The surprised expression on your face when they told you they knew you disobeyed their orders made Jungkook laugh. Your face was burning from the shame you felt at that moment. 

You didn’t try anything else since he made you regret it bitterly. 

You’ve cried for hours in Taehyung’s arms, scared of Jungkook for at least a good week. You were too afraid to be alone in the same room as him and wouldn't dare make eye contact with him, but he didn’t really care.

And so when he pounded you from behind, your ass atrociously hurt, the wounds still fresh on your skin. 

It has convinced you to never attempt anything ever again. At least, not in front of the camera. 

.

permanent taglist: @pookie-st @4minholove @boonbyu @xumyboo @salobsarai @menaasstuff @mawwnsterr @hvvmings @bunni-reads-things @bbyorchid @screamertannie

2 months ago

Corruption: Intro.

Pairings: Yandere!Taehyung x Reader || Jimin x Reader

Genre: Yandere, Romance (?), Psychological, Angst, Smut

Disclaimer: I do not condone, nor support or encourage anything I write in this fanfiction. It is purely fiction, means of entertainment, and should be treated as such. I do not think any of the BTS members would act remotely anything like what is represented here, which is why it’s called fiction. Other than that, please enjoy, and read at your own discretion. 

Trigger warnings and Tags; +18, Yandere elements, Possessive and Obsessive behaviors, Toxic Relationships, Unhealthy idealization, Drug and Substance Abuse, Mommy/Daddy Issues, Slow Burn, Smut (in future chapters), Artist!Tae, Rich!Tae, Lowkey SugarDaddy!Tae, BDSM, Power Dynamics, Manipulation, Slight age difference, Naive!Reader, Easy to Manipulate!Reader, Virgin!Reader, Virginity Kink, Corruption kink.. (There’s gonna be a LOT of kinks in here for further chapters, so I’ll save the wall of text LOL.) 

Intro  Part. 1   Part. 2   Part. 3   Part. 4  Part. 5  

image

Boring, he thought.

Everything about this stupid fucking event was excruciatingly boring.

First off, he didn’t even want to be here. His mother forced him to come, practically dragging him outside by his own ear. 

“If you still want me to sponsor your pathetic little project, it’d be smart of you to come along with me this evening.” Ah yes, the typical threats of estranging him financially in hopes of him spending time with her. Typical Mrs. Kim. 

The outing was a simple event where selected students who had won his fathers Academic Scholarship were rewarded a ‘party’ for their hard work and efforts. The scholarship was offered to college students who managed to make the highest ranking grades throughout their entire university. Impressive, to say the least, which is why each student present was granted $45,000 USD straight towards their college funds.

That sort of funding was simply pocket change for a man like his father.

His father was the CEO of Kim’s Legal Law Firm. It happens to be the third largest law firm in the country. Taehyung’s father has a tender soft spot for college students, especially ones who attend the same school he graduated from. Which is why he did events like this yearly, specifically for them.

But Taehyung? He could give two shits about a “Scholarly Party”. He wasn’t in school, nor did he want to be tied down by the ropes of education ever again. High School was more than enough, and that was years ago. He barely graduated. Though, after having his parents “talk” to the principal of his private school, he suddenly went from having a D grade point average, to being at the top of his class in under an hour. He remembers clearly how Kim Namjoon glared daggers in his skull when he walked up the stairs leading to the stage at their highschool graduation, accepting his honors award that rightfully belonged to him instead. Taehyung couldn’t really blame him, either. He’d be pissed off too if someone’s rich parents paid off a school to make their irresponsible child graduate, whilst stealing his honors award that would’ve surely benefited him if he tried to enroll in college. 

Keep reading

3 months ago

Beneath His Love | Jungkook Two-Shot AU (Part 2)

Beneath His Love | Jungkook Two-Shot AU (Part 2)

pairing: jungkook x reader genre: dark romance, psychological thriller, soft yandere

summary: Jeon Jungkook was once just a foreign high school friend until he disappeared without a word after graduation. Years later, he came back, not just to reconnect, but to claim a place in your life as your lover. To everyone else, your relationship is something out of a fairytale, the kind others envy. And for a while, you believed it too until the mask he wore began to slip, revealing a side of him you never saw coming.

warnings: emotional and psychological manipulation, control and possessiveness, obsession, anxiety and mild distress, isolation and coercion, themes of entrapment, smut wc: 20k

parts: (1) | (2)

Your friends haven't noticed yet because they're facing the other way.

“Y/N,” he calls, his voice cutting through the night.

Your friends turn.

“You weren’t answering your phone again.” His tone is eerily neutral. “We have to go home. Now.”

You step forward instinctively, but Mina blocks you.

“No,” she says firmly. “She’s not going with you.”

Jungkook’s gaze flicks to her, his brow arching, lips pressing into a tight line. He stares at her for a long moment before turning back to you.

“Y/N?”

Henry, oblivious to the growing tension, chimes in. “Man, Y/N might stay the night. Chloe booked a room for us since she’s leaving Monday.”

But you wish he hadn’t said that.

Jungkook shifts his gaze to Henry, his jaw tightening. He doesn’t say anything right away, just studies him.

“Henry, right?” Jungkook’s voice is smooth as he twitch is lips. “I haven’t formally met you. I only ever see you when I’m picking Y/N up.” He tilts his head slightly, eyes locked onto him. “How have you been? Last time I heard a news from you is when you were smuggling cocaine into campus during high school.”

Your stomach drops.

Henry’s eyes widen. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh,” Jungkook smirks. “They didn’t know? How is that possible, considering they’re your friends?”

“Jungkook, let’s go.” You reach for him, desperate to diffuse whatever the hell this is.

But Mina steps in again, eyes burning.

“Y/N, you’re staying,” she says. “We already talked about this.”

You ignore Mina and head straight for Jungkook, needing to escape the tension pressing down on you. The longer you stay, the harder it gets to breathe.

Your friends react. Voices overlapping behind you but you don’t look back. Your focus is locked on Jungkook, searching his face, trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

Without hesitation, you reach for his hand, ready to pull him away with you. But before you can, his grip tightens, stopping you in your tracks.

You glance up, and that’s when you see it. He’s smiling.

“It’s okay, love,” he says smoothly, pulling you closer, his eyes flickering toward your friends. “You can stay the night.”

Your stomach twists. “No, we can go now—”

“You can stay,” he repeats, his voice calm, too calm. “It’s Chloe’s last night. I get it now. Go ahead, have fun. I’ll wait for you at home tomorrow.”

“But—”

You hesitate, trying to explain, to tell him there’s no need, that you’ll just leave with him. But before you can get the words out, he cuts you off.

“You will stay.” He said firmly. The smile doesn’t waver, but you know better. You know he doesn’t like this.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. Before you can say anything else, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Your friends didn’t like what happened. They didn’t like how the situation turned out. But if they thought they were the only ones pissed about it, they were dead wrong. Because out of everyone who hated what just happened, no one despised it more than you.

Shame burned through you. The way you broke down in front of them, the way Jungkook showed up and, without a second thought, you fell right into line. How easily you let him take control. And worst of all, you ruined Chloe’s night.

Pathetic.

You fucking hated every second of it, and the last thing you wanted was to face them now. If the earth could open up and swallow you whole, you’d gladly let it.

But they didn’t let you go.

They didn’t let you walk away, didn’t let you brush this off and deal with it alone. Were they disappointed? Yeah. But they didn’t leave. They stayed.

And as much as you wanted to leave because of Jungkook, because you knew he wouldn’t like this, you realized something else. Maybe it was a good thing he “let” you stay. Because you needed this. More than you even knew.

You’d been so wrapped up in him, so caught in the push and pull of his world, that you forgot what it felt like to just be with your friends. The people who had always been there, long before he ever stepped into the picture.

It hit you then, how much of yourself you’d been losing. How, somewhere along the way, your world had started revolving around him.

But tonight, even just for a little while, you were free.

The party was still on-going, but your friends were done. Without much debate, they decided to head back to the hotel Chloe had booked. You felt bad and offered to stay, but they weren’t having it. They just wanted to get out of there and honestly, so did you.

You already knew what was coming once you got to the hotel. This wasn’t just about tonight. They wanted to know everything. About Jungkook, about the way your life had changed since you started dating him.

And the moment you started talking, it all clicked.

You knew he was controlling. Deep down, you always knew. But you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t that bad. That it was just love. Just care. But standing here, hearing your own words spill out, you realized how much of yourself you’d let slip through his fingers.

Every choice, big or small, it had all been him. And you? You just went along with it.

Chloe, sitting cross-legged on the bed, hugs a pillow to her chest. Her voice is gentle, but there’s frustration laced in it.

“We get that you love him,” she says, watching you carefully. “But you know you’re being manipulated. So why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

“Because she’s blinded by love, Chloe. That explains everything,” Mina says, taking a swig of the beer they snuck out from the club.

“It’s not just that.” Henry leans forward, grabbing a bottle from the table. “She’s not just ignoring the red flags, she’s doing whatever he wants because she doesn’t want to start a fight. It’s easier to just go along with it than deal with the fallout. It’s not always because she’s blinded by love, but she’s being manipulated.”

Mina shoots him a look. “Wow, you talk like you weren’t smuggling cocaine in high school.”

Henry groans, flipping her off. “For the last time, I was broke, okay? I needed cash, and it was a quick way to make money.”

Mina snorts. “Yeah, yeah. I just can’t believe you were out there selling coke to Jungkook of all people.”

You lean back against the bed, half-listening to them bicker, half-lost in thought. It’s been a while since you’ve hung out like this, probably since before Jungkook.

It’s crazy how much your life has changed since him. The good, the bad… and everything in between.

Chloe, who’s been quiet, finally speaks up. “Babe,” she says gently, turning to you. “I get that you love him. But if being with him is messing with your head, that’s not love. That’s control. And if you keep letting it slide, it’s only gonna get worse.”

She holds your gaze, voice softer now. “Love is supposed to make you happy. Not suffocate you.”

Now that you’re actually aware of what’s going on between you and Jungkook, you have no clue how to deal with it. Do you bring it up? Do you let it slide? Do you even want to address it at all?

Your friends make it sound so simple. Just talk to him, stand your ground, don’t let him control you. Or worse, break up with him. But the moment you even consider doing any of that, your mind shuts down. The thought alone makes you want to retreat. What if it makes things worse? What if he gets distant? What if you regret it?

You’re not the type to challenge Jungkook, not when you know how he reacts. He never outright shuts you down, but his silence, his coldness. It’s enough to make you second-guess yourself. So, most of the time, you just let things slide. It’s easier that way.

Still, a part of you was waiting for him to call or text last night. He didn’t. And now, you’re torn between reaching out first or pretending like it doesn’t bother you. Either way, the weight in your chest hasn’t lifted.

And now, it’s morning. Time to face him. And if you’re being honest, you’re nowhere near ready.

But there’s no avoiding it. No matter how much time you’ve had to think about what to say or how to say it, you’ll never be fully prepared.

Your friends dropped you off at your own apartment, unaware that you had no intention of staying. You didn’t want them to know you were going back to Jungkook. Maybe because you didn’t want to hear their protests. Or maybe because, deep down, you weren’t ready to admit to them or yourself that you still couldn’t walk away.

Stepping inside, you’re greeted by the same apartment, the same furniture, the same neatly arranged belongings. But it doesn’t feel like home anymore. It hasn’t been for a while.

It’s past nine in the morning. You don’t know what time Jungkook expects you back, but you do know he expected you to leave with him last night. That’s enough to make your stomach twist.

You sink into the couch, staring at nothing, lost in the spiral of your own thoughts. Flashes of last night replay in your mind. The way your friends looked at you, their words, their concern. And then, memories of Jungkook resurface the good ones, the ones that make it so damn hard to leave.

The idea of walking away terrifies you.

You love him. More than you probably should. More than what might be good for you. And even if this isn’t sustainable, even if a part of you knows something has to change… you’re not ready.

Not yet.

You lost track of time until his message popped up:

‘I cooked lunch.’

That’s it. No questions, no extra words. Just a statement.

As you walk through the lobby of his apartment building, your pulse quickens, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. You tell yourself to calm down, but the closer you get, the harder it is to breathe. You wish you could put this off a little longer, but you can’t.

Your fingers shake as you punch in his door code. You hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, without thinking, you step inside.

The apartment is filled with natural light, curtains drawn open to welcome the crisp autumn air. It’s colder now, the season shifting.

He’s at his desk in the living room, focused on his laptop. The moment he notices you, his face lights up. He gets up instantly, closing the distance between you in a few strides, wrapping you in a warm hug, pressing soft kisses to your temple.

“You’re finally home. You should eat. I made beer-battered fish.”

His voice is light, casual, like nothing happened last night.

You hesitate for a second before answering. "Okay."

It comes out flat, almost lifeless.

You walk toward the dining table, already set with plates and food, and sit down. You expect him to follow, to sit across from you like usual.

But he doesn’t.

And somehow, that makes you even more nervous.

You’re not hungry. Even if you were, you wouldn’t have the appetite for this. But you force yourself to finish the food he made anyway, each bite sitting heavy in your stomach. It’s not the taste, it’s the way your nerves are twisting into knots, making you feel like you might be sick.

He doesn’t come in while you eat. The silence in the apartment is suffocating, pressing in on you like a weight you can’t shake off.

When you’re done, you get up and head toward the bedroom to change, passing through the living room where he still sits. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say a word, like you’re not even there.

It’s driving you insane.

A while ago, he seemed fine. Now, he feels like a ticking bomb.

You’d rather he just say something, anything than sit there like this. You know his cold treatment too well; it’s his way of controlling the situation, making you come to him first. But this time, something about it feels different.

You don’t know how. You just know it does.

You’ve already showered, organized your closet, done everything you could think of to keep yourself busy. And yet, the apartment feels empty. Or rather, he feels absent.

Maybe he’s just busy.

But you know better.

Steeling yourself, you step out of the bedroom and head toward the dining area. You don’t even make it halfway before you hear it, his scoff, sharp and pointed.

“So you’re really gonna act like nothing happened, huh?”

There it is.

You turn to see him standing up from his chair, arms crossed, leaning casually against the kitchen’s pass-through window. His expression is unreadable, but his tone drips with sarcasm.

“You’re not even gonna explain last night?” His lips twitch as he watches you, waiting.

You hesitate, then exhale. “Nothing happened. They just wanted me to stay. That’s it.”

You keep it short, simple. The less you say, the better. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But even now, you can’t believe how hard you’re trying to avoid this.

Jungkook shifts, hands slipping into his pockets as he steps toward you. His face is neutral, unreadable, but his presence alone makes your pulse spike.

When he’s finally in front of you, he leans in just enough, his gaze locked onto yours, dark and unwavering.

Then, in a low whisper, he says—

“Why do you make me feel so stupid?”

“No, I’m not!” you snap, voice shaking with frustration. “That’s really what happened! They found out I wasn’t staying the night because you didn’t let me.” You take a step back, putting distance between you.

His brow arches, his expression unreadable. “So you’re blaming me now?”

“It’s not like that,” you grit out. “I told you I’d come home with you, right? But instead, you made me stay.” Your patience is wearing thin, your hands balling into fists at your sides.

Jungkook scoffs, his jaw tightening. “Because that’s what you wanted to happen.” His voice drop dangerously low. “You didn’t even pick up your fucking phone. You didn’t give a damn that I was losing my mind, calling you hundreds of times, wondering if something happened to you.”

Your breath catches. He’s right. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t because your phone was buried somewhere in your bag. But that doesn’t mean you wanted to ignore him.

Jungkook shakes his head, his gaze piercing through you. “You love doing this, don’t you? Running off, not answering your fucking phone, making me go insane thinking something happened to you.” His voice is like fire, burning through the tension between you.

A sharp pang of guilt twists in your chest. You can’t deny he’s right, but it’s not like you did it on purpose. It was an honest mistake.

“I’m sorry, okay?” you say, exhaling shakily. “I didn’t mean to leave my phone behind. They just—” you pause, searching for the right words, “they cornered me, forced me to stay because they were upset that I kept ditching them.” Your voice softens, hoping to ease the tension. “Of course, I wanted to stay. It’s Chloe’s last night before she leaves.”

But Jungkook doesn’t ease up. If anything, he looks even more pissed. His eyes darken, his lips curling into something bitter.

“Oh, right,” he drawls. “Why don’t you just do what you did before? Go out with them without telling me.”

The accusation hits you like a slap. You blink, momentarily stunned.

He catches it immediately, his smirk sharpening. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Y/N,” he says, voice low and edged with something dangerous. “We both know you do.”

He’s right but it was one time. Just once. And you never did it again.

“And did I ever confront you after you did that?” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. “I didn’t. And now you wanna question why I don’t like you hanging out with them so much?” He lets out a cold laugh, shaking his head. “Because I know you’d pick them over me.”

“What are you saying? That’s not true!” You shake your head, frustration bubbling up as you take a step closer, reaching for him.

But before you can even touch his arm, he moves away. Fast and deliberate.

"You all act like I’m the fucking villain just because I care about you," he spits, his voice shaking with frustration. "But you never question them, do you? You never doubt your precious friends. Henry did illegal shit before, and you didn’t even fucking flinch. I just don’t get it… Why is it so easy for you to doubt me, but you’d defend them in a heartbeat?"

A lump forms in your throat as you watch the single tear slide down his face. Your body instinctively moves, but something inside you hesitates.

And with that, you see yourself all over him.  

"Love, stop—please.” Your hands tremble as they reach for him, but he turns away. “I… I don’t want you to feel that way. I never meant to make you think that.” Your voice breaks, a lump forming in your throat. “You have to believe me.”

You try to reach him hoping he won’t flinch. Your hands find his face, fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw as you gently wipe away the tears, your voice softening. “I don’t think you’re wrong. I don’t blame you. Please don’t believe that.”

He stays silent, letting you wipe his tears, his breathing uneven, his jaw tense. His eyes stay downcast, refusing to meet yours. But when he finally looks up, something in them is cold and distant.

His hands come up, gently wrapping around yours as they rest on his cheeks, but instead of leaning into your touch, he slowly peels them away. His warmth disappears as he steps back, putting space between you.

"I think… it’s better if we take a break," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it cuts through the thick air between you.

He holds your gaze for a moment, just long enough for your stomach to sink, for your chest to tighten before he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving you standing there, frozen, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin.

You stand there, frozen, the weight of the last five minutes pressing down on you like a tidal wave. It happened too fast, so fast that even now, as the seconds drag on, your mind refuses to catch up.

Where did you go wrong?

All you ever wanted was to be happy, but it feels like happiness always comes at a price. Like the universe waits for you to smile just so it can rip something away. What did you do to deserve this?

Is this love? A love that confines you, that forces you to choose?

Love is supposed to set you free, isn’t it? But instead, you’re trapped, forced to pick between him and your friends, even when you should be able to have both.

He left. No call, no message, no sign of where he is or if he even cares that you’re falling apart.

That day, you cried harder than you ever had before. You wanted it to stop the exhaustion, the ache in your chest, the way your tears wouldn’t stop spilling no matter how much you told yourself to breathe.

Are you really the one at fault? Or are you just trying to convince yourself you are?

Because when you think back, when you trace every argument, every moment that led you here, the path always leads back to you.

Maybe if you had just done what you were supposed to as his girlfriend, this wouldn’t have happened.

Maybe he was only trying to protect you, and you mistook it for control.

Maybe... maybe this is all your fault.

You waited for him that night, but the door never opened.

Alone in his cold, empty apartment, you curled up in bed, the silence pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t shake. The room felt lifeless without him, just shadows and stale air, a place that wasn’t home without his presence.

When you couldn’t take it anymore, you reached for your phone, fingers trembling as you dialed his number. The ringing felt endless, each unanswered call chipping away at the hope you were holding onto. Message after message went unread, each one met with nothing but silence.

With every call he ignored, your chest grew heavier. With every text he didn’t even bother to open, your tears only fell harder.

Is this what he felt when you didn’t pick up those nights? When your phone sat forgotten in your bag while you laughed with your family and friends, unaware that he was here, alone, drowning in the same silence that’s now swallowing you whole?

The thought broke you.

You sobbed into the pillow, exhaustion creeping in, but no matter how drained you felt, the tears wouldn’t stop.

‘Love, I’m really sorry. I promise to understand you better. Please come back.’

That was the last message you sent before sleep finally took over as your phone slipping from your grasp.

A soft touch brushes your cheek, warm and featherlight. It pulls you from your sleep, but the pounding in your head makes you wish you could slip right back under. Your eyelids feel like they weigh a ton, but when you force them open, the first thing you see is a blurred figure sitting beside you.

Jungkook.

Even though you feel awful, the second you recognize him, you push yourself up, ignoring the ache in your body.

“Kook.” Your voice cracks as tears spill down your cheeks. Without thinking, you throw yourself into his arms, gripping him tightly. “Where have you been? I’m so sorry.” The words tumble out between sobs, raw and desperate.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he gently pulls away, his expression unreadable as he wipes the tears from your face. His touch is slow, deliberate, his eyes locked onto yours.

You reach up, pressing his hands against your cheeks, needing to feel him, to make sure he’s really here. You have a lot to say, but nothing comes out. His presence alone is overwhelming, so instead, you lean into him again, wrapping your arms around him, seeking comfort in the familiar warmth of his body.

“Did I worry you that much?” His voice is soft, almost teasing, as he pats your back.

You nod, burying your face into his shoulder. “I’m really sorry.” 

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes before leaning in, his lips brushing over yours in a soft, kiss. His kiss is soft at first, teasing, but the second you open up for him, his grip tightens, one hand cupping your face while the other slides down your back, pressing you flush against him. He groans into your mouth, deep and needy.

You could feel the heat radiating off of him and he pressed you back against the bed, his body pinning you in place. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you couldn't help but arch your head back, giving him even more access to your neck. You let out a small gasp as he began kissing and biting at your collarbone as his mouth continue to explore your body with his mouth. 

His hand slides lower, fingertips grazing the waistband of your shorts, playing with the fabric but not moving further. His lips ghost over yours, teasing, as he watches the way your chest rises and falls beneath him.

Before things could go any further, he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. You both stayed like that for a moment, caught in the stillness, before you gently guided his body to lie next to you. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. He let out a soft chuckle, but you weren’t focused on that. Instead, you rested your head on his chest, your fingers finding his, intertwining them tightly as you settled into the comfort of his presence.

And just like that, everything is back to normal. At least on the surface.

You apologized over and over, making sure he knew you never meant to hurt him. You reassured him that he was right, that everything he did was only for your sake. You didn’t push back, and didn’t ask questions. Instead, you accepted the blame like it was yours to carry.

He never said sorry. Not even once. Not even for leaving you alone the entire night.

But you let it slide because, in the end, it was your fault… wasn’t it?

After that, you chose your words carefully, avoiding anything that might set him off again. You never wanted to feel that kind of loneliness again, the kind that settles deep in your bones, creeping through the empty, dark space he left behind.

You had already made him feel that way before. Twice, actually. So who were you to complain?

Yeah, it’s all on me.

You tell yourself that, over and over, until it almost feels true. But somewhere in the back of your mind, a small voice whispers. Is it, though?

Why is it always you taking the blame?

Why does it feel like your feelings don’t matter?

Why is it always you bending, apologizing, making things right?

But before those thoughts can settle, you push them away. It’s easier that way. Easier than starting another fight.

You've come to realize that in this relationship, it's always you who has to bend. And maybe that's fair. After all, every problem you've had somehow traces back to you, doesn’t it?

And just like that, everything is back to normal. Just the way you wanted. You've pushed aside all the doubts, all the nagging thoughts, and focused on the present. You're okay again. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The next day, you spend the entire day at his place, filing another leave of absence. You would have gone to work, but with his influence in the company, you didn't really have a choice. He wanted you to stay with him, so he made sure of it, calling in on your behalf. It should bother you. It does bother you. But you let it slide. Another argument isn’t worth it.

“Love, I’ve been thinking,” his voice is low, and smooth, as he moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. The warmth of his body presses against yours as he pulls you closer. “We haven’t gone on vacation in a while.” His hold tightens slightly as he nuzzles into your neck, his lips nibbling your skin just enough to make you shiver.

You keep your focus on the pan in front of you, stirring the glossy red sauce of the spicy gochujang dish he once taught you to make. 

“And where do you want to go?” you ask, keeping your voice light, as if this is just another conversation. 

“I want to take you to my hometown.” His voice is smooth, as his chin settles on your shoulder. His arms stay firmly wrapped around your waist. “You’ve always wanted to see where I grew up, right?” His breath tickles your skin.

“Lately, things have been… overwhelming,” he continues, his voice softer now. “I think we could use a break. Just the two of us. What do you think?” He tilts his head slightly, eyes watching you closely, waiting.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes, of course. I’d love that.” The words leave your lips before you even process them.

He grins, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “That’s perfect! We’ll leave this Wednesday. Tomorrow, let’s wrap up a few things before we go.” His tone is light and excited.

You froze.

Wednesday? 

You glance at him over your shoulder.

“This Wednesday?” You ask as if you misheard.

He nods, his expression unreadable. “Yeah.” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Something in his voice shifts ever so slightly as he studies your face. “Why?” He tilts his head, and though his lips curl into a small smile, there’s something else lurking beneath the surface. “You don’t want to go?”

The way he says it, it’s not a question. Not really. It’s a warning. A test.

And you already know the right answer.

“N-no… Of course, I like it. But isn’t this a little… sudden?” You try to sound reasonable, careful not to make it seem like you’re pushing back. “Korea is on the other side of the world, love.”

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you with an unreadable expression before raising a brow. “I don’t see the problem.” His voice is calm and dismissive.

You take a breath. “I have work.”

At that, he smirks, like you just said the funniest thing. “And?” His fingers lazily trace patterns on your arm, his touch light but distracting. “You can file a vacation leave, right? Or…” He pauses, his eyes locking onto yours. “If you still want to work, we can set up a work-from-home arrangement.” He says it so easily. 

His thumb touches your wrist. “You don’t have to worry, love. Even if you resigned tomorrow, you’d still be fine. You have me.” He smiles, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. “I can give you anything you need. Anything you want.”

Your chest tightens, and yet, the words slip from your lips before you can stop them. “Okay.” Because what else are you supposed to say?

“How long are we staying?” You ask, hoping for a solid timeframe, something to hold onto.

Jungkook shrugs, lips curling into a small smile. “I don’t know yet.” His voice is light, almost playful. “But don’t worry, we’ll stay as long as you want.”

Something in your gut tells you the choice isn’t really yours to make.

You’re not expecting anything extraordinary from this trip with Jungkook. To you, it’s just a regular vacation. Your first one together, sure, and your first time traveling so far, but still, just a trip. Something to look forward to, a break from everything.

You tell yourself it’s just that. A getaway.

But what you don’t know is that Jungkook has plans of his own. Plans you wish you had seen coming. Plans that won’t just shift your view of him but will change your life in ways you never imagined.

If only you had realized it sooner, before it slipped beyond your control.

Jungkook loves you to the point of obsession. To the point where the thought of losing you tears at him like an ache that never fades. He already has you, but it’s not enough. Not yet. Because if he doesn’t hold on tight, you might slip away.

He tells himself he’s only taking care of you, keeping you safe the way no one else can. But care isn’t enough. He needs all of you. Your body, your mind, and your heart trapped so deeply in him that escape isn’t an option.

You’re fast asleep beside him, your head tilted slightly toward him as the plane hums steadily through the air. Jungkook glances at you, his fingers instinctively adjusting your blanket before brushing away a few stray strands of hair from your face.

His chest tightens just looking at you. His heart beating a little too fast, a little too hard. His fingertips trace the curve of your cheek, lingering for a moment, memorizing the warmth of your skin.

He loves you, so much that it gets under his skin. The thought of you slipping away, of someone else touching you, laughing with you, knowing you the way he does, it makes his blood run hot. It’s possessive, a little unhinged, but he doesn’t care because as long as you're his, everything feels right.

He sat there in the dim glow of the cabin lights, watching you. Just watching. Your head rested against the seat behind him, your slow, steady breaths syncing with the quiet hum of the plane. You looked so peaceful, so his.

Jungkook’s fingers twitched, aching to touch you. Carefully, he reached for your hand, his touch featherlight to avoid waking you. His fingers slipped between yours, securing them. He exhaled slowly, lowering himself beside you, his body finally at ease. With your warmth so close, he allowed his eyes to close.

Seoul welcomed you with open arms.

The city was electric, alive in a way that made your eyes shine. Jungkook had seen Seoul a thousand times, but seeing it through you made it feel new. You marveled at the skyline, the pulse of the streets, the way everything felt both familiar and foreign. He loved that look on your face, pure, unfiltered awe.

He wanted to give you a tour, let you soak in every inch of this place, but exhaustion clung to you after the long flight. He wasn’t about to let you wear yourself out. You had all the time in the world here.

Jungkook’s Seoul penthouse was larger than the one back home. More luxurious. The moment he led you inside, he saw the way your lips parted, your gaze sweeping across the expansive space. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city like a moving painting, streaks of gold and blue reflecting off sleek marble floors. The chandelier overhead cast a warm glow, elegant yet imposing.

Unlike his other penthouse, which leaned toward a more minimalistic style, this one felt fuller, like a place meant to be lived in, not just visited. And now, with you here, it finally felt like home.

Jungkook watched as you moved through the space, your fingertips grazing the polished surfaces, curiosity flickering in your eyes. His stomach tightened. He wanted to freeze this moment, capture the way you looked standing there, fitting so perfectly into his world.

Before he even told you about this trip, he had already made sure everything was perfect. The penthouse, his Seoul home wasn’t just renovated. It was transformed. Every detail was designed to make you feel more at home here than anywhere else. More than the other penthouse. More than the place you called home.

Jungkook didn’t just want you to love this place. He wanted you to feel like you belonged here. That leaving wasn’t even an option.

“Kook, I thought I knew how rich you were, but damn, this is way more than I imagined!” you said, swirling the wine in your glass as you lounged on the couch. The city lights stretched out through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, Seoul alive beneath you.

Jungkook leaned in, taking your free hand in his before pressing a slow kiss to the back of it. But even that wasn’t enough. Sitting beside you wasn’t enough. He wanted more, needed more. Holding your hand was just a weak substitute for what he really craved.

“This is where I lived for six years," he murmured, brushing his lips along your knuckles. “So I wanted it to feel like home.”

Your home.

You tilted your head, watching him with curiosity. “Where are your parents? Do they live separately from you?”

“They’re in Busan,” he answered smoothly, taking a sip of his wine. “That’s my hometown, but I moved here when I started my business.”

You hummed, nodding. Then, the question came.

“Are we going to meet them?”

Jungkook stilled. His lips remained against your skin, but his movements stopped. He tilted his head slightly, a slow grin spreading across his face as he held your gaze.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “One of these weeks.”

It wasn’t a lie. He had plans for you to meet his family eventually. But not now. Not yet. Right now, he wanted you all to himself, with no distractions, no outside influences. If you met them too soon, they might say things, ask questions, things that could make you think too much.

And he couldn’t have that.

Not when everything was falling into place so perfectly.

His parents were good people. Sweet, jolly, loving. Just like yours. And they loved him, he knew that.

But love didn’t always mean understanding.

Everything changed when they decided to move him away from you after high school. That was their mistake.

His family used to own a food company. It was doing well, until it wasn’t. Bankruptcy hit hard, and they had to pack up and start over in another country, relying on relatives to get back on their feet. Then, years later, some investor showed up, talking big about bringing the company back. His parents ate it up, convinced this was their second chance.

And just like that, they dragged him back to Busan.

For what? A company that was never going to make it? He knew from the start it wouldn’t work, and surprise, surprise. It didn’t.

But that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was being away from you.

That shit messed him up.

The years without you were torture.

They twisted his mind, frayed the edges of his sanity. Every single day without you bothered him, turned his thoughts into something negative, something desperate. He had spent so many nights thinking of you, wanting you, missing you so badly that he almost left everything behind just to find you again.

But, of course, it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t that easy. He needed a plan.

And now?

Now, everything he had, everything he built, it was all for you.

And he wasn’t going to lose you again.

Your first few days in Seoul were everything you imagined. New places, new experiences, a whole different world to explore. You wanted to do everything at once, squeezing a week’s worth of plans into a single day.

Jungkook found it cute. Exhausting, but cute.

Still, he didn’t like how restless you were. There was no need to rush. You had all the time in the world here with him.

“I saw this huge library in Gangnam,” you said over dinner in Hongdae, eyes practically glowing with excitement. “I think it’d be nice to spend a whole day there, just working and reading. What do you think?”

Jungkook glanced at you, chewing slowly. “You wanna work there for a day, hmm?” His voice was gentle, but his grip on his chopsticks tightened slightly.

He wanted you to enjoy Seoul, but he preferred to pace things out. He had everything planned, not just for the city, but for the rest of South Korea. And you’d explore it all his way.

“Yeah, I just wanna try working outside your apartment for a change. I think that’d be cool,” you said, sipping your drink.

Of course, your job let you work remotely. Because of him.

It wasn’t difficult to pull some strings, to make sure your company gave you that freedom. Jungkook could’ve had you quit altogether if he wanted, but he wasn’t reckless. He knew better than to push too hard, too soon.

He had limits. The kind that kept you from slipping away.

“Okay, you can do that tomorrow.”

As much as he wanted to be with you every second of the day, he couldn’t. He had business to handle too. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t keeping an eye on you.

You weren’t familiar with Seoul yet, and he needed you to be. He wanted you to settle in, to feel at home here the same way you did back in your country because that’s exactly what he planned for. 

Of course, he wasn’t reckless. He wouldn’t just send you off on your own without precautions. He had someone watching, just in case. It wasn’t about control, it was about keeping you safe. People might think he was being overbearing, but they didn’t understand. If you have something precious, you don’t risk losing it. You protect it.

And he already lost you once. That wasn’t happening again.

Sitting in a high-rise conference room, discussing market expansion with Seoul’s biggest executives, Jungkook casually checked his phone under the table. His screen lit up with your activity, a habit he never planned to break.

You were at home. That was good. But you’d been on a phone call for almost an hour.

His jaw tightened. Who the hell were you talking to for that long?

He didn’t have full access to your conversations, just enough to know where you were and what you were doing on your phone. Usually, it was nothing out of the ordinary. But this? This was new. And he didn’t like surprises.

Jungkook locked his phone and leaned back in his chair, eyes unreadable as the meeting droned on.

It could be your friends. It could be your family. It could be anyone.

But the fact that he didn’t know was driving him insane.

“We’re positioning ourselves as a premium alternative. Market research shows a gap in high-end offerings for this industry, and we intend to fill that space,” Yoongi, the CEO, said, but Jungkook barely heard him.

His grip tightened on his phone as he stared at your activity log. The timestamp kept ticking up. Forty-five minutes, then fifty, then an hour. Who the hell were you talking to for that long?

Mina? Chloe? Fine. He could tolerate that.

But it could also be Henry.

Fuck him.

Jungkook clenched his jaw. He knew Henry was “just a friend,” but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He didn’t like you talking to any man, let alone being friends with one. If it were up to him, he would’ve cut Henry off years ago.

“Mr. Jeon?”

Jungkook blinked, snapping out of it when he heard his name. He glanced up from his phone, locking the screen before looking at Yoongi.

“Come again?” he asked, voice steady despite the irritation simmering beneath it.

“As I mentioned, we’re positioning ourselves as a high-end alternative. Market research reveals a lack of premium options in this industry, and we plan to capitalize on that opportunity,” yoongi repeated, watching him carefully.

Jungkook exhaled, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Good,” he said coolly. “But I want clear numbers. Expected ROI, break-even timeline, and contingency plans if the initial launch underperforms. Email them to me by my Monday.”

Yoongi nodded, but Jungkook wasn’t paying attention anymore.

He cut the meeting short without a second thought, pushing back his other appointments. He needed to go home. Now.

The thought of you on the phone for over an hour, laughing, talking, confiding in someone while he was stuck in a boardroom made his blood boil. He couldn’t stand not knowing. He needed to be in control, needed to know every little detail, even the things that weren’t his business. Because when it came to you, everything was his business.

When he stepped into the penthouse, the sight of you greeted him instantly. You were in the receiving area, vacuuming, completely unaware of how restless he’d been.

You’d been here for a week already, and as much as he was letting you do whatever you wanted, he was also watching. Watching what you did, who you talked to, how you spent your time.

“You’re home early. I thought you weren’t coming back until dinner,” you said, smiling as he walked toward you. He pressed a quick kiss against your lips, but his mind was elsewhere.

“Yeah, I am,” he said smoothly, shrugging off his coat. “How are you doing, Y/N?”

You turned off the vacuum, stretching your arms a little. “I’m good. Just cleaning up a bit.”

Jungkook’s eyes flickered around the room until he spotted your phone on the center table.

“What did you do today?” Jungkook asked, watching you closely, waiting, hoping you’d tell him without him having to drag it out of you.

You glanced at him briefly. “Just cleaned up a little and got some work done this morning.”

Not the answer he wanted.

If you were going to tell him about that damn phone call, you would’ve said it by now. But you didn’t.

He couldn’t ask outright, not yet. He knew how easily thoughts could plant themselves in your mind, and he didn’t need you questioning things. He’d find another way to figure it out.

Then you hesitated, inhaling like you had something to say. Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Jungkook leaned against the counter, loosening his tie. “You wanna say something, love?”

You finally spoke. “We’ve been here for a week already, but… we haven’t really done much for a vacation.”

Ah.

You didn’t even need to finish. He already knew where this was going.

“I know you’re really busy with work, but I was just wondering… how long are we planning to stay here?”

Jungkook stared at you for a moment before tilting his head slightly, lips twitching in amusement. “Why? You wanna go home already?”

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head. “Of course not! I was just curious… I mean, we’re here for a vacation, but you work a lot.”

He knew what you meant, but that didn’t mean he liked hearing it.

“Oh? I didn’t realize we weren’t allowed to work during a vacation.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, one brow raised.

“That’s not what I meant,” you huffed. “I just—I was just wondering—”

Jungkook cut you off, nodding as if he was mocking you. “I get it. You want us to go out more instead of me working.”

“N-no, that’s not—”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” His voice was smooth, sharp eyes locked onto you. “I get your point. We’ll do things your way.”

Except you didn’t need to say it. He already knew what was on your mind. But he wasn’t going to let you say it.

True to his word, Jungkook made sure to give you what you wanted.

For the next week, he took you around the city showing you Seoul through his own curated version of it. He noticed the way your mood shifted, heavier than before, and he knew it was because of that conversation.

But he didn’t have to address it.

Because soon enough, you’d forget about it.

Just like right now.

You were sipping a hot coffee, eyes locked on the dazzling view from Namsan Tower. The city stretched beneath you, glowing under the deep night sky, and Jungkook knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Wow. Seoul is really beautiful, Kook,” you murmured, your voice full of wonder.

But he wasn’t looking at the view.

He was looking at you.

You were glowing under the soft moonlight, the city lights reflecting in your eyes. He should be admiring the skyline, but you were the only thing worth looking at. He hated how much he loved moments like this, how much he wanted to preserve them.

So, without a word, he pulled his phone from his pocket, aimed the camera at you, and snapped a photo.

You notice Jungkook taking a picture of you, and without hesitation, you step closer, snatching his phone from his hand. A grin spreads across your face as you switch to the front camera.

“Come on, Kook, smile!” you say, glancing at him before snapping a quick selfie. The first shot catches him off guard, his expression unreadable, but you don’t stop there. You take a few more. Three, to be exact until you're satisfied.

Jungook watches you quietly, letting you have your moment.

“Honestly, a picture doesn’t even do justice to how beautiful this city is,” you say, handing his phone back before turning to admire the view again.

His gaze lingers on you for a second longer before he finally looks at the skyline, pretending to take in the same sight you are. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, voice smooth, controlled.

You glance at him, eyes curious. “Since you’ve lived here most of your life, are you used to seeing this view?”

Jungkook leans against the railing, watching the city lights flicker. “Hmm… I’d say yes, but I still find it beautiful.”

You hum in response, sipping your coffee. “Our city is nice too, but maybe I appreciate this more since it’s my first time here.”

A slow smirk tugs at Jungkook’s lips. Good.

Because you’d be here longer than you expected.

And by the time you realized it… you’d already have fallen in love with it.

You both linger around Namsan Tower a little longer, strolling past the endless sea of love locks. The air is crisp, carrying the quiet hum of the city below. You stop at a small booth selling locks, eyes lighting up as you pick one.

“Kook, let’s do one,” you say, already reaching for a marker. You scribble your initials on the lock, then his, before securing it onto the fence. With a grin, you toss the key away, watching it disappear into the night.

Jungkook watches you, amusement flickering in his eyes. You think this lock is what symbolizes your unbreakable bond? That’s cute. But it’s unnecessary. 

With or without it, you’re his. He’ll make sure of that.

Jungkook slips an arm around your waist, pulling you in as he looks down at the love lock you just attached. “Unbreakable, huh?” he murmurs, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

If only you knew how true that was.

You’ve done almost everything there is to do in Seoul, and he knows you’ve loved every second of it. From the food to the culture, every little thing has captivated you. And watching you take it all in, smiling like this city is your new home, it’s a sight he could never get tired of.

One of the things he’s grown to love about you is how easily pleased you are. The smallest things make you happy, and that makes you easy to care for. Easy to keep close.

Even back in high school, you saw something in him that others didn’t. When people distanced themselves, you stayed. When they looked away, you looked closer. You chose him, even when no one else would.

Maybe it was a pity. Maybe it was something deeper. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that you loved him, and that was enough. Enough for him to hold on, to fight for this, to shape this love into something unshakable. What others thought of him was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was you, your choices, your opinions. And as long as he could help it, your choices would always align with his. Even if that meant guiding them himself.

He took you around South Korea, but on his terms. It wasn’t the kind of vacation where every day was a new adventure. No, he kept it balanced. Some days for exploring, some for work. That was how it had to be.

You never argued. Never complained. Whether it was because you didn’t mind or because you simply chose not to voice it, he didn’t care. Silence was compliance, and compliance meant control.

And that’s exactly how he wanted it. 

Jungkook followed a step behind you as you traced your fingers along the cold metal railing, your gaze lost in the beauty of Nami Island. The soft autumn breeze played with the hem of your pleated skirt, your oversized knitted sweater draping over your frame in a way that made you look so warm, so delicate. He couldn’t wait to take you home, wrap you up in his arms, and keep you there for as long as he wanted.

You stopped suddenly, turning to him with a soft smile. It was enough to make his heart stutter, but there was something in your eyes. Something distant. He quickened his pace, closing the space between you, and without a word, he took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together as you walked side by side.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Kook,” you said, your voice light but careful.

He glanced at you, studying your expression. You were smiling, but he knew you too well, something was off. 

“It’s a pleasure, love.” He waited, expecting you to say more. But you didn’t.

He hated that.

“How much do you love your stay here?” His tone was casual, but the question wasn’t.

“I really love it here, Jungkook. I really do. Korea is so different from home, but still, I love it here.”

Home.

The word made something dark coil inside him.

He pulled you closer, guiding your head against his chest before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He held you there as you walked together, feeling the warmth of your body against his, the way you fit so perfectly against him. You were his home, his peace. His.

But no matter how tightly he held on, he couldn’t control everything. He could make every decision for you, shape every choice in his favor, but there was one thing he hadn’t accounted for:

The possibility that you might make a choice of your own.

And that was the one thing he wasn’t prepared for.

Jungkook barely had time to remove his coat when he saw the worry in your eyes. You looked like you’d been waiting for him for a while, pacing, rehearsing your words. He already didn’t like where this was going.

“Jungkook,” you started, your voice edged with hesitation. “I just had a meeting with our senior. They need me back for a presentation with new investors and stakeholders. I also have to report to the board—”

He stopped listening. He didn’t need to hear the rest. The way your voice wavered, the way you clutched your hands together, he already knew what you were about to ask.

“Then let someone else handle it.” His tone was clipped, final, like it was the simplest solution in the world.

“I can’t!” Your frustration spilled over, your voice rising slightly. “I’m the Investor Relations Manager. It’s my job, Kook! No one else can do it.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened.

He had already let you keep your job even though he preferred otherwise. It was his choice to allow it. And now, you were asking him to choose again? To let you go back?

“When are we going home?” Your voice softened, practically pleading now. “Kook, they really need me this time.”

He held your gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable, then casually looked away as he removed his coat, his movements slow, deliberate.

“I’m not sure,” he finally said, shaking off invisible creases in the fabric. “I’ll be busy for the next couple of weeks. I have deals to close, business meetings to attend. You know how it is.”

You swallowed hard. “Then can I go home first?”

That made him stop. Completely.

His fingers curled around the fabric of his coat, knuckles whitening as the air between you turned still. His dark eyes lifted to meet yours, and something flickered behind them. Something unreadable yet unmistakably dangerous.

“You’re leaving me?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but underneath it was something else.

Panic.

You stepped closer, shaking your head quickly. “Kook, I’m not leaving you. I just— I really need to go back. Just for work.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he let out a slow, humorless scoff.

“Wow,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “After everything I’ve done for you, is it that easy for you to leave? Just because they called you? What? Once?”

“That’s not—”

Jungkook’s fingers twitched at his side, his breathing slow, controlled—too controlled. He could feel his patience thinning, unraveling like a loose thread he was trying desperately to keep together.

“They told you before?” His voice was quiet, almost calm, but there was something beneath it. Something sharp. “And you didn’t tell me?”

You flinched slightly. “I didn’t want to ruin your mood,” you admitted.

He let out a slow breath through his nose, jaw locking. “And now you’re blaming me?”

You pressed your lips together, frustration flickering across your face. “No, of course not! I just—I didn’t want to ruin our vacation, Jungkook. That’s why I kept it to myself. But I have to tell you now.”

He scoffed. “And you don’t think telling me now ruins it?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Well, that’s exactly what you meant, Y/N!” His voice was sharper now.

You blinked at him, startled by the sudden shift. He rarely raised his voice, but when he did, it was like a storm brewing, low, intense, unpredictable.

“I’ve been here, juggling everything. Work, time with you, making sure you have everything you need. And you—” He let out a dry laugh. “The second they call, you’re ready to drop everything. Just like that.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. No words came out.

Jungkook tilted his head, studying you. The way your hands trembled slightly at your sides, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed back emotions you were trying so hard to hide.

He should feel guilty. He should care.

But he didn’t.

“The worst part?” His voice was softer now, but it was the kind of softness that made the air feel heavy. “You prove to me, over and over again, that I will never be your priority.”

A tear slipped from the corner of your eye, but he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for you.

Let you feel it. Let you sit in it.

Because this wasn’t just about work. This was about control.

And he refused to lose it.

“If you’re so desperate to leave,” he finally said, turning away, his voice cold and detached, “then go.”

He didn’t wait for a response.

Didn’t need to.

Because he already knew that you won’t leave.

He couldn’t understand why you insisted on working. It wasn’t like you had to. He was here, ready to give you everything. Yet, you kept holding on to something so insignificant when he had already built an entire fucking empire for you. Every deal, every dollar, every sacrifice, it was all for you.

When he started making real money, it wasn’t greed that drove him It was you. You were the reason he clawed his way to the top, the reason he burned through sleepless nights, the reason he never let himself fail. He stayed away, kept his distance, let you live your little life because he wanted to come back when he was ready, when he was powerful enough to make sure you could never slip through his fingers again.

The person you knew in high school? He buried him. In his place stands someone unrecognizable, someone untouchable. And yet, no matter how much money, status, or control he has, the thought of you walking away still eats him alive.

So before that can happen, he’s already making sure it won’t. Because what’s the point of having everything if he doesn’t have you?

You’re the only fucking reason he has to live.

Jungkook yanked his phone from his pocket, his fingers moving swiftly as he dialed the CEO of your company. He knew you wouldn’t leave. Not really. You couldn’t. But he wasn’t the type to sit back and hope. He made sure of things. He always did.

“Y/N won’t be coming back,” he said the moment the call connected, his tone cold, final. “Fire her. Tell her she’s being replaced by someone more competent.”

There was no hesitation on the other end. Just immediate agreement. As it should be. The moment the call ended, he exhaled slowly, satisfied.

He worked too hard, built too much, just to have you run back to a life that no longer served his plans. Everything he had, his success, his power, it was all for you. But if your choices didn’t align with his? Then you didn’t need choices at all. He still let you think you had them, of course. As long as they led exactly where he wanted.

And sure enough, he was right. You didn’t leave. Because for what? Work? You didn’t have one anymore.

He watched as you withdrew, as you curled in on yourself, as you let the weight of everything settle in. He didn’t stop you when you pulled away, when you cried, when you let yourself crumble under the reality he created for you. He let you feel the loss, the loneliness. Not because he didn’t care. Of course, he cared. He always cared.

But sometimes, he had to let you break on your own. Because only then would you finally see, he was all you had. Just like you were all he needed.

Of course, he didn’t let you cry alone the whole time. He gave you space just enough to let the weight of everything sink in, to let you feel small, lost. But he was always there, lingering in the background, ready to be the only comfort you had left.

Because he would never leave you to suffer on your own. Not when he was the one who put you in this position in the first place. But you didn’t need to know that.

Now, in the dim glow of the bedroom, he held you close, feeling the way your body trembled against his. His arms were firm around you, securing you exactly where you belonged. Right here, with him. He leaned against the headboard, his fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns on your arm, his presence steady, inescapable.

“I know it hurts now, love,” he murmured, his voice soft, patient, the perfect contrast to the chaos he caused. “But maybe it’s for the best. Maybe this happened for a reason. You’ll be fine… Trust me. As long as you’re with me, you’ll be fine.”

He wiped the tears from your cheeks with gentle fingers, studying your face as if memorizing every vulnerable detail. And you didn’t say a word. You didn’t ask for help, didn’t fight to get your job back, didn’t even question why it all happened so suddenly.

Nothing.

Only quiet sobs escaped your lips.

And that was fine. More than fine.

Because as long as this kept you here, exactly where he wanted you. He could live with that.

You stayed home for the following days. Barely leaving the bedroom. Jungkook let you be, giving you space while he handled business, but that only worked in his favor. You weren’t going anywhere, and he didn’t have to worry too much. Not when he had eyes on you the entire time.

Of course, you didn’t know about the hidden CCTV in the apartment. You didn’t need to.

Most of the time, when he checked the feed, you were either sleeping, mindlessly scrolling on your phone, or watching TV. You looked drained, distant. Maybe even depressed. But he wasn’t too concerned. You’d be fine. You always were.

He also monitored your phone activity. He saw the messages, the way you still kept in touch with your friends and family, updating them on your life. But he noticed how carefully you chose your words, how you left things out.

And that? That satisfied him.

You defended him without being asked, without him even having to plant the idea in your head. You already knew what he wanted. You knew exactly what to say, how to make them believe that everything was fine. That’s how he knew you loved him just as much as he loved you.

You were such a good girl for him. So obedient.

He knew your friends didn’t like him especially Mina. Not that it mattered. If anything, it thrilled him to watch you choose him over them every time. To watch you stand by him, no matter what.

It felt so good.

And he wasn’t going to let you drown in misery forever. No, he made sure of that.

For the past week, he took you out every day. Five-star restaurants, designer boutiques, all your favorite places. He made sure you were surrounded by luxury, by comfort, by him. He wiped away every trace of sadness, covering it up with indulgence, making you forget, if only for a moment what had been taken from you.

But he wasn’t blind. He saw the shift in you. The way your smiles were forced. The way your laughter lacked its usual warmth. The way you were starting to notice.

But he didn’t have to do anything about it.

Not yet.

Because sooner or later, you’d understand. The life he was giving you was far better than the one you had before.

And when that realization finally sank in?

You wouldn’t want to leave.

Just like he promised, he was taking you to Busan to meet his family. It felt like a necessary step. An assurance of his love for you. A way to solidify things, to remind you that he was willing to give you everything, even parts of himself he didn’t care for.

He also figured this trip would help. A change of scenery. New faces. Because lately, the only person you had been around was him. Not that he minded, but he didn’t want you to feel isolated. Even if, in reality, that was exactly what was happening.

His relationship with his parents had never been close. Even as a kid, there was always distance. But after they dragged him back to Korea, forcing him away from you, that’s when he truly cut them off.

The only reason he still tolerated them now was simple.

They were the reason he worked so hard. The reason he built everything from the ground up. The reason he clawed his way to the top, just to have you in his arms again.

If not for that, he wouldn’t even spare them a second thought.

"I'm really glad you finally visited us after so many years, son. And you even brought your girlfriend with you," Jungkook’s mother said, her voice warm with nostalgia.

Jungkook barely reacted, keeping his expression smooth as he sliced through his food. You and he sat at the dining table with his parents, the scent of simmered broth and fresh side dishes filling the space. His parents were thrilled, probably thinking this visit meant something.

They had no idea how he really felt. And they didn’t need to.

“What do you do for a living?” His father’s voice cut through the quiet clatter of utensils. The question was aimed at you, and instantly, Jungkook felt your body tense beside him. Your hand, which had been resting lightly on the table, twitched just slightly and he clenched his chopsticks tighter.

Before you could even answer, he spoke for you. “She’s taking a break right now. That’s why we’re here for a long time.” His voice was even, but his grip had turned rigid.

You turned to him, your expression unreadable, but he refused to meet your eyes. Instead, he continued eating, slow and controlled.

“Really? But what did you do before?” His mother chimed in, her curiosity laced with harmless interest.

He wanted to shut this conversation down. Shift it away. Stop them from prying. But he had to play along.

“I was an Investor Relations Manager,” you answered, offering a small, polite smile before turning your focus back to your food.

His father hummed in acknowledgment, then turned to Jungkook. “Investor, huh? As I recall, your business is in the same field, isn’t it?”

Jungkook stabbed his chopsticks into a piece of meat, his jaw tightening.

“You never tell us much about your life. Even your business,” his mother added.

"All we know is you’re making millions and millions every day. If only you invested in your own parents’ business, that would be great.”

Jungkook mentally rolled his eyes, keeping his expression unreadable.

He would never invest in something like that.

And he sure as hell would never invest in the very thing that tore him away from you.

Jungkook could feel your eyes on him, waiting for a response. But he kept his gaze fixed on his food, forcing himself to chew slowly. It wasn’t worth talking about. Not now. Not ever.

Sensing the silence stretching too long, you spoke up instead.

“Actually, Jungkook and I met at work, and before that, the last time we saw each other was in high school. That’s where we really got to know each other.”

His mother giggled, a soft, nostalgic sound. “I still can’t believe you two are high school sweet—”

“Honey, they were only friends in high school!” His father cut in with a laugh.

“Oh, right! But if we hadn’t moved back here, maybe you two would’ve been dating since then!”

Jungkook tightened his grip on his chopsticks. The conversation was light, harmless even. But he wasn’t stupid. He noticed how you shifted in your seat, how your fingers grazed the table absentmindedly like you were holding something back. He could read you too well. He knew there was something you wanted to say but you didn’t.

And he had a feeling he knew exactly what it was.

“If only he had introduced you to us before!” His mother sighed wistfully before turning her gaze to Jungkook. “You know, he was different when he was younger. More… open, I suppose. But ever since we moved back here, he became quiet, distant. We knew he wanted to stay in your country, he even begged us to go back but it wasn’t that simple.”

She looked at him then, a sad, longing expression crossing her face. “We’re proud of the man he’s become, of course. We just wish he could be open with us again. Let us back into his life.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. The sound of his father’s spoon clinking against his bowl suddenly felt too loud. The warm aroma of the food became nauseating.

This. This right here was why he had kept his distance. Why he loathed them.

Pathetic.

They sat there, spewing bullshit, acting as if they were the victims. Acting as if they deserved his time, his emotions, his fucking pity. They had no idea. They never took responsibility. Instead, they pointed fingers at him, as if it was his fault that everything turned out this way.

But it wasn’t.

It was theirs.

He was already done with this conversation. Done with this entire visit. He needed to get out of here.

With you.

The lunch dragged on longer than Jungkook would have liked. His parents kept the conversation going, moving from small talk to stories about their old business. Their grand rise and inevitable failure. They spoke as if reminiscing about something tragic, but all Jungkook heard was noise.

He barely touched his food, his jaw tightening every time they brought up the past. He masked his irritation well, but the tension in his grip against his chopsticks was telling. He just wanted to leave.

This was exactly why he never wanted to come here. Why he never wanted you to meet them. They talked too much. About things that didn’t matter. About things he never wanted you to hear.

And now, he could already tell. You had questions. You always did when something didn’t add up. And right now, after everything his parents had carelessly spilled, your mind must be full of them.

Of course, you didn’t ask in front of them. You wouldn’t. But he knew you too well.

And he was right.

Because the moment the car was back on the road, heading toward Seoul, your voice broke the silence.

“Your parents are nice.” Your voice was light, but Jungkook could hear the underlying curiosity.

“Uh-huh.” His response was flat, laced with sarcasm.

“They even wanted us to stay. They’re really accommodating, Kook.”

He saw you glance at him from the corner of his eye, but he kept his gaze locked on the road. His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly.

“I have a meeting first thing in the morning.”

Without warning, he overtook the car in front of him, the sudden movement making you flinch. 

“Sorry, love.” His voice softened, one hand briefly leaving the wheel to rest on your thigh. A gentle caress.

He had spent all his patience back at that house. The last thing he wanted was to talk about his parents again.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother.” Your tone was casual, but there was something beneath it. An unspoken challenge. “It sucks that I only found out now. I just realized… I barely know anything about your past.” You sighed. “I feel bad.”

“That’s why I brought you home to meet them,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound as sarcastic as it felt.

You studied him for a moment, like you were trying to read him. He gave you a small smile, his hand still resting on your thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles. A distraction. A way to keep you comfortable.

Then, you caught him off guard.

“Kook, why didn’t you invest in your parents’ business?”

His grip on the wheel tightened. He didn’t expect that.

You continued before he could answer. “You’re a big-time investor, right? It would help them a lot.”

“It’s not worth investing in. It’s already a failed business.” His tone was neutral, controlled.

“But they loved that business. Losing it broke them. Isn’t there any chance of bringing it back?”

“No.” His voice was sharp, final. “If there was, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

That was a lie. Even if their business was worth saving, he still wouldn’t do it. They didn’t deserve it. They didn’t deserve anything from him.

You looked at him again, hesitant, like you wanted to push further. To unravel the parts of him he kept hidden. But then, you seemed to realize he wasn’t in the mood to talk about it.

So you stayed quiet.

Good.

As much as he wanted to tell you everything, how his parents ruined his life, how they ripped him away from you, he couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk you looking at him differently.

He’d rather keep you in the dark than let you see the parts of him he didn’t want you to understand.

It’s been a week since you and Jungkook visited his parents. And two weeks  since you lost your job.

You haven’t told him about it. You haven’t asked about going home either. Not once. And it’s better that way. If you did, he already had an answer prepared, but he preferred that you didn’t ask at all.

You’ve become more obedient, following his lead without hesitation. You don’t ask for anything anymore. You don’t make requests. You just… comply.

It should make him happy. He decides what’s best for you, after all. But he doesn’t want you to turn into a lifeless doll, either. You should still function like a normal girlfriend and hold onto him like you need him.

And you do need him.

Jungkook wants to give you everything, especially now that you’re finally settling into his rhythm. He wonders if you realize how much he adores you like this. Maybe you don’t. Maybe you think this is just another day, another morning, another moment.

But to him, it’s everything.

You’re sleeping beside him, curled up and peaceful, completely unaware of his gaze lingering on you. His love for you grows stronger every day, so intense it nearly overwhelms him. It consumes him.

He rests his head on his arm, watching you, memorizing the way your lashes flutter faintly with every slow breath. His free hand moves on its own, fingers ghosting over your cheek.

His heart pounds in his ears.

The back of his fingers trail down to your lips, tracing the soft curve of them. You don’t even stir. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering longer than necessary.

Then, his fingers drift lower, down your arm, feeling the warmth of your skin. So soft. So delicate. His.

He could feel a familiar sensation growing between his legs as he touched your soft skin. He tried to ignore it but failed. The more he touched you, the more he thought about how much he wanted to be with you. He couldn't stop imagining all the ways he wanted to touch you, to be inside you. He felt his self-control slipping away as he placed his thumb finger on your lower lip, imagining how it would feel wrapped around him.

He couldn't help but look at your body, the outline of your breasts visible through your flimsy pajamas.

He have touched you several times but the sensation and feeling of your body was so intoxicating and addicting he couldn't get enough.

Fuck, Y/N.

He can barely keep himself from losing control. He desperately wants to bend you over and taste your lips but he knows that's not what he's supposed to do, so instead he slowly pulled his dick out and began to slowly stroke it while you sleep beside him, teasing himself.

He can’t help it but want to press you against the bed, taking in and enjoying every curve of your body, but he knows he can’t do that. Not now. He takes your hand softly in his, holding it warmly. His other hand slowly teases his dick, imagining how you’d feel under him, as he stares directly at your pretty face, his thoughts filled with nothing but how desperately he wants you, yet he holds himself back.

Damn it, love. 

He gripped himself tightly, his dick throbbing and leaking a small amount of cum that he eagerly spread over himself, slicking his movements as he pumped it harder and harder, his eyes locked onto your peaceful sleeping face, silently begging for you to wake.

His hands, despite his best efforts to keep them still, began to roam down your body, splaying out over your stomach and slowly inching lower until his fingers splayed out over your pussy through the thin fabric of your sleepwear.

He wanted you to wake up as his body already halfway there even without your touch. He hoped your eyes would flutter open and catch him like this, his pants tented, his hips subtly humping the air, his hands twitching with the urge to grope your body again unconsciously.

"Fuck..." he hissed under his breath, losing control as his hand moved faster over his length, the wet sounds filling the room.

"Love..." he moaned your nickname, imagining it was your hand, your mouth, your heat around him rather than his own hands. 

The soft, sensual moan that escaped your lips in your sleep sent electric jolts through him, making his grip on his dick tighten as he continued to stroke himself feverishly. He scooted closer, his fingers teasing your pussy through your clothes, rubbing slow circles over it.

His breath hitched as he felt the dampness seeping through your thin pajama bottoms, signaling your body's unconscious response to his touches. He gently slipped his hand inside, finding your folds slick and warm, a soft whimper escaping his lips at the contact.

As your eyes flutter open, you catch the erotic sight before you. Jungkook was furiously pumping his dick, clear fluid leaking steadily from the tip. The wet, obscene sounds of his strokes filled the air.

“K-kook, what are you doing?” Your voice was low and husky and your arousal was obvious, making him lose control faster.

Without warning, he covered your body with his, capturing your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue plunged into your mouth, dominating it as his body pressed you into the mattress. His weight pushed your smaller frame down, causing your chest to rise and fall rapidly.

He humped against your center like a wild animal, marking your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses and sucking hickeys onto your jaw. His lips traveled down your chin, your jawline, your neck, leaving red, passionate marks. He was practically dry humping you, his control shot.

"Love..." He growled softly, hearing your shaky voice. Your arousal made him hungry. He yanked your shirt off, his mouth latching onto your breast without warning. You threw your head back with a loud moan as he sucked hard, his other hand pinching and rolling your nipple.

He could feel your softness against his tongue, the way you filled his mouth perfectly. He sucked harder, his hand squeezing your other breast possessively.

He kissed lower, trailing his lips down your stomach, his hands pulling your pajama bottoms down slowly. He peppered kisses on your pelvis, his hot breath tickling your lower belly. "Lift your hips, Y/N..." He whispered, his voice muffled against your skin.

He spread your thighs wider, diving between them. He flattened his tongue against your entrance, licking upwards to catch your wetness. "Damn," He muttered, watching you toss your head back. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking softly while pushing two fingers inside you.

God, you’re so fucking beautiful.

He watches you play with your breasts. Your fingers twisting your hard peaks made him harder. He pushed his fingers deeper, his mouth suctioning around your clit. Your moans grew louder, your back arching off the bed. His free hand spread your thighs wider apart.

Your nails dug deeper into the bed as you neared the edge. He suddenly pulled back, leaving you empty and disappointed. Before you could protest, he pulled his pants down and pressed the tip of his hard dick against your clit. His head rested on top of you, grinding his tip against you.

"K-kook… please?" He smirked wickedly, watching you throw your head back. He ground his tip against your sensitive nub, teasing you. 

He paused his tease and grabbed your face, staring harshly into your eyes. "Remember this...you're mine." He grumbled, crashing his lips against yours. The kiss was desperate and hungry, his tongue dominating yours immediately. He pushed his tip inside you slowly before thrusting hard. “Do you understand that?”

"Do you understand?!” He growled, his deep voice echoing. He thrusts his hips harder, watching your breasts bounce. He repeated himself slower, "Answer the damn question." His fingers dug into your hips painfully. "Use your words,"

"Yes!” You answered with a tear in your eyes as his movement became faster.

"Fuck, Y/N," he panted against your lips, his body shaking when both of you reach orgasm. He remained buried deep inside you, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're mine. Only. Mine." He enunciated each word slowly, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth. When he broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes filled with love and adoration. “I love you, Y/N. I love you so fucking much it hurts.”

You’re such a good girl. So obedient. So perfect for him.

Jungkook always knew you’d get there eventually. You’re adjusting—slowly, but that’s okay. He can be patient. He understands that change takes time.

But he’s not blind. He sees how quiet you’ve become, how your laughter has faded into silence. You talk less, do less. Even when he offers to take you out, most of the time, your refuse. You spend most of your time curled up in bed, staring at your phone or watching TV, lost in some world that isn’t his.

That’s fine. You’ll come around.

He tells himself it’s just part of the process. Your adjustment period. You’re still settling into your new reality, learning to accept that this is your home now.

But even if he understands, that doesn’t mean he likes it.

He misses the way you used to be. The spark in your eyes, the way you used to tease him, the way you’d reach for him without thinking. That version of you is slipping away, fading like a dream upon waking.

Does he regret this? Is he having second thoughts?

Never.

This is only temporary. He knows that if he wavers now, if he lets himself get soft, he’ll never have what he truly wants.

So he won’t.

Instead, he’ll remind you.

He’ll give you all the attention you need, fill every empty space in your mind until there’s no room left for doubt.

“Lately, you’ve been watching a lot of baking videos,” Jungkook muses, his voice casual. It’s a quiet Friday afternoon, and he got home earlier than usual. You’re curled up on the couch, a snack in hand, eyes fixed on the TV.

He moves closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck before catching your lips. He feels you relax beneath him, just slightly.

“Nothing really to watch,” you reply, brushing it off.

Jungkook settles beside you, his gaze never leaving you as he reaches for a snack. His fingers trail absentmindedly along your thigh, slow and deliberate.

“I was thinking,” he starts, his tone light, “maybe you’d like to take baking lessons? Learn how to do it yourself.”

“That’s not necessary, Kook,” you say with a small laugh. “I just find it entertaining, that’s all.”

He hums, rubbing slow circles into your skin. “Then do you want to do something? Yoga classes, maybe?”

Silence.

You hold his gaze, but there’s something in your expression that makes his stomach tighten. You hesitate, as if weighing whether to say what’s really on your mind. And suddenly, he regrets even asking.

He should change the subject. He should pull you back into something softer, safer. But before he can, you speak.

“Well, if you have something in—”

“When are we going home?”

His whole body stills.

For a second, he doesn’t move. The words settle between you, heavy and suffocating. He exhales, slow and measured, before finally standing.

“I’m not sure yet,” he says, already walking toward the dining hall. “I told you, I have a lot to handle, love. I’ll let you know when.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for your response. He turns on his heel, heading toward the dining hall. He pulls the refrigerator open as he grabs a bottle of water, twisting the cap off before pouring himself a glass. The sound of liquid hitting glass fills the silence.

He knows you're there before he even turns around.

Your presence lingers, hesitant but heavy. He takes his time, swallowing the water then he finally turns to face you.

“I miss home, Kook.”

Home. That fucking word again.

Ever since you started mentioning home, Jungkook has felt a slow, burning irritation clawing at him. The word itself is harmless, but coming from your lips, it feels like a blade. You and he have different definitions of home, and every time you say it, it grates against his nerves.

“We’ve been here for three months already, and I really, really miss home.” Your voice wavers, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and it makes his irritation flare hotter.

“Aren’t we living in the same home either way?” His voice drips with sarcasm, his patience thinning.

“That’s not what I mean. I miss my family, my friends, my country—”

“And you don’t think I feel that too?” He cuts you off, his tone sharper now.

The glass in his hand meets the kitchen island with a dull thud, his fingers tightening around the rim before he releases it. His gaze, dark and unreadable, locks onto yours.

“Do you think I don’t want to go back?” He exhales harshly. “I planned to stay here for a vacation. But I had to handle so many things because, for what? To fucking build the life I want for us!” His voice rises, his frustration cracking through the surface. “I’m not doing this for myself, Y/N. I’m doing this to secure our future.”

Tears finally spill down your cheeks as you look at him, and something about it. The way you’re crying, the way you’re making him feel like the villain making his jaw tighten.

“Tell me,” he steps forward, closing the distance between you, his presence towering over you, “do you really think I’m keeping you here just because I want to?” His voice dips lower, but the intensity in his stare is suffocating.

You shake your head quickly. “Kook, that’s not what I meant!” Your fingers tighten around his, desperate, pleading. “Of course, I appreciate you! I’m sorry if that’s how it sounded, but that’s not what I meant—”

You keep talking, rushing to defend yourself, but Jungkook isn’t listening anymore.

His mind is elsewhere.

Your words dissolve into the background as something deeper stirs inside him. He watches your lips move, watches the way you hold onto him like you’re afraid of slipping away. 

Before you can finish, he pulls his hands away, wiping his own tears like he’s trying to erase the moment entirely.

Then he steps back.

“I think we should give ourselves some space.” His voice is quieter now, but distant, detached. He turns, ready to walk away.

But before he can take another step, you do something that surprises him.

“Jungkook, no!”

Before he can take another step, your arms are around his waist, locking him in place. Your grip is desperate, too tight, too frantic, like you're afraid he'll vanish the second you let go.

“N-no… please, let’s talk about this now! Please don’t leave me again.”

The way your voice breaks sends a thrill through him. You’re crying—really crying—and he didn’t expect it. Not like this.

“Please don’t leave me again! Let’s talk about this now. P-please don’t leave me alone.”

Your hands clutch at his back, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt like you're trying to anchor yourself. When you pull back to look at him, your face is soaked, lips trembling, eyes blown wide with fear. Fear.

His heart pounds so hard it’s almost painful. A rush of something hot, something intoxicating, swirls inside him. You need him.

You really need him.

“W-we can talk about this now. Just please, don’t leave me alone.”

You bury yourself into him again, squeezing so tightly he almost forgets to breathe.

Jungkook stands frozen, overwhelmed by the moment, his pulse hammering in his ears. His breath comes out unsteady as his lips curl into a slow, hidden smile. He wants to laugh. Fuck, he wants to celebrate.

Because this. This is exactly what he’s been waiting for.

You’re clinging to him. Begging. Terrified at the thought of losing him.

You get it now, don’t you?

After a long pause, he finally moves. His hands glide up your back, soothing, reassuring. He exhales softly, letting just enough warmth seep into his voice.

“Okay, love. We’ll fix this.”

He’s too happy. A little too happy.

Your reaction, it was unexpected, raw, perfect. The way you clung to him, the way your voice cracked, the way you begged, fuck, it’s all replaying in his head like a song on repeat. It was beautiful. You need him just as much as he needs you. You just proved it.

And that means one thing: You’ll never leave. Not really.

You might resist, you might hesitate, but in the end, you break exactly how he wants you to. He doesn’t just control you, your whole existence is wrapped around him now, woven into his life so tightly there’s no escape.

But then, why?

Why did you suddenly bring up home? Why now, after all this time?

His jaw tightens. Something triggered you. Something. Or someone.

He doesn’t need to guess. He already knows.

It’s past 2 AM when he finally moves. The room is quiet, bathed in the soft blue glow of the nightlight. You're asleep, curled up in the king-sized bed, your breathing slow, steady and peaceful. Completely unaware.

Jungkook reaches for your phone on the bedside table, unlocking it effortlessly with his Face ID. He leans back on the couch, screen illuminating his face, and scrolls straight to your messages.

He knows exactly where to look.

And of course, he was right.

His smirk is slow, dangerous, curling at the edges as he reads.

You: I miss you too! I’ll see you soon once I return.

Mina: As you should. I’m so sick of being with Henry all the time! When are you even coming home? You’ve been there since forever.

Chloe: Yeah, Y/N. I thought you’d only be there for a vacation? You never said you’d stay this long.

You: Not sure with Jungkook. He has a lot of business to do as of now.

Henry: Are you even part of his business? Last time I checked, you and he were there for a vacation, not for business. Seriously, Y/N, he’s caging you at this point.

His smirk twitches.

And then, there it is. A missed video call, two fucking hours.

Yesterday. While he was too busy working to notice.

His fingers tighten around the phone. Of course. They filled your head with bullshit. 

How stupid of him to let this slip.

It won’t happen again.

He locks the phone and sets it back on the table, gaze flickering toward you. You’re still fast asleep, unaware that your little secret is no longer a secret.

Jungkook leans back, exhaling through his nose, his mind already working.

He’ll fix this.

He always does.

Jungkook doesn’t waste time.

The moment he discovers what your so-called friends have been whispering in your ear, he takes action.

First thing in the morning, before you even stir awake, he makes a call. The kind of call that isn’t exactly legal. By noon, he’s holding a sleek, black signal jammer in his hands, fresh from the black market. Compact, powerful, and silent.

He won’t resort to something as obvious as taking your phone away. That’s not the game he plays. No, no, no. He wants you to believe you’re still in control. That your world isn’t shrinking. That nothing’s changed.

Because that’s the key, you can’t miss what you don’t realize you’ve lost.

He positions the device in a discreet spot, its range wide enough to swallow every signal in the apartment. But, of course, he’s thought ahead. He installs a high-power signal booster for himself because while your world goes dark, his remains crystal clear. He still needs to monitor things. Track things. Track you.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice. The way your fingers swipe at your screen again and again, waiting for something to load. The way your brows knit together when nothing does. The way you glance around, confused, frustrated.

He sees it all. 

Your world is already shrinking, and you don’t even realize it yet.

Jungkook leans back in his chair, a slow smirk forming.

“Weak signals happen sometimes, love. It’ll come back. Don’t worry.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before pulling you onto the couch, wrapping you in his arms as the TV played in the background. What else could you do, really? Without a working connection, entertainment options were limited, and he had to pretend he was dealing with the same issue. TV was the perfect distraction. One that kept you close to him.

In a way, he liked this. No phones, no interruptions. Just the two of you, undisturbed. The thought alone made his heart flutter.

The next day, the situation hadn’t changed, and he knew frustration would start creeping in again. So he took you out. All day, keeping you occupied, keeping your mind off things. You didn’t resist. Why would you? There was nothing to do in the apartment without the internet, no one to talk to, nowhere else to turn.

A museum date. He half-expected you to get bored, but to his surprise, you didn’t. You wandered through the exhibits with wide, fascinated eyes, taking in every detail, pointing out the ones you liked best. Jungkook watched you more than the art. Watched the way your lips curved in a smile, the way your fingers traced the air as you spoke. You weren’t hard to please. Anything he laid out in front of you, you embraced, appreciated, accepted.

That was what made it so easy to love you.

And that was what made him tighten his grip.

Because something so easy, so pure, could be taken away in an instant.

He wouldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever. You were already his, and keeping you meant protecting you. Even if you didn’t realize it yet.

For the third, fourth, and fifth day, nothing changed. The signal jammer stayed on, and you stayed unaware. He kept you entertained when he was home, making sure there was always something to distract you. Movies, dinner, his arms wrapped around you on the couch. But when he wasn’t around, all you had was the TV.

That was fine. That was good.

Whenever he was out, he tracked your location. He never mentioned it, of course. He played dumb when you casually told him where you went, what you did to pass the time. It made things easier. It reassured him. You were still being good, still keeping him in the loop, still showing him without even realizing it that you loved him. That you weren’t going anywhere.

And that was all he needed.

Because as long as you kept being this obedient, this trusting, you wouldn’t even notice the strings wrapped around you, pulling you exactly where he wanted.

But of course, no matter how much control he had, some things still slipped through the cracks.

He thought he had everything covered. That as long as you stayed close, as long as you kept looking at him the way you always did, nothing would change.

But even the most perfect plans had flaws.

It was a cold Thursday evening when Jungkook stepped out of the shower, steam curling around him as droplets clung to his skin. A towel hung low on his waist, and the heat from the water still lingered on his body, contrasting the chill in the air. He had just returned from a long business meeting. Another deal closed, another win under his belt. You were in the kitchen, insisting on making dinner, and he let you.

As he pulled on his nightwear in the walk-in closet, he instinctively reached for his phone. But his fingers met empty space. His usual spot? Empty. Bedside table? Nothing. Maybe he left it outside? That was unlikely. His phone was always with him.

The frustration simmered. His brows furrowed as he searched every possible surface in the bedroom. It wasn’t there. His chest tightened. And then—

A ringtone.

Not from inside the room. From outside.

His breath caught. His phone wasn’t on silent. You were hearing it.

A sharp pulse of panic shot through him as he shoved the bedroom door open. The sound grew louder, the vibrations almost rattling in his ears, until he saw you.

Standing at the dining table.

Staring at his phone.

A cold sensation crawled up his spine, harsher than the evening air. His fingers twitched. His heart pounded, slamming against his ribs, too fast, too loud.

Without thinking, he strode forward and snatched the phone off the table, immediately declining the call. His grip was tight, white-knuckled. He could feel your eyes on him, could see the way your expression shifted, shock, realization, suspicion.

Then, you moved.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, swiped through the screen, and then your jaw clenched.

Slowly, you looked at him.

Brows furrowed.

And then, without a word, you turned your phone around and showed him the screen.

“How come you can get calls when I can’t even reach you?” Your voice had that sharp edge, like you were daring him to slip up.

Jungkook’s grip on his phone tightened for a second. Just a second before he let out a slow breath. One you wouldn’t even notice.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, meeting your gaze without hesitation. “I’ve had signal since yesterday.”

Your brows furrowed. “What? That doesn’t make sense. I don’t have network service. No internet, either.” You scrolled through your phone, frustration seeping into your voice.

“Maybe it’s your phone. Not the network.”

“Huh? How does that even—”

“I don’t know, love. I’m not a technician.” His tone was casual, a little too nonchalant, as he turned to walk away.

But you weren’t letting it go.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice was sharper now, accusing. “You knew I’ve been complaining about this for days!”

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening, but his voice was still even. “I didn’t notice right away. And I’ve been out, haven’t I? Besides—” He scoffed. “Do you even see me using my phone when I’m home?”

Your frustration boiled over. “Ugh, this is so annoying! What the hell?” You jabbed at your phone aggressively, like pressing harder would somehow force it to work. When it didn’t, you let out a groan, tossing it onto the table with a thud before running a hand through your hair.

Jungkook clenched his teeth, trying to suppress the irritation crawling up his spine. “Y/N, can you calm down? It’s just a phone. We’ll fix it.”

“You don’t get it!” You snapped.

Your voice cracked slightly, your chest rising and falling with every frustrated breath. “That’s my only way to keep in touch with my friends and family while I’m stuck here! It’s the only thing I have to pass the time! I have nothing to do, Jungkook. It’s draining! I feel exhausted just… existing like this!”

His stomach twisted.

Not because of what you said, but because of the way you said it. This was the first time he’d seen you this raw since your last big fight. It was like catching a glimpse of something real. Something he wasn’t supposed to see.

And honestly? He didn’t know how to feel about it.

His fingers curled, nails pressing into his palms, but his face remained unreadable.

“Okay,” he finally muttered. “We’ll get your phone fixed.”

That was all he said before turning on his heel, walking away, leaving you standing there, stunned.

The moment Jungkook stepped into the bedroom, he lost it.

His phone hit the bed with a dull thud, but it wasn’t enough. His hands went straight to his hair, fingers tangling in frustration as he paced back and forth, his mind spiraling.

Anytime now, you could put the pieces together.

Anytime now, you could realize everything.

No. No. No. That cannot fucking happen.

His jaw clenched so tightly it ached, teeth grinding as he tried to force himself to think. He needed a solution. Fast. But every scenario felt like a loose thread, something that could unravel the carefully built illusion he had created around you.

His breath came out sharp and ragged, his chest rising and falling as panic crawled up his spine. His hands curled into fists, nails pressing into his palms.

Calm down. Think.

Would replacing your phone be enough? Could he make it seem like it was just a defective device all along? Should he play dumb, act as if he had no clue what was going on?

Fuck. Think!

He’d always been careful. Always one step ahead. So why was he unraveling now?

Why did this feel different?

He sucked in a slow, shaky breath, trying to steady himself. He was just being paranoid. That’s all this was. He had handled worse. He had controlled worse.

This was just another obstacle.

And like always, he’d find a way to make sure you stayed exactly where you belonged.

But he was wrong.

Because the moment he woke up, you weren’t beside him.

It felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped over him, freezing him in place. His body tensed, fingers gripping the sheets as he blinked, trying to process the empty space next to him.

No. No, no, no.

He had stayed up late, trying to think of a way to fix things. He didn’t even realize he had slept in. And now, you were gone.

His hands were already shaking as he pushed himself out of bed, his heart pounding.

“Y/N?”

The bathroom, empty. The closet, empty. The longer he searched, the faster his panic grew.

He stormed out of the bedroom, checking every corner of the apartment, but you were nowhere to be found. His breathing turned ragged, his vision tunneling. His fingers fumbled as he reached for his phone, opening the tracking app.

There you were. Not far.

A mall.

Fuck.

His jaw clenched so hard it ached. He already knew what you were doing.

His mind raced, self-loathing creeping in. How the fuck did I let this happen? He had been so careful. He had planned everything so perfectly. And yet, somehow, you slipped away.

His grip tightened around his phone as he immediately dialed a number. The person he hired to watch you.

“Find her,” Jungkook ordered, his voice dangerously low. “Now. And tell me exactly what she’s doing.”

Ending the call, he exhaled sharply and let his body drop onto the couch, his knee bouncing as he tried to steady himself.

Calm down.

He had dealt with things like this before. He knew exactly what to do. You were easy to convince, easy to pull back into his world. You always had been.

There was no reason to panic.

Because no matter what, he wouldn’t let this ruin everything.

He had come too far, done too much. What was the point of stopping now?

Minutes later, his phone buzzed. An update.

You had bought a new phone.

Of course, you did. He expected it. He had already planned his reaction, the perfect lie to feed you. He knew how to twist things, how to shape reality into something that made sense to you.

He was ready.

This was just another obstacle, a minor inconvenience. Soon, everything would be back to normal.

Or at least, that was the illusion he forced himself to believe.

Because the moment you walked through that door, his world shattered.

All the confidence, all the carefully built lies, gone.

The second you speak the truth, everything he worked for started to crumble.

You stood in front of him, unmoving, while he lounged back against the couch, arms crossed over his chest. The apartment felt colder than usual, the lack of sunlight casting a dull, gray shadow over everything, including you.

You looked drained.

Dressed in a white knitted sweater under a long black coat, paired with jeans, you slowly unwrapped the scarf from your neck, gripping it tightly in one hand while your other held a paper bag.

He already knew what was inside.

The new phone.

Your eyes locked onto his, unblinking, unwavering. There was an intensity in them that made something deep inside him churn, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he was the first to break the silence.

“Was it really that hard to wake me up and let me know you were going out?” His voice was laced with sarcasm, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You just couldn’t wait to get your phone fixed, huh? Had to rush out and buy a new one?”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

You didn’t answer.

You just stood there, staring at him with eyes filled with something far worse than anger. Disgust. Your jaw clenched so tightly he swore he could hear your teeth grinding, and then he saw it.

A tear.

His smirk twitched, faltering for just a second.

“What’s with the face, love?” he drawled, tilting his head. “I thought you fixed your little problem?”

His voice dripped with mockery, but something inside him twisted, because he could feel it.

Your tears fell silently at first, but then you inhaled sharply, steadying yourself before speaking.

“My phone was jammed,” you said, voice shaking. “Both my phone and the internet connection were jammed.”

Jungkook felt a flicker of something. Surprise, irritation, but he masked it, tilting his head as if your words were nonsense.

“How would your phone be jammed?” His tone was casual, almost amused, like he was humoring you.

You let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t know. Ask yourself.”

The sharpness in your voice sent a ripple of irritation through him.

“How the fuck is my phone jammed while yours isn’t?” You took a step closer, eyes burning with fury. “Does that make any sense to you? Both my laptop and my phone had no signal the entire fucking week, while you were just fine.”

His jaw tightened.

That bastard. The man he hired had left out important details. He hadn’t reported that you had your phone checked.

Fucking useless.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He scoffed, forcing his voice into something more natural. “I didn’t have service either. You know that. We were both—”

“No!”

The single word sliced through the room, loud and unwavering. It caught him off guard.

“I checked your phone this morning,” you continued, voice shaking with restrained rage. “I checked your laptop, too. And both of them had WiFi.”

His fingers twitched. His mind raced.

“Then that’s not my problem anymore—”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

Your voice dropped to a whisper, slow and deliberate.

Jungkook felt a chill run down his spine.

“Or…” You took another step forward, your eyes locking onto his like you were staring into something dark and rotten. “Is this just what you wanted me to believe?”

Jungkook didn’t say a word at first. He just watched you, his gaze unwavering, calculating.

He couldn’t afford to make a mistake now.

“I can’t believe you’re blaming me for this.” His voice was measured, carefully laced with disbelief, like he was hurt. “Why would I even do that?”

Then, quieter, like he was nursing a wound only he could feel. “Why do you always blame me when things go wrong for you? Even when it’s your own fault?”

You scoffed, tilting your chin up defiantly. “And how exactly is it my fault that my phone was jammed? That’s not something I could have done to myself, intentionally or unintentionally!”

“No, Y/N.” His voice hardened. “I’m not just talking about the jammer. I’m talking about everything, all the accusations, all the times you’ve turned on me, made me the villain in your little stories.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you even bringing all that up? We’re talking about the jammer—”

“Because that’s the problem!” His voice rose suddenly, sharp and unwavering. “You always blame me. The moment something inconvenient happens, it’s Jungkook’s fault. Like it’s second nature to you.”

He took a step forward, but you stood your ground. Your eyes locked onto his, unflinching, before you exhaled and turned to leave.

Panic flashed in his chest.

No.

In an instant, he was behind you, gripping your wrist, firm, but not enough to bruise. 

“Are you seriously walking away right now?” His voice was dangerously low, breath uneven. “We’re still talking.”

You yanked your hand free without hesitation. “There’s nothing left to say. This isn’t going anywhere.”

Jungkook clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.

His fingers twitched at his sides, the rage bubbling beneath his skin.

“What?” His voice was strained, barely holding back his temper. “You accuse me of this bullshit, throw it in my face, and then just walk away?”

You took another step toward the door of the bedroom, but this time, you hesitated. Then, slowly, you turned back to face him.

Your expression was unreadable. Empty.

“Yes,” you said, voice hollow. “Because you’ll never admit it. You’ll just twist everything, turn it all around, like you always do.”

Jungkook felt his stomach twist at the way you were looking at him. It was like you were seeing him now, really seeing him.

And then, without another word, you turned your back on him and walked away.

For the first time in a long time, Jungkook didn’t know what to do.

Jungkook felt like his mind was slipping. Too many thoughts, too many emotions crashing over him at once. He couldn’t process what just happened. He needed clarity, needed to understand you. Because suddenly, he couldn't read you anymore.

He hated that.

He stormed into the bedroom without hesitation.

“Why are you doing this to me, huh?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the tense air the moment he stepped inside. “Is this your way of getting back at me? Because I didn’t let you go home when that’s all you’ve been crying about for months? Is that it, Y/N?”

You turned to face him, brows furrowing. “What are you talking about? I never said that!”

“Oh, so you don’t say it, but you show it instead?” His heartbeat pounded against his ribs, his breathing growing heavier. “You think I like watching you change? Seeing you drift further away when all I wanted was for you to wait? You think I enjoy having you next to me when I can tell your mind is somewhere else? That you’re just enduring being with me?” The words poured out of him, unfiltered, his voice trembling with something raw.

“I’m not pulling any act, Jungkook. That’s all in your head.” Your tone was flat, detached.

That only set him off more.

“Oh, fuck it, Y/N! Just tell me the truth—”

“No, you tell me the truth!” You cut him off, voice ringing through the room. “Tell me why you jammed my phone! Tell me why you’re tracking me!”

Jungkook froze. His breath caught in his throat.

His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing, but he said nothing.

You took a step closer, pointing at him with a shaking finger. “You think I didn’t know? There’s a tracking chip inside my phone. And what? You’re going to sit there and twist it around again? Pretend it’s my fault that a tracker magically ended up in my phone? Just like how you jammed my signal?”

Your voice was sharp, relentless.

Jungkook didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just stood there, staring at you. Eyes dark, jaw clenched, mind racing.

Jungkook watched you with hollow eyes, his mind spiraling as your words cut through him like a blade.

Enough.

You’d had enough of him.

He should’ve seen this coming. The way you looked at him differently, the way you hesitated before answering, the way you started pulling away, piece by piece. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“I ignored all the red flags,” you said, voice shaking, tears slipping down your cheeks, but you didn’t wipe them away. “I kept telling myself you were doing it because you loved me. I swallowed every truth right in front of me, thinking it was for my sake. But everyone was right.”

Your lips quivered as you exhaled shakily.

“You’ve been manipulating me. You’ve been making me blind to everything you’ve done.”

Jungkook’s fingers curled into his palms, his nails digging into his skin.

His jaw clenched. His breathing slowed.

“And you know what?” You let out a bitter laugh, eyes glassy. “You are right. This is my fault. Because I let you do it. I let all of this happen.” Your voice cracked, but you kept going, pushing the knife in deeper. “I loved you. I fell so fucking deep that I couldn’t even pull myself back up.”

That’s when he noticed—

You were packing.

You weren’t just throwing words at him, trying to wound him.

You were leaving.

You grabbed your phone, your wallet, a small pouch, only the essentials. Because you weren’t planning to come back.

The thought made his vision blur with rage.

Something inside him snapped.

His breathing turned eerily calm. The thick mask he had been wearing, the patient, loving, understanding Jungkook you thought you knew, shattered in an instant.

"You think you can just leave like that?"

His voice was soft, almost tender. But it sent ice down your spine.

You froze, fingers gripping your bag. When your gaze met his, your whole body tensed.

He took a slow step forward. Then another. But he stopped midway, slipping his hands into his pockets like he had all the time in the world.

"After everything I’ve done for us—" his lips curled into something twisted, "you think I’m going to let you walk away that easily?"

He let out a quiet chuckle. Low. Cold.

Your breath hitched.

And then he saw it—

The way your eyes darted to the door. The way you shifted ever so slightly, like you were ready to bolt.

He tilted his head, gaze darkening.

"Why are you stepping back?" His voice dropped even lower. "Are you scared?"

You didn’t answer.

His smirk widened, his steps slow and deliberate as he closed in on you.

He backed you into the wall, trapping you in place.

"Because you should be."

Jungkook's grip on reality was slipping, but he didn’t care.

He loved you.

Loved you so much that if keeping you meant becoming the villain in your story, then so be it. If he had to be the bad guy to make you stay, he’d do it without hesitation.

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Is this what your friends planted in your head?” His voice was calm, too calm. Each word rolled off his tongue deliberately, like he was savoring them. “They’ll say anything, won’t they? Whisper the nastiest things to break us apart because they don’t understand. They don’t matter in this relationship.”

He took a slow step backward.

"That’s why I didn’t want you around them in the first place.” His tone was gentle, almost affectionate, but the weight of his words was suffocating. “The more time you spend with them, the more they poison your thoughts. Filling that pretty little head of yours with lies.”

Jungkook sighed, shaking his head like he was disappointed.

“But you just had to be stubborn. Kept pushing my buttons. And now look where we are.”

His gaze flickered down to your parted lips, to the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard. He move closer to you once again and leaned in just enough to catch the way your pupils dilated.

His smirk widened.

“So yes,” he whispered, voice dripping with satisfaction. “This is your fault.”

You flinched.

He saw the way your body trembled, the way your fingers curled into your palms like you were trying to steady yourself. But what made him really grin, what sent a shiver of satisfaction down his spine, was the quick, fleeting glance you threw at the door.

You were considering running.

How cute.

A quiet chuckle left his lips as he watched you inch back, your breathing shallow, your mind scrambling for an escape.

Too bad.

You weren’t going anywhere.

Jungkook tilted his head, watching you with something between amusement and disbelief.

“I can’t believe you’re still thinking of leaving when you have nowhere else to go.” His voice was light, almost teasing, as if the idea of you escaping was a joke.

Then, without warning, he ripped the phone from your hand and tossed it across the room. The sharp crack echoed as it shattered against the floor.

Your breath hitched. “Jungkook, please. You’re scaring me.”

But he wasn’t listening.

He grabbed your laptop from the coffee table, eyes dark with something unhinged, and in one swift motion, hurled it against the wall. The device split in two on impact.

You screamed.

Your breath hitched as you stared at the shattered remnants of your phone and laptop. The metallic clatter of destruction echoed in the room, but it was the eerie silence that followed that made your blood run cold. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The only sound was the erratic pounding of your heart.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, his eyes locked onto yours with a satisfaction that made your stomach twist. 

It was done.

There was no turning back now.

His fingers twitched at his sides before he took a step forward, closing the distance between you two. You flinched, instinctively stepping back until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

“You don’t need them anymore,” Jungkook murmured, voice dangerously soft. “I’m all you need.”

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “Y-you… you didn’t have to do that.”

He tilted his head, watching you, drinking in your helplessness like it was a drug. “I did,” he said simply as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Now, there’s nothing left to come between us.”

You wanted to scream, to fight, but the weight of his words pressed down on you like an immovable force. There was no way out. No reaching for help. He had stripped you of everything, piece by piece until all that remained was him.

Jungkook reached out, his fingers grazing your cheek, a mockery of affection in the way he cradled your face. “You’re mine,” he whispered, the words sinking deep into your skin, your bones. His grip tightened just enough to make your breath hitch. “Say it.”

You trembled, lips parting, but no words came. A flicker of something dark passed through his eyes before he crushed his mouth against yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was raw and possessive, his lips crashing against yours with bruising force. You struggled, hands pushing against his chest, but he was stronger.

“J-Jungkook, no—”

“You’re mine, Y/N.” His breath was hot against your lips, his grip unrelenting. “You’re fucking mine, and no one will ever have you but me.”

His mouth trailed down to your neck, teeth grazing over your skin before he sucked harshly, marking you like a brand.

You fought. You squirmed. But he didn’t care.

Because in that moment, the last of his carefully crafted mask shattered.

This was him. The real him.

And now, you finally saw it.

You had seen glimpses before, but you ignored them, forced yourself to believe they were nothing. That he was nothing more than a man who loved too much.

You were wrong.

You had unknowingly created a monster. A monster that could no longer be controlled.

And now, it was too late.

Because every path that once led to freedom was gone, every exit sealed shut.

And you were trapped.

Trapped in the darkness with him.

As he pulled away, he wiped a stray tear from your face, his smile almost gentle. “That’s my good girl.”

The finality in his voice made your stomach drop. There was no escaping him.

Not now. Not ever.

-end-

I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoy writing it! This was supposed to be a one-shot, but when I started writing, it turned into a two-shot lmao. And just when I was about to finish it, I thought about making it a three-shot, but then I realized it wasn't really necessary hahaha

If you have any comments or suggestions to help improve my writing, please don't hesitate to let me know. Thank you!

taglist: @llallaaa @strawberryberrygirl @taekritimin123 @minimoninini @lachimolalajeon @jincapableoflove @jenniebyrubies @sunshineishopejihyo @kooayu

2 months ago

۶ৎ SHADOWS OF OBSESSION [1] —

۶ৎ SHADOWS OF OBSESSION [1] —
۶ৎ SHADOWS OF OBSESSION [1] —
۶ৎ SHADOWS OF OBSESSION [1] —

“You think you can scream at me? Threaten me? You’re nothing, you hear me? A little girl playing hero, and now you’re in over your head. You’re my obsession, my fucking curse. I don’t believe in love, in fairy tales, but you—you’re in my head, clawing at me, and I can’t rip you out. It pisses me off, you know that? You’re too soft, too pure, and I want to break you, want to make you scream just to see if you’ll still look at me with those innocent eyes.”

pairing: criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre: criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, angst

warnings: 18+, explicit smut, violence and injury, intrusion, mentions of blood loss and physical pain, descriptions of bullet wound, medical procedure, emotional vulnerability, isolation and loneliness, mentions of past trauma, moral conflict, departure and regret, argument, crying and screaming, several mentions of being frightened, non-consensual undertones, solo masturbation, he steals her panties, panty sniffing, cock palming and fisting, he cums on her panties, voyeuristic and obsessive element, possessiveness, oral sex (f. receiving), cunnilingus, rough handling, angry confessions, sensory overload, eating out, clit sucking, tongue fucking, face sitting, face riding, cum swallowing, hair fisting, clothed sex elements, dirty talk, making out, restriction, aftercare absence

wc: 12.3k

a/n: im literally way too excited for this new series !! hope you guys love it <3

series m. list | main masterlist

۶ৎ

The city was a living beast, its veins pulsing through cracked asphalt and flickering neon signs that buzzed like dying insects. The air was heavy, saturated with the acrid stench of diesel, rotting garbage, and the faint, metallic tang of blood that seemed to cling to the shadows. Alleyways gaped like open wounds, their darkness swallowing the weak glow of streetlights. Jungkook stood against a graffiti-scarred wall, the rough concrete biting into his back, grounding him in a world that had never shown him mercy. A cigarette dangled from his lips, its ember a defiant spark in the suffocating night, curling smoke that stung his eyes and coated his throat with ash. At twenty-eight, he was a specter carved from violence, his black leather jacket clinging to his broad, muscular frame like a second skin. Tattoos snaked across his neck, chest, and arms—each inked line a testament to a life of blood, betrayal, and unrelenting vengeance. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, damp with sweat, framing eyes that gleamed with a cold, predatory intensity, like twin shards of obsidian reflecting a world he despised.

Jungkook’s life had been forged in fire. Orphaned at ten, he’d grown up in the underbelly of the city, a street rat who learned to steal, fight, and survive before he could read. The streets were his mother, cruel and unyielding, teaching him that trust was a noose, love a fairy tale, and mercy a death sentence. He’d seen kindness betrayed, hope crushed, and innocence slaughtered. By sixteen, he’d killed his first man—a rival gang member who’d tried to gut him over a stolen deal. The memory still lingered: the hot spray of blood on his hands, the gurgle of a dying throat, the way his heart had raced not with fear but with power. Now, he was a name whispered in fear, a criminal who moved through the city’s shadows like a wraith, living for himself alone. His heart was a vault, locked tight, its key long since thrown into the abyss. He didn’t believe in redemption, didn’t seek it. All he had was his revenge, a fire that burned hotter with every betrayal, every scar.

Tonight, that fire was a inferno. His latest job—a deal with a rival gang—had gone to hell, a double-cross that left him with a bullet in his arm and a fresh grudge to settle. Blood seeped through his fingers as he pressed his hand against the wound, the fabric of his sleeve slick and warm. The pain was a dull throb, a familiar companion he’d long since made peace with. But the blood loss was making his vision blur, his head swim, and the world tilt like a ship in a storm. He gritted his teeth, his jaw tight, his breath hissing through his nose. “Fucking bastards,” he muttered, his voice a low growl, rough as gravel and laced with venom. “You think you can take me down?”

He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot, the leather creaking as he shifted. The alley reeked of piss and decay, the kind of place where dreams came to die. He scanned the shadows, his senses razor-sharp despite the haze creeping into his mind. Footsteps echoed in the distance, a dog’s bark cutting through the night like a blade. His enemies were out there, hunting him, their knives hungry for his blood. He could feel it, the weight of their malice pressing against him, a storm gathering on the horizon. “Come on, then,” he whispered, his lips curling into a sneer, his eyes blazing with defiance. “I’m right here.”

But his body betrayed him, his knees buckling slightly, forcing him to lean harder against the wall. The blood was pooling now, dripping onto the pavement, each drop a soft pat that echoed in his ears like a countdown. He needed to move, to find a place to hole up, to stitch himself together before the reaper came knocking. His hand tightened around the knife in his pocket, the cold steel a comfort, a promise. “I’m not dying tonight,” he snarled to the empty air, his voice breaking with a raw, desperate edge. “Not until I’ve buried every last one of you.”

Across the city, in a quieter, tree-lined neighborhood, you were a world apart from Jungkook’s chaos. At twenty-two, you were a medical student, your life a delicate tapestry woven from late-night study sessions, dog-eared textbooks, and the soft hum of your own thoughts. Your small apartment was a sanctuary, its walls painted a gentle cream, adorned with lavender curtains that swayed in the breeze. The air inside carried the faint scent of chamomile tea and vanilla candles, a warmth that wrapped around you like a hug. Your bookshelf sagged under the weight of novels, medical journals, and a few worn poetry collections, their pages marked with your neat, looping handwriting. You were shy, introverted, your voice a soft murmur, rarely rising unless necessity demanded it. Your world was gentle, a fragile bubble untouched by the brutality that defined Jungkook’s existence.

Orphaned at fifteen, you’d learned to navigate life alone, your heart scarred but resilient. Your parents’ deaths—a car accident—had left you with a quiet grief, a hollow space you filled with dreams of becoming a doctor. You wanted to heal, to mend the world’s wounds even if you couldn’t mend your own. You were innocent in a way Jungkook could never comprehend, your eyes still bright with hope, your heart still open despite its cracks. You avoided crowds, preferred the company of books to people, and blushed at the slightest attention. Your life was simple, your days a rhythm of classes, study, and the small joys of a warm drink or a sunny afternoon.

Tonight, you were exhausted, your body heavy with the weight of a long day. Your backpack strained against your shoulders, stuffed with notes from a grueling study session at the university library. The autumn air was crisp, biting at your cheeks and carrying the earthy scent of fallen leaves, their brittle edges crunching under your sneakers. Your breath puffed out in soft clouds, visible in the chilly night, and your glasses fogged slightly, forcing you to push them up your nose with a gloved finger. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the motion automatic, your mind already drifting to the promise of your cozy bed and a steaming cup of chamomile tea. The street was quiet, the only sounds the rustle of leaves skittering across the pavement and the distant hum of a car engine. Your heart was light, a rare moment of peace—tomorrow’s exam was one you felt ready for, your hours of preparation a quiet victory.

You hummed softly to yourself, a tune from a song you couldn’t quite place, your steps quickening as you neared your apartment. The streetlights cast long, golden pools on the sidewalk, their glow a gentle contrast to the inky sky above. You fished your keys from your pocket, the metal cold against your fingers, their jingle a familiar comfort. “Almost home,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, a habit born from years of talking to yourself in the quiet. The thought of sinking into your soft blankets, of letting the world fade away, was a warmth that spread through your chest, chasing away the night’s chill.

But the city was a beast, and its shadows hid monsters. Jungkook’s world and yours were about to collide, two orbits crossing in a moment that would shatter the fragile boundaries of your lives. His blood stained the pavement, your keys gleamed in your hand, and the night held its breath, waiting for the spark that would ignite a fire neither of you could control.

The night was a living thing, its breath cold and sharp, weaving through the skeletal branches of the trees lining your quiet street. The air carried the faint tang of impending rain, mingling with the earthy scent of damp leaves crushed underfoot. Your sneakers scraped against the uneven sidewalk, each step a soft echo in the stillness, your backpack a heavy burden slung over one shoulder, its straps digging into your skin. The streetlamp above flickered, casting jagged pools of light that danced across the pavement, and your breath puffed out in delicate clouds, curling like ghostly tendrils in the autumn chill. The jingle of your keys was a sharp, metallic heartbeat in your hands, their weight reassuring as you fumbled to find the right one, your mind already drifting to the promise of chamomile tea and the soft embrace of your bed.

Then, a shadow shifted—a movement so subtle it might’ve been a trick of the light, but it wasn’t. Your pulse stuttered, a sudden, violent lurch that made your chest ache. You froze, keys clutched like a lifeline, your eyes darting to the lamppost across the street. There he stood, a towering figure carved from darkness, his presence a violation of the night’s fragile peace. He was tall, his frame broad and unyielding, muscles taut beneath a black leather jacket that gleamed faintly under the streetlight’s sickly glow. His dark hair was a messy cascade over his forehead, strands clinging to sweat-slicked skin, and tattoos coiled up his neck like serpents, their ink blacker than the shadows pooling at his feet. His right hand gripped his left arm, fingers slick with blood that dripped in slow, deliberate rivulets, staining the pavement in obscene blossoms of crimson. The sight was a visceral punch, the air itself thickening with the coppery scent of it, sharp and metallic, cutting through the night’s damp musk.

You gasped, the sound tearing from your throat before you could cage it, raw and trembling, a betrayal of the fear blooming in your chest. Your heart slammed against your ribs, a frantic bird in a cage, and your legs screamed to run, to flee into the safety of your apartment and bolt the door against this man who looked like he’d been forged in hellfire. His eyes—dark, fathomless, glinting with something feral—locked onto yours, and it was like being pinned by a predator, your breath stolen, your body no longer your own. He was danger incarnate, a storm in human form, and every instinct you had wailed for you to escape. But then then you saw it—the sway in his stance, the way his knees buckled slightly, the pallor of his skin, ghostly pale beneath the streetlight’s glare. Blood oozed from between his fingers, thick and relentless, and the sight twisted something inside you, a pang of compassion that warred with your terror. He wasn’t just dangerous—he was dying.

Your mind was a tempest, thoughts crashing against each other in a frantic dance. Run. Lock the door. Call the police. He’ll kill you. But another voice, softer, insistent, rose above the chaos: He’s bleeding out. You can save him. You’re a doctor—almost. Your hands shook, the keys biting into your palm, your breath shallow and ragged. You took a step forward, then another, each one a rebellion against the fear clawing at your throat. You stopped ten feet away, close enough to see the sweat beading on his brow, the way his chest heaved with labored breaths, but far enough to bolt if he moved. The distance felt like a fragile shield, though you knew it was nothing against a man like him.

“Hey,” you called, your voice a trembling thread, barely cutting through the night’s oppressive silence. “You’re… you’re hurt. Badly. You need help.”

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing, and he scoffed—a low, guttural sound that rumbled like distant thunder, sending a shiver skittering down your spine. “Mind your fucking business, girl,” he snarled, his voice a jagged blade, rough with pain and laced with venom. “Go home and play with your dolls.”

The words stung, a slap to your pride, and your cheeks flushed hot, the heat creeping up your neck despite the cold. You were no child, but his tone made you feel small, insignificant, a mouse daring to squeak at a lion. Normally, rudeness would’ve sent you retreating, your introverted heart shying from conflict, but the blood—God, the blood—kept you rooted. It pooled at his feet, a dark mirror reflecting the streetlight’s glow, and you could smell it now, sharp and sickening, mingling with the faint leather of his jacket and the acrid hint of cigarette smoke clinging to him. He was fading, and you couldn’t walk away. Not from this.

“I’m a medical student,” you said, your voice steadier now, though it quivered at the edges like a leaf in the wind. “You’ve been shot. You’re losing too much blood. You could die if you don’t get help.”

His lips twisted into a sneer, but his eyes flickered—something sharp and fleeting, like a spark in a storm. Amusement, maybe, or disdain. “You think I give a shit about dying, little girl?” he said, his voice dripping with mockery, each word a deliberate cut. “I’ve been dead for years. Walk away before you join me.”

The threat was a fist to your gut, and you flinched, your breath hitching, your fingers tightening around your keys until they hurt. His words were a warning, a promise, and you believed him. He could kill you, snap you like a twig, and no one would ever know. But you saw the tremor in his hand, the way his fingers slipped slightly, blood oozing faster now, and it anchored you. You were trembling, your pulse a deafening roar in your ears, but you couldn’t leave him. Not when you could help. Not when your hands, your knowledge, could stop the life from draining out of him.

“I live right here,” you said, gesturing to your apartment with a jerk of your chin, your voice soft but firm, a quiet defiance you didn’t know you had. “I have supplies. I can stitch you up, stop the bleeding. Please… let me help you.”

He stared at you, his gaze a physical weight, stripping you bare, peeling back every layer until you felt exposed, raw. His eyes were black holes, pulling you in, and for a moment, you thought he’d lunge, grab you, end you right there. Your breath caught, your body tensing, ready to run, but you held his stare, your heart a wild thing in your chest. Then he laughed—a harsh, barking sound that grated against the night, bitter and broken, like he was laughing at the absurdity of you, of this moment.

“You’re fucking insane,” he said, shaking his head, his voice low, almost a growl. “Stupid or suicidal, I can’t decide. Fine, princess. Lead the way. But don’t cry when you regret it.”

The words were a challenge, a dare, and your stomach twisted, fear and resolve tangling into a knot. You nodded, barely, your throat tight, and turned toward your door, your keys shaking in your hand as you unlocked it. His presence loomed behind you, a dark tide ready to swallow you whole, and you wondered if you’d just invited death into your home.

Your hands trembled as you pushed open the door to your apartment, the soft creak of the hinges slicing through the heavy silence. The air inside was warm, infused with the delicate scent of lavender from the candle you’d left burning on the coffee table, its flame flickering like a heartbeat in the dim light. The stranger’s presence behind you was a storm cloud, dark and oppressive, his heavy boots thudding against the hardwood floor, each step reverberating in your chest. You flicked on the light, and the room bloomed into view—your sanctuary of pastel pinks and creams, a stark contrast to the man who stood in its center, his blood dripping onto your cream-colored rug, staining it like ink on a canvas.

He was a towering figure, his broad shoulders filling the space, his black leather jacket gleaming under the soft glow of your fairy lights. His tattoos curled up his neck like vines, dark and intricate, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. His face was sharp—high cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass, and eyes so dark they seemed to swallow the light. Blood oozed from his left arm, the crimson stark against his pale skin, and his right hand pressed against the wound, his knuckles white with effort. The metallic tang of blood mingled with the lavender, creating a discordant perfume that made your stomach churn.

“Sit,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, pointing to the plush cream couch with its scattering of pink throw pillows. Your heart was a wild thing, hammering against your ribs, and you wondered if he could hear it, if he could sense the fear and resolve warring within you. He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his gaze, but he complied, sinking onto the couch with a low grunt. The cushions sighed under his weight, the fabric creasing beneath his leather-clad frame. Blood smeared onto the armrest, and you winced, your neat-freak tendencies prickling even in this surreal moment.

You hurried to your bedroom, your bare feet padding against the cool floor, the hem of your sweater catching on the doorframe. Your medical kit was tucked under your bed, a sturdy black case filled with the tools of your trade—tweezers, sutures, antiseptic, gauze, all meticulously organized. Your hands shook as you pulled it out, the metal clasps cold against your fingers, the weight of it grounding you as you carried it back to the living room. Every step felt like a plunge into the unknown, your mind screaming that you were insane to bring this man—this bleeding, dangerous stranger—into your home. You, the girl who flinched at raised voices, who preferred the company of books to people, were defying every instinct to help him.

He watched you as you returned, his gaze unrelenting, like a predator tracking its prey. You knelt before him, the rug soft beneath your knees, and set the kit on the coffee table, its glass surface reflecting the candle’s glow. The air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the faint crackle of the candle wick and the steady drip of his blood. You opened the kit, the scent of antiseptic rising sharp and clean, cutting through the blood and lavender. Your fingers moved with practiced precision, laying out your tools—sterile gauze, a bottle of saline, a pair of gleaming tweezers. Each item gleamed under the light, a stark reminder of the task ahead.

“Why the hell do you have all this?” he asked, his voice low and rough, like gravel dragged across stone. There was a mocking edge to it, but also a flicker of curiosity, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real. “You some kind of wannabe surgeon, playing doctor in your pretty little apartment?”

You kept your eyes on your tools, your cheeks flushing at his tone. The heat crept up your neck, and you pushed your glasses up your nose, a nervous habit. “I’m a medical student,” you said, your voice soft but steady, though it trembled at the edges. “I need these for practice. To learn.”

He snorted, a harsh sound that made you flinch. “Of course you are. Little miss perfect, saving lives with her pink pillows and her lavender candles. You think you’re gonna fix the world, don’t you?”

Your fingers stilled, the tweezers cold in your grip. His words cut deep, slicing at the fragile hope you carried, the dream of healing a world you’d barely seen. But you didn’t respond, focusing instead on his wound. You gently pried his hand away, his skin warm and rough, the blood slick against your fingers. The bullet had torn through his forearm, leaving a jagged gash that wept crimson, the flesh raw and angry. You swallowed hard, your stomach lurching at the sight, but your training kicked in, a steadying force amidst the chaos.

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in as you worked. You cleaned the wound with saline, the liquid glistening as it washed away the blood, revealing the depth of the damage. The metallic scent was overpowering now, mingling with the faint musk of his sweat and the leather of his jacket. You reached for the tweezers, your hands steady despite the tremor in your chest, and leaned closer, your breath shallow. His arm was corded with muscle, the veins prominent beneath his inked skin, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, a furnace against your cooler touch.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” he said suddenly, his voice softer now, but laced with a darkness that made your skin prickle. “Helping someone like me. You don’t know what I am, what I’ve done. You’re too soft, too… innocent. The world’s gonna eat you alive, and you’re out here patching up monsters.”

You paused, the tweezers hovering over his wound, his words sinking into you like stones. Your throat tightened, and you met his eyes for the first time, your gaze locking with his. His irises were nearly black, flecked with hints of amber, and they burned with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Maybe it will,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, “but I can’t just… walk away. Not when I can help. Not when you’re bleeding like this.”

He laughed, a bitter, jagged sound that echoed in the quiet room, like glass shattering. “You’re gonna regret that, sweetheart. Kindness like yours? It’s a death sentence. You think you’re saving me, but you’re just digging your own grave.”

The words stung, sharp and cold, but you pushed them aside, focusing on the task. You dug the tweezers into his flesh, searching for the bullet fragments, the metal scraping against tissue with a faint, sickening sound. He didn’t flinch, not even a twitch, his face a mask of indifference despite the pain you knew he must feel. His stoicism unnerved you, a reminder of how different he was from you, how hardened by a world you couldn’t imagine. His stare never wavered, his eyes tracking every movement—your trembling fingers, the flush of your cheeks, the way your lips parted as you concentrated. It was as if he was memorizing you, cataloging every detail, and the weight of his gaze made your skin burn, your heart thudding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

The candlelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles, the faint scar above his eyebrow, the stubble dusting his jaw. His breath was steady, deep, the rise and fall of his chest hypnotic as you worked. You found a fragment, a small, glinting piece of metal, and pulled it free, the blood welling up anew. You pressed gauze against it, your fingers brushing his skin, and the contact sent a jolt through you, electric and unsettling. His arm was warm, the muscle unyielding, and you pulled back quickly, your cheeks flaming.

“You’re shaking,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Scared of me, aren’t you? You should be.”

You swallowed, your throat dry, and focused on stitching the wound, the needle glinting as you pulled the thread through his skin. “I’m not… scared,” you lied, your voice barely a whisper. “I just… I want to help.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to make you jump. “You’re terrified. I can see it in your eyes, the way you’re trembling. You don’t even know me, and you’re letting me bleed all over your perfect little life. Why? What’s wrong with you?”

Your hands froze, the needle poised above his skin. Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let him see. “Nothing’s wrong with me,” you said, your voice cracking. “I just… I believe in helping people. Even people like you.”

“People like me?” He leaned forward, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your cheek. The scent of cigarettes clung to him, sharp and bitter, mingling with the blood and sweat. “You don’t know what ‘people like me’ do, little girl. You don’t know the blood on my hands, the lives I’ve ended. You’re playing with fire, and you’re too damn naive to see it.”

Your heart pounded, his words a blade twisting in your chest, but you didn’t back away. You met his gaze, your eyes wide and glistening. “Maybe I am naive,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “But I’d rather be naive than cruel. I’d rather help than hurt.”

For a moment, he was silent, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find the crack in your resolve. Then he leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re gonna learn, sweetheart. And when you do, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You finished the stitches, your fingers deft despite the storm in your mind, and wrapped his arm in a bandage, the gauze soft and white against his inked skin. Your hands lingered a moment too long, the heat of him seeping into you, and you pulled back, your heart racing. You stood, your legs unsteady, and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, the cool liquid sloshing against the sides. When you returned, you handed it to him, your fingers brushing his as he took it. The contact was rough, deliberate, his calloused skin grazing yours, and you nearly dropped the glass, a gasp escaping your lips.

“You need to rest,” you said, avoiding his eyes, your voice barely audible. “Moving too much will tear the stitches. You’ll bleed again.”

He didn’t respond, just stared at you, his expression unreadable, his fingers curled around the glass. The candle flickered, casting fleeting shadows across his face, and you felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch, heavy and inescapable. You mumbled something about getting a blanket, your voice tripping over itself, and fled to your bedroom, your cheeks burning, your heart a wild drumbeat in your chest. The door clicked shut behind you, but it did nothing to block out the memory of his eyes, his voice, the way he’d filled your space with a darkness you couldn’t name.

The first light of dawn crept through the lavender curtains, casting delicate, dappled patterns across the hardwood floor of your apartment. The air was heavy with the lingering scent of antiseptic and blood, a stark reminder of the stranger who had invaded your quiet world. You lay in bed, your body rigid, your breath shallow, as if any sudden movement might summon him back from the shadows. Sleep had eluded you, your heart a relentless drum in your chest, each beat echoing with a confusing blend of fear, adrenaline, and something else—something you couldn’t name, something that made your skin prickle and your cheeks burn. The memory of his touch, rough and fleeting, lingered like a phantom burn on your fingers, and the intensity of his gaze haunted you, those dark eyes that seemed to see through you, into you, unraveling secrets you didn’t even know you kept.

You clutched the edge of your quilt, its soft, worn fabric a poor shield against the storm of your thoughts. The night had been a blur, a reckless act of compassion that now felt like a dangerous gamble. You, the girl who flinched at raised voices, who preferred the company of books to people, had invited a bleeding stranger into your home—a man who looked like he could crush your world with a single glance. Your mind replayed his voice, low and mocking, laced with a bitterness that made your stomach twist. “Kindness gets you killed, little girl.” The words echoed, sharp and cutting, and you wondered if he was right, if your softness was a liability, a ticking bomb waiting to detonate.

Finally, you couldn’t bear the confinement of your bed any longer. You swung your legs over the side, your bare feet meeting self-crocheted rug, its texture a grounding contrast to the chaos in your head. Your oversized sleep shirt, a faded pink thing that hung loosely on your frame, brushed against your thighs as you stood, your glasses fogging slightly from the warmth of your breath. You crept toward the living room, each step deliberate, your heart thudding so loudly you were sure it would betray you if he was still there.

The living room was bathed in the soft, golden glow of morning, the lavender candle on your coffee table now extinguished, its wick blackened and spent. Your eyes darted to the couch, and your breath caught in your throat. It was empty. The stranger was gone, as if he’d never been there at all, a specter conjured by your reckless heart and banished by the dawn. The blanket you’d given him was folded with unsettling precision, its edges aligned as if he’d taken care to leave no trace of his chaos. But the evidence was there, undeniable: the blood-stained rug, its once-cream fibers now marred with dark, rust-colored splotches; the trash can, where used bandages lay crumpled, soaked with the crimson of his wound.

You stood frozen, your bare toes curling against the cold floor, your fingers twisting the hem of your shirt. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant hum of a car outside and the faint ticking of your kitchen clock. You should’ve felt relief—he was gone, you were safe. But instead, a strange ache settled in your chest, heavy and unplaceable. It wasn’t fear, not entirely. It was the ghost of his presence, the way he’d filled your space with his danger, his intensity, leaving you both rattled and inexplicably alive.

“Who are you?” you whispered to the empty room, your voice trembling, barely audible. The question hung in the air, unanswered, and it unleashed a flood of others. Why had he been shot? Was he a criminal, a murderer? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, your skin prickling with goosebumps. You’d been reckless, stupid, letting him in without a second thought. Your compassion, your need to help, had blinded you to the danger. And yet, the memory of his face—sharp jaw, inked skin, eyes that burned with a fire you didn’t understand—made your cheeks flush, your breath hitch. You pressed your palms to your face, willing the heat to fade, but it only grew, a traitor to your logic.

You sank onto the couch, the cushions still warm where he’d sat, and the faint scent of him lingered—cigarette smoke, musk, something darkly masculine that made your pulse quicken. “You’re an idiot,” you muttered to yourself, your voice cracking with self-reproach. “He could’ve killed you. He could’ve…” Your words trailed off, your imagination conjuring images of his hands, rough and tattooed, closing around your throat. But instead of fear, the thought sent a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, and you hated yourself for it.

You stood abruptly, needing to move, to shake off the spell he’d left behind. You paced the small room, your footsteps soft but frantic, your glasses slipping down your nose. The blood on the rug seemed to pulse in the corner of your vision, a silent accusation. You grabbed a sponge from the kitchen, the cold water stinging your hands as you scrubbed at the stain, the metallic scent of blood mixing with the lemony tang of dish soap. Your movements were frantic, your breaths coming in short, shaky gasps. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you chanted under your breath, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t know if you were crying for your recklessness, for the stranger’s pain, or for the way his absence left you feeling so hollow.

When the stain was as faded as it would get, you sat back on your heels, your hands trembling, your chest heaving. The room felt too big, too empty, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in the pressure. “He’s gone,” you whispered, as if saying it aloud would make it true, would erase the way his eyes had pinned you, the way his voice had curled around you like smoke. “He’s gone, and you’re fine. You’re fine.”

But you weren’t fine. You felt exposed, like he’d peeled back your skin and seen the soft, trembling thing beneath. You stood, your legs unsteady, and moved to the window, pulling back the curtain to peer outside. The street was quiet, the trees swaying gently in the morning breeze, their leaves a riot of amber and crimson. No sign of him, no shadow lurking in the corners. He was a ghost, a nightmare that had slipped away with the night. But the bandages in the trash, the folded blanket, the faint scent of smoke—they were proof he’d been real, proof that you’d touched the edge of something dangerous and lived.

“Why did I do it?” you asked the empty room, your voice breaking, raw with emotion. “Why didn’t I just walk away?” You pressed your forehead to the cool glass, your breath fogging the pane. You’d always been the good girl, the one who helped, who cared, who believed in healing. But now, that belief felt like a crack in your armor, a vulnerability that could’ve cost you everything. And yet, the thought of him bleeding, dying, alone—it twisted something deep inside you, something that whispered you’d do it again, even now.

You turned away from the window, your heart still racing, your body thrumming with a restless energy you didn’t understand. You needed to study, to focus, to reclaim the quiet life you’d built. But as you moved to your desk, your eyes caught on the couch, on the blanket, on the rug. He was gone, but he’d left something behind—a mark, a shadow, a question that burned in your chest. Who was he? And why, despite everything, did you hope you’d see him again?

Jungkook’s world was a jagged edge, a place of blood-soaked deals and betrayal, where trust was a currency he’d long since burned. But you—you were a splinter in his armor, a soft, infuriating intrusion he couldn’t carve out. He tried to drown you in the chaos of his life, to bury your memory beneath the weight of his vengeance. He tracked his enemies through the city’s underbelly, his boots crunching on broken glass in abandoned warehouses, his gun heavy in his hand, the acrid tang of gunpowder lingering in the air. But no matter how many bodies he left in his wake, your face haunted him—your wide, guileless eyes, the hesitant curve of your lips, the way your hands had trembled as you stitched his wound. It was maddening, a fever he couldn’t shake, and it drove him to the edge of his own darkness.

He started watching you, not out of intention but compulsion, like a moth drawn to a flame it knew would burn. The city at night was his domain, its shadows cloaking him as he stood across from your apartment, the cherry of his cigarette glowing like a lone ember in the void. The air was heavy with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the faint sweetness of jasmine from a nearby garden, a cruel contrast to the storm raging in his chest. He leaned against a rusted lamppost, its cold metal biting into his back, and exhaled a plume of smoke that curled upward, blending with the fog. His leather jacket creaked as he shifted, his tattoos itching under his skin, as if they, too, were restless for you.

Your routine became his scripture. At 7:30 a.m., you’d step out of your apartment, your backpack slung over one shoulder, its straps fraying at the edges. Your hair, often loose, caught the morning light, strands glinting like spun gold as you tucked them behind your ears with a nervous flick of your fingers. You walked with purpose but caution, your sneakers scuffing softly against the sidewalk, your glasses slipping down your nose as you adjusted them with a small, unconscious frown. He memorized the way you paused at the crosswalk, your lips moving slightly as if whispering a mantra to yourself, your breath visible in the crisp autumn air. By 8:00, you were at the university, disappearing into lecture halls where he couldn’t follow, though he imagined you there, hunched over a notebook, your pen scratching furiously, your brow furrowed in concentration.

Evenings found you at the library, your silhouette framed by the warm glow of a desk lamp. He’d linger outside, hidden in the alley across the street, the damp brick wall cold against his shoulder, the faint hum of traffic a distant pulse. Through the window, he’d watch you, your head bent over a textbook, your fingers tracing lines of text, your glasses reflecting the light like twin moons. Sometimes, you’d bite your lip, a habit that made his jaw clench, his fingers twitching around his cigarette. Other times, you’d stretch, your arms lifting, your sweater riding up to reveal a sliver of soft skin at your waist. It was a glimpse of vulnerability, a reminder of how fragile you were, and it made his blood burn with a mix of protectiveness and possession. He hated it—hated you for being so delicate, so unaware of the wolves circling your world.

Fridays were his favorite. You’d stop at the campus café, the bell above the door chiming as you entered, the air inside thick with the aroma of roasted coffee and warm pastries. You always ordered the same thing—a chamomile tea and a strawberry pastry, the kind with glossy pink icing that left crumbs on your lips. He’d watch from the street, his breath fogging in the cold, as you sat by the window, your fingers wrapped around the steaming mug, your eyes soft with contentment. Once, you licked a smear of icing from your thumb, your tongue darting out, and Jungkook’s grip on his cigarette tightened, the paper crumpling, the ash falling like snow. He wanted to storm in, to wipe that sweetness from your lips himself, to taste it on his tongue. The thought was a blade, sharp and dangerous, and he forced it away, grinding his teeth until his jaw ached.

“Why the fuck can’t I stop?” he muttered to himself, his voice a low growl lost in the night. He flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot, the spark dying with a hiss. “You’re nothing. Just a girl. Just a fucking distraction.”

But you weren’t. You were a fire in his veins, a poison he drank willingly. He learned everything about you. Your favorite books—dog-eared romance novels and dense medical texts, stacked haphazardly on your shelf. Your scent—floral lotion, sweet and clean, clinging to your clothes, your pillows, your life. Your habits—how you hummed softly when you cooked, your voice barely audible, a melody he strained to hear from outside your window. He knew you were alone, no family to anchor you, your parents gone, your world held together by sheer will and quiet dreams. It made him angry, how exposed you were, how easily the world could crush you. He could crush you. The thought was a dark thrill, a temptation he fought every time he saw you.

He watched from alleys, from rooftops, from the edges of your life, his presence a ghost you felt but couldn’t see. You’d pause sometimes, your steps faltering, your eyes scanning the darkness as if sensing the weight of his stare. Your brow would crease, your lips parting slightly, and he’d hold his breath, melting into the shadows, his heart pounding—not from fear, but from the electric pull of you. “Look at me,” he’d whisper, the words swallowed by the wind, his voice rough with longing and loathing. “See me, damn it.”

One night, he learned about your student loans, the debt that kept you awake, your sighs audible through your open window as you pored over bills. He saw the way your shoulders slumped, the way you rubbed your eyes, your glasses fogging with unshed tears. It was a vulnerability he couldn’t ignore, a crack in your armor that called to the part of him he’d buried long ago. Without thinking, he acted. He left an envelope on your doorstep, stuffed with cash, your name scrawled in his sharp, slanted handwriting. The bills were crisp, smelling faintly of ink and his cigarettes, a fortune from his blood money. He told himself it was a transaction, a debt repaid for the night you’d saved him. But when he saw you find it, your eyes widening, your fingers trembling as you counted the bills, he felt something twist in his chest—a sick pride, a hunger to see that look again.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he hissed, his voice low, venomous, as he watched you from across the street, the envelope clutched to your chest. “You’re gonna ruin me, and I’ll ruin you right back.”

He kept doing it, leaving stacks of cash when you weren’t home, each one a silent claim, a tether tying you to him. He’d watch you use it, paying your rent, your loans, your eyes bright with relief but shadowed with confusion. “Who are you?” you’d whisper to yourself, your voice soft, trembling, as you sat at your kitchen table, the envelope in your hands. He heard it through your window, the sound slicing through him, making his fists clench. “I’m your fucking shadow, princess,” he wanted to say, his voice a phantom in his throat. “And you’re mine.”

His obsession was a living thing, a beast with claws and teeth, growing with every glimpse of you. He memorized the way your cheeks pinked when you were flustered, the way your fingers tucked your hair behind your ears, the way your laugh—rare and soft—felt like a gift he didn’t deserve. Your existence was a paradox, a peace he craved and a fire he couldn’t control. It infuriated him, how you made him weak, how you made him want things he’d sworn never to want. “I don’t need you,” he snarled, his voice echoing in the empty alley, his cigarette burning down to his fingers. “I don’t need anyone.”

But he did. He needed you, and it was a truth he couldn’t outrun, no matter how fast he ran through the city’s shadows, no matter how many cigarettes he smoked, no matter how much blood he spilled. You were his weakness, his obsession, and he was a man drowning in it, watching you from the dark, his heart a battlefield, his soul a war he couldn’t win.

The night air clung to Jungkook like a second skin, heavy with the scent of rain and the acrid tang of his cigarette, its ember a lone beacon in the suffocating dark. His obsession with you had spiraled into something monstrous, a beast that gnawed at his insides, demanding more than just stolen glances from the shadows. He couldn’t stay away, not from you, not from the soft, feminine haven of your apartment that was so starkly at odds with the jagged edges of his world. Tonight, the pull was stronger, a magnetic force that drove him to your doorstep, his lockpicking tools silent as he breached your sanctuary once more.

The door clicked shut behind him, and he stood in your living room, his boots leaving faint smudges on your cream-colored rug. The space was a sensory assault—lavender and vanilla from a flickering candle on your coffee table, the faint sweetness of chamomile tea lingering in the air, the soft hum of a distant refrigerator. Your apartment was a cocoon, all pastel pinks and lilacs, with throw pillows embroidered with delicate flowers and a knitted blanket draped over the arm of your couch. It was you, distilled into every detail—the curve of a ceramic mug on your counter, the dog-eared romance novel on your shelf, the faint shimmer of your floral lotion in the air. It infuriated him, this softness, this fragility that could be crushed in an instant. He could crush it. He wanted to. And yet, he was here, drawn to it.

He moved through your space with predatory grace, his fingers trailing over your belongings, each touch a claim, a violation. The couch creaked as he sank onto it, the cushions yielding under his weight, still warm from where you’d sat earlier. He lit another cigarette, the sharp snap of his lighter echoing in the quiet, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals, tainting the air with its bitter edge. He exhaled, the haze settling around him like a shroud, his dark eyes scanning the room, memorizing every inch. Your life was laid bare here—your dreams, your fears, your innocence—and he consumed it, ravenous.

His gaze fell on the laundry basket in the corner, half-hidden by a sheer curtain. His pulse quickened, a dark thrill coiling in his gut. He crossed the room, his boots silent on the hardwood, and lifted the lid. There, nestled among your soft sweaters and cotton tees, was a pair of panties—pink, delicate, with a faint lace trim that made his jaw clench. He lifted them, the fabric impossibly soft against his calloused fingers, and brought them to his face. Your scent hit him like a drug—warm, sweet, with a hint of your jasmine lotion and something uniquely you, something that made his blood roar. His cock twitched, straining against his jeans, and he groaned, low and guttural, the sound swallowed by the silence.

He returned to the couch, the panties clutched in one hand, his cigarette forgotten in the ashtray, its ember fading to ash. He sank back, his thighs spreading, his body taut with need. The room seemed to close in, the lavender air now thick with his own musk, the faint creak of the couch a rhythm to his racing pulse. He unzipped his jeans with a slow, deliberate motion, the sound obscene in the quiet. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening with precum, veins pulsing with the heat of his desire. He wrapped your panties around his length, the silk a stark contrast to his roughness, and hissed at the sensation—soft, cool, like a lover’s touch he’d never known.

His hand moved, slow at first, the lace catching on his calluses, sending shivers up his spine. He imagined you, your wide eyes, your trembling lips, the way you’d gasp if you saw him like this, defiling your innocence. The thought made him harder, his grip tightening, the panties sliding over his shaft with a friction that was both torment and ecstasy. His hips bucked, the couch creaking louder, the sound mingling with his ragged breaths. Your scent filled his lungs, jasmine and warmth, and he pressed the fabric to his nose again, inhaling deeply, his tongue darting out to taste the faintest trace of you. It was enough to unravel him.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice a low snarl, thick with need. “You’re in my head, little girl. You’re fucking everywhere.” The words were a confession, a curse, spat into the empty room as if you could hear him. His hand moved faster, the panties slick now with his precum, the silk catching on his piercings, tugging in a way that made him groan. His other hand gripped the couch, nails digging into the fabric, leaving crescent marks in the soft pink upholstery. He pictured you on your knees, your soft mouth around him, your innocence shattered by his touch. The image was too much, too vivid—your flushed cheeks, your whimpers, the way you’d look up at him, trusting, trembling.

His climax built like a storm, a pressure that made his vision blur. His hips jerked, his cock throbbing, and he bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, stifling the moan that threatened to spill out. “You’re mine,” he rasped, the words a vow, a threat, as he came, hot and thick, his cum spilling into the panties, soaking the delicate fabric. The release was violent, his body shuddering, his breath hitching in sharp, uneven gasps. He sat there, panting, his cock still twitching, the panties now a ruined testament to his obsession, stained with his desire, his shame.

He leaned back, his head tipping against the couch, the aftershocks of his orgasm mingling with a wave of self-loathing. The room was silent again, save for the faint drip of a faucet in your kitchen, the distant hum of the city beyond your walls. He stared at the ceiling, your ceiling, with its faint cracks and soft white paint, and felt the weight of what he’d done. He wasn’t a good man. He didn’t do soft, didn’t do kind. But you—you were a fire in his blood, a light in his darkness, and he hated you for it. Hated how your softness made him weak, how your existence threatened to unravel the cold, ruthless shell he’d built.

He tucked himself back into his jeans, the panties shoved into his pocket, a trophy he couldn’t leave behind. He stood, his legs unsteady, and lit another cigarette, the flame casting sharp shadows across his face. He took a drag, the smoke burning his throat, and exhaled, the haze curling around him like a lover’s embrace. He moved to your bedroom door, pausing to look at your bed—unmade, the lavender sheets tangled, a faint indent where you’d slept. He imagined you there, your body soft and vulnerable, your nightie riding up your thighs, and his fists clenched, his nails biting into his palms.

“You’re too fucking delicate,” he muttered, his voice low, laced with anger and something softer, something he refused to name. “This world’ll break you. I could break you.” The words were a warning, to you, to himself. He turned away, his boots heavy on the floor, and slipped out of your apartment, leaving behind the cigarette butt on your coffee table, its ash a silent claim, a promise of his return.

The night swallowed him, but your scent lingered on his skin, in his pocket, in his mind. He was a monster, and you were his prey, but the hunt was far from over.

The air in your apartment was thick, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in, trapping you in a cage of your own making. The faint scent of lavender from your candle mingled with the acrid tang of cigarette smoke, a lingering ghost of the intruder who’d invaded your sanctuary. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, a frantic bird desperate to escape, as you stood in the center of your living room, tears streaming down your cheeks, hot and relentless. The evidence was everywhere—cigarette butts on your coffee table, their charred ends like tiny accusations; a single pink rose on your counter, its petals too perfect, too deliberate; the faint indentation on your bed, smelling of musk and danger. Someone was watching you, knowing you, unraveling the fragile threads of your life. The money—envelopes of cash that had saved you from drowning in debt—had kept you silent, complicit, but tonight, the weight of it all crushed you.

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms, the sharp sting grounding you as your voice tore from your throat, raw and trembling. “Who are you?” you screamed into the empty air, your words echoing off the pastel walls. “What do you want from me? Just leave me alone! Stop this—stop tormenting me!” Your voice cracked, a sob choking you as you sank to your knees, your glasses fogging with tears. The room spun, the soft glow of your fairy lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of fear and despair. You were a fool, a coward, for not calling the police, for letting the money tether you to this nightmare. Your hands shook as you clutched your hair, pulling at the roots, the pain a desperate anchor to reality.

The silence that followed was deafening, a void that swallowed your cries. Then, a creak—the soft groan of a floorboard in your bedroom. Your breath hitched, your body freezing as a shadow moved, deliberate and unhurried, emerging from the darkness like a predator stepping into the light. Jungkook stood there, his presence a storm, filling the room with an electric menace that made the air crackle. His black leather jacket was open, revealing the taut lines of his chest beneath a fitted shirt, his tattoos curling up his neck like dark promises. His dark hair was mussed, falling into his eyes, which burned with an intensity that pinned you in place, stripping you bare. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the ember glowing red, casting fleeting shadows across his sharp jaw. He didn’t belong here, in your soft, feminine world of lavender and lace, yet he stood as if he owned it, as if you were the intruder.

You gasped, recognition slamming into you like a freight train. The man you’d saved—the one whose blood had stained your rug, whose piercing gaze had haunted your dreams—was here, in your home, like a specter made flesh. Your heart stuttered, your tears drying on your cheeks as you scrambled to your feet, your legs wobbly beneath you. “You,” you whispered, your voice a fragile thread, barely audible over the pounding in your ears. “It was you. All this time… it was you.”

Jungkook didn’t move, his eyes locked on yours, dark and unreadable, like twin voids that could swallow you whole. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling from his lips in a lazy spiral, the scent sharp and invasive, tainting the air you breathed. “You shouldn’t have helped me that night,” he said, his voice low, a gravelly growl that vibrated through the room, sending a shiver down your spine. “You should’ve run, little girl. Should’ve locked your door and prayed I’d bleed out on the street.”

His words were a blade, slicing through your resolve, and you stumbled back, your hip brushing against the edge of your couch. Fear and anger warred within you, your hands trembling as you pointed a shaky finger at him. “I’m calling the police,” you said, your voice quivering but gaining strength, fueled by the betrayal burning in your chest. “You’ve been in my home, touching my things, leaving your… your filth everywhere! Why? Why are you doing this? I saved you! I saved your life, and this is how you repay me?”

His eyes flashed, a dangerous glint that made your stomach lurch. In two strides, he crossed the room, his boots heavy on the hardwood, the sound reverberating like a death knell. He loomed over you, his broad frame blocking the light, casting you in shadow. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as he slammed you against the wall, the impact jarring, the plaster cold against your back. His body was a furnace, radiating heat and danger, his scent overwhelming—cigarettes, leather, and something darker, primal. His grip was iron, bruising, his calloused fingers digging into your skin, and you whimpered, your glasses slipping down your nose.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarled, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips, tinged with nicotine and rage. “You think you can scream at me? Threaten me? You’re nothing, you hear me? A little girl playing hero, and now you’re in over your head. You’re my obsession, my fucking curse. I don’t believe in love, in fairy tales, but you—you’re in my head, clawing at me, and I can’t rip you out. It pisses me off, you know that? You’re too soft, too pure, and I want to break you, want to make you scream just to see if you’ll still look at me with those innocent eyes.”

His words were a storm, each one a lash against your heart, and you trembled, tears spilling anew, hot and stinging as they carved paths down your cheeks. His eyes followed them, a flicker of something—hunger, fascination—crossing his face, and it terrified you, thrilled you, in ways you couldn’t understand. “I shouldn’t have saved you,” you choked out, your voice breaking, raw with anger and regret. “I should’ve let you die out there, let the street take you. You’re a monster, and I was stupid—stupid to think I could help someone like you!”

His grip tightened, his fingers crushing your wrists, and he leaned closer, his nose brushing your cheek, his lips so close you could feel their heat. “Say that again,” he roared, his voice a thunderclap, shaking you to your core. “Say it, you little brat! Tell me you regret it, tell me you hate me! Go on, scream it, because I’ll burn it into your soul, make you feel every fucking second of my anger!” His eyes were wild, blazing with a fury that wasn’t just at you but at himself, at the world, at the obsession that had chained him to you.

You sobbed, your body shaking, but you couldn’t look away, couldn’t break free from the intensity of his gaze. His face was a mask of rage, but beneath it, there was something else—pain, raw and jagged, like a wound that wouldn’t heal. Your lips parted, but no words came, only a whimper, a sound of defeat and defiance. The air between you crackled, charged with a tension that was both electric and suffocating, the space shrinking until there was nothing but him—his heat, his scent, his fury.

His eyes dropped to your lips, and for a heartbeat, time stopped. Then, with a growl that was half-curse, half-prayer, he crashed his mouth against yours, the kiss brutal, consuming, a collision of anger and need. His lips were hard, demanding, his tongue forcing its way past your defenses, claiming you with a ferocity that stole your breath. You gasped, your hands pushing against his chest, but he was immovable, a mountain of muscle and rage, his body pressing against yours, pinning you to the wall. The taste of him was intoxicating—nicotine, salt, and something darker, like the edge of a blade. His teeth grazed your lip, a sharp sting that made you cry out, and he swallowed the sound, his kiss deepening, devouring.

Your body betrayed you, a heat blooming in your core, your skin tingling where his hands roamed, sliding down your arms, gripping your hips with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. You were a virgin, untouched, and the sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of want and fear crashing over you. His hands were rough, calloused, a stark contrast to your softness, and every touch felt like a brand, marking you as his. You hated him, feared him, but your body arched into him, craving the storm he unleashed.

He pulled back, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with a hunger that made your heart stutter. His cigarette had fallen, smoldering on the floor, forgotten in the chaos of his need. “You’re mine,” he rasped, his voice hoarse, trembling with an emotion he couldn’t name. “You don’t get to run, don’t get to hide. I’ll tear this fucking world apart before I let you go.”

You were shaking, your lips swollen, your glasses askew, your body alive with a fire you didn’t understand. The wall was cold against your back, his body a furnace against your front, and the world narrowed to the space between you, a battlefield of anger, fear, and something unspoken, something that could destroy you both.

The air between you was a live wire, crackling with a tension that burned hotter than the fear in your veins. Jungkook’s lips lingered on yours from the kiss that had shattered your defenses, his taste—bitter smoke, raw hunger—still coating your tongue. Your body trembled, pinned against the wall by the sheer weight of his presence, his broad shoulders blocking out the world, his inked arms caging you like a predator savoring its prey. Your heart thundered, a wild, erratic drumbeat, and your breath came in shallow gasps, each one laced with the scent of him—cigarettes, musk, and something darker, like the promise of ruin. You were a virgin, untouched by hands or lips, and the intensity of his touch was a tidal wave, drowning you in sensations you didn’t know how to name.

He pulled back, his chest heaving, his dark eyes molten with a storm of desire and conflict. His jaw was tight, the veins in his neck pulsing under his tattooed skin, and his hands, still gripping your hips, were bruisingly firm, as if he were anchoring himself to you. Slowly, deliberately, he sank to his knees before you, his leather jacket creaking, the sound sharp in the stifling silence of your apartment. The sight of him—Jungkook, the cold, ruthless criminal, kneeling for you—was a paradox that made your head spin. His hands slid up your thighs, rough calluses scraping against your soft skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your skirt bunched under his fingers, the fabric catching on his rings, and you gasped, your hands flying to the wall for support, nails digging into the plaster.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his voice a low, guttural plea, raw with an edge of desperation you’d never heard from him. His breath was hot against your inner thigh, his lips hovering so close you could feel the ghost of them on your skin. “Say it, and I’ll walk away. I’ll leave you alone.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. Your throat was tight, your mind a whirlwind of fear, want, and something deeper, something that terrified you. His eyes locked onto yours, searching, demanding, and in them, you saw a flicker of vulnerability—a crack in the armor of the man who lived for himself alone. Your silence was your surrender, and he saw it, his gaze darkening, his hands tightening on your hips until you whimpered, the sound high and trembling.

He didn’t wait for more. With a low growl, he shoved your skirt higher, the fabric pooling at your waist, exposing the delicate lace of your panties—white, innocent, a stark contrast to the darkness of his intent. His fingers hooked into the waistband, and with a sharp tug, he tore them apart, the sound of ripping fabric echoing like a gunshot in your ears. You gasped, your body jerking, but his hands held you firm, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your hips, grounding you even as your world tilted.

His mouth was on you in an instant, hot and unrelenting, his lips closing over your clit with a hunger that stole your breath. The first touch was a shock, a bolt of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, and you cried out, your voice breaking into a high, keening moan that filled the room. His tongue flicked against you, slow at first, then faster, a rhythm that was both precise and feral, like a man starving for something he’d never tasted. The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming, his lips sucking gently, then harder, drawing out sensations you didn’t know your body could feel. Your thighs trembled, threatening to give out, but his hands slid to your ass, gripping you tightly, holding you open for him, his fingers digging into your flesh with a possessiveness that made your head spin.

“Fuck,” he groaned against you, the vibration of his voice sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through you. His breath was hot, ragged, fanning across your sensitive skin, and you felt the scrape of his stubble against your inner thighs, a delicious burn that grounded you in the moment. “You taste so fucking good. So sweet. Like you were made for me.”

His words were a blade, slicing through your defenses, and you moaned, your head falling back against the wall, your glasses slipping down your nose. Your hands found his hair, thick and soft, and you clutched at it, desperate for an anchor as he devoured you. His tongue circled your clit, teasing, tormenting, before plunging lower, lapping at your entrance, tasting the slickness that had gathered there. You were embarrassingly wet, the sounds of his mouth against you—wet, obscene—filling the room, mingling with your gasps and whimpers. Your cheeks burned with shame and need, but you couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull away, not when his mouth felt like salvation.

“Jungkook,” you whimpered, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer, a plea, a curse. Your voice was raw, trembling, and it seemed to ignite something in him. He growled, low and primal, his lips sealing over your clit again, sucking hard, his tongue flicking in a relentless rhythm that made your vision blur. His hands kneaded your ass, pulling you closer, deeper, as if he wanted to consume you entirely.

“Look at you,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal, his eyes wild and dark. “Falling apart for me. You’re mine, you hear me? No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to taste you.”

His possessiveness sent a thrill through you, dangerous and intoxicating, and you nodded, unable to form words, your breath hitching as his fingers slid to your entrance. He pushed one inside, slow and deliberate, his digit thick and rough against your untouched walls. You gasped, your pussy clenching around him, and he cursed under his breath, his forehead resting against your thigh for a moment, as if he were trying to steady himself.

“So tight,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me, aren’t you? Little virgin, so perfect, so untouched. I’m gonna break you, and you’re gonna love it.”

He added a second finger, stretching you, the slight burn mingling with pleasure so intense it made you dizzy. His lips returned to your clit, sucking in time with the thrust of his fingers, curling them inside you, hitting a spot that made your legs shake and your moans turn to sobs. Your body was a live wire, every nerve singing, every touch amplified. The room smelled of sex and cigarettes, of your arousal and his dominance, and it was heady, overwhelming, pulling you under.

“Jungkook, please,” you cried, your voice breaking, your hips bucking against his mouth, chasing the release that was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your core. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he growled, his voice a command, his lips vibrating against you. “Let me feel it. Let me taste it. Come on my tongue, baby.”

His words were your undoing. The coil snapped, and you shattered, your climax crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing, your moans turning to screams. Your hands yanked at his hair, your thighs clamping around his head, but he didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working you through it, drawing out every shudder, every pulse, until you were a trembling, gasping mess. Your glasses fogged, your vision spotting, and you slumped against the wall, your legs barely holding you up.

He didn’t let you fall. His hands gripped your hips, steadying you, his mouth still on you, softer now, kissing your swollen, sensitive flesh with a reverence that made your heart ache. He pulled back, his lips and chin slick, his eyes burning as they met yours. He stood, towering over you, and kissed you again, deep and possessive, letting you taste yourself on his tongue—sweet, tangy, intimate. You moaned into his mouth, your hands clutching his shirt, the fabric rough under your fingers, anchoring you to the man who’d unraveled you.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your lips, his voice raw, almost broken. “Don’t forget that.”

You slumped against him, your body spent, your mind a haze of pleasure and confusion. Your hands fisted in his shirt, clinging to the fabric of a man who was both your savior and your stalker, a murderer who’d knelt for you, who’d made you feel alive for the first time. The weight of it—of him—was too much, and as your eyes fluttered shut, you surrendered to the darkness, your body safe in his arms, your heart caught in his storm.

Your body was a fragile weight in Jungkook’s arms, your breath soft and even, a delicate rhythm against the chaos of his own heartbeat. He carried you through the dim glow of your apartment, each step a battle against the urge to stay, to claim you as his own. Your head rested against his chest, your hair spilling over his arm like silk, catching the faint moonlight that slipped through the lavender curtains. The scent of you—strawberries, chamomile, and something uniquely yours—clung to him, a drug that made his blood hum and his resolve fracture. Your warmth seeped into his skin, a stark contrast to the cold steel of his world, and it terrified him how much he craved it.

He reached your bedroom, the space a shrine to your softness: a pastel quilt draped over the bed, a small vase of daisies on the nightstand, their petals curling in the quiet dark. The air was heavy with the lingering fragrance of your floral lotion, a scent that had haunted him since the night he’d first invaded your space. He laid you down with a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed, your body sinking into the mattress, the baby blue nightie riding up slightly to reveal the smooth curve of your thigh. Your lips parted in sleep, a faint flush still staining your cheeks, and Jungkook’s chest tightened, a visceral ache that felt like a blade twisting between his ribs.

He knelt beside the bed, his rough hands hovering over you, afraid to touch, afraid to taint. Your face was serene, your lashes casting delicate shadows across your skin, and he wondered how someone so alive, so full of light, could exist in a world as cruel as his. You were a wildflower blooming in a wasteland, and he was the storm that would tear you from the earth. His fingers twitched, yearning to trace the curve of your cheek, to feel the warmth of your skin one last time, but he held back, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

“You don’t belong with me,” he whispered, his voice a low, ragged thing, barely audible in the stillness. The words were a confession, a wound torn open. “You’re too fucking pure, too good. I’ll break you, petal. I’ll crush you, and you’ll hate me for it.”

His eyes burned, a foreign sting he refused to acknowledge. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t weak. But you—you made him feel things he’d buried long ago, things he’d sworn never to let surface. The memory of your cries, your body trembling under his touch, flashed through his mind, and he gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles white. He wanted to keep you, to lock you away in a cage of his own making, where no one else could touch you, where you’d be his alone. The thought was a poison, sweet and deadly, and it made his blood roar with a possessiveness that scared him.

He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over your face, and pressed his His lips brushed your forehead, a fleeting kiss, soft as a prayer, heavy as a vow. Your skin was warm, impossibly soft, and he lingered, memorizing the feel of you, knowing it was the last time. The weight of his decision settled in his chest like a stone, cold and unyielding. He stood, his shadow falling over you, a dark specter in your gentle world.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking, a fracture in his iron walls. “I can’t do this to you. I won’t. You deserve someone who’ll hold you like you’re glass, not shatter you like I will.”

He backed away, each step a tear in his soul, the distance between you growing with every heartbeat. The room seemed to close in, the walls whispering his failure, his cowardice. He paused at the door, turning back one last time. You were still asleep, oblivious to the war raging inside him, your chest rising and falling, a quiet promise of life he could never share. The sight of you—so small, so trusting—clawed at him, a silent accusation.

“I won’t come back,” he swore, the words a blade he drove into his own heart. “I’ll stay away, even if it fucking kills me.”

He slipped into the night, the door clicking shut behind him, a finality that echoed in his bones. The city swallowed him, its neon veins pulsing with the same restless energy that churned in his veins. He lit a cigarette, the flame flaring briefly before dying in the dark, the smoke curling around him like a lover’s caress. It tasted bitter, like regret, like you. He walked into the shadows, the ember glowing faintly, a lone beacon in the abyss. His enemies waited, his revenge a siren call he could no longer ignore. But you—you were the ghost he’d carry, the obsession he couldn’t shake, and as the night closed around him, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be free.

2 months ago

࣪ ִֶָ☾. yandere painter who's obsessed with his clueless muse

࣪ ִֶָ☾. Yandere Painter Who's Obsessed With His Clueless Muse

it all started with a "hi".

you were just being nice. you saw him around the apartment building often, so it wasn't out of the blue. the two of you just happened to be taking the same elevator at the same time. nothing big.

at least, that's what he thought.

then it happened again. your smile was slightly wider, more genuine than last time. were you happy to see him?

"hello," you offered a small wave, to which he nodded in response to.

he tried not to look at you. tried not to notice your curious eyes that gazed over his paint-stained self.

"are you a painter?"

it was a dumb question, but he turned his head fully towards you to show his acknowledgement. "yea. i am."

"that's cool."

small talk. it was all so casual.

so why could he make out your face in the midst of his multicoloured strokes?

the unfinished portrait of you stared back at him as his paintbrush hovered over the canvas, stuck in motion. his brows furrowed as he stared at the surface, as if glaring would make you go away.

but you didn't. and he kept painting. he convinced himself that you were simply a good subject. yes, that's why his room was filled with different paintings of you.

but it wasn't enough, there was something missing.

he became obsessed, his streaks growing more furious after each dip in paint. he needed to get your exact features down to a t. he needed to embed your very soul into the painting, nothing else would suffice.

his apartment turned into one big, messy shrine of you. brushes and paint bottles carelessly strewn around, mountains of canvases piled high on top of each other.

"hey.. i painted you," he'd mumble, acting nonchalant as the portrait shook in his hands as he extended it towards you.

did you hate it? it doesn't look anything like you! he's a terrible painter, what was he thinking? your silence is killing him, please, say something-!

"wow. this is.. amazing. thank you!" that smile. that damn smile that made his heart burst into a million pieces.

"you're welcome," he grinned way too wide, making up some excuse to get back to his apartment just so he could create more art of you.

of course, nothing could compare to the real thing. but for now, he's content to have you as his muse <3.

2 months ago

Milk And Cookies, Part III of the Play Date Trilogy

Milk And Cookies, Part III Of The Play Date Trilogy

➵ Jungkook’s sickly sweet ‘love’ tastes rancid on your tongue, as rancid as the lies you have to tell him to satisfy his immature moods. Perhaps, it’s time for another game of tag, but this time, you’re determined to avoid his capture…

➵ Play Date Trilogy Masterlist

➵ Warnings: Yandere Jungkook, Kidnapping, Molestation, Unhealthy thoughts, Hints of Stockholm Syndrome, Drugging

➵ Word Count: 5.2K

➵  Masterlist for all my other fics 

Milk And Cookies, Part III Of The Play Date Trilogy

Keep reading

3 months ago

Can I request a very smuttyyy storyyy? Pairing a successful & huge actor yandere jungkook x starlet/newbie actress reader pls!

starstruck (1)

Can I Request A Very Smuttyyy Storyyy? Pairing A Successful & Huge Actor Yandere Jungkook X Starlet/newbie

jungkook, a highly award-winning actor, has his eyes set on you, an upcoming actress, to be his love interest in his new movie.

word count: 5.652

warning: yandere themes/tendencies, power imbalance, naive reader, manipulation, coercion, dub-con, non-con (acting) scenes, oral sex, dirty talk, face-fucking, ass-slapping, choking/w belt, squirting, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie,

“I want her.”

The director’s lips snap shut as Jungkook points at your portrait photo. Dare he say he takes several deep breaths before he speaks. 

“She has little acting experience.” the direct murmurs. “She’s only ever starred in indie horror films that are complete trash-”

“I happened to enjoy “Attack of the Killer Space Beetles”.” Jungkook jokes. He couldn’t help but begin to laugh at how ridiculous the name sounded. “Besides, you said you wanted a fresh face, right?”

The director sighs, but nods his head. A new face alongside Jungkook, an academy award-winning one, was needed. He wanted the audience to come to the theatres because of Jungkook, but stay long enough for the story.

“Exactly. She auditioned. Her credentials are…” Jungkook trails off. 

You did a lot of horror movies that only “horror lovers” would watch - for the sake of saying they’ve watched a lot of horror movies. They weren’t blockbuster or household names. They did, however, have a cult following. You were a newbie, but you did have a small fan base that enjoyed you being dragged across the ground covered in fake blood.

“This is a horror movie, as well.” Jungkook shrugs. He leans back into the leather seat and stretches his arms out. “Right in her element.”

“Yes but…there’s sex scenes.” the director shakes his head. “She’s never done that. She hasn’t even been nude before. I don’t have time to coach a new girl-”

“You don’t. That’s what the intimacy coach is for.”

The director ponders why Jungkook was fighting so hard for you specifically. Being a big name  in the industry, Jungkook cost millions and was the highest paid in any movie franchise or television series he starred in. He directed a few movies himself, and even assisted in producing them. He was the reason as to why a few celebrities had careers today - he had an eye for talent.

Jungkook’s current eye was now on you - a fresh face. Your acting was good and you had the potential. You went to college for acting and all; a degree not everyone had. Your heart was in it, you just needed the opportunity.

Jungkook was going to be that opportunity for you. He watched the way your eyes widen as you walked into the audition room, script in hand. You were immediately nervous when your eyes locked with his that it caused Jungkook to smile with how innocent you were.

So new and naive to the world of cinema - anyone would take advantage of such naivety. 

“Fine. If you think she’s good, then I’ll give her a call.” the director throws his hands up. Jungkook wasn’t a fool. He put on many celebrities - Kim Taehyung was one of the highest paid actors a part of a soap opera right now. The man hadn’t even come to the audition for himself, but instead as support for his friend. It was Jungkook who spotted the deep voiced man and asked him to audition for a role and said “Jungkook sent me”.

When your phone rings with an unknown number you hadn’t recognized, you assume it was either a spam call or a call from your agent telling you that you didn’t get the role but “there will be other roles available”.

You weren’t expecting to get a call from the same director as a week prior telling you that you got the role. You had forgotten how to breathe when the news was given to you that when the director asked if you were still there, you almost fainted.

“I’ll get in contact with your agent and pass her the details. In the meantime, Jeon Jungkook-” Your heart instantly pounds at the name. “-will be speaking with you soon. I hope it wasn’t bad that I’ve given him your contact information.”

“No!” you nearly scream, and you want to slap yourself. “I mean no, it’s not an issue.”

“Good.” the direct chuckles. “Jungkook has a good eye for talent, Ms. Y/L. He chose you himself.”

Your heart jolts and your eyes widen.

“If things go as planned, you could be just as big as him one day.”

Just as big as Jeon Jungkook one day.

Jeon Jungkook - thee Jeon Jungkook - had picked you. The award winning actor who’s graced your screen since you were a teenager had chosen you. You out of hundreds of female leads.

Upon your arrival at the audience, you were already nervous. You were in a room full of beautiful women, some you recognized. You contemplated turning around and going back home to this very apartment you rent for far too much than you can truly afford.

But you hadn’t. You stayed for hours and once your name was called, you entered. You audience and you got the role.

All because of Jeon Jungkook.

You could faint right now, your eyes swelling with tears. This could be the moment you studied so hard for. The acting classes you took daily cost you to work night shift, along with you studying in college for acting. You took your dream seriously and now…

“It’s paying off.” you say to yourself. You’re in complete silence now, head against your satin pillowcase. You’re staring up at the ceiling.

Your phone begins to buzz against your chest. You’re alarmed by the amount of notifications that are coming all at once.

Instagram notifications were coming through rapidly, all too quickly for you to grasp as to why. You open the app and find out for yourself.

You were an actress, yes, and you did have a bit of a following. You posted behind the scene pictures to your instagram sometimes and it garnered you over 10,000 followers.

You were shocked to see the following count rise from over 10,000, to nearly 100,000.

“W-What…?”

You understood why. The post shows up right as you click “home”. 

Jeon Jungkook has followed you. He had uploaded a picture of him with a script in his hands, smiling. His lips are a rosy pink and the lip-piercing adds a touch of attractiveness - how was that even possible? 

jeon.jk can’t wait to start filming our new horror movie “starstruck” with @yn. we’re both going to look good covered in blood 😭

Your breathing quickens. 

Breathe.

Breathe.

“Oh fuck.” you gasp out, palms sweaty. This was an exact reminder that this was all real. Jeon Jungkook acknowledging you publicly. He appeared excited to work with you - fuck, he was the one that chose you.

Not to forget that Jungkook also said you were going to look good covered in blood.

“Oh fuck.” you repeat.

Can I Request A Very Smuttyyy Storyyy? Pairing A Successful & Huge Actor Yandere Jungkook X Starlet/newbie

You’re running, your feet nearly getting caught on the pavement. The sky is dark and cloudless, and the street lights don’t do enough to shine your path. 

Your heart is racing outside your chest and you feel as though your body is going to give out any moment now. You want nothing more than to stop and catch your breath, but you don’t. You don’t dare to.

Your footsteps are not the only ones you hear. The ones behind you are catching up - growing closer and closer. You don’t look back - that would only distract you. You could only wish that they are further than what they sound.

A loud screech releases from your throat when your hair is being pulled and you’re set backwards and right onto your back. Your manage to not hit your head on the way down, but your body is soaked in mud.

“Why are you running?”

That voice.

Your ankle is grabbed tightly and you’re being dragged. You continue to scream and cry as the man drags you closer to him. You attempt to kick your feet and to free yourself from this crazed man, but you’re unable to.

“Stop fucking screaming.” the man roars suddenly, his yells echoing off of the trees. “You,” a hand is slammed against your lips. “are only alive because I want you to be.”

Your heart pounds with how close the man was.

With how handsome, too. A handsome man like him didn’t do things like this. Handsome men with good jobs and money didn’t stalk you. They didn’t threaten your livelihood.

They didn’t chase you in the middle of the night, either - yet here he stood.

“Please.” you shake your head, crying. The tears finally spilled down your cheeks and your vision of the handsome man was blurring. “Please…”

“You’re so pretty when you cry.” the man laughs. His thumb rubs away a stray tear. “You’re pleading now because you’re scared. Where’s the woman that fought me earlier?”

You cry harder when the man shakes you roughly, now screaming in your face.

“Where is she? Where is she?!”

Your eyes grow wide when the man clenches your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. His dark eyes stare a hole through you. Almost if he was looking right through you - inside of you.

“Open your mouth.” the man commands.

You stiffen. Slowly, your eyes drifted to the side.

The director is seated in a chair. He’s watching the scene unfold, intrigued with how well you are acting. He doesn’t seem fazed that Jungkook had deviated from the script.

“I said,” Jungkook, in character, hissed. Without much thought, he squeezes your cheek until your mouth opens. He forces two of his fingers inside of your mouth and you’re entirely distraught to do anything. “open your mouth.” he repeats.

DId you somehow forget this scene? You’ve read the script countless times - there was no way this was in it. You’re far too shocked to do anything and neither Jungkook nor the direct stop. 

“Let me see what that mouth of yours can do while you’re afraid.”

Your chest rises and falls, eyes widening. Jungkook’s fingers force themselves deeper inside of you, holding onto your limp form.

“Cut!”

You gasp when Jungkook’s fingers remove themself from your mouth. He wipes them onto his pants without a care and smiles at you. “You okay?”

The demeanor changes instantly. Jungkook’s eyes soften and the hardened expression you witnessed before is gone entirely. 

This was all an act, of course. Jungkook was an actor. Of course he wasn’t some psychotic psycho chasing you through the woods.

“Y/N, you’re a natural.” the director calls from his chair. “I’m actually shocked by how well you’re doing. We’ve filmed all day now so we should have enough.” he says, clapping his hand. “Need everyone back here first thing tomorrow morning. Jungkook, Y/N,”

Your eyes turn back to Jungkook who is now standing. He offers you his hand - it’s covered in makeup to hide the tattoos - and you hesitantly take it.

“I’m sorry about the sudden change in script.” Jungkook murmurs to you. “I was told to improvise. He likes raw reactions.”

Raw reactions.

You nod your head, cheeks warming. “No problem, really.” you assure, yet you’d be lying if you say the change in script didn’t terrify you. It all seemed too real, even with countless people around you watching. Jungkook had a way that made you feel like it was only you and him around - and that’s just with the little scenes you and he acted in already.

“Intimacy coordinator wants to meet with the two of you.”

You bite your lip.

You knew that this was a horror film and there were scenes you’ve never done before. Sex scenes to be precise. You’ve read the script and you were left an embarrassed mess when you had to read the lines over with Jungkook, but he was professional. He made it easier for you with how polite and reassuring he was.

“You’re doing great.” Jungkook says as you and he walk down the grassy hill towards the trailers. 

Jungkook had his own trailer and much to your surprise, he had even rented you one. Typically, there was a trailer for people to share, but you’ve never had your own. It was never in the budget for the films you’ve done.

“Thanks.” you smile at him. “I was hoping I wouldn’t fall on my ass before you got to me.”

Jungkook chuckles. “You’re a natural on camera.” he says, and the compliment causes your body to warm up. “You can tell that you’re accustomed to the horror vibe.”

You nod your head a bit. “I try to be. I’ve been in corny horror movies though.” you joke. 

You recall when you and Jungkook had officially met to go over the script and he mentioned he enjoyed ‘Attack of the Killer Space Beetles’. You were immediately embarrassed, but Jungkook had actually watched and enjoyed it. He recounted scenes from the movie that even you forgot about. 

“Corny movies are only a stepping stone to your big break.” Jungkook says. He places a hand onto your shoulder and squeezes it gently before bringing you closer to his side in a sideways hug. 

Meeting with the intimacy coordinator had only reminded you that you’ve indeed never experienced anything like this. She was sweet in asking for your opinions - if you felt comfortable in the amount of sexual activity that would be happening behind the camera.

 A sex scene was new to you, but not to Jungkook. That also caused more nerves to be added onto your shoulders. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself too much in front of him and the rest of the crew.

Jungkook, however, was more supportive. He insisted that things weren’t as they seemed and most outcomes were just illusions.

“So since you’re new,” the intimacy coordinator states. “you’re possibly wondering how scenes are executed on set. These are modest garments.”

The coordinator shows you different skin-color shades of garments. “They’re strapless things with a barrier inside of them. Do you want to feel?”

Though you’re humiliated, you are also intrigued. You touch the garment and hum as you nod your head. You suppose this is how things are done - so you wouldn’t actually be feeling Jungkook.

“For men, we have them wear something called a modesty pouch.”

Jungkook leans back into his chair. He watches the way your eyes examine all of the garments, genuinely intrigued by it all as the intimacy coordinator explains to you how everything is done. Your naivety with how everything works is what causes Jungkook’s lips to form a small smile - you were cute, he thinks. This was like a whole new world to you that you’ve never been a part of; one that he was showing you.

“We have different types of garments you could wear and try on. Since you are new, we’ll have to find your size.” you nod along to her speech.  “And we’ll also have to work on what we call “faking it”.”

“Fake moaning.” Jungkook nods his head at your confused look. 

“We have to make it look real while we’re filming so the final product appears as such. But as you can see, it’s all fake at the end of the day.”

For the next hour, you were explained step-by-step of how intimacy works, camera angles, faking sounds and all. Once the meeting was over, you felt that this was something you could actually do without feeling like such a newbie.

“Feel better?” Jungkook asks. 

You and Jungkook are side by side now as you make your way out of your own trailer. You changed back into your clothes and decided that it was best for you to head back home. The evening sun casted a burnt orange type of hue over the set entirely.

“Yes.” you nod your head with a soft grin. “I can’t wait to watch the movie when it’s all done. I want to redeem myself from my past work.”

Jungkook snickers. “You’ll be amazing. Trust me.” he assures. “I waited to ask if you wanted to grab dinner and go over the script.”

You blink a few times, uncertain. Your stomach was rumbling and you could go for food right now - but did you truly want to go over the script? “What scenes did you want to go through?”

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “A few. Especially if we’re going to get told to keep improvising.”

Improvising. Your mind flashes with the way Jungkook looked and sounded earlier, followed by the way he forced his fingers into your mouth. It was eerie, especially when you didn’t know it was happening. You’re positive, however, that the raw reaction the director was looking for was highly evident.

“It shouldn’t be an issue, I guess.” you shrug your shoulders. You didn’t want Jungkook to think you weren’t passionate about the project - you were!

This is how you and Jungkook found yourselves, eating takeout while attempting to go over the script. You willingly drink the wine Jungkook gives you, admitting to yourself that it actually was an amazing taste - he told you it was thousands of dollars and you cannot comprehend just how someone could spend that much on it.

“Okay, let’s get back to the script.” you say after another sip of wine. “Where did we leave off?”

Jungkook turns a few pages before looking up at you. “We should try an intimate one. Get it out of the way so tomorrow it’ll be easier to perform.”

Nodding your head, you take a deep breath. You had read this scene countless times to memorize your lines. Watching Jungkook get into character was amazing. Even while practicing, he still gives a stellar performance.

“I missed you.” He says, taking a few steps towards you. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I-I haven’t.” you say. This scene involves you being in bed, but you and Jungkook are in his living room, so the couch would have to do.

“Yes you have. Are you afraid of me?” Jungkook comes closer until he’s hovering above you, dark eyes tracing over your body. “You know I’ll never hurt you.”

You flinch when a hand comes near you. “I-I…you told me you’d kill anyone who touched me. That’s not normal.” you quip.

“I can’t help how I feel!” Jungkook hisses. He plops down besides you, his eyes softening. “Please, baby…I’m sorry. Just give me another chance. You know I’ll never hurt you. Sometimes I get angry and…”

This was where the intimacy got started. Jungkook’s lips are on your neck immediately, kissing at the nape of it. His hand places itself onto your inner thigh and he squeezes.

“You drive me crazy.”

Your eyes close for a moment, swallowing. Jungkook kisses up your neck, hand growing closer and closer to you.

“We shouldn’t be doing this…” you murmur. “...you-”

You stop immediately when Jungkook’s hands touch your clothed heat. He cups it in his palm, your cheeks warming.

“Sssh…” Jungkook hums, continuing to rub. You weren’t wearing any safety garments - Jungkook knows this. You’re unable to move as he continues to rub. “...just let me.”

Jungkook squeezes your cupped heat, eyes flickering to see your reaction. Your shy face appears bewildered and you’re unable to move.

“You okay?” Jungkook asks. That wasn’t part of the script, and neither was him touching you. “Does it feel good?”

“Jung…kook?”

You say his name so sweetly that it causes him to moan.

“I like the way you say my name.” Jungkook admits. He’s so close to your face. It’s warm with embarrassment and nerves. This wasn’t part of the script - was he improvising again? Even this is too much.

“W-What are you doing?” you ask. He’s close like he was before, his eyes dark with someone else that you couldn’t put your finger on. Your heart is pumping so loudly, your thighs quivering.

“We’re going to be around one another for months. You and I have to look like we’re intimate on camera.” Jungkook’s tongue swipes along your neck. The hair on your skin rises. “We mind as well get comfortable.”

Comfortable…

The way Jungkook’s hands forces it’s way into your pants, you’re entirely stiff. You’re afraid to move, especially when his fingers rub along your clothed heat through your panties. A soft gasp comes from your lips.

“It feels good, right?” Jungkook hums against your neck. His tongue slides up towards your ear, his teeth nibbling slightly on it just to tease you further. “Talk.”

“Is this…okay?” you ask him, as if you aren’t the one that should be assured. Jungkook looks into your eyes and it drives him crazy. Those sweet, innocent eyes. Such naivety behind them.

“Of course this is okay. You feel good, don’t you?” Jungkook asks.

You nod your head a bit. It felt good - but you and Jungkook were co-workers. You didn’t want to go too far with him and have things be awkward on set later on. Nor did you want him to think you were a groupie who is willing to jump his bones at any given moment.

“We’re going to have to act in front of the camera, Y/N. You’re going to have to moan…” Jungkook murmurs. “I want you to be completely comfortable for me. It’s just us.”

You don’t move when Jungkook tugs your pants down and discards them on the floor. His eyes are intense, watching you the entire time. He places his hands back between your legs, continuing to rub your wet core through your panties.

“You’re new to this.” Jungkook chuckles. “But it’s just you and me. I want you to be comfortable enough for me, okay? Tell me how you feel.”

You aren’t new to sex, but those hookups weren’t Jeon Jungkook. You were self-conscious already. You’re positive he’s done this with countless women - all beautiful models and actresses. You were just you; a newbie in the world and you’re positive you look it.

“It feels nice.” you mumble.

“Yeah?” Jungkook chuckles again, just because you were so cute. “And now?” 

Pushing your panties aside, Jungkook slides his fingers across your wet clit. He rubs a bit more profusely, hissing as just how good he knows your pussy feels. He knows it's tight and would milk him for everything he has.

“In order to look convincing on camera, we’re going to have to experience it behind the scenes.” Jungkook explains. “Don’t you want this? This movie is going to be big.”

Jungkook wouldn't say he was manipulating you. You could push him away and say no - he just knows you won’t. You did want this. He was going to open doors for you that would’ve remained closed if it wasn’t for him.

"The scene we’re acting out is a bit aggressive, but not all of them are.” Jungkook assures. His cock tightens at just the thought of handling you the same way his movie character handles yours. “You trust me right?”

Slowly, and slightly unsure, you nod your head.

“Good.” Jungkook removes his hand from your clit. “Get up. And strip.”

Jungkook was blurring the lines between reality and the script. But you wanted to be good - good enough for him to realize that he didn’t make a mistake in choosing you.

“Yes, sir.” you nod your head, following along with the script.

Jungkook watches you peel off the remaining clothing. Your bra falls right besides your panties, erect nipples staring back at him.

“Go up the stairs and to the right. That’s my bedroom.” Jungkook instructs. “We can’t act this scene out on the couch.”

You can feel Jungkook watching you as you do as he says. Being fully nude before him is nerve wrecking and you just hope you can appear sexy as you’re supposed to. You and him were actually going to do this - there’s no garments to hide either of your parts from one another.

“You think I’d allow anyone else to have what’s mine?” Jungkook hisses. He removes his belt as you sit on his bed, innocent eyes looking up at him.

“N-No, sir.” you murmur back.

“Exactly. I’d kill anyone who thinks they’ll take you away from me.” Jungkook pushes his pants off. You don’t want to stare at the obvious bulge in his underwear, but it’s hard not to. “How should I punish you then? You tried to run away from me.”

You swallow. “Sir-”

“How about you get on your knees?”

You lick your lips. Your character is supposed to be frightened, doing whatever it takes to survive Jungkook’s character - the obvious bubbling psychopath. Witnessing you on your knees, naked with those eyes causes something in Jungkook’s chest to rumble. His cock throbs, wishing you’d touch him already.

“I’d do anything, sir.” you say. Your soft hands lift up to touch him, sliding up his bare legs until they are on either side of his thighs. 

“Open your mouth.” Jungkook demands. His free hand is placed on your chin. “Wider.” he instructs over and over until your tongue is out.

You’re trembling when Jungkook pushes his underwear out. This is something you’ve never done. Oral sex wasn’t something you were interested in with simple hookups. His cock is big, veiny with a wet tip. Without warning - though you should’ve expected, he rubs his tip against your tongue. It’s salty and at the first sign of your hesitance, Jungkook tightens his fingers on your chin.

“You’re doing good.” Jungkook instructs. “You’ve sucked on a lollipop before, right? Treat it like that.”

This was Jungkook talking to you, not his character. His breathing increases when you listen. You were such a good girl - and your compliance would be rewarded. He could make you into the perfect actress - highly awarded just like he was. In due time, of course.

You do as Jungkook says, licking his tip just as you would a lollipop. It’s new to you and you aren’t sure if you’re doing it correctly, but Jungkook’s gasping lowly so you assume you are. Your eyes flicker up to look at him for reassurance.

“You’re doing good.” Jungkook says as if he knows. “Just…take more of me, yeah?”

Jungkook thrusts himself deeper into your wet mouth, groaning when you allow him to with little resistance. His hand holds onto your cheek. “Stay like this, okay. Let me…”

Jungkook begins to pump his cock in and out of you slowly. His moaning increases, his dark eyes fluttering every so often. You’re shocked with how wet you were, your thighs clenching together. Doing this for Jungkook and witnessing how good it makes him feel makes you feel good.

“You’re so beautiful taking my cock.” Jungkook speaks, rubbing his thumb against your cheek. “You’re so good.”

Jungkook picks up the pace, as does his moans. Watching the way your wet mouth takes his cock deeper and deeper with little resistance, even if he can see the whelming tears forming to your eyes with how overwhelming it was. Fuck, you were such temptress.

“You’re such a good girl, Y/N. I promise you’d have it all. Just be good to me, okay?” Jungkook’s cock is so deep in your mouth that you cannot physically respond, but a hum vibrates from your throat and sends Jungkook into a frenzy. 

You’re unsure how you haven’t gagged more than a couple times with how deep Jungkook was, growing more aggressive by the second. You’re breathing through your nose heavily for air, your eyes glossy.

Jungkook spills entirely into your throat, the salty, warm substance causing you to actually gag. You swallow it, unsure what else to do after he removes his cock from your mouth. You finally breathe from your lips, blinking away the tears from your eyes.

“Look at you,” Jungkook hisses. “turn around.”

You were going by the script again. Once you can see again, you do as you’re told. You already know what’s next - the belt still in his right hand. You had to prepare for when you and him do this scene you suppose.

Jungkook wraps the leather belt around your neck, tightening just enough that it isn’t choking you. He forces you onto your feet.

“This is what I do to whore’s who don’t listen.”

You’re forced onto the bed. You immediately know what position to get into, having read the script. And Jungkook thinks you’re such an obedient person that it drives him crazy.

You aren’t sure how this scene was going to play out in front of the camera, but Jungkook isn’t hesitant to slam a hand directly on your bare ass. You yelp at the sudden action - and the sensation of it.

“Count.” Jungkook demands.

“One.”

SLAP!

“Two.”

SLAP!

“T-Three…”

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

Your thighs are quivering, forced apart so Jungkook could watch the way arousal trickles down your thighs helplessly. Your ass is stinging, a pleasurable feeling you’ve never experienced until now. 

Jungkook yanks at the belt and you’re forced upward and against his chest. You struggle a moment, eyes widening. 

“You’re wet.” Jungkook says against your ear. “You like this, don’t you?”

You nod slightly, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

“That’s okay.” Jungkook assures. “I want you to feel good, too.”

Jungkook’s free hand slides between your legs. He doesn’t allow you to move and his grip onto the belt is firm. He likes the way you helplessly lean against his chest while his hand rubs along your wet clit.

“Let’s see how well you take my fingers.”

Jungkook’s fingers are intruding, but he doesn’t care. He slides them between your folds and  right in you. You’re tighter than he thought, fully taking him entirely. 

You gasp at the feeling, your pussy clenching instantly. Jungkook doesn’t intend on being soft with you - no. It’s what you were going to have to get used to. This wasn’t a soft movie - it was hard. It was intruding and invasive - showcasing just how obsessed Jungkook’s character was with yours.

Your pussy is squelching so loudly that Jungkook adds another finger. You’re moaning helplessly, your thighs aching too close to stop the overstimulation but Jungkook isn’t going to allow it. He forces his knee between your legs to assure you stay exactly like this.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, a hand on his wrist. “s-slow down, please. I-i can’t-”

“Shut up.” Jungkook hisses. He was enjoying fucking his fingers into your pussy. He can feel it - the throbbing and clenching and unclenching. 

“I have to…” you’re breathing heavily. Your eyes squeeze shut and your hands, to no avail, are attempting to pry Jungkook off of you. His hand only tugs on the belt.

There’s pressure building up in you. You felt as though you had to pee and you weren’t going to humiliate yourself and do that now. “P-please…!”

“Let go, Y/N. I know you feel it.” Jungkook’s voice is so deep that it tickles something in you. He wasn’t going to release you - not until you did what he said.

You have no control over the pressure that builds and builds until your body forces it out. It sprays entirely onto your thighs and onto the silk bed sheets.

“Such a good girl you are, Y/N.” Jungkook shakes his head, his wet fingers removed from your hole.

Jungkook isn’t going to let you regain any peace - not when you and he had to perfect your roles. When you feel something else at your entrance, you’re too overstimulated to say anything.

Jungkook enters you. You’re so wet that he slides past your walls effortlessly. He groans, feeling your wet pussy around his cock is mind blowing. You were amazing, he thinks, so wet and willing. He finds pleasure in knowing that it was him that is going to discover you and all your talents.

Jungkook begins to pump, forcing you onto his bed so he can get a better grip on you. Your legs are forced apart and your head is shoved into the wet sheets. You’re unable to form words and your eyes are still shut. He’s so deep, pounding into you with every ounce of aggression the script calls for.

“You’re going to be a star, Y/N. I’ll make sure of it.” Jungkook hisses. He’s positive that you’re only half listening, the other half of you babbling and moaning to yourself. But he’ll make sure to tell you once more in the morning. 

Your hands grip the sheet, unsure if you were going to be able to handle another orgasm, but Jungkook wasn’t going to stop until you both were there.

Your ass bounces against his abdomen, your wet pussy gushing with more and more juices that he’s unsure just how this was possible. You’re creaming around his cock, so good that he’s positive you’re cumming over and over again.

“You love this, don’t you? You get to get fucked by me and have the world at your hands. You and I…” Jungkook speaks, now more to himself. To think about it, he could be your guide. Someone to protect you from harm in this industry - you were new and naive. Anyone could take advantage of you. “...I’ll protect you, Y/N. Make sure no one has their way with you.”

You whimper once more when you feel another sensation flowing though you and Jungkook are chuckling with delight. You’re limp, forced to allow Jungkook to have his way with you.

“Maybe we should become the next power couple, huh? Dominate the industry…the perfect actress I can have you be…”

Jungkook’s thrusts become sloppy, satisfied with the possibility of making you the star he knows you can be. The one you and he could be together - fuck, he was going to cum. His eyes squeeze shut, a few more thrusts and-

You feel warmth pool through you and Jungkook falls right on top of you. Your thighs are trembling and your eyes are heavy. You’ve cum more than you ever had before and you had no energy in you to move.

Jungkook is panting, his mouth right against your shoulder. He’s still pumping cum into you, sweat forming on his forehead. One thing for sure, Jungkook couldn’t wait to make you a star.

@investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @minshookie29 @darkuni63 @chimmy-licious

trivia-yandere: i think this calls for a second part :3

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