A Song Of Past Romance A Royal / Greek Au Gojo Fic

a song of past romance a royal / greek au gojo fic

pairing ⸺ suitor/king!gojo x princess!reader

summary ⸺ king gojo satoru of ithaca travels to sparta, seeking to win over who they say is the most beautiful mortal woman's heart. so when he sees you upon his arrival weaving under an olive tree, looking goddess-sent, he immediately loses the plot and concludes that it must be you that the tales and legends must talk about. it is not, but gojo has chosen who his queen will be. as gojo continues to break down your walls with his endless devotion and silver tongue, you must decide: will you let duty and your loved ones's expectations decide your fate, or will you choose the man who would defy even the heavens to claim you as his queen ?

warnings ⸺ smut, p i v sex, oral f recieving, whimpering gojo agenda <3, fluff, a big of angst if you squint, some insecurity, pining, banterTM, gojo is really whipped for reader, odypen inspired (this one's for my epic/pjo baddies), extensive greek mythology knowledge not needed, athena is tired of gojo lol, jealousy, helen is a sassy diva, not totally accurate to the lore of the illiad bc i just use the premise, mentions of children/pregnancy at the end if you squint, semi edited, art by @/yunonoaii

a/n my hyperfixation made me write this lol. you dont need to know anything about greek mythology to read this fic it's more of a period piece / royal au :3

general masterlist

You had registered the young man’s presence for quite some time now.

Ever since your beloved cousin Helen—the most beautiful woman in the world, the kallikomos, kalliparēios Helen—had come of age, your palace had been plagued by an unceasing tide of suitors. Even a respite alone in the garden, in peace, was not guaranteed to you; just as the ivory haired suitor (who thought himself furitive) that had been sneaking and skirting around you for a while now, there were countless of men on the palace grounds desperate to even get a glimpse of what the countless legends and tales about Helen had described.

Though, you weren’t jealous of your lovely cousin—you loved her to death. But it was getting on your nerves, because you had hoped for a quiet evening relaxing under the olive tree you were sitting in. This mn, however, was different.

For some time now, the ivory-haired suitor had been skirting the edges of your sanctuary, moving as though he thought himself invisible. You could feel his gaze, sharp and intent, as you alternated between weaving and reading. His persistence should have irritated you. And yet, there was something amusing about his poor attempt at stealth.

The telltale rustle of grass betrayed him once again. You sighed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear before reaching up to gather it all, baring the curve of your neck to the evening breeze.

The stalker suitor tripped with a loud thud.

You blinked. Then, sighing once more, you set down your spindle and turned. "I know you’re there," you called, unimpressed.

Silence, then a low chuckle.

When he finally stepped into the open, your disinterested gaze lifted—and promptly widened.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. The build of a warrior, yet the face of a prince. A mischievous, almost boyish charm softened the sharp lines of his features, but his striking blue eyes gleamed with something untamed.

Helen would have a field day with him. Like that one thing she said about how she looovedd versatile men, the ones that could manhandle you but also whimper. Or whatever.

Then, to your utter shock, he dropped to one knee, extending his hand toward you in a bold gesture of devotion. His demeanor was confident, but you saw him sporting a hue of pink on his cheeks. It was rather cute, but any feelings of fondness disappeared at his next words.

"O’ Helen—" the suitor began, his voice rich with reverence, "fairest of all women, whose beauty outshines even the dawn—"

You exhaled sharply through your nose. Of course.

"—permit me but a moment to bask in your radiance, for no mortal man could gaze upon you and remain unchanged—"

Your fingers curled tightly around the threads of your spindle.

"—grant me the honor of—"

"Try again," you cut in, your voice deceptively sweet.

The suitor paused mid-sentence, blinking up at you.

"Pardon?"

You raised an unimpressed brow, tilting your head. "If you’re going to wax poetic, you might at least direct it toward the right woman."

His lips parted, then pressed into a puzzled frown. He tilted his head, sharp blue eyes scanning your face as if trying to decipher a riddle. "But… you are Helen," he said slowly, as if testing the words.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "Afraid not."

A pause.

His gaze flickered over you again, as if he could will you into being Helen just by staring hard enough. "Are you sure?"

You gave him a look. "I would hope I know my own name."

His brows drew together, clearly struggling to process this revelation. "But you’re—you’re sitting under an olive tree, looking vaguely divine. Your hair caught the light just now in a way that seemed very… goddess-sent. You have the whole tragic air of someone who is probably devastatingly beautiful and sought after by hundreds."

You blinked, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. You shouldn’t be affected by his bromides, for his words must be a ploy to gain back his image after offending you. "Is that supposed to be an apology?"

He squinted. "More like a logical assessment of my mistake."

You sighed. "Well, your 'logical assessment' is incorrect."

He sat back on his heels, regarding you with blatant skepticism. "I don’t know," he said slowly. "I came here for Helen. You’re here. And you're lovely. Seems like a very Helen thing to do."

You gave him a flat stare in return. "What, exist?"

"Exactly."

You rolled your eyes. "I see why they make you fight instead of think."

At that, the suitor huffed a short laugh, his earlier embarrassment giving way to something more amused, more interested. "Alright," he conceded, crossing his arms over his knee. "If you aren’t Helen, then who are you?"

You leaned back against the tree, allowing yourself a small, satisfied smirk. "The woman you just proposed to by accident."

He blinked. Then groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "The gods are laughing at me."

"As they should," you replied smoothly.

To your surprise, he grinned. "That makes two of us, then," he mused, tilting his head at you. "I get the feeling you enjoy seeing men suffer."

A non committal hum from you. “Maybe, maybe not.” With that, you began weaving once more, giving him the signal that his presence and platitudes were no longer needed.

Yet, he remained.

You could feel his gaze lingering, heavy with an amusement that refused to wane. He had the look of someone thoroughly entertained, and that irritated you more than anything. Having conversed with him, you knew he was sharper than the average suitor—quick-witted, quicker still to recover from his blunders. Though he had not done anything to overtly suggest it, there was something about him that set him apart. It was a feeling—an air around him, something god-graced.

You paid it no mind.

He had not meant for you to be the one on the receiving end of his affection, and it would do you no good to cling to a man who had come here seeking another. He was meant to lose his mind over Helen, not take interest in you.

"Tell me your name," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You didn't pause in your weaving. "Why?"

A short huff of laughter. "I figure if I’m already embarrassing myself in front of a woman, I should at least know which one."

You shot him a sidelong glance, unimpressed. "Bold of you to assume you’ll be staying long enough for it to matter."

His grin deepened. "Well, now I have to stay, just to prove you wrong."

You sighed, shaking your head. "You’re insufferable."

"I’ve been told worse," he admitted. Then, leaning forward just slightly, he added, "Though never by a woman whose name I don’t know."

You lifted a brow at him, unimpressed. "And do you have a name, then, mysterious suitor?"

His expression shifted, something proud yet teasing gleaming in those striking blue eyes.

"Gojo Satoru," he declared, as if it should mean something to you. "Of Ithaca."

You hummed, as if considering. "Never heard of it."

He blinked, then scoffed. "Never heard of Ithaca?" He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "A land of brilliant minds, fierce warriors, and some say the most handsome men to ever walk the earth—"

"Ah," you interjected, dry. "That explains it."

He smirked. "Explains what?"

"Why I’ve never heard of it."

A beat of silence. Then, to your dismay, he laughed—fully, unabashedly, as if you’d just handed him the greatest gift in the world.

You huffed, returning your attention to your weaving. "Now that you have a name to be proud of, surely you can be on your way."

"Not yet," he said, far too easily.

You didn’t look up. "Why?"

"Because you haven’t given me yours."

You didn’t miss the way his voice dipped, taking on something smoother, something more coaxing. He was trying to charm it out of you, as if your name was a prize worth winning.

"Perhaps I simply don’t wish to give it," you mused, feigning disinterest.

"Perhaps you’re afraid," he countered.

You did look up at that, leveling him with an unimpressed stare. "Afraid?"

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. "That if I know your name, I’ll never forget it." His gaze flickered to your hands, to the weaving that had slowed ever so slightly. "And maybe… neither will you."

You forced yourself to resume your work, your fingers steady despite the odd flutter in your chest. "You think too highly of yourself, Gojo Satoru of Ithaca."

"I’m told it’s my greatest flaw," he admitted, smirking. "Well—one of many."

You ignored him, the rhythmic motion of your weaving serving as a convenient distraction.

Gojo exhaled, as if relenting—though something told you he was nowhere near finished with you. He rocked back on his heels, eyeing you with unconcealed interest. "Alright, mystery woman," he drawled. "If you won’t give me your name, I suppose I’ll have to keep guessing."

You didn't dignify that with a response.

But somehow, you knew—this would not be the last time Gojo Satoru of Ithaca sought you out.

He had yet to claim your name.

No matter how cunningly he pried, no matter how sweetly he coaxed, you remained steadfast, denying him that small but significant victory.

Satoru had undoubtedly set sail for Sparta in search of a worthy challenge and a faithful bride—but he had not expected to find both in one woman. You were a puzzle, divine and elusive, a riddle spun by the Fates themselves. And for a man who relished the thrill of unraveling mysteries, you were the most captivating enigma he had ever encountered.

Not since the day he bested the enchanted boar—a feat that had drawn Athena’s keen eye and earned him her favor—had he felt such a rush.

He’d dare say you were the first one he’s felt an affinity for, despite the countless of women and candidates he had faced ever since becoming the king of Ithaca.

But before he could ponder more on the thought, he sensed a presence, tensing immediately. Heavy-set footsteps, trying to be quiet in the hallway they were both in.

Satoru crossed his arms, halted where he was. “I know you’re there.”

A laugh barked out in a deep voice. “Perceptive like they say, Gojo Satoru of Ithaca.”

Satoru watched as Toji Fushiguro sauntered toward him, his movements unhurried, yet carrying the unmistakable confidence of a seasoned warrior. The man was broad-shouldered, his presence commanding, the kind of brute who could cleave a man in half with a single swing of his blade. Yet his grin—sharp, knowing—held more calculation than recklessness.

Toji came to a stop before him, arms crossed, weight shifted onto one foot like he had all the time in the world, smirking. "No wonder Athena’s got her eye on you."

Satoru tilted his head, feigning nonchalance. "I do have a way of impressing gods and mortals alike," he mused. "Though I imagine you didn’t come all this way just to admire me."

“Just assessing the competition,” Toji hums in response, eyes still assessing Satoru. He was trying to plan three steps ahead; unfortunately for him, Satoru was ten steps ahead.

“There is no competition,” comes Satoru’s cool response.

Toji studied Satoru for a moment, his sharp green eyes narrowing slightly. Then, with an amused scoff, he asked, "You’re not here to fight for Helen’s hand? Are you crazy?”

Satoru let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if the very thought was amusing. "Helen?" he echoed, letting the name roll from his tongue with deliberate care. He lifted a hand, absently brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. "No, I’m afraid I have no interest in her."

Toji studied him, eyes narrowing. "She’s the most beautiful woman in the world."

Satoru did not deny it. "So they say."

"And yet," Toji pressed, his tone skeptical, "you aren’t here for her?"

Satoru finally looked at him properly, his head tilting, his gaze alight with something teasing, something unreadable. "Not in the way you are." He let the words settle between them before continuing, his tone almost indulgent. "You’re welcome to her."

Toji’s mouth pressed into a thin line. His instincts told him Satoru was not lying, yet something about the Ithacan’s expression, the way he carried himself, the glint in those striking blue eyes—it all made him wary. He had met many warriors in his time, but this was no brute with a sword, no hotheaded prince desperate to claim a prize.

Satoru Gojo was something else entirely.

"So what is it, then?" Toji asked, crossing his arms tighter, his voice edged with suspicion. "You sailed all this way, and for what? A festival?"

Satoru’s smirk deepened, his expression inscrutable. "Let’s just say Sparta has given me a rather interesting puzzle."

Toji scoffed but let it drop, running a hand through his dark hair. "Whatever," he muttered. "If you're really not here for Helen, then maybe you can help me."

Satoru hummed in vague interest. "Oh?"

"I intend to win her," Toji stated plainly. "But I could use an extra hand in ensuring things go my way."

Satoru did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned his gaze upward, as though admiring the vaulted ceilings of the hall, as though considering some grander design that only he could see. Then, with the ease of a man wholly unbothered by the concerns of others, he exhaled through his nose, the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Don't worry about it," he said at last, his voice rich with something almost too smooth, too assured. "Everything is already falling into place."

Toji stiffened slightly at the words, his war-honed instincts bristling at their implication. He did not like things he could not predict, and Gojo Satoru of Ithaca was proving to be as unreadable as the gods themselves.

His brows lowered. "And what the hell does that mean?"

But Satoru only laughed, turning on his heel, the faintest shimmer of torchlight catching in his silver-white hair.

"Guess you’ll just have to wait and see."

And with that, he strode off, his footsteps unhurried, leaving Toji standing in the flickering shadows, frowning after him.

The great hall of Sparta was alive with the clash of bronze and the roars of men. The suitors, assembled from all corners of Greece, fought with a desperation that could only belong to those who sought glory and the hand of Helen. Blades flashed, spears thrust, and the resounding clamor of shields meeting shields filled the air like the din of battle.

Satoru Gojo of Ithaca stood at the edge of the fray, watching with a detached amusement. He had not drawn his blade, nor did he so much as feign interest in the chaos unfolding before him. Instead, his arms were loosely crossed, his posture relaxed, his sharp blue gaze studying each warrior as though they were mere pieces on a game board.

Meanwhile, you and Helen watched from the shade of a marble colonnade, seated atop a cushioned bench where servants had arranged fruits and wine for the both of you. But neither of you reached for the offerings; your gazes remained transfixed on the chaos below.

You shook your head at the ridiculous display. "It must be nice to be fought for by so many men," you murmured, resting your chin in your palm.

Helen sighed daintily—in a way that was so typically Helen it made you smile fondly—her hair catching the afternoon light like threads spun from the sun itself. “I will admit that it has its advantages.”

You cast her a dry look before gesturing at the men below. “Helen,” you shook your head, sighing exasperatedly, “they’re savages. They’re beating each other senselessly. Does this not disgust you?” Instead, your cousin’s beautiful lips curled up in a knowing smile, teasing you, “Jealous, my dear cousin?”

“No.” But the answer came a little too quickly, a little too defensively. The yells and violence was a display of brutishness—but you would not be truthful to yourself if you didn’t admit that you were a bit envious of the attention your cousin was getting.

However, one would be a fool to confuse your sentiments for bitterness—as a princess yourself, there were no shortage of men who would be here to get you as a prize, if they did not get Helen. No shortage of men wondering who is he? Who is the man who’ll have the princess as his wife?

But unfortunately, it seemed that your father, the Spartan king Icarius, had other plans, for he would not let any man be your husband so easily. In fact, he did not wish you to marry and be taken away from him.

It was safe to say that not much male attention was on you due to this obstacle.

Helen showed no reaction to your response, but only hummed. “This fighting—sooner or later, you’re going to be in my shoes. You’re going to have to choose at one point, too, my dear.”

“Says who?” You scoffed, turning your eyes back to the courtyard. “Do not forget Helen, these men want power. Power so they can tower above each other, place themselves above all others.”

Helen shrugged. “So what?”

You shook your head. “Silly Helen. Wouldn’t you prefer some intellectual prowess over some…savage?”

Before Helen could reply, a shift in the air drew both of your attention back to the courtyard.

The chaos had stilled, if only for a moment. A singular figure stood at the center of it all, his ivory hair catching the wind, his stance languid yet poised.

That suitor.

The gathered nobles whispered among themselves, exchanging glances as Satoru approached the high table where the King of Sparta, Tyndareus, sat watching. The aged king stroked his beard, his expression unreadable as the Ithacan prince stopped before him, offering a bow that barely concealed the glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Your Majesty," Satoru began smoothly, "it seems we have our victor. But before we move forward, I believe there is an agreement that must be made."

The murmurs in the hall grew louder. Tyndareus narrowed his eyes slightly. "Speak, Gojo of Ithaca."

Satoru straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. "These men have come from every kingdom in Greece, each seeking the honor of marrying your daughter. Such a prize, however, comes with its dangers. Whoever wins Helen’s hand will earn not just her love but the envy and ire of the rest." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the hall. "If left unchecked, this jealousy could lead to war."

Tyndareus’s jaw tightened. It was a concern he himself had harbored, though few had dared to speak it outright.

Satoru’s lips curled at the edges, his voice turning smooth, persuasive. "I propose an oath. Let every suitor here, whether victorious or defeated, swear allegiance to Helen’s chosen husband. Let them vow, upon the gods, to uphold this union and defend it should any outside force seek to undo it. In doing so, Sparta ensures peace among the great kingdoms, rather than sows the seeds of discord."

Silence fell over the hall. The assembled nobles exchanged glances, the weight of the proposal heavy in the air. Even Toji, ever the warrior, raised a brow in consideration.

Tyndareus studied Satoru for a long moment, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his throne. Then, slowly, he nodded. "You are wise beyond your years, Gojo of Ithaca. Your proposal is sound. Let it be done."

A herald stepped forward, calling for the gathered suitors to kneel. One by one, they bent the knee, placing their hands over their hearts, swearing their loyalty to Helen’s future husband, binding themselves to an oath that would shape the course of history.

As the final echoes of the vow rang through the hall, Satoru turned his gaze to Toji, his smirk deepening ever so slightly. The pieces were falling into place, just as he had foreseen.

Meanwhile, in your place—where you and Helen were spectating the whole event away from common sight—Helen nudged you slightly, voice hushed in interest you hadn’t seen her display for any suitor yet. “Did you see that—the way he sweet talked my father?” Her gentle eyes widened in a way that could kill a man. “Who is he?”

You had no answer. Because, truthfully, you were wondering the same thing.

The palace gardens were quiet at this hour, bathed in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. The scent of myrrh and olive trees lingered in the air, mixing with the faint salt of the distant sea. You sat with Helen beneath the shade of a vine-laden pergola, her back pressed against your legs as you wove your fingers through her silken strands, carefully braiding them into an intricate plait.

Helen, ever the restless one, sighed dramatically. “Do you suppose I should be flattered or terrified?”

You didn’t have to ask what she meant. The courtyard had been in an uproar for hours after the suitors’ oath had been sworn. Servants gossiped in hushed tones, and noblewomen tittered behind their veils. The future queen of Sparta had just gained the loyalty of every warrior present—whether she wanted it or not.

“Why not both?” you mused, separating another section of her hair.

Helen laughed, tossing her head slightly. “It is one thing to be the object of admiration. It is quite another to be the cause of bloodshed.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, though your fingers stilled when she spoke again, voice full of mischief.

“Did you see him?”

You resumed braiding. “Who?”

Helen turned just enough to throw you an incredulous look. “Who?” she repeated, mockingly. “As if you do not know exactly who I speak of. Gojo Satoru of Ithaca.”

You clicked your tongue. “Oh, him.”

“Oh, him?” Helen scoffed. “Do not play coy, cousin. He commanded that entire courtyard without lifting a blade.”

You smiled, but she could not see you. “That only proves he is cunning,” you pointed out, keeping your voice neutral.

“That proves he is powerful,” Helen countered, shifting as you tugged lightly at her braid. “He held those men in the palm of his hand.”

Barking out a laugh, you continued your work. “Or perhaps he simply enjoys hearing himself speak.”

Helen laughed, tilting her head back against your lap. “You wound me with your dullness. Do you not see? There was something about him. He has the air of a man accustomed to winning.”

You tried not to scowl. Of course he did.

And if Helen had her eye on him, there was no chance for you.

The thought settled in your chest like a stone.

It was not as though you had entertained any hopes—but you were not blind. The way he had looked at you in the hallways, the way he had tried to coax your name from you, the way he had seemed amused by your defiance. It had sparked something treacherous inside of you, something unspoken and foolish.

Because no man, no matter how powerful or wise, would ever choose you over Helen.

You forced your thoughts aside and tightened the braid. “And what of Toji Fushiguro?” you asked lightly, forcing the subject to change. “I noticed you watching him as well.”

Helen hummed, pleased with the shift in conversation. “A brute, but a striking one. I imagine he fights as well as he looks.”

You snorted. “I imagine he thinks with his fists.”

“All the better,” Helen teased. “I should not mind a warrior who throws me over his shoulder and carries me off.”

You rolled your eyes, but you giggled regardless. “You are insufferable.”

Helen twisted, kneeling so that you were now face to face. She reached for your hair, her fingers beginning to weave it into a braid of your own.

“You say I am insufferable, but you have yet to deny that Gojo Satoru is worth admiring,” she murmured.

You sighed exasperatedly, looking anywhere except for your cousin’s eyes. “Must we discuss this?”

Helen’s fingers worked deftly, her expression smug. “It is only natural to discuss the most intriguing men.”

“And yet I am sure you are doing it to torment me.”

“Perhaps a little.” Helen’s grin softened as she studied you. “You would not be so opposed to him if you did not find him interesting.”

You swallowed, looking away. “That is not—”

“You braid my hair with such care,” she interrupted, looping another section of yours. “And yet, you guard your own thoughts as if I am the enemy.”

You closed your eyes briefly, inhaling the scent of lavender and sun-warmed stone. Helen had always been perceptive when she wished to be.

“There is nothing to guard,” you murmured.

Helen merely smiled, finishing your braid with a satisfied tug.

But the knowing look in her eyes unsettled you more than any battle in the courtyard ever could.

Despite coming for Helen, Satoru continuously seeks your presence.

Your presence is intoxicating, even the smallest of glimpses of you enough to induce a feeling, one he’d liken to eating the gods’ ambrosia or drinking the finest nectar. Every time he saw you, it was passing moments in the hallways of the palace or sneaked glances while you were in the garden—your chin up, posture proud. Your eyes downcast as if you had no interest in the countless of men among you. The light only returned when you were weaving, or discussing with your cousin.

But Satoru had not been able to see you more than just those miniscule, fleeting moments—it was your accursed father that kept an eye on you during dinners, his withered glare threatening all suitors, as if to remind them: You’re here for Helen, and keep my daughter out of this, for she is not a prize you can easily win.

Little did he know Satoru loved challenges.

So he thanks the gods that an annual Spartan festival is thoroughly celebrated in the palace today.

The hall is the spitting image of revelry. Men adorn their finest tunics while women have braids of flowers and cloths, wine, fresh fruits, and meat are plentiful on all tables. There’s singing, there’s dancing, and, best of all, there’s you.

Satoru’s been observing you for quite some time now. It wouldn’t be fair to call it something akin to a predator stalking his prey; no, you far from being bested by Satoru. More like a bird waiting for all the weaker mates to filter themselves out.

They were like peacocks, the men that came up to you, with the way they flared their artificial grandeur. Each time a young man sat next to you, you remained aloof, giving them nothing but a bunch of polite glances and nods. But it was clear that what ever your responses or questions were, they were nonplussed. Satoru almost felt bad for the fools if it weren’t for how they were encroaching on his time to finally talk to you.

It was the opening that a particularly witless and brutish man had given him—the guy basically leaves the seat next to you, almost in tears from whatever you had said to him, but you only blinked as Satoru approached.

Satoru slid into the recently vacated seat beside you with the grace of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. He draped an arm over the back of his chair, all effortless ease, as if he had been waiting for this moment all night.

"Whatever you said to him, I’d like to hear it," he mused, his lips quirking in amusement. "Though I do hope you go a little easier on me—I’m rather sensitive, you see."

Your gaze flickered to him, unimpressed, though there was something almost imperceptible in your eyes—mild intrigue, perhaps.

"If you are so easily wounded, Your Majesty, then I fear you are not prepared for a Spartan woman’s words."

His grin widened. "Oh, but I live for danger."

You hummed, noncommittal, before returning your attention to the food before you. Satoru, however, found himself transfixed by the way you reached for a slice of fruit, your fingers delicate yet decisive as you brought it to your lips. You took a slow, deliberate bite, and for the first time in his life, Satoru forgot how to speak.

It was absurd, really. He had seen beautiful women eat before—Helen herself had a practiced elegance to it—but there was something about you. Something about the unthinking ease with which you did it, how your lips parted just slightly before closing around the fruit, how you chewed with quiet, effortless grace, unbothered by the weight of hungry gazes that lingered on you.

For a man who had always been surrounded by beauty, who had spent his life sated and indulged, it was utterly unfair that something so simple could leave him spellbound.

Perhaps the gods were toying with him.

"You’ve been staring for quite some time," you remarked, snapping him out of his reverie.

Satoru exhaled a laugh, recovering with impressive speed. "Can you blame me? I’m simply trying to unravel the mystery of how you managed to make that poor soul flee in tears. I’d rather not suffer the same fate."

"Then I suggest you leave now, Your Majesty."

"Not a chance."

You sighed, though there was the ghost of amusement at the corner of your lips. "Persistent, aren’t you?"

Satoru grinned. "And yet, here you are, still talking to me."

He watched as you reached for another piece of fruit, this time slower, as if testing him, watching to see if he would stare again. He nearly laughed—because, of course, he did.

"You truly are hopeless," you muttered, shaking your head.

"Ah, but at least I am entertaining," he countered. "And I do believe I’ve managed what those other poor fools could not—I’ve kept your attention."

You opened your mouth to retort, but he was faster. "Go on, you can admit it," he teased. "I make for much better company than them, don’t I?"

For a moment, you merely regarded him, expression unreadable. Then, to his absolute delight, a soft laugh escaped your lips.

It was small, barely more than an exhale, but it was real.

And gods, it was beautiful.

Satoru leaned in slightly, drinking in the sight of you as if committing it to memory.

"See?" he murmured, triumphant. "I told you I’m quite good at this."

Your amusement lingered, but you shook your head as if in exasperation. "If you say so."

He did not say so. He knew so.

Because despite all the reasons he had come to Sparta, despite all the men who had gathered to win Helen’s hand, Satoru had found himself drawn to you instead.

And he had no intention of stopping now.

But before he could get another word in, a horn sounds, and you nod to him, somewhat apologetically. “That is my call.”

Before he can ask, you head, skirts fluttering behind you as you move to join a growing group of young ladies in the middle. It’s clear the gathering has captured the interest of most of the men that were previously dining.

You make your way down to the middle, where you arrive at your position—it’s the one you’ve occupied every year. This dance is a show of grace and lineage, a chance for the noblemen to watch and admire, to see which girl carries herself with the most poise, the most elegance, the most effortless charm.

In Gojo’s eyes, it’s easy to determine who that is.

You take your place among your cousins, hands joining as the musicians begin their melody. It is a lighthearted dance, nothing too intricate, nothing that demands much more than the ability to move in time with the others. Your skirts flutter with each step, the long strands of your braid swaying as you turn.

It’s a girlish, lighthearted dance you’ve done since you were little. You and your younger cousins giggle as you go through the motions, reveling in the attentions of the spectators that witness the lovely display with amusement and pure, wholesome adoration.

That is, until you register a special set of eyes on you.

In a specific turn along to the strum of the lyre, you turn gracefully—a move that orients you towards Gojo’s direction. When you finally see his face and notice his presence, it’s like you’re kicked in the chest in a spar with Helen, with the way your breath leaves you.

His eyes are dark, enraptured on you, and only you. Heat creeps up your neck as you move your hands as you’re oddly flustered. His gaze is admiring and is respectful, but the intensity of it—like longing that is toeing the line between lust and pure yearning—makes your heart quicken in a way that you rue your accursed organ, for it to beat so traitorously. When he notices that you’re staring back at him, his jaw—which was clenched—loosens in a smile, but the smile isn’t innocent. It spells out a promise—one unspoken, one that curls at the edges of his lips like a secret meant for you alone. It is the kind of smile that men wear when they know something you don’t, when they have already decided on something long before you’ve even had the chance to argue.

It is sharp. Focused.

It traces the curve of your waist, the sway of your hips, the way your arms extend with each graceful movement.

It darkens.

Heat spreads up your neck before you can help it. The flickering torches of the hall must be to blame, or perhaps the wine in your belly, but you feel warm, too warm, and it is absurd.

Why should you care where Gojo of Ithaca’s eyes linger?

His smirk grows, and it is cocky. Infuriating, even. You snap your head away before he can see how your face burns, resuming your dance with the others, willing yourself to shake off the foolishness that has settled in your bones.

But even as you turn, even as the skirts of your dress flare and the room around you continues its celebration, you feel it—

His eyes.

Still watching.

“Athena, I swear to you that I need her. She is my future wife!” Gojo insists, stomping his feet as he trails the goddess as if he were a child. It reminded the goddess of wisdom of when she first met him—when he had taken down the magic boar she had let loose, showing him of having intellect worthy of being mentored by her.

But Athena had meant to be a mentor to a warrior of the mind—not this lovesick, pathetic fool in front of her, like a dog whining for food. Athena sighed exasperatedly as another animal she was hunting runs away from Gojo’s sheer loudness. “Enough!” she snaps, but not unkindly. “Who is this princess you speak of, and what kind of spell has she cast on you to become this much of a fool?”

Gojo ignores any insults directed towards him, and instead adorns a bright smile at the mention of you. “She is the cousin of Helen of Sparta, and the daughter of Icarius—”

Gojo is interrupted by a snort. “The same one that swore to never marry his daughter off?”

This gives Gojo a reason to pause. He had not known this fact. “So, how do you propose I—”

Much to his chagrin, the w goddess is already a few steps ahead. “To waste my time on strategy to secure a woman, Gojo, is quite preposterous.

But if you must insist on my counsel, then you shall earn it," Athena declares, turning on her heel to face him fully. Her gaze, sharp as a well-honed blade, sweeps over him, as if assessing whether he is truly worth the effort. "Icarius is a man of reason before all else. He values intellect, discipline, and above all, loyalty. If you wish to stand a chance, you must prove to me two things: one, that she is a wise woman worth of being sought after, and, two, you must prove that you are not merely another suitor blinded by beauty."

Gojo grins, clearly pushing his luck. "So you will help me?"

Athena exhales, the very picture of divine suffering. "I will not gift you the answer, but I will grant you the means to find it yourself."

"Which is just a long-winded way of saying you will help me." He nods sagely, as if he has unraveled the mysteries of Olympus itself.

Athena rubs her temple. "I should have let the boar trample you."

Gojo only laughs, stepping in line beside her as they weave through the woods. His mind is already turning, piecing together what little he knows of Icarius, of you, and of what he must do to win. Because one thing is certain—he will win.

Icarius may have sworn never to wed you off, but Gojo Satoru has never been one to abide by the rules.

You do not want to be here.

All you simply wanted was time in your sanctuary, your olive tree. It remained hidden in the royal gardens, so it’s a wonder that Gojo of Ithaca had found you. Of course, you would have to be a fool to not admit that these suitors’ wit paled in comparison to that white-haired young king. Such as this one, for example.

“My lady, I could not help but notice your fair disposition when I looked upon you,” the suitor grins, his teeth bared like a dog catching scent of a meal. It is not a pleasant expression. You do not react, save for clutching your weaving tighter to your chest. He steps closer, and you take measured care not to recoil, though the instinct is strong. “May you grant me your name—”

“I would have to apologize,” you cut him, already turning away. “My father does not—”

You’re stopped by a harsh grip on your wrist, and you wrench your gaze back to the suitor in shock.

"You wound me, my lady," the man says, still smiling as if this was amusing. As if he had power over you. Physical power, you suppose, but clearly this man was lacking in intellect, to not have noticed his presence. "You have been so cold to me, and I—"

He does not notice the shadow behind him.

“Ah,” a voice interjects, smooth, easy. “That’s no way to hold a lady’s hand, is it?”

The grip on your wrist slackens, but another takes its place—light, barely a touch.

Gojo.

The suitor’s face twists in confusion, but it quickly shifts to pain as Gojo applies the smallest pressure to his wrist.

“You—”

“She said no,” Gojo interrupts breezily. “And I’d hate to make a scene, so do us all a favor and leave before I decide to break something, yeah?”

With an effortless flick of his hand, the suitor stumbles back, shaking out his wrist as if burned.

Gojo does not spare him another glance. His attention is on you.

“Are you alright?” His voice is softer now, no teasing lilt, no easy arrogance.

You hesitate, unsettled.

“I was handling it,” you say, though it does not come out as firm as you would like.

Gojo only hums, something that sounds like, I know you could, but you’re distracted by his eyes drifting down to your wrist, where a faint mark has already begun to bloom.

His gaze darkens, but you hurry to assure him. “I’ll bandage this, it’s not a big wound—”

He interrupts you. “No need,” gently holds your shoulder, as if imploring you to follow him into the direction he’s started to walk, “I’ll do it myself.”

“That’s not—”

“Look.” He shoots you a look, but it is not unkind nor patronizing. You realize belatedly that it has set your heart aflutter. “I trust that you know how to bandage your wound. But I have had countless like it, so you are with a skilled master in healing. And who knows which suitors may find you on your journey to the physician?

You purse your lips, biting back a retort but failing. “And aren’t you one of the said suitors?”

His lips pull back in an amused smile, and you notice his hand is still resting lightly on your shoulder. “I think we both know I’m different.” You bite back a smile.

“Oh, really?” you remark dryly, but the look in your eyes is anything but. “And how did Your Majesty acquire the title of being different?”

His thumb brushes, just barely, against the fabric of your sleeve before he withdraws his hand entirely, as if sensing that he’s lingered too long. But his smirk remains, insufferable as ever.

“For one, I don’t make a habit of forcing myself upon unwilling women,” Gojo remarks, a pointed edge to his otherwise careless tone. “And for another…” He tilts his head, considering you. “I daresay I might be infatuated in a way they—or you—couldn’t comprehend.”

Your breath catches, but you recover quickly, huffing as you turn away. “All these sweet nothings. Helen will love you.”

Gojo chuckles, stepping ahead of you as he leads the way. “Yet she is not the one I am after.”

You pause. Soak in his words. Outwardly, you roll your eyes and follow him for you were at a lack of words, but inside Poseidon’s storm rages inside you at his words, creating a ferocious whirlpool of conflicting feelings.

His strides are long and easy, as if he belongs wherever he walks, and yet, he slows his pace just enough for you to keep up. The gesture is not lost on you.

The physician’s chamber is quiet when you arrive, save for the distant chatter of servants outside. Gojo does not call for assistance. He merely gestures for you to sit, pulling out a small cloth and a bowl of water, his movements easy and practiced.

“You’ve done this before,” you murmur as he kneels before you, pressing the damp cloth against your wrist.

His smile is unreadable. “I am a warrior, am I not?”

The cold seeps into your skin, making you shiver. Gojo notices. His touch, for all his bravado, is unbearably gentle. You do not know what to make of it.

“You’ll bruise,” he says softly, fingers skimming over the faint marks. “Does it hurt?”

You swallow. “No.”

A lie.

Gojo’s gaze flickers up to yours, and for the first time, there is no teasing in his expression—only something quiet and knowing, something that makes your heart betray you in its weakness.

For a moment, you both fall into a silence, and, to avoid his gaze, you go back to clutching at your hand and staring at it, as if there’s something really intriguing about it. Then, he speaks up. “Want to play?”

You bring your gaze back to him, caught off guard. “What?”

He cocks his head in a direction to which you face, and there you see it: a game board. One to play petteia.

You turn back at him, blinking. “You play petteia?”

Gojo grins, stretching out with a lazy ease that only makes you more suspicious. As if he has ulterior motives to this. “What, surprised? Strategy games are a warrior’s pastime.”

You squint him. That line of reasoning was rather true, you suppose. Something told you—something being the way he convinced Helen’s father so easily, how he always seemed three, no, six steps ahead—that he was no normal warrior, no normal brute. Huffing, you remark offhandedly, “I suppose a true warrior does sharpen his mind as well as his sword. It’s a pity that you’ll be losing today. To me.”

His smile deepens, and it makes you notice small indents in his cheeks as a result, and the way there’s a rosy pink hue on his cheeks, as if he’s excited to see what you can do. “Then by all means, put me to shame.”

You settle onto the floor, determined, as he arranges the pieces between you. The rules are simple enough—capture your opponent’s pieces by flanking them on either side—but the way Gojo moves is anything but. He plays with an insufferable sort of confidence, shifting his pieces with flicks of his fingers, as if the game is already his to win.

Until it isn’t, obviously.

He frowns when the click of stone dropped onto the board sounds. You’ve cut off his advancing soldier, trapping it neatly between two of your own.

“Huh,” he muses, tapping his chin. He stares at the board, mind no doubt going at a speed unfathomable to most. His eyes flick rapidly, as if assessing the position of all the stone and calculating all the possible moves and permutations that can salvage him out of the situation you’ve created for him. You maintain your poker face, but inside, you want to smile. You had calculated those said combinations a few steps ago, and it’d be really hard to get out of this. Then, comes out a “That was… unexpected.”

You smile sweetly. “What’s wrong? Did the great King of Ithaca not anticipate that?”

Gojo exhales, dragging a hand through his hair while huffing out a laught. “You’re quite ruthless, aren’t you?”

“I’m practical,” you correct, claiming another of his pieces. “And good at this game.”

Gojo squints at the board, as if trying to decipher where exactly he went wrong. “You do know you’re supposed to let me win, right? My pride is fragile.”

“I wasn’t aware kings had fragile pride.”

“You wound me, my lady.” He presses a hand to his chest, but his movements are distracted as he moves another piece—only for you to immediately trap it.

His head snaps up. “Wait—”

You make your final move, effortlessly cornering his last few soldiers.

Silence.

Gojo blinks at the board.

You clear your throat. “Do you need a moment to process this?”

Slowly, he leans back, shaking his head with something close to awe. “You know, I was planning to go easy on you, but I don’t think that would have helped.”

You grin, triumphant. “I’ll take that as an admission of defeat.”

Gojo exhales through his nose, then tilts his head at you, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes.

“You’re dangerous,” he says, and you’re not quite sure if it’s a compliment or a warning.

“Maybe to an overconfident king who underestimates his opponent.”

That urges out a laugh from him, and he shakes his head. “Trust me, I was not underestimating you. It seemed that I had overestimated myself.”

Before you can respond, Gojo leans forward, propping his chin on his hand as he watches you with something unsettlingly thoughtful.

You don’t trust that look.

“What?” you ask warily.

He hums. “Just thinking.”

“That’s a dangerous pastime for you.”

Gojo presses a hand over his chest, as if wounded. “Cruel. After I iced your wrist and let you absolutely demolish me at petteia, this is the thanks I get?”

“You act as if I owe you something.”

His smirk returns, slow and smug. “Well, since you mention it…”

You narrow your eyes. “No.”

“You didn’t even hear me out.”

“I know you well enough to predict whatever absurd request you’re about to make.”

Gojo lets out a dramatic sigh, tilting his head back. “And here I was, about to propose something completely reasonable. A fair exchange.”

You arch a brow. “Fair?”

He nods, all feigned seriousness. “See, I let you win.”

“You most certainly did not.”

“And I helped with your wrist.”

Your lips press into a line. “Which you did of your own volition.”

Gojo ignores this. “So, as a completely justified request, I think you should let me meet you in the royal gardens.”

You blink. His words hang in the air between you, a casual proposition that somehow carries more weight than it should.

“The gardens?”

He nods. “By the olive tree at sunset. The one where we met.”

“Why?”

Groaning, he lounges back, pushing his feet out while doing the motion. It makes his long legs come closer to where yours are opposite from him, so much that you can feel their heat. Not direct contact, but there. “Have I not made my advances clear by now?” He moves to a sitting position, a more serious look in his eyes as he earnestly looks at you, but you find it hard—despite your usual dry disposition towards suitors—to maintain eye contact, so you opt to look at your hands instead as his next words strike blows to your treacherous heart.

“Your Highness, I am here for you. You are far wittier than me—I have things to learn from you. You have bewitched me, for I did not know it was possible for a lady to consume my every waking thoughts in such a violent way as you have. You may think me a stranger, and you may think me one of the many foolish suitors here for Miss Helen’s hand, but I will make you fall in love with me. I will show you that despite my pride, I will be a kind and gentle husband.” He exhales, as if steadying himself, but his eyes remain fixed on you. There is no jest in them, no trace of the arrogance he so often wears like armor. Only something raw.

“And I will absolutely not leave this city until you come back to me in my kingdom as the Queen of Ithaca. It may require god-like skill to convince your father to marry me—but I am nothing if not persistent.”

Before you can even begin to form a response—before you can push past the breath lodged in your throat, the furious pounding in your chest—there’s a voice.

"There you are!"

Helen.

You turn just as she strides toward you, golden as ever, a vision of effortless beauty. She doesn’t seem to have heard a word of what was just spoken, too preoccupied with her own delight at having found you.

"I’ve been looking everywhere," she sighs, linking her arm through yours before glancing at Gojo, who, for once, remains uncharacteristically silent. Her eyes flick between the two of you, and then she hums. "I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything?"

Gojo recovers faster than you do. "Not at all, Your Highness," he says smoothly, a practiced smile slipping into place. "I was simply getting to know your cousin better."

Helen gives him a flirtatious smile, but nevertheless turns to you, frowning. “And why are you at the physician’s?”

You feel Gojo’s eyes follow your movements as you shake your head and rise, walking towards Helen. “An unruly suitor. It was a light bruise, it is not a great matter–”

“A bruise?!”

“Come with me,” you hissed, waving her along so she did not question further. It seemed that the room was very warm, for you felt a heat creep up your neck the longer Gojo’s eyes unequivocally stayed on you.

Helen blinked, at a loss for words, no doubt pondering why you both were leaving Gojo’s presence so readily. “But His Majesty—”

“Cousin,” you snapped, “did you not have a reason to be looking for me?”

Helen blinks, momentarily distracted. Then, as if something suddenly occurs to her, she brightens.

“Oh! Yes, Father wanted to see you.”

You exhale, relieved—only for it to be short-lived, because she doesn’t move.

She remains rooted in place, glancing back at Gojo with a look that is far too amused for your liking. The flirtatious smile returns, softer now, more intrigued.

“But surely,” she muses, tilting her head, “you wouldn’t mind if I stayed a moment longer? It’s not often one meets a man as charming as His Majesty of Ithaca.”

You narrow your eyes. “Helen.”

“What?” she says, all innocence. “We’re simply talking.”

You glance at Gojo, expecting him to look insufferably pleased, but instead, he’s watching you. Not Helen. You tear your gaze away.

It’s only once the two of you are walking through the halls, out of earshot, that Helen sighs, linking your arms again.

“He’s quite something, isn’t he?” she murmurs.

You keep your eyes ahead. “Perhaps. A bit arrogant, though.”

“He’s clever,” she corrects, then gives you a knowing look. “And you like him.”

You scoff, though the heat on your skin betrays you. “I do not.”

Helen only laughs, shaking her head. “Dearest cousin,” she sighs, “I have seen you endure the most persistent suitors with all the warmth of an ice-cold river. And yet, here you are, playing petteia with him, letting him tend to your wounds.”

You do not have an answer to that.

And Helen does not press further. She only smiles wistfully to herself, as if she already knows how this story will end.

…

The halls are silent at this hour, save for the whisper of your steps against the cool stone. You keep to the shadows, careful, quiet. If anyone were to see you like this—wrapped in a cloak, a weaver in hand, slipping through the corridors like a thief in the night—there would be whispers by morning.

But then again, what whispers have ever concerned you?

The thought does not comfort you as much as it should.

Your grip tightens around the weaver, its familiar weight grounding. You brought it with you on the off chance that Gojo, like most men, proves unreliable. You have no reason to believe he will come; his feelings for you could be temporary lust, a second option in case his primary one—Helen—fails. No reason to have entertained his invitation at all. And yet, you go.

You cannot say why.

A foolish impulse, perhaps. Or simple curiosity. Or maybe—

You push the thought away, focusing instead on the memory that surfaces unbidden.

A conversation with your father, just today while you dined.

You had spoken of Helen’s upcoming wedding of the foreign princes and warriors who sought her hand, of the future that awaited her.

Your father had frowned, the lines of his face deepening. “It is dangerous,” he had said, quiet but firm. “To entrust my daughter to a man who cannot ensure her well-being.”

You had smiled then, easy and unbothered, as if his words did not touch something in you. “It is not you he must convince.”

He had looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his gaze, but ended up remarking offhandedly, as if reminding you. “I do not want you to go far from me.”

And you, still smiling, had said nothing at all.

Now, in the solitude of the night, you are no longer smiling.

You know your father’s concern is not unfounded. It is not simply Helen’s future that weighs on him—it is yours.

But it is a strange thing, the way his words linger, how they press against you, heavy and quiet. Not as a warning. Not as a burden. But as something else. Something you cannot yet name.

You reach the courtyard, the olive tree standing tall against the night sky behind a series of trees. You exhale, slow and steady, before walking to reach it, weaver in hand.

If he comes, he comes.

And if not—

Well. You were never the kind to wait idly for a man.

But before you could go on your endless mental tirade of how despicable the male species were, you heard a voice. Gojo’s voice in particular.

Walking closer and closer—to where your olive tree was but not where you were visible, trees providing coverage—you noticed him talking to someone in a hushed, yet excited tone. You use the window of sight allowed by the gap between the trees’ leaves to see him, standing with an owl on his forearm. It’s turned to him, as if paying attention, although exasperatedly, to him while he stands tall as ever, his foot tapping impatiently against the grass.

You hesitate, watching as the owl blinks at him, as if listening, considering his words.

And then it notices you. Its, well, owlish eyes are wide as they lock in on your figure.

With a quiet rustle of feathers, it takes flight, disappearing into the night.

Gojo turns, following its path before his gaze lands on you.

“You scared my friend away,” he says, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

You blink at him. “You were talking to an owl.”

He shrugs, as if this too is perfectly reasonable. “She’s a good listener. A little judgmental, though.”

You give him a look, unimpressed. “I see you’ve finally found an audience that suits you.”

His lips curve into a slow smile. “And yet, here you are.”

You huff, settling onto one of the smooth stones beneath the tree. “I didn’t come for your company.” You hold up the weaver in your hands, as if that alone is proof of your intentions. “I came to pass the time.”

“Ah,” he drawls, stepping closer, hands slipping into the folds of his cloak. “And yet, you’re talking to me instead.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but he only grins, triumphant.

“Tell me,” he muses, dropping down beside you. “Were you hoping—or predicting, with that fast mind of yours—I wouldn’t come?”

You don’t answer right away, fingers idly threading the weaver. The night air is cool, the scent of olives and earth thick around you.

“Would it have mattered?” you ask at last, voice light, careless.

Gojo watches you, and for a moment, he does not answer either.

Then, quietly, as if confessing something neither of you are ready to name, he says, “Yes.”

You inhale slowly, fingers stilling on the weaver as his answer settles between you.

Yes.

It wasn’t spoken in jest, nor with the easy arrogance he so often wielded. Instead, it was quieter, more certain—like an unshakable truth, unburdened by expectation.

You don’t know what to make of it.

You cast him a glance from the corner of your eye. He’s sitting close but not too close, his long legs stretched out before him, arms resting lazily over his knees. His usual grin is absent, replaced by something unreadable, something you cannot name.

The weight of his gaze is different now. Not teasing, not searching for amusement—but waiting.

You look away first.

Your fingers resume their slow, practiced work, weaving delicate patterns into the fabric, though your thoughts are anything but orderly.

“Why are you here?” you ask, voice softer than you intend.

A beat passes before he answers.

“Because you are.”

You swallow.

He leans back onto his hands, tilting his head toward the night sky, moonlight catching in the pale strands of his hair. It makes him look otherworldly, like a figure carved from myth—too beautiful, too untouchable.

“I’m not Helen,” you say after a moment, unsure why the words leave your lips. “You have nothing to gain from this.”

Gojo exhales, a quiet sound, but when he looks at you again, there is something almost amused in his expression—touched with something softer, something more patient.

“Do you think I speak to owls for political gain?”

You huff, trying to ignore the warmth threatening to creep up your neck. “I think you do most things for your own amusement.”

He hums, as if considering that. “You wound me.”

“I doubt that,” you mutter, eyes fixed on your work.

And yet—his fingers twitch where they rest against the stone. It’s small, barely noticeable, but your eyes catch it, and you wonder.

Does he want to reach for you?

The thought unsettles you more than it should.

He exhales again, then shifts, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees, expression thoughtful. “You know,” he muses, “I had a whole speech planned.”

You raise a brow. “Oh?”

“Something about how I was drawn to you the way sailors are drawn to sirens. That you, unlike any other, have made me question things I thought I knew.” He looks down at his knees, lips pulling in a mischievous smile. “But with you, I doubt a night of spilling sweet nothings or perhaps…other things would have swayed you.”

Your fingers still.

“But I think I’ve changed my mind,” he continues, tilting his head. “I think I’d rather just talk to you.”

You stare at him, caught somewhere between wariness and something dangerously close to wonder.

And then, before you can stop yourself, you ask, “What would you have said next?”

His lips twitch, and for the first time tonight, there is mischief in his gaze again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You roll your eyes, but the moment has shifted, lighter now, though something unnamed still lingers beneath it.

“Keep your secrets, then,” you mutter, returning to your weaving.

“You wound me,” Gojo says again, pressing a hand to his chest as if truly affronted. “Here I am, spilling my heart, and you deny me even a scrap of sentiment.”

You let out a quiet scoff, keeping your focus on your weaving. “Perhaps if your words weren’t so dramatic, I’d be inclined to believe them.”

Gojo gasps. “Dramatic?” He leans closer, an almost boyish grin tugging at his lips. “My lady, I am nothing if not a man of sincerity.”

“Oh? So that speech about sirens wasn’t an embellishment?”

“Not at all.” He sighs, as if suffering under some great burden. “I wake in the morning thinking of you, I lay my head at night wondering if you’ve thought of me at all. It’s agony, truly.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips betray you, twitching into something dangerously close to a smile. “That sounds more like a malady than love.”

“Ah, but love is a sickness, is it not?” He exhales dramatically. “And you, my lady, have made a very ill man of me.”

Despite yourself, a laugh escapes—light, unguarded, like something slipping past your defenses before you can catch it.

And then—silence.

You glance at him, and find him already watching you.

His usual mischief is gone, replaced by something softer, something wholly unprepared. His breath is caught somewhere between his ribs, his lips slightly parted as if the sight of your laughter has stolen the air from him.

And then—

A blush, unmistakable even in the moonlight.

Your heart stutters.

Oh.

For the first time, you allow yourself to study him properly. The sharp angles of his jaw, the elegant bridge of his nose, the vivid eyes that hold yours so intently.

He is very handsome.

The thought settles somewhere unexpected, like an admission you’ve been avoiding.

Before you can dwell on it, something light catches against your shoulder—a drifting leaf, caught in the folds of your garment.

Gojo moves before you can react.

His fingers brush against the fabric near your collarbone, and then linger, featherlight and warm, as he pulls the leaf free. The moment stretches—longer than it should, charged with something unspeakable.

You feel his breath before you see him move, close enough now that the space between you is barely a whisper.

His hand, now free of its task, hesitates—before it trails downward, catching yours in his grasp.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to fill the moment with jest. His thumb traces the back of your hand, slow and absentminded, as if memorizing the shape of you.

Your own breath falters.

His breath is warm in the cool night air, his proximity setting something taut beneath your ribs. You are no stranger to flirtation, nor to men who think they can win you with pretty words, but Gojo—Gojo is different.

Perhaps it’s the way he looks at you now, his usual mischief tempered by something quieter. Or perhaps it’s the fact that, despite his arrogance, despite his clever tongue and tireless persistence, he does not presume to take.

He waits.

A dangerous thing, because it gives you time to notice the way his fingers twitch slightly against the fabric of your sleeve, the way his lips part as if tasting the words before speaking them.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, tilting his head.

You arch a brow, feigning indifference despite the heat pooling low in your stomach. “Am I?”

His lips curve. “Should I be flattered?”

You hum, as if considering it. “I’m only making observations.”

“Oh?” He steps just a fraction closer, his voice dipping. “And what have you observed, my lady?”

“That you blush quite easily,” you say smoothly, pleased when the faint flush creeps further up his neck. “That despite your grand declarations, you are, in fact, a little shy.”

Gojo lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Shy? My lady, you wound me.”

“Do I?” You tilt your chin up slightly, your voice softer now, your hand still in his.

His gaze flickers to your lips.

Your breath catches, just for a moment.

And then—

His hand moves, fingers brushing along the curve of your jaw before settling at the nape of your neck, his touch deliberate, careful. A question, waiting for an answer.

You don’t grant him words—only the tilt of your head, the briefest lean forward.

It is all the invitation he needs.

He kisses you like a secret, like something to be savored—slow at first, testing, before he grows bolder. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and warmth floods through you, seeping into your bones.

The world is silent save for the soft hitch of breath, the faint rustle of fabric as he deepens the kiss, as you allow yourself to press into him, fingers curling into the front of his tunic.

For a man who never stops talking, he is utterly wordless now.

When you wake up next in the morning, it is grumpy and tired. Not only were you up late into the night, talking to and…kissing Gojo of Ithaca, or rather, Satoru (while you were drunk on each other, he had convinced you to call him Satoru), but the sound of Helen’s squealing made your head ring, putting an unbearable pressure onto them.

“Helen!” you scold her, throwing a spare pillow at her. She easily dodges while you sit up in the bed, half-heartedly rubbing your eyes to wipe the sleep from them. As she throws herself onto the foot of the bed, you notice and hear the pitter patter of rain, casting a somber gray light in your bedroom that is occasionally interrupted by Zeus’s thunder, as if the god was angered or sharing a premonition.

Shaking off the thought, you scowl at your cousin, who’s excitedly prattling about things you still have yet to comprehend. “Slow down! Tell me, without spewing all your words at once.”

“Father gave me permission to marry!” she squealed, jumping on you and hugging you closely. She seemed happy, and you loved your cousin very much, even if you did not show it much. Pure affection permeates your countenance, as she continues. “You know I’ve always wanted to marry him, with his big arms and all. He could totally manhandle me, but you knoooww I love the ones that can whimper—”

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your ears as if scandalized (you’ve said much worse to her), but you grin regardless. “Who is the man that you have chosen?”

“Well,” she laughs, flipping her hair off her shoulder, “Gojo of Ithaca is to be my husband, of course.”

Your heart drops to your stomach.

What she says next seems to blur together, not registering because you are shocked, your world almost tilted.

Gojo of Ithaca is to be my husband, of course.

It is then you realize belatedly that Helen seems to be calling out to you, and what you notice the most out of anything on her face is the soft smile she has on her face. One that shows that she is fond of Satoru Gojo, that she has affection for him. And who are you—the girl whose father doesn’t wish for her to marry, one that isn’t to be promised—take that away from Helen, from him?

Gojo has made it clear that he is not here for Helen—but wouldn’t it be better for him and his kingdom (which you discovered last night that he cares so dearly for) for him to marry Helen? A beautiful queen and a wise king.

What a match.

You swallow, throat suddenly dry, but you manage a smile—strained, weak, but a smile nonetheless.

“Helen,” you begin, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you, “are you certain?”

“Of course!” she beams, oblivious to the way your fingers tighten in the fabric of your bedding. “Father said Gojo has yet to ask officially, but he will, I know it. And why wouldn’t he? A match like this—it’s fate.”

Fate.

What cruel irony.

You remember last night—Gojo’s hands warm against your skin, his laughter pressed against your lips, the way he had murmured your name like a vow.

And yet—

You look at Helen, golden and radiant even in the gray morning light, her eyes alight with genuine happiness. You love her, truly, and have since childhood. She has always had her pick of men, but there was something softer in the way she spoke of Satoru just now.

The soft smile, the dreamy lilt to her voice.

She wants this.

And what of you?

Your chest aches, but you laugh, the sound lighter than it should be. “You sound quite taken with him.”

“I am,” she beams, watching you. “He’s gorgeous! Charming, too. He told me last night that he thinks my eyes are like the sea at sunrise.”

Your stomach twists and it seems that the panic overwhelms you because all you can manage to do is swallow and nod. “Well,” you look at her with a tight smile, “I congratulate you. Let us discuss this matter further over breakfast.” She smiles and squeezes your upper arm in a goodbye, and the touch of it burns.

You don’t ever make it to breakfast that day.

It continues raining that day, and it’s quite appropriate for how you’re feeling. The feeling of melancholy permeates the air around you as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Usually, you occupy your time by reading or, more likely, weaving, but you couldn’t muster the energy to find interest in that either.

Over a man. What a shame.

You were not one to lie idle—you were constantly praised as a princess wise beyond her years, and it would be wise, in this situation, to move on. Because the man you had grown feelings for is now engaged to your cousin, or, at least, your cousin intends to be engaged with him. And it would be wiser to let it happen, for Helen’s happiness was your happiness.

Sighing, you stuff your face into your pillow and groan, muffled by the linen fabric of your seats. You then decide grudgingly that if you’re not going to leave your room at all, it may be best to shed yourself of your clothing and lay comfortably in your loincloth and mamillare.

But right as you put your hand on your clothing to strip yourself, you hear a noise.

The sound comes again—a sharp, rhythmic tap-tap-tap, just barely audible over the rain. You freeze, fingers still curled around the fabric of your chiton, half-peeled from your shoulder. At first, you think it might be a stray branch scraping against the stone, wind-tossed by the storm. But then it happens again—more deliberate this time, insistent.

Then, looking at the new objects strewn across your balcony, you realize it’s not branches—it’s pebbles.

You scowl, tying your garments hastily before moving toward the balcony. The rain is gentler now, more mist than storm, clinging to the stone and silvering the world beyond. You grip the railing and peer down—

And there he is.

Satoru.

Drenched from head to toe, hair plastered to his forehead, a frown curving his lips as he concentrates on where he’s going to throw his pebble next. His stance seems urgent, but you’re so caught up on the fact that he’s here, as if he isn’t supposed to be engaged to Helen or be subjected to whatever congratulatory round of alcohol men bestowed upon each other after securing the most beautiful woman alive.

Your heart stutters.

You pull back immediately, breath catching in your throat. You shouldn’t have come to the balcony. You shouldn’t be looking at him, shouldn’t be thinking about this morning when Helen’s voice still lingers in your ears—Gojo of Ithaca is to be my husband, of course.

The pebble strikes the stone beside you.

“I know you’re up there,” Gojo calls, tone indecipherable. “Are you really going to ignore me? After all we’ve been through?”

You swallow and your voice trembles when you say, “Go away.”

His resulting laughter sounds betrayed, hurt. “You don’t mean that.”

“Satoru,” and you don’t know if it’s a plea or a warning. His head tilts, an anguished look on his face as he closes his eyes and sighs.

“You wound me,” he huffs out a pained laugh, “After all, I run the risk of sickness just to see you and tell you that you believe wrong.”

Something is created in you, then. Something dangerous like hope. “What?”

But instead of answering, Gojo crouches, then, in one smooth motion, leaps up, catching the edge of the balcony with ease. You barely have time to react before he’s pulling himself over the railing, stepping onto solid ground with practiced grace.

You stumble back, eyes wide. “I told you not to come up.”

“And when have I ever listened?”

There’s something in the way he looks at you then—an intensity you aren’t prepared for. The air between you is charged, thick with something unspoken, something far too dangerous to name.

He takes a step forward. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

You blink, startled. “Excuse me?”

Gojo exhales, running a hand through his damp hair. “Why would you ever think it would be Helen?”

Your stomach lurches. “She said—”

“She assumed,” he corrects, cutting you off. “But I did not accept her. And you let her do that.” His voice drops lower, softer, a stark contrast to the teasing lilt he so often wields. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because if you do, it will come spilling out—the hope you tried to bury, the ache that settled in your chest the moment Helen uttered those words.

He moves closer, and you don’t stop him.

“Princess,” you can see his ivory lashes with how close he is, his face covered in raindrops, “for how wise you are, you seem to not have caught on. What animal is the emblem of Athena?”

Blinking, you’re taken aback by the sudden quizzing. “Owl, what about it—”

Oh.

He sees the realization dawn over your face, and now his tense expression melts into a bittersweet smile. “The goddess of wisdom has been my companion ever since I was a child, helping me attain whatever I needed the most. Whether it be to gain the knowledge one must have to be worthy of being king, or,” he inhales sharply, vibrant eyes scanning over your face vulnerably, “to gain the power to be able to make the wisest, wittiest, funniest, and most beautiful girl I’ve ever known my queen.

“After all, I have my wit—add a little of godlike power, and even I could defeat your father. Respectfully,” he adds quickly. He looks anxious you realize, as if he is about to make a risky move, a big ask. Something he’s been anxious to ask, but scared to. His eyes are still scanning you and his hands twitch at his side as he says, “I hesitate to make this decision, to ask you still after knowing the true nature of my desire for you—”

“Ask me what?”

His eyes are fixed on you, and you think that both of your hearts are beating very, very fast at the moment. “What do you think, princess?”

The silence that falls is loaded, heavy, and laden with hesitation. It’s as if a vice has caged its way through your heart, squeezing and squeezing until all the things you’ve left unsaid threaten to spill out. Things like I don’t want you to marry my cousin. Or yet, even worse, I want you to marry me. “I would not want to throw out my guesses, Satoru,” you instead opt to say, voice soft. “Things like this must be said directly, to not leave any confusion or misunderstandings.”

His jaw tightens, his breath coming harder as he stares at you, something raw and dangerous flickering in his eyes. “I agree. These things should never be left unsaid.” His voice is low, almost seething, but not with anger—no, this is something else entirely, something desperate. “I love you.” The words are unshakable, like a vow. “And I refuse to sit here and pretend my thoughts of you are anything less than ruinous. I dream of you in ways no other man is allowed to, ways that would send me to Hades with a smile on my lips. You have bewitched my soul, stolen the breath from my body, and most dangerously—you have claimed my mind.” His voice drops, softer now, but no less intense. “I do not know how to make you believe me, only that I would sooner challenge the gods themselves than let you slip through my fingers. The world could promise me tens of Helen, but there is only one woman I would ever choose.” His hand finds yours, fingers tightening, as his next words fall like an oath.

“You.”

Your breath stutters, throat tightening as his fingers tighten over yours. His touch is searing, as if the gods themselves have set him aflame, and yet you cannot pull away—you do not want to pull away.

“Satoru—” His name slips from your lips like a prayer, and he swears under his breath, his free hand coming up to cradle your jaw, thumb pressing just below your lips, as if he is fighting the urge to kiss you.

“I would tear down Olympus itself if it meant keeping you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your cheek. “I would make war with the gods, call upon Athena to guide my spear, and spill the blood of any man foolish enough to think they could take you from me.” His voice is rough, almost a growl, and you swear your knees would give way if not for the way he holds you now, as though letting go would be his ruin.

It is reckless, to let yourself lean into him, to let your fingers curl into the fabric of his damp chiton as though you could anchor yourself to him. But he is an anchor—pulling you into something deep, something dangerous, something you know you will not escape from unscathed.

His nose brushes yours, his lips so close that you feel his every breath, his every hesitation. But you see the war in his eyes, the battle between restraint and desire, and for once, you decide to let yourself be selfish.

So you whisper, “Then prove it.”

And that is all it takes for him to break.

His lips crash against yours, urgent and claiming, as if to kiss you any softer would be to deny himself the air he breathes. He groans as your hands tangle in his hair, your body pressing flush against his, his own hands no longer gentle but gripping, desperate, possessive. His teeth graze your bottom lip before he deepens the kiss, one hand trailing lower, pressing against the curve of your waist, then lower still—

Thunder crackles, as you gasp out his name. He pulls you both apart, looking anguished as if he’s fighting the urge to keep touching you, to make you moan out his name. Realizing this, you grab his hands and put them on yourself. “My love,” you say, tenderly, and you see how his pupils dilate in response, “you may touch me—”

“Are you sure? For if you say that, I may not be able to stop myself from indulging. Because I will take and take, until you can give me no more.” The way he says it, uncharacteristically serious and brows furrowed, makes you heat up even more, dizzy with lust and your pent up longing for the man.

But your response stays the same, paired with a firm nod. “I am sur—mmmph.”

He smothers you with his lips before you can finish, cupping your jaw until his hands start to move downwards. They move, tracing the planes of your body, and they are relentless in their exploration—they grab you possessively, pushing you closer and closer to him until his hands are below your thighs. Satoru maneuvers you until your legs are straddling his waist so that he can pick you up and carry you to your bed.

After he throws you down like carrying you poses to him as much of a challenge as carrying a light potato sack, he admires you—-thighs clenched, hair splayed around your head like a halo. The skirt of your clothes has inched its way up, exposing your thighs. “Gods, you don’t know what you do to me.”

But instead of playing the innocent maiden, you look at him through your lashes, laughing. “Satoru, time is of the essence. Flattery will get you nowhere—you must show it through your actions.”

You didn’t know what saying his name—and prompting him like that—does to him. He meets your lips in a furious kiss once again, this time hand sneaking up your skirt. He meets the fabric of your loincloth, hooking at its sides and pulling them downwards and downwards, until it is hooked off your ankle (not before Satoru leaves it a trailing kiss there, of course. It is only until Satoru’s eyes hone in what’s in the middle of legs that you realize that you are bare to him. “Satoru, I—”

“I must do something,” he instead responds, and you look at him in confusion. He’s moving down your body as you ask him what he means and if something’s wrong.

You’re interrupted by your gasp as his mouth descends on you, leaving hot, openmouthed kisses directly on your core. His tongue delves inside your lower lips, pleasing the nerves and leaving them singing. He undoes you, leaving your legs feeling like jelly, and the fervor he does it with is nauseating—as if your nectar is ambrosia itself.

Soon enough, with his reverent worship—and a finger or two added to stretch you out and make you emit embarrassing noises that only encourage him further—you come with a cry of his name. As you roll your hips, riding out your climax, his mouth and head follow and trail your hips, unrelenting in pleasuring you even though you’re overstimulated and left quivering.

“I—” you blurted, trying to fill the silence after he had just made you taste colors. “I hate you.”

Satoru faux pouts, biting back a grin. “Rude thing to say when I just made you—”

“Don’t finish that!” you shriek, swatting his head lightly as he laughs, kissing his way back up your body. In a tone more shy than you’d like, you say in a small voice, “But I hope we’re not done yet?”

Satoru’s made his way up to your clothed breasts, kissing them tenderly. However, when he hears the question, he stills, looks at you with wide eyes, and he groans, as if surprised by your forwardness. “Princess, the things you do to me.”

He kneads your ass while he stands up, orienting himself into a position to do—that. A voice in the back of your head reminds you that you’re not supposed to be doing this before you get married, but your lust is too strong. And, after all, you trust that there’s no way Satoru wouldn’t marry you.

You feel a slight pressure in your nether regions, and you realize that it is Satoru’s cock. His eyes are on you, blown out with lust, as he continues to stroke the length of it while observing your every reaction. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

With your confirmation, his eyes next left your face as he pushed in, moving slowly and gently. He gauged your features for any signs of discomfort or pain as he moved in shallow thrusts, gradually increasing their length. You gasped, his murmurs and sweet nothings coaxing out your whimpers and whines as he bumped a spot inside of you. As he did, fireworks erupted in the back of your mind, leaving you boneless as he got you closer and closer to your climax once again.

For someone who didn’t experience carnal desires often, you wonder how you’ve gone without this kind of pleasure for so long. Satoru made you feel worshipped, tracing kisses with a love that was almost pious. It doesn’t take you long after that to come once more, thrashing in his grip.

Your climax sheathed on his cock unlocks something in him, for he begins to thrust harder and faster, becoming sloppier and sloppier. His voice is by your ear, whining your name continuously. When he finally feels himself climb over and finally orgasm, he breathes out an “Ah,” and thrusts himself to completely bottom out while his come fills you up, pooling inside of you.

You both stay interlocked for gods know how long. Until Satoru pipes up, voice still unstable and panting, “By the way, it went unsaid, but I’m going to marry you. And you can’t say no.”

Your resulting giggle makes him break out in a big smile before he hugs you, wrestling you both to lie side by side in bed.

It goes without saying, but it all goes smoothly according to plan.

When Satoru had played with petteia with you, he had aimed to show Athena your wit. It is no small claim to defeat him, a king associated with Athena, in the game. The following events further made Athena approve of you and give her blessing.

So Gojo was already ten steps ahead when he asked your father for your blessing. Your father was furious, of course—he did not want to let you go. After much cajoling and agreement to beat your father, a champion runner, in a race to attain your hand, Satoru wiped his brow. The way your father loved you would be scary to him if he didn’t love you as intensely as he did now.

And of course Satoru won. Athena got her fellow Olympian, Hermes, to rent out his infamous speed. When he wins, Sparta is in an uproar, including your cousin.

“So, how is he?” Helen asks mischievously. You later found out that day that Helen’s words of marrying Gojo had a purpose—to push you both towards each other, once and for all.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you turn away, with a hmph. Crossing your arms, you pretend to roll your eyes at the knowing look she had.

“I don’t know, cousin,” she giggles, “I heard a couple of voices in your room when I tried to visit you a few nights back. Tell me, does he whimper—-”

“Helen!”

The day you marry, donning beautiful and regal clothes, Gojo sneaks you away multiple times to kiss you under your veil when no one is looking.

His wedding gift is built by him—on the voyage back to Ithaca, he not only takes you away from Sparta, but the olive tree that you both had met at. He builds the shared marital bed out of the olive tree for his queen with his blood and sweat. It is a symbol of your love, everlasting, and you would daresay that it is the most precious gift anyone has ever given you.

What you give him in return is one fat and giggly baby. Your father grumbles that the child looks too much like his father, but the way he holds the babe—so carefully, so gently—betrays his affection. Helen coos at her little nephew, amused at how utterly soft Satoru has become, how the once-cocky king now spends his days doting on both you and your child, as if he has won the world itself.

And perhaps he has.

After all, Satoru has always been a man of ambition. A man who would scheme, fight, and even defy the gods for what he desires. And yet, as he holds your child in one arm and you in the other, murmuring teasing words against your ear before stealing another kiss, you realize something—

He had never needed Athena’s wisdom, Hermes’ speed, or any other divine favor to win you.

Because you had already been his, just as he had always been yours.

general masterlist

a/n thank u to my very supportive bestie @purplegemadventures i love all ur ideas ml <3 anyways like always all my beta readers are the goats thank you for reading my incomprehensible ideas. it's 5am and there's a mosquito that's hovering near me and im not totally happy w how this turned out but it was fun writing it kjenkjne. i may write more greek mythology aus but i need to lock in on my series....

ppl who asked to be tagged: @heh123321 @melotter

thank you for reading! reblog and comment to let me know ur thots <3

✦ Encore | jjk (m) ✦

pairing: idol! jungkook x editor! reader

genre: smut, ex lovers, second chance au, angst with smut, toxic ex au

summary: You loved him before the lights, before the headlines, before he learned how to disappear.Now he’s back — older, hotter, famous — and this time, you’re the one calling the shots. But Jeon Jungkook doesn’t do endings. Only encores.

w.c: 10k

author's note: writing and creating stories takes a lot of time, and no matter how much i love doing this and jungkook, i would love your support and feedback 🖤

You’ve always known how to keep secrets. It’s a requirement—the requirement—of survival in an industry that trades on whispers, scandals, and carefully curated lies. Fashion is ruthless, a pretty monster wearing designer heels, and no one understands that better than you.

Two years of blood, sweat, and designer tears later, you've earned your throne at Vogue Korea. A glass-walled office overlooking Seoul's constellation of lights, your name etched in gold next to campaigns that make lesser editors weep with envy. You didn't just climb the ladder; you conquered it in six-inch heels.

They call you the Ice Queen of Editorial. Untouchable. Unshakeable. The woman who can stare down Korea's biggest idols without so much as a flutter of mascara-coated lashes. Your boundaries aren't just lines in the sand—they're walls of steel and glass, keeping your personal life locked away where it belongs.

You’ve been handed the crown jewel of assignments: the exclusive BTS cover story.

The kind of story that turns editors into legends. Or ruins them completely.

“You must be feeling the pressure,” Hyerin teases, nudging your elbow as you both stand by the studio coffee station. “If I had to face seven of the most beautiful men on Earth, I’d probably collapse.”

You smile lightly, perfectly controlled. “Luckily, fainting isn’t part of my job description.”

Hyerin laughs, tossing her silky hair back. “You’re seriously not nervous? Not even a little?”

Before you can respond, another voice cuts in—cool and sharp as glass.

“Y/N’s never nervous,” Kara says smoothly, sidling up with a carefully constructed smile. Her eyes skim over your perfectly ironed blouse, searching for any flaw she can exploit. “Even when she probably should be.”

You meet her stare evenly. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just another day at work.”

“Oh, sure,” Kara shrugs, delicately adjusting her blazer. “Just the biggest magazine cover of the year. With the biggest K-pop group in history. But you’re right—no pressure at all.”

You hold your tongue, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. Kara’s smile widens, eyes glittering dangerously.

“Don’t worry,” she says softly. “We’re all rooting for you.”

As she walks away, Hyerin gives you a sympathetic glance. “Ignore her. She’s just mad they picked you.”

“She’ll get over it,” you say calmly, taking a sip of coffee. But privately, you wonder if she ever will. Kara’s eyes feel permanently locked on your back, waiting for you to slip—and she’d love nothing more than to watch you fall.

You breathe deeply, shaking off the brief flash of anxiety. Kara isn’t your problem today.

Your problem just walked through the studio doors.

You straighten your shoulders, lift your chin, and mask your pounding heart beneath layers of polished composure.

You feel Jungkook’s presence before you see him. Hear the chatter ripple across the set, feel the shift in the air. Turning slowly, you catch sight of him walking toward makeup, tTattooed fingers, midnight hair, confident smile charming everyone in his orbit.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, but your pulse already quickens. You haven’t been face-to-face since he vanished from your life years ago, choosing fame over what you once shared. Not even your closest colleagues know about your past—not Hyerin, certainly not Kara. To them, you’re the girl who can handle any celebrity without batting an eye.

But Jungkook isn’t just any celebrity. He’s your first heartbreak. Your only weakness.

And the moment his eyes find yours across the room, his casual smile fading into something raw and hungry, you realize secrets never stay hidden forever.

Not when every glance he sends your way feels like a promise—Encore. We’re not done yet.

Your breath catches painfully in your throat, stomach twisting into a knot so tight it leaves you dizzy. For all your polished composure, the sight of Jungkook still manages to unravel you like loose threads on a designer gown.

Seeing him again feels like reopening a wound you spent years pretending had healed. It floods you with memories you'd promised yourself to forget—quiet nights tangled in sheets, whispered promises that felt unbreakable, how he used to hold you as if you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

But then came the silence. Slow at first, then deafening. A text left unread, calls unanswered. You waited like a fool, convinced something must've happened, sure he’d reach out again and say everything was fine. But days turned into weeks, then months, and eventually you stopped counting—stopped waiting.

He'd left you in a silence louder than any goodbye could've been.

It still haunts you, that hollow uncertainty. All those unanswered questions, the ache of wondering why you hadn't been enough—why something that had been your entire world had apparently meant so little to him.

Even now, standing across a crowded room from him, you feel nineteen again, confused and heartbroken, questioning yourself: Was it you? Was it fame? Or was he just that good at faking forever?

Your hands tremble slightly, and you quickly clasp them behind your back, steadying your breath, forcing your expression back into neutrality. You are not that girl anymore. You're not nineteen, naive and waiting.

You're the woman who clawed her way up the ladder, who built herself from the ground up, and who refuses to be unraveled by Jeon Jungkook ever again.

Yet, as his gaze locks onto yours and his expression shifts—something fragile breaking beneath the confident mask—you realize you might not have a choice.

You're the woman who clawed her way up the ladder, who built herself from the ground up, and who refuses to be unraveled by Jeon Jungkook ever again.

You grit your teeth, straightening your posture defiantly. No, you're not going to fall apart because he decided to show up now, years later. It doesn’t matter how familiar his gaze still feels, or how your stomach flips traitorously when his eyes linger a second too long. It’s just shock, you reason. The surprise of seeing someone from your past. He means nothing now. He can’t mean anything—not after he left you drowning in unanswered questions.

And yet, as his gaze locks onto yours and his expression shifts—something fragile breaking beneath the confident mask—you shove down the dangerous impulse fluttering inside you.

Because you won’t allow it. Not today. Not ever.

But Jungkook tilts his head slightly, eyes darkening with an intensity you know too well, and you feel your carefully constructed resolve begin to tremble at the edges.

It doesn’t matter, you remind yourself harshly. You’ll never make the same mistake twice. Not for Jungkook. Not for anyone.

Still, the moment he takes a step toward you, your heart skips—just once.

And you hate yourself for it.

And it’s terrifying how much your body still reacts, how tightly your stomach knots, how you feel yourself leaning backward without meaning to. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing.

But just before he can get closer—

“Jungkook! Manager wants you in the briefing room, now!”

The shout cuts across the set, snapping him back to reality.

He hesitates. A small shift of weight. A flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Then he turns, walking toward the exit without another glance.

You make yourself go still, expression smooth, breath finally releasing.

He’s gone again.

And you hate how that emptiness still lingers in the space he almost crossed.

✦

The studio smelled like caffeine, expensive cologne, and urgency.

Light rigs hummed above, shifting shadows across white backdrops. Stylists darted like bees between racks of designer coats and racks of idols. The floor was a mosaic of garment bags, wires, coffee cups, and carefully controlled chaos.

And you were in the eye of the storm.

Clipboards. Checklists. The shoot brief folded neatly in your tote, annotated with sharp red edits. You’d been here since seven. Confirming the team, adjusting the timeline after a last-minute delivery delay, nodding politely through the photographer’s temper tantrum over lighting angles.

Professional. Polished. In control.

Just like always.

“I’ll need the group on set in twenty,” you told Hyerin as you skimmed the latest schedule, your voice calm despite the pressure gnawing at your ribs. “Can we get final approval on the beige Balenciaga set for the third look? The stylist’s still undecided.”

Hyerin nodded, phone already raised to send the message.

And then—

A ripple in the room. Nothing visible at first. Just a shift. The kind that presses into your skin before you understand what’s happening. Like the barometric pressure dropping before a storm.

You didn’t have to turn. You knew.

BTS had arrived. This time, fully.

Voices lifted across the space. Polite bows, excited murmurs, stylists practically vibrating. You focused on your clipboard, eyes locked on the line that read: Group cover, final set — standing profile + seated variation.

You could feel it before you saw him. Like a magnet realigning in your chest.

Jeon Jungkook.

He wasn’t supposed to matter. Not anymore. Not here.

You glanced up once—only for a second—and there he was.

Dark hair, slightly damp. A black oversized tee clinging to his frame like it had no choice. Tattoos curling down his arm like vines. He was talking to one of the stylists, something easy in his body, but then—

His eyes found yours. Again.

And froze. As if the moment before seemed unbelievable to him, and now he got a confirmation that it was truly you who he saw before.

For one suspended moment, the studio blurred. Sound dulled. All you could hear was the low pulse in your ears, thudding like memory. His gaze didn’t flicker. Didn’t flinch.

It lingered.

You turned away first.

Professional, you reminded yourself. You could breathe later.

Behind you, a quiet voice laced with syrup and venom sliced through the air. “Well, don’t you look composed.”

Kara.

You didn’t bother turning. Her heels clicked as she approached, each step full of intention.

“I’d be shaking,” she continued, feigning casual amusement. “If he looked at me like that.”

Your clipboard didn’t move.

“I don’t mix work with fantasy,” you said coolly.

Kara laughed, bright and biting. “Right. Of course. You’re very composed.”

Before you could answer, the studio door opened wider, and the rest of the crew flooded in behind the members. Lights adjusted. Cables plugged. The moment passed.

But your stomach? Still twisted.

You didn’t have time for this. Not the memories. Not the questions. Not the way your breath still stumbled just because he was in the same room.

You walked across the set with quick, clean steps, addressing the camera assistant. You didn’t look at him again.

You didn’t need to.

Because suddenly, he was walking toward you.

You caught it in your peripheral—the blur of black, the low timbre of his voice as he murmured a polite greeting to the stylist he passed. He was smiling, charming, textbook idol.

But he was walking toward you.

And you didn’t move.

Behind him, Taehyung tilted his head, brows subtly furrowing.

“Where’s he going?” he murmured to Jimin, his voice low enough not to carry.

Jimin looked up from his water bottle, following the path of Jungkook’s steps.

“Who is that—” He paused. Squinted.

His expression shifted slowly.

“No way,” he muttered. “Is that… Y/N?”

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed as he got a better look.

“Damn,” he said under his breath. “She really changed.”

“She doesn’t look like a college student anymore,” Jimin added, then whistled low. “She looks like she’d step on your throat for blinking at the wrong moment.”

Taehyung snorted. “And Jungkook’s walking straight toward her like it’s nothing.”

Jimin’s smile faded a little. “It’s not nothing.”

They exchanged a glance.

One of quiet recognition.

One that said: This is going to get complicated.

Jungkook stopped just close enough for it to be plausible. Two colleagues. Two professionals. A friendly exchange in the middle of a crowded set.

But you felt the heat of him at your side. The static in the air between your bodies. The weight of five years in the space between his next breath and your silence.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.

His voice was lower now. Smooth, familiar. Dangerous.

You kept your eyes on the call sheet in your hands.

“Then maybe you should’ve read your shoot brief.”

He let out a quiet, amused exhale. “Guess I was distracted.”

You finally turned to face him, slow and deliberate.

He looked at you like you were a memory he wanted to taste again. And you hated how much you felt it in your knees.

“Still pretending I don’t exist?” he asked softly.

You smiled—polite, cold.

“You’re not that hard to ignore.”

He tilted his head, amused. “You used to say I was impossible to forget.”

You didn’t blink. “People change.”

Something flickered behind his eyes. The smile dimmed, only slightly.

And you hated that it made your chest ache.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “They do.”

You stepped back first. Not because you were retreating—but because if you stayed, you’d say something you’d regret.

“We’re about to start,” you said, voice crisp. “Please get into wardrobe.”

He didn’t argue. But his gaze lingered like the brush of fingers on skin—something remembered. Something unfinished.

You turned on your heel and walked away.

And behind you, Jungkook watched like he was seeing something he thought he'd lost forever.

You walk with your back straight, spine stiff, each click of your heels against the polished floor louder than the last. The studio spins in a blur around you—shutters firing, stylists buzzing, interns darting past—but your body moves like it’s on autopilot.

You don’t look back.

You don’t need to see him to feel the weight of his stare still pressing into your skin, hot and searching. Your lungs burn quietly, your heart hammering beneath the silk of your blouse in a rhythm that doesn’t belong to a woman in control.

You handled that well, you tell yourself. He didn’t rattle you. Not really. It was nothing—just a greeting. Just a ghost in designer boots. You didn’t flinch.

But your fingers still tremble as you slide the clipboard into your bag. And his scent—faint on the air, sandalwood and heat—lingers like a bruise.

That voice. That voice you used to fall asleep to.

He said so little, but it was too much. Too soft. Too knowing. Too close to the edge of the past you buried under ambition and late-night edits and deadlines that couldn’t be missed. A past that still knows exactly how to make your mouth dry and your pulse quicken.

You exhale through your nose, slow and tight, pressing your thumb into your palm until it stings.

This isn’t college. This isn’t your bedroom at 3 a.m. waiting for his text. You are not that girl anymore.

And he doesn’t get to reach into your life now just because he remembered how to say your name.

Across the studio, a pair of eyes followed your every step.

Kara leaned against a lighting rig, one arm crossed lazily over her chest, a paper cup of overpriced coffee in hand. She wasn’t watching the shoot, not really. Her gaze was fixed on you—your clenched jaw, your too-smooth posture, the slight tremble in your fingers as you adjusted your sleeve.

Her lips curled just barely at the edges.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

She just sipped her coffee and tilted her head thoughtfully, like a girl already collecting dots to connect.

And when her eyes flicked over to Jungkook, now slipping into wardrobe, and then back to you—

Something in her expression sharpened.

She had nothing solid. Not yet.

But Kara had always known how to smell blood long before the wound appeared.

✦

The shoot was already in full swing by the time you were called in.

High-key lighting flared against the matte white backdrop as the photographer directed the rest of the group into place. Jungkook hadn’t shot his solos yet — he’d been saved for last, as if they all knew the best tension builds slowly.

You were reviewing proofs on a monitor when the stylist approached you, breathless and mid-hustle.

“Sorry, Y/N—can you approve the jewelry for Jungkook’s third look? We’ve got the options prepped, but he wants to wear the chain without layering.” She didn't wait for a full answer, already turning back. “He’s in the fitting room.”

You don’t hesitate. Don’t sigh. You just nod once and follow, clipboard in hand, pulse tucked neatly beneath your professionalism.

It’s just another detail. Another decision. You’ve approved a hundred accessories today already.

But you haven’t approved him.

The fitting area isn’t private. Just a curtained nook off the main set, half-lit by dressing bulbs and cluttered with half-dressed mannequins and hangers heavy with sponsored silk.

And he’s there when you slip inside. Shirtless.

Silver chain dangling from his fingers, tattoos curling down his arm like they belong to a different man than the boy you once knew.

He looks over his shoulder the moment he hears you enter. His lips curve slowly, like this is a scene he’s played in his head a thousand times already.

“Oh,” he says. “They sent you.”

You don’t react. You’re too tired for games and too exposed for softness.

“Only because the chain needs editorial sign-off,” you say coolly.

He turns to face you fully, unhurried. Like the air between you isn’t thick enough to choke on.

“Then by all means,” he murmurs, offering the necklace like a dare, “approve me.”

You step forward without flinching, though every part of you wants to be somewhere—anywhere—else. The chain is cool in your palm. His hand is warm. The heat of his body radiates as you move into his space, standing just close enough to clasp the piece around his bare neck.

His skin smells like cologne and memory. Like summer and sweat and one a.m. phone calls you’ll never get back.

You keep your eyes down. Your fingers are steady as you drape the chain across his collarbones, lock it into place behind his neck.

He watches you in the mirror. Doesn’t blink.

“Still pretending I don’t affect you?” he asks, low enough that no one outside this curtain will ever hear.

You don’t look at him. Don’t let him win.

“You’re not that hard to ignore.”

He laughs, soft and sharp. It brushes the side of your cheek like smoke.

“Liar.”

You step back. One clean motion. No hesitation.

Your eyes scan the chain against his chest. Simple. Effective. Professional.

“It works,” you say.

He’s still looking at you. Not with smugness now, but something quieter. Studying the way your arms stay crossed. The way your voice never shakes, even when your throat does.

“You always liked this one,” he says, tapping the charm. “You said it made me look dangerous.”

“That was a long time ago.”

His smile shifts. “You still look at me like it’s not.”

You leave before you can answer. Let the curtain fall shut behind you like a closing door.

And you don’t breathe again until you’re halfway down the hallway.

The bathroom is cold and sterile and mercifully empty.

You close the door behind you, flip the lock, and let your clipboard fall to the counter with a dull clatter.

It’s only then—only then—that your shoulders drop.

Your hands brace against the sink, breath coming out in one sharp exhale like it’s been trapped under your ribs since you walked into that fitting room. Your reflection in the mirror is still composed, still precise… but your eyes are too bright, and your skin is too warm, and the chain you touched is still clinging to your fingertips like a memory you can’t scrub off.

You run cold water, splash your wrists, press your fingers to your temples.

Get a grip.

This is work. He is work.

You’ve survived far worse than being this close to someone who once knew how to love you. Who once made you believe it would last.

You’re not that girl anymore.

You fix your lipstick. Smooth your blouse.

By the time you unlock the door and step back into the hallway, your expression is perfect again.

As if nothing ever touched you.

The studio has thinned to a skeleton crew.

Light rigs now buzz on low. Laptops closed, garment bags zipped, coffee cups abandoned on carts. A few stylists linger in quiet conversations by the exit, voices hushed with the kind of fatigue that only comes after a perfect shot.

You’re alone in the hallway just outside the dressing area, waiting for the final export to transfer. The hum of the hard drive beside you is the only sound. The air smells like cold metal and the ghost of sweat.

It’s a clean ending. You did your job. No mistakes. No slips.

And yet.

You hear the footsteps before you see him—slow, deliberate, not echoing loud but close. You don’t need to turn. You already know.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” Jungkook says, voice low behind you.

You glance over your shoulder. He’s out of wardrobe now, in a simple hoodie and sweats, hair still slightly damp from styling. His tattoos are half-hidden under the sleeves, but his eyes are all sharp edge and unfinished business.

You straighten. “Waiting on a drive.”

He nods, steps closer. Not too close. Just enough.

“They left in a rush,” he says. “Didn’t even say goodbye.”

You know he’s not talking about the team.

You exhale slowly. “It was a long day.”

“Right.” A pause. “You always were good at making things efficient.”

You turn fully now, facing him with that expression you’ve perfected—the cool editor, the one no one questions.

“Did you need something, Jungkook?”

His tongue rests against the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “I need to know why you’re acting like we didn’t matter.”

The words land heavy. No pretense. No smirk. Just a quiet ache, sharpened by guilt.

You blink once. Slowly.

“Because you acted like we didn’t,” you say.

The silence between you stretches. Presses.

You see it hit him—full in the chest. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t flinch.

“I didn’t know how to end it,” he says finally. “Back then. I was selfish.”

“You were a coward.” Your voice stays even, but your throat burns. “You could’ve called. Texted. Anything. But you just disappeared.”

“I thought it would be easier if I let you hate me.”

You scoff, almost laugh. “Easier for who?”

He steps closer. This time it’s too close. Close enough to smell his skin again, to feel the heat rolling off him like static. The hallway is dim now. Only emergency lights glowing soft along the floorboards.

“I still remember everything,” he says.

Your heart stutters. You hate it.

“I remember your old apartment. That shitty mattress on the floor. How you used to cry when you couldn’t finish an article.” He pauses, voice softening. “The way you’d fall asleep against my chest like you belonged there.”

You stare at him. Frozen. Your breath is stuck somewhere just below your ribs.

He leans in—just a fraction. Not touching. But the air between your mouths is electric.

“Do you remember any of it?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You do.

Of course you do.

But you don’t give him that.

Instead, you tilt your head and say, evenly:

“You’re five years too late.”

You walk away before he can see the tremble in your hands.

And behind you, Jungkook doesn't call after you.

He just stands in the hallway, quiet and still, like he’s afraid of how much he still wants to follow.

✦

The suite smells like charcoal-grilled meat and takeout beer. The shoot’s over. The glamor is gone.

They’ve all crammed into Namjoon’s apartment for a late dinner, half-unwinding, half-rehashing the chaos of the day. Yoongi’s in the corner scrolling on his phone. Jin’s talking over everyone about how the lighting made him look “unfairly youthful.” But Jungkook hasn’t touched his food.

He’s nursing a beer. And he hasn’t said more than a few words all night.

Taehyung notices first.

“You good?” he asks, lazily tossing a cushion at him from across the couch.

Jungkook doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

Jimin lifts an eyebrow. “You’ve been zoning out since we left the studio.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Jungkook exhales and runs a hand through his hair.

“She was really there.”

Jin, mid-chew, frowns. “Who?”

Jungkook glances at the ceiling, leans back, eyes unfocused.

“Y/N.”

The name still tastes strange in his mouth.

“She’s… she was our editorial lead. For the cover.”

Yoongi finally looks up. “Seriously?”

“She didn’t even flinch,” Jungkook mutters. “Like I never existed.”

Namjoon gives him a long look. “You expected a welcome hug?”

“No,” Jungkook says, quieter. “I don’t know what I expected. But not… that.”

He thinks of the way she stood—straight-backed, calm, like she’d stripped him from her system entirely. He thinks of her voice. How carefully detached it was. You’re five years too late.The line replays in his chest like a lyric.

“She looked good,” Jungkook says after a pause. “Better than before.”

“Better without you,” Yoongi says flatly.

Jungkook doesn’t reply.

Taehyung sighs, sitting up. “It’s insane that you’re surprised. You ghosted her while fucking your way through rookie girl groups.”

“I didn’t—” Jungkook winces. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like that.”

“But it did,” Namjoon says, voice firm. “You left her. And you never gave her a real goodbye. You just vanished.”

Jimin shifts, arms crossed. “You think she forgot? That she sat around waiting while you made headlines with girls you didn’t even text back?”

“I was overwhelmed,” Jungkook snaps, frustration leaking out. “We were finally being notice, I was twenty, the world was on fire—”

“And she was in the middle of it with you,” Taehyung cuts in. “Until you acted like she was a phase you could leave behind.”

That shuts him up.

Jungkook stares at the label on his bottle. His jaw ticks.

“She looked right through me today,” he says quietly. “Like I never touched her. Like she doesn’t still exist in my head every fucking day.”

Silence falls over the room.

Then Jin sighs and pats his shoulder. “Well. Maybe now you know how it felt.”

✦

You hold the final print like it owes you something.

Not just a paycheck. Not just another spread to fill your portfolio. But proof that you belong here.

Vogue Korea – October Issue. The one everyone wanted to work on. And you got it.

The paper stock is matte heavyweight — no gloss, no gimmick. The cover design minimal: just the group’s name in clean serif and the issue title in metallic foil, whispering luxury. Echoes of the Future.

You flip through the pages like you haven’t already memorized the entire layout. But it still hits. The gravity. The precision. The power of it.

Each editorial frame is stripped to its bones — no backdrops, no props, no distractions. Just symmetry, shadowplay, and seven of the most photographed men in the world, captured like you’ve never seen them before.

Jimin in sharp Céline tailoring, wet hair pushed off his forehead, lips parted like he’s about to ruin someone. Namjoon in a crisp Ferragamo overcoat and nothing underneath. Minimal styling. Maximum command. Taehyung draped in silk Givenchy, silver rings on every finger, a single brow arched like a dare. Yoongi — Gucci and attitude. Seated. Unbothered. A king tired of his throne. Jin in a Bottega turtleneck with sculptural shoulders, the kind of silhouette only he could make feel warm. Hoseok’s frame wrapped in a monochrome Rick Owens layered set, gaze tilted away from camera — like he knows you’re looking. And Jungkook. Front and center. Mugler suit. Bare chest. One silver chain. Wet strands falling over his brow, a half-smirk caught between innocence and provocation.

You chose that shot. Pushed for it. It’s not about sex. It’s about control. Power. Presence.

There’s no overstyling. No theatrics. Just tension. The kind that doesn’t need words.

When you close the issue and step into the elevator of the JW Marriott rooftop lounge, your reflection catches in the mirror: off-the-shoulder Alaïa column dress in black crepe, Louboutin heels, lips painted the exact shade of silent danger.

You look expensive. Untouchable. Editorial.

Exactly how you planned it.

The party has already started by the time you arrive — hosted in the private event wing, high above Seoul’s skyline. Dim, golden lighting. Smooth jazz threaded with ambient house. Crystal glasses passed by silent staff in Tom Ford uniforms. Everyone here is someone.

Vogue doesn’t just launch a cover — it celebrates it. Especially one this anticipated. Especially when the entire campaign broke engagement records before it hit print.

And when the subject is BTS? The fashion world watches. So tonight isn’t just a party. It’s an affirmation. For the magazine. For the editorial team. For you.

You float through it with your usual ease — nodding to the creative director from Boucheron, chatting with the head of marketing from Dior Beauty, accepting compliments on the issue from half the room without blinking.

Until someone mentions it.

“Did you hear BTS might actually show tonight?”

You don’t flinch. Not externally.

You just let the champagne touch your lips and smile like it doesn’t matter.

Like you didn’t already feel the air in the room shift.

Because when you turn your head — just a little, just enough — you see him.

Jeon Jungkook. Walking in through the side entrance, flanked by two staffers and dressed in black-on-black: a Saint Laurent suit jacket left open over a silk shirt, sheer enough to tease the curve of his chest. No tie. Just skin, chain, stare.

He looks different tonight. Not like the idol you edited into iconography. Not like the ghost who haunted your hallway last week.

He looks like a man who came here with a purpose.

And his eyes are already on you.

He looks like a man who came here with a purpose.

And his eyes are already on you.

The others didn’t come.

Namjoon had RSVP’d but sent a polite decline. You’d caught wind of Jimin flying out for a brand shoot in Tokyo. The rest were likely busy or deliberately laying low — as expected.

But he showed up.

Of all people.

You can’t tell if the audacity makes you laugh or bite the rim of your glass harder.

Jungkook doesn’t approach you. Not at first.

You feel his gaze like pressure behind your bare shoulder. But he moves slowly through the room — greets the Vogue team with a bow, gives the photographer a brief, easy hug. Accepts a drink from a server. Ends up near the bar with a woman you vaguely recognize from the Seoul fashion circuit — a model with collarbones sharp enough to cut glass, her dress barely skimming the line of decency.

She leans in when she speaks to him. Laughs too brightly. Touches his forearm once, casually.

He doesn't touch her back. Doesn’t even fully turn toward her. His eyes are somewhere else.

You.

You catch him watching you more than once. Not with hunger. Not yet. Just a quiet study.

The glances become a pattern. A beat you start to recognize.

And still, he doesn’t move.

But others do.

You’re halfway through your second glass when two men — suits, handsome, not strangers to the room — flank you near the edge of the terrace. One is from an ad agency you’ve worked with before. The other’s from an international menswear brand.

They talk shop. Compliment your dress. One of them offers you another drink before you can say no. The other leans in when he speaks, a little too close to your ear, and you catch the ghost of his cologne mixed with something slightly sour.

You smile. Politely. The way you always do.

But you're aware of how their eyes follow the dip of your neckline like they’ve been given permission. One of them lets his fingers rest too long against your elbow. The other jokes, "Are all editors this pretty or are you the exception?" and doesn’t seem to care that you don’t laugh.

You glance across the room without meaning to.

He’s still there.

Still watching.

Jungkook’s grip on his glass is tighter now. The model beside him keeps talking, oblivious. He’s not listening. You know that jaw too well. The tension behind it. The twitch when he’s about to break.

You take another sip. Feel the flush of alcohol under your skin. Your vision gets softer at the edges, but the awareness sharpens. You know how this ends. You feel it humming beneath your ribs, hot and inevitable.

And when the man beside you brushes your wrist again — subtle, casual, entitled — you don’t pull away fast enough.

But Jungkook moves.

Jungkook doesn’t make a scene.

That’s the most infuriating part.

He doesn’t shove. Doesn’t glare. Doesn’t even raise his voice. He just appears beside you with the kind of seamless, quiet ease that only someone deeply used to being watched can master.

One second the man beside you is leaning in, his breath too warm against your cheek— And the next, Jungkook is sliding in between you, a hand at the small of your back, the angle of his body just enough to cut.

“Didn’t realize I was late to this conversation,” he says smoothly.

You catch the flicker of recognition on the men’s faces. One of them steps back half a pace, suddenly less charming. The other adjusts his collar and offers a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Jeon Jungkook,” the taller one says, offering a hand. “Didn’t know you were here.”

Jungkook shakes it. Calm. Collected. “Figured I’d say hello to the team who made the shoot happen.” His eyes flick toward you, then back. “Though it looks like I should’ve come earlier.”

It’s almost nothing. Just a hint. A slip beneath the surface. But you hear it. Feel it in the weight of his voice. The way his hand stays just a fraction too close to yours.

Possessive. And yet — perfectly palatable for a crowd.

No one would question this. Not the touch. Not the timing. Not the sudden chill of disappointment settling in the faces of the men who had clearly imagined something else for the end of the night.

They make excuses. One says something about needing to call his driver. The other claims someone from L’Officiel just texted.

Within a minute, they’re gone.

Jungkook watches them disappear into the crowd with that unreadable expression you remember from his early idol days. When he didn’t know how to speak with words yet — just stares.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice quiet, cutting.

“I know.”

“Then why?”

He shrugs. Still watching the crowd. “Didn’t like how they were touching you.”

You pause.

“That’s not your concern anymore.”

He turns to face you then. Full. Real. And the look in his eyes is darker than the mood lighting.

“It never stopped being my concern.”

That does something to your throat. Tightens it.

You want to roll your eyes. Push him away. Instead, you take a half-step back and fix your dress strap.

“You can go now,” you say, coolly.

But his jaw tightens. That’s when you know you’ve hit something.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He says it so quietly. But it doesn’t feel soft. It feels like something pulled from the center of his chest.

You scan the room out of instinct. Too many eyes. Too much potential noise.

Jungkook notices. And he moves.

He doesn’t ask.

His hand brushes your wrist—light, guiding—and then he’s walking. Confident. Unbothered. Heading toward the side hallway just past the lounge bar, near the VIP exit where only staff and talent are allowed to pass.

You should stop him. You don’t.

You follow.

The hallway is quiet, dimmer than the rest of the event. A velvet rope keeps guests from entering, and a private elevator tucked at the end promises anonymity to anyone important enough to use it. You’ve seen it before. Watched stylists hustle idols through that door like ghosts, like secrets.

Jungkook stops just out of view.

The corner of the hall is shadowed, walls covered in gold-veined marble and muted hotel art. The muffled bass from the party barely reaches here. His back is to you.

He turns when you stop. And then he steps in.

Close.

Too close.

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t raise his voice.

But he towers.

The heat from his body sears into yours. His jaw clenches once before relaxing, like he’s trying to hold back a thousand versions of the same mistake.

“You know what they wanted from you,” he says, voice low. “And you were going to let them?”

“I wasn’t going to let them do anything.”

“You let them touch you.”

“You fucked half the industry,” you snap, too fast. Too exposed. “Don’t start pretending I’m the one who crossed lines.”

That lands. Sharp. But he doesn’t retreat.

“I haven’t loved anyone except for you.”

You blink.

Your breath stumbles.

Your throat goes dry.

You want to argue. You want to scream liar.But he’s looking at you like it’s gospel. Like the weight of that confession has been killing him slowly every night since.

And god, he’s close.

You feel your body respond before your brain can stop it. The heat between your legs. The flush rising beneath your skin. The sharp, brutal ache that coils low in your stomach just from the way he’s standing there — like he’d throw himself between you and the world all over again.

You glance down — mistake. The open collar of his shirt frames his chest like it was designed for your hands. The chain you once clasped glints against his skin, half-damp from heat. You remember how he tastes. Wonder if he still does.

Your thighs press together. Reflex.

His eyes drop. He notices.

And you hate him for it.

“You have no right to be jealous,” you say, voice barely a whisper.

“I know.”

“You left me.”

“I know.”

Your heart is pounding. Your mouth is dry.

And when he leans in just a little closer — breath brushing your ear, his voice raw and unfiltered — it takes every ounce of strength not to melt against the wall.

“You can hate me all you want,” he says. “But I still know how to make you come apart.”

Jungkook’s stare is heavy. Focused. Unflinching.

He says nothing for a long, charged second, and you hate how your body reacts to that silence — like it remembers something your brain is still trying to forget.

“You don’t get to act like this,” you say, and it comes out sharp, acidic. “You don’t get to touch me now and pretend it means anything.”

His jaw tenses, but his voice stays level. Quiet. Deadly calm.

“I’m not pretending.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, shifting your weight — and that’s when he does it.

His hand slides down. Not rushed. Not hesitant.

And then—

He squeezes your ass.

Firm. Full. Like it still belongs to him.

Your breath halts. You don’t flinch. But your skin lights up like a flare, thighs clenching, stomach twisting.

You don’t show it.

“You’re disgusting,” you mutter through your teeth.

But he leans in, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear.

“You didn’t stop me.”

You shove at his chest, but there’s no real strength in it. Not when your knees feel like static and your pulse is hammering between your legs. Not when your own body is already betraying you, flooding with heat from the base of your spine to the ache you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist.

“You’re the one who fucked other people the second you got famous,” you snap. “Don’t come near me like we have unfinished business.”

“You think I don’t remember how you taste?” he breathes, low and lethal. “How your thighs shake when I—”

“Shut up.” You cut him off, voice breaking around the edge. “You’re pathetic.”

But his hand is still on you. Still burning through the fabric of your dress.

And now he's walking.

You're not sure when his hand left yours. You're not sure when your legs decided to follow. But you're moving. Toward the private elevator at the end of the hallway. It dings as it opens — discreet, slow, waiting for no one else.

“Don’t,” you say, half-hearted, hovering just outside the doors.

He steps inside. Looks over his shoulder. Waits.

“Unless you're scared,” he murmurs.

You could slap him. You should.

Instead, you walk in like your heels aren’t shaking.

The doors close.

Silence. Thick. Electric.

He’s behind you now. You feel it — his presence coiled tight, simmering. You keep your chin high. Your eyes fixed on the seam of the elevator door.

But your brain is spinning.

You don’t know where he’s taking you. You don’t care.

You tell yourself it’s just physical. You’re tired. Your bones are tired. You've been carrying ambition like armor for too long and you want — god, you want — to feel something. Something that doesn’t require you to smile, or pose, or win.

You want to stop being the editor. The image. The perfection.

Just for one night.

And if it has to be Jungkook — the only man who ever saw you wrecked — so be it.

Because if he’s going to ruin you again, he’s not doing it alone.

The car ride is silent.

Not awkward. Not uncertain. Just… heavy.

A stretch of velvet air between you, thick with all the things neither of you are brave or stupid enough to say.

Jungkook’s limo is absurd. Sleek black leather, blue LED trim humming at your feet. A built-in bar you ignore. Curtains drawn. City lights blur past the tinted glass as if the world outside has nothing to do with what’s about to happen inside.

You sit rigid, legs crossed. The dress has ridden up just slightly — the soft part of your thigh kissing cool air — and he notices.

Of course he notices.

His hand moves. Quietly. Confident. Like he’s done this before — with you.

Fingertips rest on your knee at first. Just that. Stillness.

But then they begin to slide.

Up.

Slow. Torturous. Not grabbing — stroking. His thumb draws lazy circles against your skin, tracing the edge where silk meets flesh.

You don’t look at him. You play with your hair instead, twisting it around your fingers like a lifeline.

But your thighs tighten. Clamp together as he nears dangerous ground.

He smirks beside you.

“I forgot how stubborn you are.”

You glare. “You forgot a lot of things.”

His fingers don’t retreat. He slides them just a breath higher, pulling the hem of your dress with them.

“You can say stop,” he murmurs, voice dropping low. “You know I’ll listen.”

You hate that it’s true.

You hate that you don’t want to say it.

Your jaw clenches. Your thighs stay locked, heat building between them like friction might burn the memory away before it begins.

He doesn’t push further. Just stays there. Waiting. Letting you sit with the fact that your body is already betraying you — pulse between your legs fluttering like it remembers the path he’s about to take.

You stare out the window, trying to breathe through the ache.

This is happening. You know it. You knew it the moment you followed him out of that party.

Tonight, you’re not Vogue Korea’s untouchable ice queen. You’re just a woman. Lonely. Starving. So fucking tired of pretending she doesn’t want to be ruined.

✦

The car stops in front of La Premiere, one of Seoul’s most exclusive residential towers — all glass, obsidian stone, gold accents that shimmer even at midnight. You’re not surprised. This is the kind of place you only enter if your name is a brand.

The lobby is silent, marble floors echoing beneath your heels. The elevator requires a thumbprint. The doorman greets him by name.

You stay silent.

But your heart is screaming.

The apartment is on the 38th floor. The penthouse.

Of course it is.

High ceilings. Soft lighting. Concrete walls and floor-to-ceiling windows that open into an unobstructed view of Seoul’s skyline. You barely have time to look.

Because the moment the door clicks shut behind you—

He’s on you.

Your back hits the wall. Hard. His mouth finds yours like he’s starving. Like he’s been dreaming of this moment and can’t wait another second.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a collision. Wet, messy, teeth and tongue and heat. His hands are on your hips, your ribs, your ass — greedy, possessive, hungry.

You moan into his mouth, furious at yourself.

He grins.

“Still pretending you don’t want this?”

You shove at his chest, breathless.

“Still pretending you don’t want to be fucked?”

His laugh is dark. “You want to feel me inside you, don’t you?”

You don’t answer.

He takes it as a yes.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing, carrying you down the hallway. You catch glimpses of modern art, black marble floors, absurdly expensive furniture you could write articles about.

But then—

His bedroom.

Of course it’s massive. King-sized bed draped in jet-black sheets, one wall entirely glass, Seoul glittering behind it like a crown.

He lays you down. Stares at you for a second.

Then bends. Presses a kiss to your shin. Your knee. Your inner thigh.

You arch.

“You’re not going to tease me,” you spit, breath shaky.

“Oh no?” His voice is warm silk wrapped around something feral. “I think you’ve been begging to be teased.”

And then he’s peeling your dress up, up, over your hips, dragging it slowly, deliberately, like he’s unwrapping a sin he’s already claimed.

His hands never stop moving.

He spreads your legs with ease, dress bunched high at your waist now, the cold kiss of air meeting warm skin. You feel obscenely exposed and utterly alive — laid out against his sheets in nothing but a paper-thin pair of black lace underwear that does nothing to hide the heat soaking through.

And when his eyes land there, dark and molten, his breath catches.

“Fuck,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “You’ve always been unreal.”

You watch his throat move, swallowing thickly. His fingers trail from your calf to the inside of your thigh, slow and reverent.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your heat like he’s watching a meal he’s about to ruin. “You’ll forget how to hate me.”

You don’t have time to snarl back before his mouth is on you again — dragging up your body, lips trailing over your stomach, your ribs, your bra. He finds your breast with one hand, slipping beneath the delicate cup, warm palm cupping it, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. Then his tongue is there, licking over your nipple through the lace, wetting it until the fabric turns transparent and your back lifts off the bed.

You whimper. Loud.

And you hate that it sounds like relief.

His other hand finds your ass, gripping it with the kind of pressure that says mine, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed as he grinds down against you, clothed cock heavy and hot against your inner thigh.

He nips at your breast, tongue flicking, eyes on your face.

“Still pretending you don’t remember what this feels like?”

You pant, fingers buried in his hair. “Just fuck me already.”

But he’s not done teasing. He slides lower again, mouth kissing a path down your torso, tongue tasting your skin like it’s his.

When he reaches your panties, he pauses. Licks his lips.

“These need to come off.”

You lift your hips. He slides them down your legs, slow and smooth, like he’s savoring every inch of skin revealed.

And then he groans.

“Fuck, baby…” His thumb brushes over your slit. “You’re soaked.”

You glare. “You’re not special.”

He chuckles. “We’ll see.”

Then he kisses you again, deep and dirty, hand slipping between your thighs, two fingers sliding through your folds with ease, coating themselves in everything your pride is trying to hide.

He presses in — just one finger, shallow and slow — and you gasp into his mouth.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he breathes against your lips. “You really haven’t let anyone else stretch you like this?”

You don’t answer.

But your moan says enough.

He adds another finger. Curling them. Moving them just right.

“This is me preparing you,” he murmurs, voice all silk and sin. “I’m gonna make it good. Gonna make you cum on my fingers before I even fuck you.”

Your eyes flutter shut. “God, Jungkook—”

“I love when you beg,” he growls, “but not yet.”

You reach for him then, desperate, fingers tugging at his open shirt — sheer and slippery beneath your grip. You want to see him. Need to.

He feels it.

“Patience,” he smirks, but he lets you undress him anyway.

Jacket drops first. Then that ridiculous silk shirt that slides off his arms like water. You make a sound low in your throat when you see him again, bare and sculpted and dangerous. Then he pushes his pants down, black slacks pooling on the floor, and all that’s left is his boxers — stretched tight over his cock, which is very obviously hard.

And huge.

Your mouth parts.

He sees it. Smirks again.

“Don’t act surprised,” he murmurs, leaning in. “You’ve had it before.”

His body covers yours, the warmth of his skin burning against you, his cock pressing hot and heavy between your thighs. He grinds once, slow, and you gasp — the length of him perfectly aligned against your soaked slit, dragging between your folds like he’s memorizing the shape of your desperation.

He doesn't push in yet.

Just teases. Rubs the head against your clit. Circles it. Slips down, catches your entrance, then pulls back again.

You bite your lip so hard it stings.

“Jungkook,” you pant, voice breaking.

He kisses your jaw, your neck, his voice low and smug and maddening.

“You’re gonna say please.”

You don’t say please.

Not with your mouth.

But when you look down and see him reach for the nightstand drawer, tear open the foil packet with steady fingers, and roll the condom down his thick, veined length— Your mouth parts on instinct.

God.

You forgot what he looked like like this. Not just big — devastating. Long, hard, flushed dark at the tip, heavy in his own hand. Your core clenches around nothing, heat flooding your stomach.

You don’t mean to moan. But you do.

His smirk falters for a split second.

“You’re still so easy to ruin,” he murmurs, fisting his cock, stroking once, lining himself up between your thighs. “I barely touched you.”

“You’ve been talking too much,” you whisper, chest heaving. “Shut up and—”

But the words die the second he starts to push in.

You gasp — your whole body tensing — and your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging in hard.

He groans above you. “Shit—you’re tight.”

You feel the stretch like it’s the first time. A slow, thick pressure as he sinks in inch by inch. Every muscle in your body coils, thighs trembling, breath catching.

His mouth finds yours again — wet, open, filthy — kissing you through it, licking into your whimper like he’s feeding off your pleasure.

“Just breathe,” he whispers, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other gripping your waist. “I’ve got you.”

You do.

You let him in.

And god, you hate how good it feels — to have him deep inside, to feel the way your body opens around him like it remembers exactly where he belongs.

When he bottoms out, hips flush to yours, he groans into your throat.

You’re both panting. Stunned.

Then you move.

Your legs wrap around his waist. Tight. Holding him there.

His back arches into it, and he nearly chokes on his breath.

“F-fuck,” he stutters, voice cracking. “You’re gonna make me cum just like that.”

You grin, delirious. “Control yourself.”

“Impossible,” he groans, but he stays still, grinding his hips in slow, rolling circles, letting you feel all of him, the friction igniting fire where your nerves used to be.

Your hands slide down his back — hot, damp with sweat — and you whisper between shaky breaths:

“You feel so good, Jungkook… so fucking good—”

That does it.

He starts to move.

Slow at first. Deep. Letting you feel every inch drag through you, the way your walls flutter around him. He groans again — long and low — kisses you like he’s starving.

Then he leans back just enough to slip a hand between your bodies, tugging at your bra strap.

“Off,” he pants. “I want to feel all of you.”

You arch for him, and he peels the lace away, throws it somewhere behind him without a second glance. His mouth latches onto your breast immediately, tongue circling your nipple while he thrusts deeper now, rhythm gaining speed.

Your moan rips from your throat — helpless.

The room is filled with slick, obscene sounds. Wet kisses. The slap of skin against skin. His name. Your name. Every broken breath in between.

He fucks you like he never stopped wanting you. Like every other girl was just a placeholder. Like this is what he’s been chasing for years.

You meet him thrust for thrust, body to body, every part of you singing from the friction and the fullness.

“Jungkook—” you gasp, legs shaking around him.

He presses his forehead to yours, eyes shut tight.

“I’m close—fuck—I’m gonna—”

Your nails dig into his back. Your mouth finds his. Hot. Messy. Breathless.

And you both fall.

You cum around him with a strangled cry, legs locking, mouth open, his name your only word. He follows seconds later — hips jerking, body shaking, groaning into your mouth as he spills into the condom, both of you swallowed in heat and noise and everything you said you’d never feel again.

The room goes still.

Except your breathing.

And the heartbeat pounding between your ribs like a warning.

Your body is still shaking when he collapses beside you, skin damp and breath ragged, his palm pressed flat against your stomach like he needs to anchor himself to something that’s real.

Neither of you speak. Your lungs are too full of what just happened — of the heat still lingering between your thighs, of his scent on your skin, of the kiss still wet on your mouth.

And then—

He moves again.

You feel it before you see it — the subtle shift of his body behind yours, the press of his chest against your back, the way his hand slides down your stomach, lower, lower, fingers brushing over your still-sensitive slit with the softest, filthiest reverence.

Your legs twitch.

“Jungkook…” your voice is nothing more than a broken breath.

But he’s already hard again.

His cock slides against your ass, hot and ready, nestling in the curve of your body like it belongs there. Like it never stopped belonging there.

“I can’t stop,” he whispers, voice husky and wrecked. “Not yet. I need more.”

You don’t argue.

Because the truth is, so do you.

You feel the crinkle of another condom. The soft hiss of him rolling it on. And then—

He pushes in from behind.

This angle — lying on your side, body curled into his, his arm wrapped tight around your waist — it’s too much. Too deep. Too intimate.

You cry out softly as he fills you again, slower this time, his hips moving in lazy, grinding rolls that feel like velvet dragging through your core.

He groans low into your neck.

“Still so fucking tight. So warm,” he pants. “You’re made for me.”

Your hands scramble behind you, reaching for anything to hold. You find his hair, his neck, your fingers threading through damp strands and pulling him closer. His mouth finds yours again — messy, hot, upside down, your teeth clashing a little before they part.

The kiss is deeper than it should be. Slower. Desperate in a different way.

Like neither of you are trying to cum anymore.

Like you’re just trying to stay here.

He fucks you like he’s drunk on you — like your body is a drug he’s been forced to quit and now can’t get enough of. His hand slides over your breasts, then down again, gripping your thigh to tilt your hips back, opening you wider.

You whimper into the pillow, moaning his name over and over, helpless.

“Feel so good, baby,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to your shoulder. “I can’t—fuck—I can’t stop.”

You don’t want him to.

You’re shaking. Sweat-slick. Eyes wet.

You twist your neck just enough to kiss him again — messy, slow, tongues tangling mid-thrust, like your mouths can’t stay apart even now.

His pace stutters.

You feel him start to lose it, his rhythm breaking as you clench around him, your walls pulling him deeper with every snap of his hips.

And when you cum again — this time quieter, slower, your body trembling as you squeeze your eyes shut — he goes with you.

He groans your name into your skin as he spills into you again, the rhythm fading into soft, tired rolls of his hips, your bodies still locked together under the sheets.

For a long while, neither of you move.

You just lay there. Breathing. Tangled. Spent.

He kisses your shoulder once. Light. Almost careful.

And then sleep pulls you both under — not out of comfort, but out of collapse. Because neither of you came here looking for peace.

You just needed an escape.

And you found it in each other’s ruin.

✦

Your eyes snap open before your alarm ever has the chance.

The room is quiet. Dim gray light filters through blackout curtains. The sheets smell like sex and sweat and a mistake you swore you'd never make again.

You blink. Once. Twice.

And then it all rushes back.

The kisses. The way he moaned your name. His hands, his mouth, the sound of skin slapping skin. The taste of him on your lips. The way he said you’re mine without ever needing the words.

“Fuck,” you breathe, pressing your hand over your eyes.

You sit up slowly.

Your body aches in all the right ways and all the wrong ones — thighs sore, lips bruised, a pulsing between your legs that still flutters when you shift.

Next to you, Jungkook sleeps facedown. Bare, sprawled, shamelessly beautiful. The sheets only just cover his waist, one arm bent beneath the pillow, the muscles in his back stretching in long, carved lines.

You stare. Just for a second.

He looks so peaceful.

So unaware.

So dangerous.

You bite your lip. Hard.

Your fingers twitch with the urge to trace the curve of his spine, but you stop yourself. Because you don’t have time for softness. You have work.

You always have work.

Dragging yourself out of the bed, you start collecting your clothes — your dress crumpled in the corner, your heels under the chaise, your bra on the floor beside the door like a monument to your downfall.

When you catch your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you wince.

Mascara smudged. Lips bitten raw. Hair wrecked.

You look like a woman who had a night.

And in less than an hour, you need to look like a woman in charge of the most powerful editorial campaign of the year.

You move fast.

Cold water. Concealer. Lip balm. Breath mints. You finger-comb your hair and twist it into something sleek. But the problem isn’t the face — it’s the clothes.

Your dress is a dead giveaway. Wrinkled, short, undeniably last night.

You move to Jungkook’s closet.

Rows of Saint Laurent, Givenchy, Alexander McQueen. Racks of custom suits and silky button-downs. Not a single item designed for discretion.

But then — a structured black blazer. Boxy, masculine, clean-cut enough to pass.

You slide it on. It swallows your frame. The hem falls past your thighs, hiding your dress completely. You roll the sleeves once. Twice. Pair it with quiet confidence and a pair of sunglasses from the entryway table.

You almost look like a Vogue editor.

Almost.

You don’t let yourself look at him again.

You just close the door behind you, call a taxi, and vanish into morning traffic with nothing but your pride duct-taped together inside that blazer.

The office is already buzzing by the time you walk in.

People look up. Smiling. Bright. Warm.

“Y/N! Congrats again on the October issue—” “That cover is insane, seriously, you killed it—” “You must be exhausted after last night’s party!”

You smile. Say thank you. Pretend your skin doesn’t still smell like sex and Jungkook’s cologne.

One of the interns offers you coffee. You accept, gratefully.

You’re almost safe.

Until Kara appears.

“Wow,” she says, voice honeyed and loud. “You look… rough.”

The conversation halts like a car crash.

A beat of awkward silence. Someone clears their throat.

You look up slowly.

Kara smiles. All teeth.

“Late night?” she adds, mock-innocent. “Or should I say… early morning?”

You don’t answer. Just raise your coffee and keep walking.

But she follows.

Right into the main office hallway, right up to the boss’s glass-walled door — just as it opens.

Your editor-in-chief steps out. Sharp-heeled. Impeccably dressed. Eyes cutting.

Kara laughs softly and says, “She probably didn’t even go home. Just look — same dress as last night’s party. Slept over somewhere fancy, though. That’s not hers.”

You freeze.

Your boss turns to you. Stares. The expression is unreadable — but not soft.

“Y/N,” she says. “My office. Now.”

Your stomach drops.

You walk. Slowly. Kara watches you go, biting the edge of her thumb with a smile like she already knows she’s won.

Your phone buzzes in your palm.

Unknown Number: That blazer suits you. But you’ll have to pay me back eventually. Preferably not in cash.

Your pulse stutters.

You don’t have to guess who it is.

You just slide the phone into your pocket — and knock on your boss’s door.

part 2

if you enjoy my writing, you can support me here and get early access to chapters and exclusive stories 🖤

send requests for drabbles and one-shots here

1K notes View Post

luvme1600

4 months ago

masterlist | jjk

am i okay? no lmao, heres too many jungkook fics main masterlist

series

dextrocardia | cop!jk x f detective!reader, undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, [a] [f] [s], ongoing

↳ dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who’s got their heart in the right place.

“She’s been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you’ll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this.”

“What?!” It’s Jeongguk’s upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17

between takes | porn star!jk x f fluffer!reader, porn star au, [f] [a] [s] complete ✔️

01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07

↳ as a fluffer for a popular porn star, your focus is to keep him hard and performing on set. turns out he’s not the only thing that’s hard.

drown for you | siren!jk x f reader, sci-fi, merman/siren au, [f] [a] [s] ongoing

↳ there was something in that enormous tank, hidden in the murky water. all you knew was that you weren’t allowed inside the room and that it used to hold something dangerous.

evolution of a lover’s heart | fuckboy!jk x f reader, college au, bet au, [f] [a] [s], complete ✔️

↳ the rules are simple: first one to take the virginity wins.

part one: the lover 01, 02

part two: the beloved 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08

drabbles (on patreon): piercings, accidents, …

to tame a god | alpha!jk x f reader, werewolf au, [f] [a] [s], complete ✔️

↳ jeon jeongguk is the youngest alpha his pack has ever seen, and they all trust him with their lives. one day, a strange wolf enters his territory. they know it’s not a regular wolf because just like their own, its eyes shine with the supernatural powers from within. but it won’t shift back to its human form to reveal its intentions.

(preview) 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06

brown-eyed baby | single dad/dilf!jk x f reader, exes2lovers au, [f] [a] [s], complete ✔️

↳ a lost child at the mall, eyes from a different time.

01, 02

google doc

one-shots

summer nights and morning dew | alpha!jk x f knitter!reader, cottagecore, oldentimes au, [f], [a], 11k

↳ “As if we don’t know where you go every night.”

young spy | spy!jk x reader, mafia au, [a] [f], 11.6k

↳ three down, many to go as bad men are meeting their deaths tonight. the brown-haired one, who’s next in line, has given up his fight. will you make it in time?

wherever there is you | jk x reader, marriage au, [a] [f], 4.6k

↳ anniversary. dinner for two, yet you’re alone. you don’t know where he is.

what money can buy | sugar baby!jk x rich!reader, [f] [a], 17.8k

↳ in need of money, jeongguk signs up as a sugar baby, assuming he’ll be paid for sex by some old kinky woman. he never expected to meet someone like you. what were you doing on that site, and why would you have to pay for company?

deal | demon!jk x reader, [a] [s] [f], 19.5k

↳ what do you do when your teenage brother’s cancer is too far gone? well, you summon a cocky crossroad demon to make a deal; your life for Taehyung’s.

dear stranger | ex-firefighter!jk x reader, [f], 3k

↳ lucky you, getting stuck in an elevator, your worst nightmare come to life. lucky you, getting stuck with a stranger.

love you, crazy | boyfriend!jk x reader, [s] [f], 3.1k

↳ “I wish you would write a fic where jungkook wants to get off but you’re not available (for whatever reason) and he gets off by himself.”

or, you’re at a party with a coworker who has the hots for your boyfriend. Jeongguk decides to put an end to her comments once and for all, and he does it through… facetime?

bad delivery | bad boy, delivery guy!jk x reader [c]

↳ “I wish you would write a fic about delivery boy jungkook who everyone thinks is a cool baddie for riding a motorcycle around but it’s a company bike, and he’s just a shy nerd that wears lots of black.”

hell, overtaken | devil!jk x f angel!reader, [s] [a], 251 words

↳ how did an angel conquer hell?

4K notes View Post

luvme1600

8 months ago

STILL IN LOVE MASTERLIST — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS…after still messing around with your ex husband, you began to wonder if you’re still in love with him after finding out about his new girlfriend…

INFO…ex husband!toji x fem!reader, reader & toji have two kids, megumi is readers bio son, jealousy, smut, angst, arguments, alcohol, drinking problem, family problems, arguing in front of kids, toxic behaviors, crying, mentions of divorce

OTHER…likes and reblogs are appreciated

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

+more to come soon!

3K notes View Post

luvme1600

1 year ago

𝔸 𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 𝕆𝔽 𝔸 𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 | ℂℍ𝔸ℙ𝕋𝔼ℝ 𝟟

| 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫.

|𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞/𝐚𝐮: 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬,𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭,𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐮, 𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭.

| 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐗 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

| 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7k

| 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐬 & 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 ( 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤), 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬), 𝐬𝐞𝐱 ( 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬), 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐬 & 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐬, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

| 𝐀/𝐍: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲.

previous chapters

The bulletin board in front of you showcased several pictures of individuals in your husband’s organization, some of whom you recognized from the event that took place only a week ago. Besides them were excerpts of newspaper articles and court documents with red strings connecting each picture. Jin stood proudly in front of it, pointing stick in hand as he explained the basics of the illicit businesses that Jungkook’s family partook in.

It felt like the pictures were staring back at you, taunting you as Jin described all the crimes and all the bloodshed Jungkook was responsible for. compared to this man you were nothing. You had never killed or stolen in your life, you were just a naïve girl with aspirations to bring down a criminal enterprise that had been standing and prospering way before you had even been born.

you couldn’t help but note the excitement in Jin’s voice as he described everything in detail, as if he was speaking of a discovery he had made, it never seized to surprise you how much Jin loved doing his job, how much happiness he found in putting his life on the line.

or was it because of you? did he feel accomplished because he had done this for you?

“they’ve been working towards going legit for some time now, which makes no sense seeing as they have made literal billions in this business” Jin furrows his brows at his research, his eyes lingering on the picture of Jungkook for a moment too long.

You knew the answer, recalling the announcement your father-in-law had made during your anniversary dinner. Of course, it all made sense now you couldn’t run for governor if you were the very person poisoning your society, he was attempting to erase his shady past and become a man not only criminals respected but the people of this country too. There was no way in hell he would have his cake and eat it too, not while there was still air in your lungs.

“Now from what I have been able to gather in the past 2 years, Mr. Jeon has been able to invest in a total of 3 companies, the very first being Intalex, then only 3 months after he invested into Capitalab with Austrade your parent's company being the last one.”

Your body tensed at the mention of your parents’ business, the one they had worked so hard to bring to life, the one you were so keen on protecting, it made your stomach turn. You couldn’t help but scowl, shutting your eyes in frustration.

“Do you need a moment? We can revisit this at a later time” Jin spoke noticing the way you shifted in the chair you sat in; you opened your eyes and shook your head urgently, you had no time to lament over things that had already been done and you needed this information more than anything to succeed, you needed it to survive. Your anger and resentment alone would never be enough to bring Jungkook down.

“Carry on” you breathed.

Jin cleared his throat and glanced back to the bulletin board behind him, he pressed his lips together, a certain reluctance forming in his chest. he knew it hurt to know what kind of family it was you formed part of but ultimately, he also knew this was what you needed, even if he doubted the path, you were so set on going down.

“Right,” Jin sighed, swallowing back the bitter taste in his mouth. “There is simplicity in money laundering” Jin continued, pressing the stick against a court document pinned to the board “First, there is placement which is the introduction of what we call ‘dirty money’ into a legitimate business in this case Intalex, Capitalab, and Austrade then comes layering which through a series of investments and money play will conceal the source of the money much like the investment made by your father in law to your father’s company in exchange for your marriage, and then when the money is cleaned with legal paper trail it's then removed and integrated back to the criminal's finances.”

Your eyes narrowed at the thought of how much money your father had already laundered for Jungkook and his family, of how you were all just pawns in a game you had no chance of winning. It made you sick to your stomach to think for a moment you had ever tried to be amicable with a man like Jungkook, someone who held no compassion, someone who had no heart.

“How- “you whispered, “how have the authorities not caught wind of this?” your eyes remained fixed on the board. You focused on remembering each face that was displayed there, the familiar ones and the ones you’d never seen before too. They would have to pay for what they’ve done.

For an instant, you couldn’t help but feel saturated, what you thought was a burning house was instead a forest fire and the smoke was choking you to death.

You had underestimated them in ways you couldn’t describe.

Jin’s eyes traveled to where you sat, a disappointed expression on his face, the answer remained on the tip of his tongue, but his teeth clenched together, you had lived in a glass cage with no clear view of the real world, and it pained him to be the one to give you a reality check.

“When you have money and influence in the way the Jeons have, there is nothing in this world you can't buy and that includes government officials and dirty cops” he sighed.

“You would be surprised how little money it takes to bury a crime” You felt your chest tighten at his words. It was a fact that you knew to be true but one you had ignored all this time because it almost sounded fictitious.

if Jin had been able to gather all this information in less than 2 weeks then you were sure the cops were already very much aware of all these crimes, it destroyed all the plans you had previously made, all this paper trail, all this evidence meant nothing if no one was willing to go after them. You couldn’t just walk into a police station with all this proof, all that would do is put a target on your back, if the police was on their side, then how else could you destroy them?

Would you be willing to become a criminal too at the expense of your revenge?

“Can you tell me what intel you’ve gathered on these guys?” You took a gulp of the tea that sat in front of you, hoping that it would wash away the lurking thoughts that had overtaken your mind.

“As we know we have Mr. Jeon as the head of the organization and then we have his heir Jeon Jungkook, his name doesn’t even appear on the police database which can only mean 2 things, either your husband is a saint, or he has been paying someone very powerful to keep his record clean.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, Jungkook a saint? There was no fucking way.

“But from what my private investigator has managed to find he is responsible for various crimes as well” Jin proceeded to slide a file in front of you and you stared at it for a moment before flipping it open. You remained silent, frozen in time as you attempted to digest the pictures in front of you.

There were photographs of his crimes. dead bodies, Jungkook meeting with other drug lords, and drugs and weapons that had been seized by foreign countries. Your heart felt heavy, and you shuddered at the reminder that this was who you were married to.

Jin didn’t remove his eyes from you, expecting a reaction but none came. Your face remained stone cold even if inside you were falling apart, unable to express how sick you felt.

“Kim Taehyung” Your ears perked at the mention of the name, out of all the scrum bags you had met that night, Taehyung was the only one that was tolerable, you recalled how safe you had felt under his gaze, but you knew Jin would soon destroy the way you had once perceived him.

“His father was a shareholder in the Jeon company, he has since retired due to poor health, but Taehyung has taken his place, due to his constant travels we can assume he’s responsible for their international affairs, Jungkook’s ‘business’ has ties to Japan, China, Taiwan, and even the Russian Mob.”

Jin went silent and you blinked repeatedly, you tried to process what he had just said. The mob? The fucking mob? You were aware you weren’t dealing with ordinary criminals, but this made your blood run cold.

“We can deduct that Taehyung is in charge of representing the Jeons outside of the country during their deals and agreements” Jin looked through a file in his hand, his eyes focusing for a moment before looking back up at you “he got charged with Vehicular Manslaughter last year but a settlement was made between the victim’s family and Taehyung to resolve the issue with no jail time” Jin mumbled, closing the file and laying out in front of you.

“Spare me the attorney talk, he paid them out” you corrected, taking the file in your hands now and looking through the pages.

Jin rubbed the back of his neck and nodded “Yes, he paid them out.”

Charged with Vehicular Manslaughter last year? You sat silent for a moment, trying to piece together the information in your mind. Taehyung was not present at the time of your wedding because he was away in Paris and he had just returned when he attended your anniversary dinner which could only mean that it was plausible he had left Korea right after that accident.

“I've lost you Y/n, what's going through that hectic mind of yours?” Jin asked, bringing you back from your thoughts.

“Sorry, I’m just trying to collect all of this” You weren’t comfortable withholding information from Jin, he was helping you after all, but you didn’t want him to know how consumed you had become by this entire ordeal, you didn’t want him to worry.

“Let me know if I’m going too fast” he chuckled nervously before turning to point at the board once more.

“Then we have Jung Ho-Seok, who is their legal advisor” Your attention was brought to the picture of a man whom you didn’t recognize, he hadn’t attended your dinner, and he wasn’t someone you had ever seen around the Jeons. “He graduated top of his class from Seoul National University School of Law, and he's a well-respected lawyer” Jin rolled his eyes and looked back at you “After me of course.”

You allowed yourself to smile, Jin had a way of easing the tension even in difficult situations and for the first time since you arrived, you took a breather. Perhaps it’s what made him such a good lawyer or maybe it's what made him such a good friend.

“And lastly we have Min Yoongi.”

Your smile faded as you focused on his picture, you could hear your heart stop for a moment and then pound full throttle against your chest. your ally, the man to whom you had told all your dark desires to, he was an important asset in your plan and yet somehow you didn’t think you were prepared to hear what role he had been playing in this organization or if you even wanted to.

“Where do I begin” Jin sighed, grabbing another file into his hand but this one was much larger compared to Taehyung's or Jungkook’s, you blinked slowly, trying to suppress the pressure that built in your stomach. You knew Yoongi wasn’t a good person, he was just as involved in this life as Jungkook and his father but somehow you had made yourself believe that his evil had meaning, you had even been capable of putting yourself in his shoes.

“He’s the son of the late Mr. Min who died under suspicious circumstances, he was Mr. Jeon’s right hand and business partner” Jin hummed, his eyes scanning the documents in front of him, you hoped he wouldn’t notice the way you tensed, the way you had been unable to blink since he started talking about the Min’s – he couldn’t know that you had made a deal with someone like Yoongi.

“I mean this kid has been charged with almost everything in the book, you name it” Jin huffed, and you could see his eyes trail as if he was reading off a list “Aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder, armed robbery, drug possession with intent to sell- “

Your throat went dry as Jin continued to name the many crimes Yoongi had been involved in and soon regret nestled itself comfortably in your consciousness. Was this the same man who promised to help you? the same one that made you feel reassured in your vengeance? You couldn’t be surprised, of course not. That night, the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, it came with experience.

You were just too consumed by your own personal gain that you overlooked it, because at that time it didn’t matter what kind of person he was, if he was helping you.

Did it even matter now?

You felt the room spin around you and you held onto the end of the table in front of you for support. You didn’t know what to think or how to feel, your mind and heart once again battling against each other. Your morality was now hanging by a loose thread, and you didn’t know if it was worth salvaging at this point.

“Should I continue?” Jin hummed, looking back up at you with raised brows.

You gulped and shook your head; Jin slid the file in front of you and this time you looked away. If Jungkook hadn’t worked so hard to keep his record clean then perhaps it would look the same as Yoongi’s, at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself because only then could you still keep some of your sanity.

Was Yoongi a reflection of who you would become if you continued down this path? Your desires were far too similar, both of your resentments intertwined.

Jin took in the pale tone of your skin, the way you bit down on your lips as you stared into nothing. Disassociating from the reality that he had worked so hard for you to see and in that moment, he didn’t feel proud like he did when he first stepped into the room. He felt guilty as if he was the one committing all these crimes or maybe just committing one by telling you all of this.

“Y/n” he whispered, taking a step closer to you. He reached forward and brushed his fingers against the skin of your arm, and you flinched out of your state, eyes blinking widely up at him.

“We should stop now” he announced, his voice low and soothing almost as if he was trying to persuade you but you shook your head and your lips trembled.

“I need to know everything” you protested. “I need this, I need to know all of this” you gulped, trying to repress the turmoil in your mind. You were not too proud to admit that you had bitten off more than you could chew but you would prefer to break your jaw than to give up on your freedom.

This was only the beginning and yet, there was no going back.

“We can continue this on another day, I think this is enough information for now” Jin replied, and you knew he was right, you were overwhelmed, and your thoughts were scattered. You couldn’t pinpoint one single emotion inside of you and it scared you. Anger, disappointment, and guilt came in waves, and it left you drowning in your own fears.

Yet, you repressed them, leaving them to be dealt with later.

“no” you muttered “it's actually not enough” Jin furrowed his brows at your determination, unable to tell what it was that you were thinking, what it was that you wanted out of all of this, but he gave in, you needed him and for him that was sufficient.

“The Jeon’s” he began again, his eyes remaining on you. His voice was a mere whisper as he carefully selected the words he spoke. “The jeon’s work like a bureaucratic system, almost like a political structure” You noted the way his tone lacked confidence, his words were reluctant, and his eyes held sadness.

“Illegal activities are planned out and approved by superiors like Mr. Jeon and Jungkook” he cleared his throat once more, swallowing down as if there was acid in his mouth “and then are carried out by lower rank individuals who form part of the organization” you sat completely still, eyes focused but mind withdrawn.

“Besides the illegal sale of firearms, they have been linked with the distribution of drugs, gambling houses, speakeasy bars, night clubs, and strip clubs” Jin sighed “The only thing this family has not profited in is human trafficking” you bit down your lip and lowered your gaze.

Perhaps…

“Y/n, I don’t mean to intrude but what are you going to do with all of this?” Jin dropped the pointer stick on the table and slumped into the seat next to you. He appeared disgruntled; you could see the resignation in his eyes as you looked up at him while he asked you a question you no longer knew the answer to.

“I mean if the authorities are turning a blind eye to this, what will you do?”

You didn’t want to answer him, didn’t want to tell him the thoughts that went through your mind, but something inside you told you he already knew, you could see it in his eyes, he was just asking for confirmation. Your eyes filled with tears, and you allowed yourself to come to terms with the cards this life had dealt you.

You covered your face in frustration and hid yourself there for a moment. You couldn’t carry this weight all by yourself and taking the legal route was no longer an option. You had thought about this plenty of times and yet, you still feared losing yourself in the complexity of this situation.

You wanted your freedom more than anything.

More than anything….

You removed your hands from your face and your tired gaze traveled to meet Jin’s, his eyes were held wide open, and within them, you could see fear and agony.

Was he aware that he would never see the old Y/n again?

“Then I'll just be the monster they have made me.”

You couldn’t shake away the pulsating migraine that meeting had left you, a storm of thoughts consuming your mind with worries and doubt. You tried to hush the voice inside of you that screamed you were afraid, a warning coming from your gut as it too screamed at you to run. You tried to lie to yourself, attempting to find some kind of normality in all of this but you had been stretched out past your expectations.

You slid a cigarette between your lips and lit it, taking a long drag. The sun beamed down on you as you stood in front of the small café, the place that often brought you comfort now being the place in which you stood motionless, your thoughts incapacitating you.

Knowledge was power but at what cost?

It only nurtured your hatred and invoked a new feeling in you that you had long forgotten about when you began to plot against Jungkook and his family, pure trepidation.

You blew out smoke past your lips and dragged your hand over your face, attempting to gather yourself. You needed to stop pretending like you had everything under control because one thing was for sure, you had stepped into a lion's den with no weapons, with no experience, and without any idea of what you were facing.

This was bigger than you and you couldn’t help but shrink inside of the idea of what was to come.

You were startled by the sound of a car approaching, its tires pressing on the grabble underneath your feet making you blink up in a panic. The black escalade stopped in front of you and your body trembled.

Did Jungkook find you? fuck…what time was it?

You held up your watch, squinting your eyes as you made out the time, it had been over an hour and surely, Jungkook’s lapdog was already looking for you. You looked back at the café and your heart dropped. Jin was still in there, what if Jungkook found out what you were doing? You couldn’t risk putting Jin’s life in danger. You needed to come up with a lie that was convincing enough to explain all of this.

You got lost on your way back, you stopped for some coffee, anything.

But once you blinked back to the escalade, a man who you didn’t recognize stepped out. He wore an all-black suit, and his black shades blocked his eyes from the sun and from your eyes too, yet you were sure he wasn’t one of Jungkook's employees, and the smile he wore only confirmed it.

You shifted in the spot in which you stood, holding your breath as you prepared for the worst. If this wasn’t one of Jungkook’s men, then he was an enemy, and you didn’t know which of the two facts scared you the most.

“Ms. Y/n?” he asked.

Your body grew taught as apprehension flowed through you. who was this man? And how did he know who you were and how in the fuck did he find you here?

“y-yes” you responded, your voice shaking as the word escaped your mouth.

The man smiled at you once more and offered you a small nod.

“I didn’t mean to startle you Ma’am” he noticed the way your hand trembled as it held onto your cigarette, evidence of your panicked state “Mr. Min has sent for you” he explained and it was as if you had been punched in the stomach, a sudden need to hurl settling there.

You couldn’t stop Jin’s words from replaying in your mind, recalling all the violent crimes Yoongi had committed. his grand criminal record, a depiction of the kind of person he was. You took a step back and your chest rose and fell noticeably. You felt your knees buckle and surely you would soon find yourself on the ground.

You couldn’t repress the thought that you had made a mistake, a big mistake. Yoongi was a criminal, apparently the worst of them all. What would he do to you if you weren’t good enough as an ally? How stupid had you been to begin a relationship with someone you knew nothing about, with someone you couldn’t trust?

“Ma’am? I can just tell Mr. Min you are busy now.”

You focused your eyes on the man once again, his head tilted as he waited for your answer. If you didn’t go it would be suspicious, he was your ally now, you couldn’t doubt your ally and then again, he was someone who had committed unspeakable crimes and you couldn’t erase the pictures of his victims from your mind. all the blood, all the damage, and all the terror.

If you crossed him, would you become another file in his criminal portfolio?

You needed to make a choice, there was no time to evaluate the situation. You had made this decision and now, you couldn’t backtrack no matter how much you wanted to. Ultimately this was what you had asked for, you needed a strong ally and that’s exactly what Yoongi was.

He was cruel and he was feared, even by you.

You dropped the cigarette from between your fingers and pressed down on it with your heel. You had no other choice but to hold your head high and pray that this would all soon be over.

“No uh-I’ll go” you said.

The man smiled at you once more and he moved to open the door for you. You looked back at the café one last time, hoping that Jin wouldn’t see this. That he would stay as oblivious as possible to what you were doing. although eventually, he would come to find out the kind of person you would have to become.

You slid inside the escalade and flinched once the door slammed shut beside you. There was nothing in this world that could ease your mind, everything that you were doing felt wrong but while you battled to keep your rationality a part of you felt thrilled. you were meeting a side of yourself that you didn’t know, someone who hadn’t been part of your conscious, or maybe they were there all along, hiding behind your deepest desires.

Urging you to be vindictive and you were feeding into it.

Regardless, one thing you knew for sure was that you were never going to be the same Y/n from a year ago, the naïve and weak girl who allowed herself to be put in this position in the name of love, in the name of honor. Even while finding your freedom, you would surely lose a part of yourself. Was it worth the sacrifice?

Yoongi’s smirk appeared in your mind, his words from that evening echoing in your ears, and then Ha-yoon’s… are you sure? Are you prepared? It hurt to say now that the answer was no but there was no going back, even if you tried to back paddle, there was no road left behind you. nothing to go back to.

The further the car moved from the café the deeper you had sunk within your thoughts, it wasn’t like you were second guessing yourself and you had promised that you would no longer be a victim to your circumstances, but you couldn’t help but question what you had done, you couldn’t help but feel regret for the choices you had made.

However, there was no feeling stronger than your resentment and it overpowered all rational thought forcing you to stand firm on your goal, regardless of the cost.

The escalade made a sharp turn into a long narrow road, and you peered out the tinted windows noticing how the scenery had shifted from tall skyscrapers to large trees, the car continued to move deeper into the woods, and you could tell you had been taken past the city lines, no longer being able to see any familiar landmarks and it only made you that much more uneasy.

You looked at the driver through the review mirror, he appeared calm, and you didn’t know if that was a good thing. The car reached the end of the road and then the driver made another sharp turn into an unpaved road this time, you could feel the wheels run over rocks and grabble, making the car shake for a moment. Your heart pounded harshly inside your chest, so much so that it drowned out the sound of the wheels crushing everything in its path but then your focus was drawn to the house that appeared before you.

Standing proudly amongst the trees, the grand mansion called for your attention, its large windows were blocked off by white curtains, and vines grew along the white-bricked structure, it was elegant and clean in contrast to the forest that surrounded it. The car made a stop in front of its entrance, and you could only assume this was one of Yoongi’s properties.

The driver exited the car and stepped to open the door, he gestured for you to proceed but for a moment you remained motionless, you didn’t think yourself prepared to face the man whom you had made your ally. Would he be able to see your uneasiness? Would he be offended by your mistrust?

Your feet felt heavy as you stepped forward and your heels dragged against the gravel underneath you. it wasn’t the best idea for you to be here, not after learning all that you had about the man who waited inside. You didn’t have enough time to make sense of all of this and you feared you would make another mistake.

Fuck.

You walked up the steps and stared at the door for a moment too long, pondering if this was the right decision. By this time your driver would be on a call with Jungkook, letting him know of your sudden disappearance, and then what would you do? What excuse would you be able to come up with to explain all of this? You hated that you had to even consider these things, things you wouldn’t need to do if you were free.

You raised your hand to ring the doorbell but before you could, the doors swung open and in front of you stood a woman wearing an all-black uniform, she offered you a smile. The kind of smile you only give to someone you know, and you couldn’t help but be tense under her gaze.

She bowed before you and then gestured for you to enter “Welcome Ms. Y/n, right this way” she spoke softly. Your steps faltered as you stepped inside, it felt like you were walking over landmines, and you grew dizzy once you heard the door close behind you. You turned to look at her once again but noticed her smile had remained.

The woman leaned down and collected your heels as they came off your feet, reaching to slide slippers in front of you. You stared at her for a moment and then slid your feet inside of them. You could feel every nerve rise within your body as the woman led you further into the home.

The various windows allowed the sun rays to seep inside, casting a golden shadow of tranquility inside of the space. You couldn’t help but compare this house to your own and it made your heart lurch in yearning. This felt like a home, the walls held comfort in a way only something that had witnessed happiness and memories could, and, in your mind, you struggled to connect this place to the criminal Yoongi was known to be.

It felt safe here in contrast to the unsettling feeling you had towards him now.

“Mr. Min is waiting for you here,” she said while stopping in front of tall wooden doors, she then bowed deeply and proceeded to leave you alone in the hallway. From within the doors, you could hear the soft sound of what appeared to be a piano. you shuffle momentarily, allowing an anxious huff to release past your lips.

You weren’t capable of seeing Yoongi in the same way you had only a few days prior, you had admired his perseverance, seeing yourself in him but now the reflection of that man was obstructed by his past and you didn’t know if you could continue to admire it. Your hand trembled as you reached to open the door and once again you were immersed in doubt.

Yoongi sat in front of the piano with his head lowered as his fingers graced the piano keys gently, his eyes were closed, and his brows furrowed as he concentrated on playing the melody you had heard from outside the doors. the song made you feel at ease, and you allowed yourself to step inside, entranced by his gentle and calm posture and yet again your brain struggled to attach those vicious crimes to the man who sat before you.

Yoongi pressed onto the last key, leaving the sound to echo in the air and then he raised his gaze onto you, his eyes distilling pleasure as his lips formed into a smirk but your eyes dropped to the floor, unable to hold his stare.

“You came” Yoongi rose from where he sat, taking a few steps towards you. Your eyes moved up once more at the sound of his voice and you took in his relaxed posture, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“H-hello Mr. Min” you mustered to say yet it was nothing more than a whisper and Yoongi grinned in response.

“Call me Yoongi, I think we are past formalities.”

You felt goosebumps arise from your skin and you were reminded that the man who stood in front of you was an ally, a friend. Even if you were reluctant to admit it, even if you regretted your decision, that is what he was.

“Yoongi” you repeated, correcting your previous words.

“Yes, Yoongi” a smirk danced on his lips.

“I apologize for the short notice” he continued before you could speak again “I would’ve called had I had your number.”

His words held sincerity but something inside you didn’t allow you to believe this meeting would’ve gone any differently.

“Yeah,” you muttered, “about that, how did you find me?”

You always ensured you were being discreet when meeting with Jin, and you were sure the café was a safe place but having been found by no other than Yoongi in the place you felt most at ease left you feeling unsettled.

It would come to seem that you weren’t safe anywhere.

“I did say I would find you, didn’t I?” he chuckled lowly which did nothing to calm your anxious thoughts. If this was anything, it was a demonstration of his power, of his influence.

Yoongi noticed the way your eyes shifted, your body tense and immobilized as he spoke, and his laugh subsided. You were scared, he had rattled you to your core with his intrusion and he knew that.

“You were in my territory” he admitted, gulping down the liquid in his glass.

“Actually, you spend a lot of time in my territory, and I can’t quite be convinced it’s because you like Mi Cha’s coffee.”

Mi Cha? You didn’t even know the owner's name. You always called them auntie and uncle and you were there almost every weekend. He wasn’t bluffing, you were in his territory. How long had he been keeping tabs on you? how many times did he send men to observe your every move? Did he know about Jin? Fuck, you were fucked. Did he know who you were before you approached him that night?

Of course, he did, after all, you are his enemy's wife.

You clawed at your brain for an excuse; you needed him to believe that any visit made to that café was innocent but fooling someone like Yoongi was not going to be easy.

Another chuckle abrupted from his chest as he stepped towards his bar, reaching for the bottle of whiskey and pouring himself another drink.

“Relax, we are allies but that doesn’t mean that you have to share all your secrets with me” he reached for another glass and prepared it, this time stepping closer to you and extending out his hand for you to take.

“I don’t care about what you have going on in my territory as long as it doesn’t threaten my business” his voice was smooth, comforting even but his eyes were cold and withdrawn.

You took the cup from his hand and nodded, before taking a drink from the bitter-sweet liquid.

“Why did you reach out to me?” you asked, feeling braver than before.

“Ah yes” he exclaimed, “I heard about your father-in-law’s upcoming campaign.”

You grimaced at the words, recalling the distasteful conversation you had with Mr. Jeon regarding his future plans and how he needed you to assist him. You took another drink from your glass and then your eyes met with Yoongi’s.

“Yes,” you huffed “it appears he has grown aspirations to be a politician.”

Yoongi chuckled once again, shaking his head at your words.

“No, it is not that he wants to be a politician” he corrected which made you attentive. logically what man like Jungkook’s father would want to deal with the pressure and labor that came with the job of a governor, not when he was used to a life of easy money.

“He wants to be in control” Yoongi shrugged. “Control the police that arrest his men, control the authorities that stop his drugs and weapons from coming into the country” Yoongi spoke nonchalantly as if he was just holding a simple conversation, disregarding the actual words that were coming out of his mouth.

Your stomach flipped inside out and the taste of the whiskey on your tongue turned sour. The answer had always been there, yet you were still too naïve to put the pieces together, it was never about aspirations or going legit. It was always about power.

You felt your jaw lock and that anger, the one you have fed for months, made its presence known inside of you. Yoongi may have been right, but you wouldn’t allow any of those things to happen.

“The real question here is what are you and I going to do to stop it.”

You held onto your words, you trusted him less than you ever did before but once again he was the only one willing to help you set this plan in motion, and at this point, it didn’t matter that Yoongi was a violent criminal because just as the night of your anniversary he was willing to help you.

“I say we let him continue with his campaign” you suggested, shrugging your shoulders.

“And why would that bring us any good?” Yoongi responded, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

“I thought you were a smarter man” You grinned, and Yoongi chuckled in response.

“Enlighten me then.”

“Initially I was repulsed by the idea of helping the Jeons but after learning how they work; and what kind of people they are I’ve concluded that we should give them what they want.”

“Mhmm and why is that?”

“Because only then can we expose all their crimes, they get away with all of this now because they can buy out half the police in a second, they surely have the money to do so but once Mr. Jeon becomes a public figure, a governor and the corruption goes public, how will they hide then?”

“And what about his son?”

“What about him?”

There was silence whilst you and Yoongi stared at each other, his eyes were defiant and yours faltered under his glare.

“Jungkook won't think twice to retaliate if his family is threatened, even if you are his wife” his eyes stared into you menacingly, as if taunting you and you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable “Do you think yourself capable of ending his life If given the opportunity?”

The question sat heavy in your mind. Would you? A part of you wanted to eagerly say yes, to assure Yoongi that he didn’t have anything to worry about, that Jungkook was a criminal, the person behind all your suffering but you hesitated to respond, unable to find the words to agree, why couldn’t you agree?

Yoongi lowered his gaze and cleared his throat, masking his discomfort with a chuckle.

“I guess we will have to see” he breathed then his eyes trailed back to yours “Just know I will be capable of that and much more Y/n and I hope that this doesn’t turn us into enemies down the line.”

In that moment you don’t understand his words, he was your ally. Why would you become an enemy if he were to come for Jungkook but if your silence was a demonstration of anything it was that you didn’t know the answer to that question, and it only conflicted you further and it permitted Yoongi to wither in doubt.

“I've set up a meeting with some people I want you to meet” Yoongi quickly changed the subject, allowing you to take a breath despite all the tension.

“They are individuals who have wanted to come after the Jeons for a while and are willing to offer us their resources, I hope you can find a way to make it to this meeting, I think it will be very important” Yoongi continued, pacing around the large office.

Would these men be dangerous like him?

“Uhm yeah just let me know the time and place and I'll be there” you spoke confidently, holding back the knot in your throat.

“don’t worry this time I'll take down your phone number” Yoongi promised, a small laugh falling from his lips.

“Oh, so no more abrupt kidnappings in order to see me?” you challenged.

Yoongi smirked and his eyes flashed with a certain darkness you couldn’t describe; it made chills go down your spine and you felt yourself shrinking under his gaze.

“don’t tempt me” he muttered.

“Have you ever shot a gun?” Yoongi followed up, approaching you once again.

A gun? This man had a way of fucking with your composure and you hated it.

You shook your head slowly, eyes beaming at Yoongi as he reached behind his back and pulled out a gun from his waistband, the black weapon glistened under the sunlight as he held it out in his palm. Yoongi admired it as if it was a piece of art while your body trembled in its presence and then everything came back to you and the bravery that the whiskey had given you soon disappeared.

The man who was standing before you was dangerous.

You were standing in Yoongi’s home with his men and no protection. In the middle of the woods where no one could hear you, where no one could save you. If he shot you right now who would come to rescue you, who would mourn you?

You were alone.

“This is a Glock 17; It’s low weight and has a magazine capacity of 17 rounds.”

Yoongi reached for your hand and laid the gun there, but you didn’t try to grasp it, letting it sit there as you struggled to rip your eyes away from it. You had never seen one in person before, much less held one in your hand. It was heavy and cold against your skin, and you couldn’t stop your throat from going dry.

“I'll teach you how to use it,” he said, and your eyes trailed back to his.

“So that you can protect yourself, even from me.”

𝐇𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬! 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝! 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 & 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮!

𝐈 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲! 𝐢 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲.

𝐢 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 @sumzysworld , 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠!

𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤/𝐝𝐦 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@ane102,@thisartemisnevermisses,@jamlessstars,@cookysstuff,@gyeomibearr,@multiasf ,@lydinews,@vminkookgf,@chl0buggy, @peterstarkchrishiddleston , @koostrawberry , @jcrl99 , @coree730 , @melodiesforari , @taemond-in-the-ruff , @whoa-jo @jksusawife , @hoseoksluv89 , @piecesofapril11 , @coralmusicblaze , @junecat18 , @amiradumas , @mageprincess7 , @heartjiminie , @parkinglot-nights , @douknowbts , @str4gguk , @sarzkh31, @jjk970971 , @xwniazx, @jalexad, @hubbytaehyung, @wobblewobble822, @llallaaa, @gojosatoruhere,

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luvme1600

2 years ago

Seat of Power | jungkook political au 02

pairing: ceo!jungkook x reader genre: political & yandere au

chapter summary: Jungkook’s father doesn’t like that your mother is winning a seat at the national assembly and he has nothing left to do but to eliminate the threat. Jungkook does his best to save you but there are situations that he cannot control just like the things that happen when you wake up after being in a coma.

chapter warnings: stalking, yandere, character death, traumatic brain injury, breakdowns, panic attack word count: 10k

disclaimer: This is pure fiction and I do not condone the acts of Jeon Jungkook in the story. All events and occurrences in this story are all fictional and all are part of my imagination. And also, this fiction will be political.

Keep reading

334 notes View Post

luvme1600

1 year ago

𝔸 𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 𝕆𝔽 𝔸 𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 | ℂℍ.𝟝

| 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐗 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

| 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.3k

| 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐬 & 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, foul language ( 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 ), 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬), 𝐬𝐞𝐱 ( 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬).

𝐂𝐡.𝟏| 𝐂𝐡.𝟐 | 𝐂𝐡.𝟑 | 𝐂𝐡. 𝟒 |

The cigarette you held in your hand burned slowly as you watched the smoke swirl in the air. The memory of Jungkook's intrusion replayed over and over in your mind. You found yourself creating scenarios on how you should have reacted. You envisioned yourself slapping him across the face and spitting at his feet in complete disgust, shouting at him and banging on his chest, getting ahold of anything within reach and throwing it in rage, causing as much damage as you possibly could. something, anything but reality. The reality that you found solace in that small contact and that thought repulsed you. If you couldn't keep yourself together from just a touch on the cheek, how did you plan to achieve anything to bring that family down?

Where did that reaction even come from? For an entire year, you had repelled the thought of being close to that man. Finding ways to avoid him entirely. Jungkook and his family had turned your life upside down and never for a moment did you ever consider that within your hatred lived a deep desire to be wanted. Sure, you had tried in the beginning to form some kind of connection, but he had never caused this kind of turmoil within you before.

You took another drag from the cigarette and inhaled slowly, shutting your eyes and wincing to yourself. You had to gather the bit of shame you had left and continue, there was no time for self-loathing or pity. Fine you had a moment of weakness, you are human after all and sometimes you are allowed to break but what you had done, what you had demonstrated to Jungkook was that he could play with you whenever he pleased and that, that you couldn't allow. As difficult as it proved to be, you needed to be as empty as him. It was the only way this plan would work.

“Mrs. Y/n” Ha-yoon called for you. You hummed in response as you leaned your head against the lounge chair in which you sat; a blanket comfortably laid on your lamp. “Your assistant has arrived, along with your stylist to prepare you for this evening” she spoke urgently. You closed your eyes for a moment and smirked. You had been more than reluctant to attend the rather infernal event but after some thought, you couldn't see why you couldn't turn this into something beneficial.

As you had assumed, if the Jeon family was planning this whole dinner, then they, of course, would not miss the opportunity of inviting all the important members of their inner circle. After all their reputation was everything, and what better than to show off the close-knit harmonious family they had created. Attending this event would allow you to meet every single person who had aided the Jeon family in building the criminal empire they now had.

They would have your full attention, you were looking forward to networking with every one of them, gaining their good graces and trust. This was a key step in your plan, you were sure that within that empire existed at least someone who hated them as much as you and if they didn't hate them, then at least they envied them. One thing you were sure of and it’s that tonight you had something to gain and what thrill did it bring. without noticing, the Jeon family had just aided you in their downfall.

“Bring them in Ha-yoon, I need to look spectacular tonight” you smiled.

Ha-yoon furrowed her brows for a moment, confusion overtaking her expression. “Are you sure you’re okay Mrs. Y/n?” she asked. She had heard the entire altercation in the morning even if it was against her will, the screams between you and Jungkook had poured out of the dining room and into the vast spaces in the home. Ha-yoon had wanted to interrupt and bring some kind of peace amidst the war that had taken place, but she was hesitant. unsure of how her intrusion would sit with Jungkook. Afterward, she had heard the rushed steps of Jungkook and the loud slamming of the door as he stormed out of the house and then your agonizing screams as you threw every single plate of food across the room.

The woman who now sat calmly with a radiant smile was a stranger to the woman who had destroyed the dining room in a rage only a few hours ago.

You blinked, your smile faltering for just a moment. “Of course, Ha-yoon why wouldn't I be?” you questioned, leaning your head to the side. Ha-yoon fiddled with her apron and then shook her head. “Nothing Mrs. Y/n, I will allow them inside” She bowed quickly and rushed out of the room. You took a deep breath dropping your smile and proceeded to put out your cigarette. Of course, you weren’t okay but falling back into your routine, you pretended like nothing had happened.

Soon your room was occupied by Myung and your stylist. They carried large shopping bags and hangers with flashy dresses. You stood up from where you sat on your balcony and entered the room. “Y/n, my love!” your stylist cheered as you walked inside. He threw his arms around you and hugged you tightly. You giggled into his embrace “Hey Si-woo” you breathed.

“I have so many beautiful options for you, I want you to look like the baddest bitch on the planet” he beamed which caused you to smile. “I don’t doubt it for a second, Si-woo” you replied. Si-woo had been your event stylist for years now, even before your marriage, and was one of the only personnel you had been allowed to keep after the union. You entrusted him with everything regarding your style, Si-woo being the only one who understood what you liked and felt comfortable in.

“He went crazy at the store, Ma’am” Myung confirmed as she prepared the table for your makeup. “Me? Go crazy at the store how unusual” Si-woo retorted with sarcasm. You laughed loudly and Myung smiled shyly like she always did. “Here, come look at these dresses” he said whilst ushering you to sit on your bed, he quickly began rummaging through the rack he had brought in, pushing past some of the gowns that hung there.

“This one is my favorite” he cried out as he held out a sequin golden dress, his eyes glowed as he unzipped it from its bag. “Oscar De La Renta of course” he marveled.

“It has a hand-embroidered sequin wave pattern with scallop details and a construction to accentuate your gorgeous waist” he waved as he danced around the room with the gown.

For the first time since the day had begun, you felt at ease, Si-woo always managed to make you forget all your worries with his styling and charisma. “It’s strapless to show off those sexy shoulders you have, and a dramatic front slit to give it a cheeky touch” he concluded, holding up the gown to your eyes.

“What do we think?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. You nodded quickly “I love it, it's truly incredible” you approved which made him jump in excitement. “I knew it, as soon as I saw it on display, I knew you would love it!” he exclaimed.

“I uhm I was under the impression you would be matching with Mr. Jeon, Ma’am” Myung spoke quietly from where she stood. Si-woo scoffed and rolled his eyes “Myung, please keep your dreadful comments to yourself, if anything it should be Jungkook who would need to be matching with our queen and savior Y/n” he snapped back, glaring at Myung.

You wanted to burst into laughter but withheld from such a reaction, partly because it was rude and then because Myung did have a point. If you were to attend this dinner and gain the trust of the Jeon’s inner circle you needed to give the elution of a partnership with your husband and as strange as it sounded, you were aware that matching with your significant other was an indication of that. You sighed and gave Si-woo a shy stare. He shook his head and hung the dress back onto the rack.

“don’t do this to me Y/n, I have the perfect heels and accessories for this dress” he whined. He looked back at Myung with distaste and exasperated dramatically. “Well, what is this man wearing then” he asked, his hand still gripping the dress. “He will be wearing a black suit along with a dark green undershirt and a black tie” Myung spoke, her voice carrying excitement.

Si-woo looked around in desperation “Oh my god, borrinnnnnggg” he almost yelled, causing a giggle to fall from your lips. “I will not have Y/n looking bland, she is everything but, okay?” he voiced as he pointed at where you sat. “Listen how about you get those little fingers moving and advise his stylist to just put some golden accessories on that suit for god's sake and call it a day” he concluded. Myung appeared nervous but nodded.

The smile that Si-woo produced afterwards could’ve blinded the sun itself as he reached for your arm. “let's go! We have but a few hours and although you are gorgeous, we need these people to drool over you!” you allowed him to guide you into the makeup chair proceeding to work on your hair and make-up.

After some time, there was a knock on the door and Ha-yoon stepped inside holding a tray of snacks and tea. “Hello Ma’am, I couldn’t help but notice you hadn’t eaten today, I wanted to bring you some refreshments” she informed you as she laid the tray next to you. you gave her a bright smile and reached forth for a small sandwich “Thank you so much Ha-yoon you are a lifesaver” you spoke, taking a bite “Between this and the medicine Nali brought into my room this morning, what would I do without you girls” you rejoiced.

“Oh,” Ha-yoon spoke, a small smile forming on her lips. “No need Ma’am, actually the medicine was Mr. Jeon's idea, he made sure you were taken care of this morning” she disclosed, your jaw halted as you swallowed the rest of the sandwich harshly down your throat. “Come again?” you asked, blinking quickly. “Yes Ma’am, he made sure to come into the kitchen and instructed us to ensure you received medicine for your headache” Ha-yoon confirmed.

You sat still as Si-woo curled another strand from your hair. You remained taken aback by the words Ha-yoon had said. What did he gain from doing that? You were sure he didn't care for you at all, so what was the real reason behind this sudden act of concern towards you?

“Seems to me like the man has finally grown a heart” Si-woo voiced, looking at you through the mirror. You shook your head and looked back at Ha-yoon, you had no time to think about these things or the reasoning behind them. Maybe it was true he had grown a heart or maybe he just wanted to ensure you were coherent enough to put up with the atrocious conversation you had shared. You chose the ladder.

An idea settled into your head as you watched Ha-yoon shift uncomfortably in place.

“Hey Ha-yoon, how well do you know the associates at the Jeon company?” you asked, Ha-yoon looked up quickly “I uhm only met them a handful of times when they visited Mr. Jeon's father at his residence, I really don’t know much Ma’am” she expressed, shrugging slightly. You hummed “Surely you would be able to tell me their names if you saw them, right?” you implied. She nodded innocently “Of course Ma’am, it was our duty to learn the names of those who visited the Jeon residence in order for us to provide a much more comfortable visit” she confirmed. You smirked wickedly and looked back at yourself in the mirror.

You were sure Ha-yoon knew much more than she was letting on, she had access to endless conversations and undisclosed information. Her profession allowed her to hear many things whilst serving the men their tea or coffee and that’s exactly what you needed this evening. You needed to know how to work them. what their interests were and how they handled themselves. “Si-woo” you called for your stylist whose head popped up from behind you as he clipped some of your hair back. “Yes?” he spoke softly with a smile.

“We have a dress Ha-yoon could wear tonight, don’t we?” you asked, raising your brow slightly. He glanced at Ha-yoon for a moment almost as if he was taking measurements with his eyes. “Her bust is a bit smaller than yours, but we could make it work” he answered, looking over at the rack of dresses. “perfect” you grinned as you looked at Ha-yoon once more. She looked frightened almost as if you had threatened her life.

“I-I’m sorry, w-what?” she stammered, her hands holding onto her apron tightly. “No worries my Ha-yoon tonight you will be my confidant” you assured her “You see I just need a little guidance.”

Her terrified eyes looked into yours without blinking, like a deer caught in between headlights.

“Don’t you worry darling, I will have you looking radiant!” Si-woo promised, finishing the last touches on your hair. You nodded persuasively towards Ha-yoon. “radiant” you mouthed as her cheeks grew flushed.

Just as promised, Si-woo had completed his craft impeccably not only making you appear absolutely stunning but completely changing Ha-Yoon’s look. You barely recognized her in the long black gown and foxy make-up. You watched Ha-Yoon as she looked over her dress timidly, rubbing her arms slightly. You could tell she was not used to this level of glamour.

After some time, you noticed a smile forming on her lips as she brushed her hands through her short hair. You stepped towards her and mirrored her smile.

You tapped on her shoulder softly and she turned around to look at you, her lips pressing together. “You look beautiful” you almost whispered. “Thank You, Ma’am” she bowed, her face growing red. “I’ve never worn anything so nice” she confided which caused your smile to widen.

“I want you to have fun tonight” you confessed. “of course, I'll need your assistance from time to time but I truly just want you to enjoy yourself,” you wrapped your arms around her frame whilst turning her towards the mirror once again as you both shared smiles in the reflection.

“Ma’am, the car is here” Myung spoke, you dropped your arms from where they held Ha-yoon and gave her a reassuring nod before reaching for your clutch and walking out of the room. Ha-Yoon would be the perfect help tonight. She was someone who wouldn’t question your motives and would provide the exact information you needed. She would play a major role in your success and freedom, and she didn’t even know it.

The driver held the door open as you strutted into the car, Ha-yoon following suit behind you.

“Ma’am I will be making a stop just a block away from the event, your husband will be waiting for you in another car” the driver spoke, beginning to drive away from your residence. You rolled your eyes and peered through the tinted windows disinterested in the theatrics. The show had commenced, even if you hadn’t seen Jungkook since this morning you had to give the illusion that you had arrived together like the happy couple you appeared to be.

“Ma’am, are you sure this is okay?” Ha-yoon whispered beside you, you looked over at her and nodded with a smile “Don’t worry Ha-yoon this event is for me, I can bring whomever I want” you reassured her. You reached for her hand and squeezed it softly. “don’t be nervous, okay?” she nodded quickly but you could still tell she was overthinking the entire thing much like you tended to do. For some reason, you were at ease. Having a plan in mind for tonight kept you focused, not allowing doubt to seep in as it usually did during these kinds of things.

The ride to the event was quiet, your eyes remained fixed on the cars passing by and the city lights, you weren’t going to allow anyone to ruin this for you. This was an important night for you even if it was for completely different reasons. Whilst everyone celebrated your anniversary you were confident you would soon find an acquaintance, whoever it turned out to be.

The car stopped a corner away from the hall just as instructed. The driver stepped out and quickly went to your door, holding it open for you. you gave Ha-yoon one last reassuring smile before getting out. Waiting for you were 2 bodyguards. They led you to a car which you assumed was Jungkook’s. His driver stood there patiently and opened the door for you as you neared the all-black SUV, you took one last glance at the car in which Ha-yoon sat before stepping inside.

Jungkook sat silently, looking out of his window. You adjusted yourself in the seat and cleared your throat to make your presence known, not that he would acknowledge it. Just as Myung had described, he wore an all-black suit with a green shirt and a black tie with the difference of a golden silk handkerchief in his front pocket and a golden pin with his family crest on it.

You noticed his new haircut, and how different he appeared with short hair. The last time he had worn it this way was for your wedding, you recalled how handsome he had looked that day as your father walked you down the aisle. The same warm feeling you had felt this morning surged through you and you felt your heart skip a beat. You looked away quickly, unwilling to entertain whatever this was forming in your chest but you couldn’t ignore the exhilaration the smell of his cologne caused you.

You held onto your clutch tightly and soon that feeling of ease you carried began to disappear. You attempted to grasp onto it for as much time as you could but the calmness which you had been so proud of just minutes before quickly left your body the moment you sat next to your husband.

Once again you felt like you were walking on eggshells. You tried to keep as much distance between you, trying to focus on anything else but the man sitting beside you. You could feel his eyes on you now as they scanned the dress you wore. It was as if he was undressing you, his stare ripping into whatever skin was exposed. You could sense he was about to say something but just as his lips parted, the car pulled into the entrance of where the dinner would be held.

Upon your arrival, you were quickly blinded by the flashing of camera lights. Your eyes widened in shock at the realization of what awaited you outside the car. “What?” you whispered, looking out of the window at the paparazzi that stood there, cameras in hand. You were unaware the media would be here, assuming this would be a private event, but you were mistaken. Your grip on your clutch grew tighter as you attempted to gather your thoughts.

You hated them.

at the beginning of your marriage, they had made it their top priority to write vile tabloids about you, all pointing out how you weren’t enough for a man like Jungkook. Reading those articles caused you to swallow the little confidence you had back then, the words they had published ensured you questioned your self-worth. They dissected each one of your insecurities and then displayed them in sections of magazines for everyone to see. You grew sick at the sound of their clicking cameras as they called out your name. At that moment, all you wanted was for the car to drive away.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the door swinging open, the cold air smacking you in the face. Jungkook stood there, his hand held out for you. You hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t sitting beside you anymore.

It became hard to breathe, hearing them much clearer now.

‘Y/n come out; we want to see you.’

‘Jungkook, how is married life?’

You looked up at Jungkook, your eyes wide open and you were hesitant to hold his hand. The very hand that had graced your cheek only a few hours ago, the same hand that had wiped away tears that he had caused. He recognized your panicked stare, the way you couldn’t focus as the lights blurred your vision. He reached for you and softly pulled you out of the car.

You couldn’t make out the voices around you as your ears ringed, the dress that you swore fit comfortably just a moment before, was now too tight. You felt the material grip your waist harshly while pressing down on your ribs and you swore given the chance, you would’ve ripped it off at that very moment.

Jungkook led you onto the carpet and his arm wrapped around you as he smiled for the cameras. Yet, you couldn’t register his touch or the proximity he had as your chest pressed into his. You were too focused on surviving.

You couldn’t breathe.

you felt like the air had been sucked straight out of the atmosphere. Your hands grew clammy as the cameras continued to flash and your eyes couldn’t focus. You had never had a panic attack like this before. They usually came in waves and had never been as intense as this. For the most part, you were always alone, in a far quieter space. You had become great at calming yourself down but the voices around you were too loud as they consumed you, not allowing you to hear yourself.

“Y/n, smile for the camera!”

“Look here!”

“You look stunning Y/n!”

“Who dressed you tonight?”

“You look thinner Y/n!”

“Answer some questions for us!”

You felt the world caving in on you, sure that at any moment you would drop dead.

your hand gripped tightly onto the arm Jungkook had wrapped around your waist, your nails digging into the skin of his forearm. His eyes scanned your face, your skin had grown pale and you struggled to catch your breath. Your eyes soon swelled with tears as you looked around like a lost child.

You closed them for a moment, trying to ground yourself. You felt humiliated, you were becoming undone in front of the very people who had destroyed you with their words and you couldn’t take your control back. Couldn’t be the strong woman you so desperately yearned to be.

“Hey,” Jungkook whispered into your ear as he pressed his forehead against the side of your face. “hey” he called once again. You opened your eyes and looked at him. his eyes locking with yours. They focused only on you. In them, you noticed warmth and calmness. “Hey, look at me” he instructed you, his voice being the only one you could make out amidst the noise around you.

You stayed there, secured in his eyes. He offered you a small smile “Focus on me, you hear me?” he encouraged, and you felt your grip on his forearm loosen as you slowly caught your breath. The feeling of oxygen entering your lungs eased the burning that your panic attack had caused in them.

“Focus only on me” he continued, ensuring you were now breathing with ease. He watched your chest rise and fall and then held onto your hand. “I didn’t know they would invite the media” he confessed, his eyes stayed with yours and you knew he was telling the truth. You nodded slowly whilst he nodded with you, confirming you knew he was just as surprised as you.

“Come on, let's go” he ordered, gripping your hand tightly in his and leading you away from the cameras and finally into the hall.

You grew disoriented whilst attempting to get your breathing rhythm back. As you stepped inside, several attendees began to approach you and Jungkook. He greeted them politely, his grip on your hand never lessening. they tried to conversate with you as well, but you couldn’t make out their words while your heart pounded loudly in your chest.

“Please excuse my wife, she is not very used to the attention” Jungkook spoke and finally you began to register your surroundings. You quickly let go of his hand and lowered your gaze whilst he looked back at where his hand remained, empty without yours in it.

“Let go of me” you muttered.

You were dumbfounded by his actions, the way he talked you through your panic attack, and the way he held onto your hand as if he was protecting you. You didn’t recognize this version of him now. he had never shielded you in this way before.

But then it clicked, this had to be for show. Of course, that could be the only reason.

He had to make sure your little scene didn’t ruin his image or his family name. He was obliged to portray himself as a caring and attentive husband for everyone to see. After all, that is the only thing that ever mattered. You blinked away and looked around the room.

The space had already been filled with men in suits and women in extravagant gowns, there were waiters in black tuxedos holding trays of various aperitives and champagne glasses. Flower arrangements decorated the center of each table that had been laid out with white covers and the chairs that were wrapped in the same color had red bows tied at the back.

This reminded you too much of your wedding day, the entire thing had been a blur but tonight, the memories were coming back. You could tell everything had been meticulously planned, all the way down to the gold cutlery that was laid on each table.

Your eyes quickly scanned the room, attempting to find Ha-yoon. You were losing precious time and again, you couldn’t sit around and dwell on whatever Jungkook was trying to do. You hoped that he had received enough material for his role of the caring husband and opted to leave you alone. You had way more important things to tend to tonight. Whatever it was he was trying to obtain by the sudden demonstration of affection, would have to wait.

You spotted Ha-yoon standing alone by the bar, her hands holding onto a glass of water whilst fidgeting with the straw. You almost ran towards her, your heels clashing against the marveled floors. She noticed you before you reached her, her eyes widening and a sigh of relief flowing past her lips.

“Mrs. Y/n” she yelled; you gave her a smile finally standing before her. “Thank you for waiting Ha-yoon, I hope you weren’t alone for too long” you apologized. She put the glass in her hand down and shook her head. “it's fine, Mrs. Y/n I know you are a busy woman” she justified.

“but I'm just still a bit confused on why you needed me here tonight” she proceeded to say, her voice carrying doubt. You smirked and grabbed one of the champagne glasses from a waiter who passed by.

“You will be helping me with a very serious task tonight, Ha-yoon” you responded, taking a sip of the bubbly drink. “I am unfortunately not able to disclose the reason behind my request, but I need you to introduce me to every single person in this room, not physically of course, that I will do on my own, but I do need you to tell me who everyone is” you explained, tilting your head towards her.

She laughed nervously and looked back at the attendees. “Oh Ma’am, here I was worried you were going to give me a task I would struggle with” she spoke confidently. You raised your brows at the sudden change in her demeanor. “Everyone here is a familiar face; they visited the Jeons frequently” she continued.

“Perfect!” You cheered, you reached to interlock your arm with hers and began walking around the room. You could feel the guests glancing at you and whispering to each other. For a moment you felt self-conscious, but you held your head up high as you drank from your glass from time to time. It almost felt surreal how everyone here knew exactly who you were while they remained strangers to you. knowledge was power and soon, you would be holding a bit of your own.

“That man there is Kim Taehyung, he has been friends with Mr. Jungkook since childhood and you could say they are close” Ha-yoon pointed out. You followed her finger and landed on a handsome man. he stood comfortably in the center of the room; appearing relaxed in the conversation he held with a woman. “Close friends?” you asked, your eyes narrowing in on him.

“Yes, Ma’am. His father is the owner of the Monaco Tower” she continued, information flowing past her lips without much persuasion. It was bewildering to you how detached you and Jungkook were, how he was able to have people in his life that you had never heard of. he lived this whole separate life outside of your marriage whilst yours had been shaped all around this union.

“How close?” you asked. You needed to know how willing this man would be to help your cause, was he a friend or a foe? “Very close, they’ve been glued to the hip since they were in diapers” Ha-Yoon adverted, glancing at you. You frowned slightly; he was a friend then.

“Let's move along” you instructed, proceeding with your research. Along the way Ha-yoon continued to point out various guests, most of them having a long history with the Jeons. You began to grow doubtful that you would find anyone to aid you, from what Ha-yoon had disclosed almost everyone here was loyal to Jungkook and his family and would have a lot more to lose if their criminal enterprise happened to crumble.

You ditched the empty glass of champagne in your hand and grabbed another, taking a few sips hoping that it would soothe the tension you felt. You sighed and halted your steps, your feet aching from walking in circles. “All right, we can take a break Ha-yoon” you breathed. Gulping down the rest of the champagne.

“You appear disappointed Ma’am” Ha-yoon spoke, her worried eyes taking in your tired appearance. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. You were frustrated. How was the Jeon family able to run such a tight ship? Even the biggest criminal organizations had friends willing to betray them and here was Ha-yoon telling you no one here was willing to even step out of line?

“Sort of, yeah” you breathed, opening your eyes and looking around anxiously. “Were you looking to meet someone in particular?” she asked, she looked around in the same manner as you, her eyes scanning the room carefully. You huffed and shook your head “It doesn’t matter now; I don’t think that anyone here is the someone I'm looking for” you exasperated.

“Well, if you can be a bit more specific then I can maybe try to help you find whomever this person is” Ha-yoon spoke, growing anxious at the thought of letting you down. Your eyes focused on her as you contemplated your next words.

You were more than reluctant to tell her the truth. You wanted to involve the least amount of people that you cared about in this plan. Not only would you be putting them at risk, but you would be involving them in something you couldn’t guarantee the outcome of. Yet, it appeared like you had no other choice, you would just have to share a bit more information. Maybe, if you told her a bit more, she would catch on to what you truly needed.

“I need to find someone who would be willing to betray the Jeon family” You hesitated, your stare growing dark as the words fell from your lips.

Ha-Yoon stood in silence for a moment, mouth agape. Your confession had left her stunned, she looked into your eyes for a moment taking in the utter determination in them, and then her gaze fell onto the floor. She bit down on her lip and gulped. “Ma’am a-are you sure?” she whispered.

The question was innocent, but it carried weight. It was not asking you if you were in the mood to meet someone new or hold a conversation with a stranger. It was one Ha-Yoon asked out of fear, as she had realized the real reason you had brought her here. The real reason behind why you were so eager to attend this dinner in the first place. It had finally registered in her mind that you were about to begin a dangerous game, one you might not have been prepared to play.

Were you sure?

“yes” you affirmed, the words escaping your mouth without delay.

She lifted her stare and nodded slowly. She kept her composure but through her eyes, you could see the worry, the fear, and the utter shock of the discovery she had just made. She turned her head slightly and her eyes looked toward the corner of the room, words weren’t needed as you followed her frightened stare.

In that very corner, stood a man which you hadn’t noticed before. He was alone, only being accompanied by a half-empty glass of what appeared to be whiskey. He had jet-black hair that shadowed his features. From this distance, you could pick out his menacing glare as he scanned the room. One of his hands remained buried into the pocket of his suit whilst the other held his drink. He was visibly uncomfortable and out of place. His stance of someone ready to fight at any moment.

“If you are looking for someone who would undoubtedly betray the Jeon family, then there's no one better for that role than that man” Ha-yoon informed you. your eyes remained on him, watching his movements. “Who is he?” you asked, studying his appearance.

“His name is Min Yoongi” she spoke, a chill crawling up her spine. “His father and Mr. Jungkook's father used to be best friends and ultimately business partners” she continued, in a hushed tone. “Used to? What happened?” you inquired. Your heart began to beat quickly, the hope you had lost returning into your heart. “Well, the last time I saw his father he was arguing with Mr. Jeon about some deal they had made and apparently there were some money issues” Ha-yoon recalled.

You were practically drooling, you knew it. you knew that there would be someone who the Jeon family had fucked over just like you. The ease with which they destroyed and stepped over your own family came with experience.

“Next thing we heard, his father had passed in a rather questionable car accident” Ha-yoon continued, you snapped your head in her direction. “An accident?” your eyes widened, taken aback by the details. “Yes, one night while his father was driving, a semi-truck slammed into his car, killing him on impact” She nodded. “And well Mr. Min never came to terms with his death, he had busted into the Jeon’s home screaming bloody murder, threatening to kill all of them to avenge the murder of his father, it was really ugly” Ha-yoon winced.

“Well, how is he here then? I doubt the Jeon family would take those kinds of threats lightly” you commented. You knew this family to be ruthless and threats of any kind were always dealt with. “that’s the thing Mrs. Y/n, they have no other option but to work together” Ha-Yoon shrugged “Mr. Min holds the most amount of shares in the company and almost all the board members are just too scared of him” she concluded.

You couldn’t contain the smile that appeared on your face, you stepped forward without a second thought. You wanted to jump in excitement, to celebrate the gem you had discovered. The man who stood in solitude was the answer to all your prayers, he existed just for you. He was wrapped in a bow like a present sent from heaven above.

Suddenly you felt Ha-yoon grip your arm tightly, stopping you right in your tracks. “Are you crazy, Ma’am” she almost yelled, her eyes widened as she looked at you. “That man is dangerous, do you see anyone else speaking to him?” She spoke quickly, looking around to ensure no one could hear your conversation. You huffed and softly removed her hand from your arm. “I'm a big girl Ha-yoon, I can take care of myself” you announced, turning on your heel and walking towards the corner.

Yoongi remained motionless; his eyes fixed on Jungkook’s father as he spoke to some of the guests. As you stepped closer, a haunting feeling began to take shape within you, losing courage as you neared him. You started to overthink, perhaps this wasn’t the best moment to approach him, but the bait was just too good, you needed to say something, anything. You needed him to recognize that within these walls existed 2 people who wanted to bring the Jeons to their end, you and him.

He only noticed you once you were a few feet away, his brows furrowed as he glared at you. He appeared angry, angry at you. You stopped in front of him and the words you had practiced saying on your way over, had vanished from your mind. You were silent and you concluded by the way he looked at you that you looked completely dense.

From this distance, you noticed a scar that you hadn’t been able to notice from afar. It stretched from above his eyebrow down to his cheek and it only made him look that much more intimidating.

Was it caused by the accident? Was he in the car with his father?

The questions flowed across your head as you kept glancing at it, it looked painful, but it didn’t take away from his attractiveness. He raised his eyebrows as he waited for words to formulate in your mind. You blinked and opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice low and raspy.

“oh,” you managed to emit. Your cheeks grew flushed from embarrassment and for a moment you were inclined to walk away without saying anything else. But you had a plan and Yoongi was perfect for it, you couldn’t fuck this up. You had everything you wanted standing right in front of you.

He was well-connected and feared, but most importantly he hated Jungkook and his family just like you. you could see it in his eyes, the way they burned with detestation when he looked at them, they resembled yours.

You extended your hand and smiled “Hello, I'm Y/n” you said, introducing yourself. He looked down at your hand and then back at you, not moving an inch.

“I know who you are” he answered.

You fidgeted in place, dropping your extended arm and biting softly on your lip.

“Oh, um well I just wanted to come by and say hello” you explained, further embarrassment drifting inside of you. his eyes narrowed on you, his head tilting slightly as if he was trying to decipher you then he scoffed, a small smirk appearing on his face.

“Took you long enough” he noted.

You stared puzzled, unable to make out what he meant by that statement. Did he know your real intentions? He downed the rest of his whiskey and signaled one of the waiters for another. He looked back at you and licked his lips before speaking again.

“You are Jungkook's wife, right?” he asked, he grinned once he noticed how you tensed at the mention of your husband's name. “I noticed you staring at me for a while” he pointed out. You wanted the earth to crack open and swallow you whole. This was humiliating, he must've thought you were a weird housewife gossiping with Ha-Yoon, not that it was far from the truth.

“I apologize, I'm just trying to get to know everyone here” you replied quickly, trying to save yourself from further shame. He nodded in understanding and hummed.

“I see, well I’m Min Yoongi,” he said, now extending his hand out to you. You received it in yours and gave it a small shake. He smirked once again, his eyes studying your body language.

“You still didn’t answer my question” he teased while letting go of your hand. You took a deep breath and produced a small smile before clearing your throat. “Yes, I’m Jungkook’s wife” you responded. He chuckled lowly and watched as the waiter sat his next drink on the table next to him.

“It's hard to say it, isn’t it?” he asked, you blinked slowly trying to find the right answer in your head. “I’m just not used to saying it, that’s all” you confided. He took a gulp from his drink and then stepped closer to you.

“You don’t need to lie, I’m not the police,” he said, provoking chills to run through your body.

“you’ve been here for almost an hour and whilst your husband holds meaningless conversations with these hounds, he hasn’t once glanced in your direction” he continued. “You may be matching which by the way, is rather cute,” he says whilst he smirks. “But you fidget with the wedding ring on your finger which can only mean you aren’t used to wearing it.”

You look down at the ring that sits on your left hand, glistening under the lights. You grow nervous, biting down on your lip, then look back at him.

“And you didn’t approach me because you are lonely and have finally found the courage to cheat on your prick of a husband” he chuckles at his own words and then takes another gulp from his drink. “No, you are here for something else” he notes. You stand there as he strips away at your layers, beckoning the truth from you without even having to hear you speak.

“You admit you’re his wife and the words burn your tongue” he concludes.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you remain silent. He finishes the rest of his drink and stands there, continuing to study your reaction. Perhaps you weren’t ready, all the internal preparation you had done in advance had been worthless. This conversation had gone completely differently in your mind and now that you stood before him, with nothing to say you grew afraid you would lose the opportunity to persuade him to work with you.

From across the room, Jungkook laughed as he spoke to Taehyung.

“Hey, when are you going to introduce me to that wife of yours?” Taehyung asked, smiling at his best friend.

“Oh shit, you’re right!” Jungkook gasped.

“Come on bro, it’s been almost a year and all I've seen are pictures” Taehyung complained as he smacked Jungkook's arm.

His eyes scanned the room but couldn’t make you out amongst the crowd of guests. He continued to search, spotting Ha-yoon standing alone by one of the tables. She looked anxious whilst holding a glass of champagne that remained untouched.

“I’ll go find her,” he said, excusing himself from the conversation and walking towards Ha-yoon.

As he neared her, he noticed her eyes remained anchored in a corner of the room. He followed her stare and was finally able to spot you. he smirked to himself and changed directions to where you stood but the closer, he got, the more he could make out who you spoke with. A boiling-hot Pressure began to form in his chest and his steps picked up their pace. His eyes darkened at the sight before him, and he couldn’t focus on anything else.

He didn’t like that Yoongi was talking to his wife and he didn’t like how close he was standing in front of you but what he couldn’t stand the most was the way you looked at Yoongi. In a way, you had never looked at him.

𝐰𝐨𝐚𝐡, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?

𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝! 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 & 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮!

𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤/𝐝𝐦 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

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luvme1600

1 year ago

Don’t Blame Me | sugar daddy!jungkook one-shot au

pairing: sd!jungkook x reader genre: one-shot & yandere au

summary: You can have everything you want and need as long as you have Jeon Jungkook by your side. You were enjoying everything that Jungkook gives you and as long as you’re with him. You’re sure to yourself that you will never fail him but he was the one who failed you. Everything is fine until he gets too much.

content & warnings: sugar daddy & ceo jk, college reader, toxic & manipulative behavior, unhealthy behavior, possessive & obsessive jk, yandere, bitchy reader, jk sabotaging reader’s career. word count: 12.9K

request prompt

disclaimer: This is pure fiction and I do not condone the acts of Jeon Jungkook in the story. All events and occurrences in here are all fictional and all are part of my imagination.

a/n: to the one who requested this, I hope you’ll like it!

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1K notes View Post

luvme1600

3 years ago

cunning affairs | jeon jungkook

summary: you’re his best friend, sure you’re a bitch 95% of the time and you have absolutely no empathy but he loves you and you’re nice to him

warnings: smut, shy Jungkook, college au, sub!jungkook, female!reader, mentions of partying, drinking, smoking weed, humiliation kink, praise kink, virgin koo, he’s got a schlon, degradation, face sitting, riding, biting, hickies, FRIENDS TO LOVERS, READER IS A BITCH, mean girl x shy boy trope, mentions of past relationships, mentions of cheating, PORN WITH PLOT, needy kook, non protective sex, oral sex (both receiving), masturbation, jealousy, possessiveness, READER CUSSES A LOT, manipulative, tit play, JUNGKOOK LOVES BOOBS, cunnilingus

- You woke up, horrible hangover. You couldn’t even remember how many shots you had taken. You spent more time getting drinks than actually enjoying the party. It was around noon when you finally woke up. Jungkook’s bed feeling extra cozy today as you struggled to get up. You could hear people talking from beyond the door and it was driving you insane. Grumpily, you got up from bed — too fast might you add — you wore an old shirt of Jungkook’s and you looked in his drawer for some socks. You went to his bathroom, grabbing your extra toothbrush and brushing your morning breath away.

“Sleeping Beauty is awake,” Yoongi chuckled. You gave him your middle finger, throwing yourself on the couch carelessly. Jungkook was a huge fucking weeb and gamer. Him and his lame ass friends you surrounded yourself with. It had been just your friendship with Taehyung for a long time, and it was fine that way, until you met Jungkook. He was unbelievably shy at first, he still is sometimes, but he introduced you to some of his Comp Sci nerd friends and Taehyung liked them too much to not become friends with them.

You watched as Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook played some video game on the tv in the living room. You pushed your legs onto Yoongi’s lap, barely acknowledging Namjoon and Jin as they prepared an order of pizza on their phone. You played with Jungkook’s hair mindlessly as he sat just below you on the floor. He even leaned his head back every now and then whenever you’d slow down or completely stop. “Somebody set me up on a date with one your weeb friends,” you sighed, pulling your hand away as you sat up, “Or somebody who could give me a good dicking.”

“I’m right here just say the words,” Jimin chuckled. You rolled your eyes, “Aren’t you sleeping with that stupid hag?” He shrugged, “Yeah what about it? I think she’s going broke or something. This month she paid me like two hundred less.”

“Sleep with Jungkook,” Jin shrugged, “We all know damn well he needs some good cooch in his life. Or cooch in general, isn’t that right?” It wasn’t a secret that Jungkook was a virgin. The boy couldn’t even talk to you without stuttering let alone somebody he was actually interested in. The boys teased him a lot about it. You carressed the side of his face, “Kook wouldn’t be able to handle me for his first time. Isn’t that right Kookie? I’d break him.” He looked up, big doe eyes staring at you. He cleared his throat, snapping his eyes back to the screen in front of him. Your relationship with Jungkook was strictly platonic. He was an easy person to talk to and very comforting. You weren’t exactly sure why he liked being your friend, considering he’s a sensitive boy—but he claimed you were nice, to him at least.

You ended up leaving his place, heading back to your place. You were lucky enough that your best friend lived a few doors down from you. You weren’t sure what you’d do without her near. You let yourself in, paying no mind to the naked guy on her couch. He looked to you for a moment, cheeks turning beet red as you let yourself into her fridge. “When did you get here?” Your friend, Mina, came out from her bedroom wearing nothing but her undergarments. She sat on the guy’s lap. “Like two seconds ago. Do you have cereal?” You asked pulling the milk out. You haven’t had the chance to go grocery shopping yet. “Lucky Charms,” Mina turned to the guy, kissing his jaw lightly.

It was late again. You hadn’t bothered texting Jungkook or the others at all. You had a bad hangover and you just wanted to be in bed. You would’ve gladly stayed in Jungkook’s room if it weren’t for them being so loud in the living room. He had sent you a text.

kook🐰: can i come over?

you: idkkkkk. why? you miss me?

kook🐰: yes :( I gotta talk to u

you: did you get a girl preg or sum?

kook🐰: stopppp open up im here

You let out a sigh, it was dark out already and tomorrow was Sunday but you didn’t want to do anything tonight. Your roommate just got here too, and knowing her lazy ass she was probably in the living room pigging out. You didn’t bother glancing at her as you made your way to the door, opening it to find him waiting out there.

“Hey Jungkook!” Your roommate, Yeaun, smiled. You rolled your eyes, grabbing his hand as you pulled him behind you, “Don’t talk to him.” You hated her. She was an acquaintance of your ex, and she knew he was cheating but never said anything. The only reason you two still lived together was because neither one of you were going to pay to terminate the lease. “She’s so nice,” Jungkook smiled as he closed the door behind himself watching as you jumped onto your bed. You rolled your eyes, “If she’s so nice why don’t you go out there with her?”

He shook his head, laying down next to you, “Don’t wanna.” You sighed, hand going to play with his hair, he leaned into your touch, “Then what do you want?” He dug his face into the covers, mumbling. “Speak clearly Kook or get out.” He whined, lifting his head up, “There’s this girl I like. And I wanna ask her out but I don’t know how.”

“Say ‘Hey, will you suck my dick?’ And if she says no it’s not meant to be.” His cheeks turned a light shade of pink, “I’m being serious.” You let your phone rest on your chest, waiting for a text back from Mina. “Well that depends, who is she? Is she a weeb like you? If so I’m not helping some otakus get laid.” You teased him, he rolled his eyes at you, “Stop seriously, I just need your help. We have Psych together and she’s super nice, you might know her, Kang Jisoo?”

You let out a laugh, not meaning for it to come out so harsh but it slipped, “Oh god the weirdo? You like Ugly Betty? Iconic. Didn’t take her as your type.” He sighed, pushing himself off your bed, “Taehyung was right, I shouldn’t have asked you for help.”

“I’m just playing don’t get your panties in a twist,” you chuckled, still barely able to hold in your laughter. There wasn’t anything wrong with Jisoo actuallt. She was just boring to look at or to talk to, or to sit next to. There was literally nothing special about her. Her glasses too big for her face. Her hair always had a greasy shine to it like the girl didn’t know what a shower was. And she had a nasally voice that drove you and Taehyung insane in Advanced Composition. And she was a know-it-all. A Hermione Granger but a thousand times worse than your Wizarding World queen. “Um first of all, just be upfront and ask her out the normal way. It’s not hard, you’re hot she’ll say yes,” you shrugged.

It was hard to take you seriously. If you weren’t being bitchy you were being sarcastic. It was hard to find the line between you being serious and not since you treated everything like a joke. You and Tae sat in Advanced Composition. Lucky enough for you, Jisoo was currently going on about some TedTalk she had seen about the effects of technology in a classroom. Her and the Professor were going back and forth. “I’d so do Professor Lee,” you told him eyefucking the man mentioned. He was young, radiated Dead Poets Society energy. “You’d fuck anything,” Tae said, brows furrowed as he listened to what Jisoo was saying, “I’m surprised Jungkook told you that he was attracted to someone.”

“Why are you surprised?” The professor’s eyes landed on you for a moment and you were two seconds away from jumping down your row to suck his dick.

He sighed, “Well because you’re made for each other. I figured you’d be mad or he’d be too nervous to tell you. You know the guy doesn’t do anything that you wouldn’t like.” You chuckled quietly, “That’s stupid. I love Jungkook, I seriously do but let’s be honest. If him and I were together in that way I’d make him cry.”

It was lunch, you sat in the lunchroom with the boys and Mina. You and Mina were talking about all the things you’d let Professor Lee do to you. Personally you wouldn’t mind if he bent you over someone’s desk and manhandled you. She preferred to let him take her in the backseat of a car. “You’re gross,” Jungkook scrunched his nose in disgust, “He’s a teacher.” You rolled your eyes, “You’ve never had a teacher x student fantasy? Try it with Jisoo, maybe she can be your librarian.”

“Stop,” he whined, gripping the hem of your shirt from the back. You pinched his cheek playfully, “Aw okay, my little Kookie.” He winced, looking to Jimin who smiled from across the table, “Jisoo just got here. If you’re going to ask her to hang out tonight you better go do it now.”

“I can’t,” he looked to her, twiddling his fingers nervously, “What if she says no?” Mina sighed, “What are we doing tonight?” You pushed Jungkook out of his seat, “Hurry up before I tell her you said her cootie cat smells like ham.” He looked back to you, brows knitted together as he stumbled out of the chair. Taehyung shrugged, “Jungkook wants us over at his place so he feels more comfortable when she comes over. You guys should come, bring beer too.”

It was actually a surprise when Jungkook said she was at the door. You seriously thought she wouldn’t show up, but there she was backpack in hand and textbooks. “Oh... I don’t know why I brought my backpack,” she blushed looking behind Jungkook at the group of people. “Jisoo you know them all right? That’s Taehyung, Jimin, Jin, Yoongi, Namjoon, Mina and Y/n. Come in.”

The girl wasn’t that bad, you couldn’t lie and say she was. She was just boring and watching her and Jungkook talk to each other was like watching a shitty Hallmark production. “Y/n, question, you dated Hoseok right?” Jisoo asked, looking to you as you and Mina were focused on taking selfie’s to send to whatever guy was snap chatting you. You stiffened for a moment, “Uh yeah, why?”

“He’s dating my friend right now, I just wanted to know if he was a nice guy,” Jisoo shrugged looking back down to where he’d and Jungkook had been playing some video game together. Tae put his hand on your knee, mouthing easy tiger. You forced a smile, “The nicest guy you’ll ever meet.”

“That’s good. I don’t want him to hurt Jina, she’s too nice for that.”

“So should only people who aren’t nice be hurt then?” You asked, head tilting to the side. Taehyung’s grip on your knee tightened. She shook her head not picking up on your tone, “No. Not like that at all. I’m just saying, Jina is too sensitive for that stuff. She gets hurt easily and she has good intentions so I don’t want Hoseok to break her heart.”

You chuckled, typing away on your phone, “Jina’s a fucking cunt so I hope Hoseok breaks that little heart of hers.” It fell quiet. Jisoo’s eyes lingering on yours. You arched a brow, urging her to say something. Jungkook looked to you, eyes begging to stop. And that was only going to fuel your anger. Because Jungkook knew exactly what Jina did to you and he was looking to you like you were the one in the wrong when Jisoo was the one to bring the guy up in the first place. “What?” Jisoo asked, head tilting to the side. You rolled your eyes, pushing Mina’s legs off your lap, “I’m gonna go get drunk or something.”

You didn’t see Jisoo again up close until Friday night. Taehyung had his arm around your shoulders as she walked in behind Jungkook. They both looked unbelievably out of element. Jungkook never came to parties unless with you so you wanted to know if he was shitting bricks yet. “Play nice kitten,” Yoongi poked your nose when he found them walking in. You rolled your eyes, tilting your cup back and letting the alcohol burn down your throat. You almost choked, eyes widening as you found the couple behind them two. You could feel your nostrils flare up. In walked Hoseok looking as confident as ever with his girlfriend on his arm. Or, correcting your terms ‘in walked the cheating son of a bitch and the side chick’. Two months. That’s how long ago your breakup with him was. Two years with him and seven months of your relationship was spent with him sleeping with Jina behind your back. You would’ve noticed it sooner if you were so lovestruck by the first guy you ever fell in love. If he didn’t tell you he loved you every night and slept in your bed you might’ve seen it coming. Jungkook looked uncomfortable next to them, eyes not wanting to meet yours.

You’d never admit it, but your relationship with Hoseok was why you slowly became less empathetic. Taehyung was the first to notice since he’d known you the longest. At first you weren’t the nicest but still manageable, but the man would gaslight the fuck out of you. Making you believe that everything was in your head and that if you would fight it was your fault. Then he blamed you when you found out he was sleeping with Jina. “Well if you were nicer to me I wouldn’t have don’t it.” “You’re crazy, I’m not sleeping with anyone else, why? Are you cheating on me? Is that why you want to think I’m cheating on you so bad?”

“He—“ you didn’t give Jungkook a chance to speak to you. The others had left but he came to you. You walked off to get another drink, him trailing after you like a puppy. “Please don’t be mad at me.” “I didn’t know she invited them.” You ignored him, feeling a small shot cup with Bacardi and taking it straight. He didn’t give up until you left to play Beer pong with Joon, Jin, and Tae. From the corner of your eye you could see him and Jisoo laughing happily and Jisoo making Hoseok and him talk. He would laugh with him too.

“Why’d you call Jina a cunt? What did you tell Jisoo?” You laughed, pouring yourself another drink when Hobi came up next to you. You didn’t say anything, adding a drop of soda to your Vodka before chugging it. “Stop drinking and answer me. She didn’t do anything to you, it was me.” “No it was both of you,” you finished the rest down, wincing at the taste for a moment, “You for being a cheater and her for knowing you were in a relationship and still choosing to fuck you. So, did I really lie? Or is she actually a cunt?”

“And you think you’re a saint or something?” Hoseok asked snatching the bottle out of your hands, “If you weren’t such a fucking alcoholic we’d still be together but you had to go and fuck around. What’d you expect? I’d just watch you ruin yourself and not fall for anyone?”

“Is that the excuse you’re using now? I thought you cheated because I was mean,” you chuckled, “Or no you said because I was too nice. No, because I didn’t give you enough attention. Wait that doesn’t sound right, you said it was because I wouldn’t party with you. But now it’s because I drink?”

“You’re still on that?” Another voice piped in. You rolled your eyes, Jina’s voice filling you ears. At one point you thought she your friend too. You’d study together and text often, sometimes hanging out to shop, but clearly she was just trying to get closer to Hobi. “Look, leave it in the past if you’re over him let it go.” You ignored her, filling your cup once again.

“Or are you just mad that Jisoo is fucking Jungkook?” She added. To that you had to laugh. First of all, nobody was fucking Jungkook but you weren’t going to say that. The two had barely started talking a couple weeks ago and he was still a fat virgin. “Y/n,” Jungkook called for you, Jisoo on his arm. “Just admit that you’re bitter because nobody wants you,” Jina said, you could hear Jisoo snicker behind you.

Taehyung had heard. He was coming as fast as he could before it escalated any further. But by the time he got there, the damage had been done. Your drink covered Jina from head to toe, the cup resting on the top of her head. “Get out,” he told the group, looking to Jungkook with hard eyes. You didn’t expect Jungkook to follow them out, but you let it be. He must’ve liked Jisoo a lot to go after her, or maybe he was tired of you too, you didn’t care. You spent the night hooking with someone else anyway to fuck the night out of you.

- You ignored his texts for a whole month. Not letting him hang out with you. You didn’t even look to Jisoo once or bother asking the others to hang out. You hung out with Mina, occasionally sparking conversation with whoever she was fucking while she was showering. They were boring to say the least. You didn’t eat in the lunchroom and you didn’t bother sitting near him during class. You could see him wanting to talk to you but he never did.

It was Saturday night. You didn’t go out surprisingly. There was knocking on your door, and you opened it assuming it was some guy who forgot his keys in your room. But it was Jungkook, hair a mess and eyes red. “Please let me in.” “No.” You could hear him sniffling, a tear falling, “I can’t take you being mad at me anymore.”

“I’m not mad Jungkook, you chose your side,” you shrugged moving to the side so he could cry his eyes out away from your nosy ass neighbors. He shook his head, “No. No that’s not right.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” your finger pushed against his chest, “I saw you walk out with them at Tae’s party.” He shook his head again, “I only did it to tell her I didn’t want to see her anymore.” You rolled your eyes watching as he full on cried in front of you like the pussy he was, “She tried telling me that you were mean and a bitch and I told her to shut up. I told her that you were the nicest person ever and that Hoseok was a dick for treating you like shit and that Jina was a cunt.”

You laughed dryly, lightly pushing his shoulder back, “And you expect me to believe you of all people said that? Please Jungkook everyone knows you don’t have a spine.” He nodded reaching for you but you moved away, “I did! I tried telling Taehyung because you were closest to him but he wouldn’t listen either. And Yoongi hyung was mad at me too. And I couldn’t tell you because you blocked my number. And-and in class you sat so far from me. And I didn’t see you during lunch so I thought I’d give you space but I can’t do it anymore. I miss you.”

“Shut up,” you looked at him, his eyes watered at your slightly disgusted face, “You are too much of a coward to say anything. Jisoo found out you were a virgin and left you huh?” “Stop!” He yelled, brows scrunching, “Stop talking about Jisoo. I didn’t even like her that much. I just thought maybe if I were to be with her you’d get jealous and want me but clearly it didn’t work out well. But she was so mean and I didn’t like her at all but I didn’t know how to tell her to leave me alone.”

“Because you’re a pussy.” You ignored the part where he said he was trying to make you jealous. Realization hitting when you finally processed what he said, “You tried making me jealous by trying to fuck the girl who is best friends with the cunt who stole my douchebag boyfriend? Yeah what a great plan Jungkook.”

“I never wanted to sleep with her!” He shook his head taking a step closer to her, “I wanted to sleep with you but you always said that I wouldn’t be able to handle you and that’s why you didn’t want to sleep with me. So I thought that if I tried making you jealous with Jisoo then you’d fuck me. I mean you’d let me fuck you.” You laughed, walking away from him, “Aw, does little Jungkook want to get fucked by me? And why Jisoo of all people?”

“Because she’s completely opposite of you so I wanted you to be mad that I was interested in her when you are so much better. Plus she’s the only who likes me.”

“God you’re an idiot,” you rolled your eyes making your way to your room, “You’re hot Jungkook. You could’ve made me jealous with anybody else.” His head lifted up, “Were you jealous?” You shook your head, “Of course not. I’m better than her. She’s just a cunt.” He nodded his head following you into your room, “Yes and she’s mean. You’re nice, to me at least. She was so mean to me. She got so mad when I said you were nice.” You put your hands on his face, pulling him close for a small peck on the lips. His eyes shut, clearing his throat, “W-what?

“You said you wanted to fuck so let’s do it,” you shrugged going to lie on your bed. Truthfully you weren’t too mad at Jungkook. You had already told yourself that you’d forgive him when he came crying to you but you weren’t going to tell him that. “B-but, I thought you were mad at me,” he shook his head suddenly growing nervous. You smiled, “I am, you’re going to fuck the anger out of me Kook. Maybe I was a little jealous you wanted Jisoo over me when I’ve been nothing but nice to you.”

“I didn’t choose her over you,” he immediately came to you, “I just wanted experience before I made a move on you.” You laughed, hand going to play with his hair, “Make a move on me? And you think you’d be able to get that experience with Jisoo? She doesn’t know you like I do Kook.” He nodded his head agreeing with you. “She’d probably want you to fuck her hard on a park bench, would you be able to do that?”

His eyes widened, “In public?” You had a feeling your Kookie would be a bit more submissive. Hell, the amount of times you’ve seen him close to blowing his load just by cuddling you was insane. There was absolutely no way he’d be into any dom shit on his part but that didn’t mean you couldn’t play with him. To be honest you’ve been waiting for the chance to. You smiled, “Have you kissed her?” He looked down, “Yes.” “Show me.” He looked scared, looking at you with dark eyes already looking blown out. He nodded his head, moving closer to you and softly touching your lips with his. You could feel the inexperience but you didn’t let it stop you from swiping your tongue against him until he let you devour the inside of his mouth. He was very disappointed when you began to pull away, his eyes closed and head moving forward to chase you. “Lay down.”

He did so quite quickly, rolling back until he was lying on your pillows. He looked so fucked out from a small kiss and you were ready to completely destroy him. You crawl on top of you bed, placing your hands on either side of his hips as you made your way up, watching him gulp at your cleavage close to spilling out in your tank top. You knew Jungkook was a boob guy. Hell the guy was bad at hiding it when you’d sleep over at his place and cuddle and during the night his hands would magically find their way to your chest. You leaned over him, crotch hovering just above his own as you arched your back letting your chest touch his, “You’ve been really bad Kookie, trying to make me jealous knowing damn well I’m the only person you want to fuck.” His mouth opened to speak but no words came out. A small gasp escaped as you lowered your head, leaving small kisses against his neck. You kissed his jaw, a whimper coming out as you applied a bit of pressure just behind his ear. His eye squeezed shut at the feelings balls fisting your sheets. You smiled, lightly biting his jaw before lifting yourself back up, “Let’s take this shirt off. I wanna see you.” He was quick to follow your orders the second you leaned back giving him room. And, even if it wasn’t the first time you’d seen his toned stomach damn was it a sight to see, “Mmm my baby is pretty.” You let the word slip out, watching him nod his head absentmindedly as you lowered your head again this time kissing his collarbone and lightly sucking lower and lower until you were over his mound. He had amazing pecs. Your hand came up, landing on one of his buds and squeezing lightly. His back shot up, arching into your touch with a whine as you licked the other one teasingly. “Does pretty baby like his tits played with? Would Jisoo suck on your tits like this?” He shook hs head, mouth opening to speak but all that came out were whines. You pulled away, lightly biting the bud with you as you made work on the other side. “Do you want Jisoo to play with your tits?”

He shook his head, “Only you. You, mm,” he sighed in content as your finger grazed against his stomach, lowering to where his underwear showed just above his sweats. The guy was hard, you could feel him poking you. And you were getting so turned on knowing it was because of you. You shorts stuck to your thighs, threatening to let your slick seep through them as well. You sat up, just against his groin, as you pulled your shirt over your head. He was looking at you in complete bliss as his fists clenched the sheets while you very slowly removed your bra. You let your hands trail up, taking your boobs in them, rocking for a second against him as he sighed, “Kookie I want you to touch me too. You don’t want to touch me?” “I wanna!” He stuck his hands out, you shook your head clicking your tongue, “Nuh uh. With your mouth first. I know you’ve dreamt about sucking my tits. Show me that you’re a good boy. You scooted up, leaning forward and dragging your chest against his face. You could hear him gasp for air and when you looked at him Goddamn you could’ve came from just that. He looked at you, big tits pressed against his cheeks, eyes big and innocent. And then he went and did it, nudged your bud with his nose before bringing it to his mouth like a starved man. His hand came up to your abandoned breast and kneaded it gently, “Soft,” he moaned as you flipped your hair to one shoulder watching as he seemed almost starved for your tits not able to choose which he wanted to squeeze and suck on, “Love. Love em. Love you.” He didn’t react to his words, so you chose not to either. It was small and you were letting him suck on your tits. He was just talking out of his ass because you got him horny.

You were soaked. You needed more, but as you tried pulling away he only groaned. “Baby come on I want to make you feel good down there.” He shook his head, closing his eyes and sucking making you let out a small whine. His ears perked up, doing it again. You had to push yourself off him to get him to let go. You shimmied down, his eyes going from your face to your chest to where you sat between his legs now. The sweat did very little to hide his erection. You smiled, hooking your finger with the underwear and sweats and pulled it down in one go. You moaned at the sight. His pretty dick sprung up smacking his lower stomach making him hiss and arch his back again. It was so pretty pale and pink with no hair and a mushroom tip. You leaned down, not thinking much as you took in the smell of his soap mouth watering at the sight. “Oh my god Jungkook,” you moaned looking at the length. If you knew your best friend was packing this monster you wouldn’t have bother fucking other guys. His hips bucked involuntarily, head thrown back as he stared at the wall, “Do something Y/n.” You clicked your tongue again, “Maybe we should stop here. I bet Jisoo would love to have this big cock in front of her.”

“No!” He bucked again, “No don’t want Jisoo. I want you,” he whined. You chuckled, watching as his tip reddened, vein bulging out. He huffed, “Always wanted you.” “Really? And when you couldn’t have me? What did you do?” Your head tilted to the side as he looked down at you, sweat dripping off his hair, “Would you touch your virgin dick?” He nodded his head, turning his face into the pillows as you dragged your finger against the length lightly. He moaned at that. “Show me.” You watched as his hands trailed down, slowly rubbing his palm against the length. It was so stiff his touches made him wince. You watched closely as he palmed it gently, finger coming to separate his balls. “What did you think about?” You asked watching as his free hand came to his nipple, “You. You kissing me. Touching my dick. Sucking it.”

“Yeah? Were you in control?” He nodded shyly making you laugh, “Then take control show me.” He shook his head, “Don’t wanna.” He was such a brat. You leaned forward, thigh touching his dick, he bucked toward it gently, “Spit.” He looked down at your hand, spitting into it and watching as you spit in the other and rubbed them together, coming down to hold his cock abruptly. He let out a loud moan, back arching once against as you quickly worked him, “Did you want me to be gentle?” He didn’t answer, too busy struggling on the mattress in ecstasy, “Do you think bad boys deserved to be treated nice? Do good boys try and make others jealous? Huh?”

“No,” he shook his head eyes squeezed shut. You smirked, his mouth opened wide when you kissed the tip. Slowly easing him into your mouth you pushed his hips down to keep him from moving. He got more vocal, hands struggling to find purchase before he gripped the headboard almost screaming, “Cum. Go—nna cum!” You shook your head moaning at the taste his precum letting your tongue slide against the underside of his thick cock. You pulled up with a pop catching your breath, “Not until I say so.” He shook his head when you went back down, stuttering.

And then he did it. Screaming your name and headboard hitting the wall as thick spurts of liquid hit your throat. You gagged making him shudder as it continued on. You swallowed every drop enjoying the bittersweet taste. Your nipples were hard. And your shorts were beginning to get uncomfortable. You hopped off the bed, watching as he struggled to catch his breath. He watched as you began to shimmy out of your shorts and ruined panties, “I’m sorry.” You rolled your eyes, “I told you not to come.” You almost laughed watching the small tear trail down, “Now you’re gonna watch me play with my pussy until you’re hard again and can fuck me right.” He sighed, more tears falling. His stomach tensed as you took a seat just above where his limp dick fell. He was crying and spitting out apologies as he watched you. You slowly opened your legs, your wetness hitting his stomach making him groan. His breath became heavy watching as you groped your breasts again, hand coming down to your clit. Your rubbed gently, hand picking up the wetness to make it smoother as you rubbed yourself. “God I need you to fuck me,” you moaned, “Look how wet you make me Kookie.”

“So wet,” he agreed licking his lips. His tears were drying, he opened his mouth watching as you touched your lips softly. You smiled bringing two fingers into his mouth watching as he sucked on them hungrily. You brought them down, teasing your entrance. You threw your head back, going for it and pushing one finger in. He watched closely, hands gripping the sheets, “Hold me Kookie.” He nodded, he squeezed your waist. One hand flying up to your chest as you played with yourself. He groaned watching your now two fingers in and out. “You’re so big you’re not going to fit. Maybe you should fuck Jisoo’s loose pussy instead.”

He shook his head whining, “I don’t wanna! Wanna fuck you! Need to be inside you.” You smiled looking back. His dick was slowly hardening again. You brought your free hand back to touch his dick, he shuddered immediately. You basically humped his abs, your slick creating a puddle on his stomach. “I want you to stretch me. I don’t wanna wait anymore Jungkook. Need you inside me.” He nodded watching as you slowly slid back, pussy lips grinding and soaking his hard cock. He moaned loudly digging his head into the pillows. You smirked, slowly you reached for his dick aiming at your entrance. You had to be slow, careful not to impale yourself on his monster cock. But then he bucked his hips, and down you came loud moans falling from the both of you. It hurt, not fully adjusting but Jungkook squirming underneath you made it hard to care. You leaned forward hands against his stomach squeezing your tits as you began to rock slowly, “So good baby. You feel so good.”

He moaned watched your tits bounce, “Mm.” You lifted your hips, letting them fall down, his hand came up gripping your tits in large hand and squeezing. You let out a loud whine in surprise head falling forward. “I need you to be a good boy and fuck me.”

He shook his head eyes squeezed shut. You watched as one hand gripped your big tits and the other squeezed the top of the headboard as you bounced, “Fuck me hard Kookie I know you can do it.” “Don’t wanna hurt you.” “Hurt me. Do it hard and fast or else I’m leaving.”

“No!” You yelped in surprise as his hand hit your ass, gripping you tightly. You groaned as he was quick to flip you around, hovering above you still holding the headboard. You wrapped your legs around him, hand touching his thick ass. “Fuck me like you mean it.” He shook his head, eyes not opening, “Can’t hurt you.”

He held your waist up with his free hand, using you like a toy impaling you with his cock. You both were a moaning mess. “Harder Jungkook!” You whined moving your hips but he didn’t let you, instead shaking his head, “Do it. Call me a slut baby.”

You sighed trying to urge him to do more with all those muscles and fat cock of his. “Fine, then I’ll go find someone else to fuck. Do you want that? When you got here I thought — mm —- I thought you were some guy I fucked a week ago —-ugh,” you threw your head back. He was still shaking no.

“Thought you were the guy coming back to fuck me.”

“Shut up,” he shouted pushing down until he collapsed on top of you. You smile watching his inexperienced hips rut against you. “Thought you were the guy who was going to fuck me right.”

“Shut up,” he repeated going harder hand coming up to your throat, “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.” You gasped as he squeezed head shooting up to capture your mouth in his hungrily and messy. You liked it messy. “He pulled on my hair and I called him daddy.”

“Slut,” he cried, against your mouth breathing like an animal, “Gonna cum.”

“And he made me cum first unlike you. You’re little virgin dick can’t make me cum.” He shook his head as you moaned, sliding out before plunging back in, “Fucking slut. Slut for cock,” he whined going harder leaving you breathless, “My cock only.”

You shook your head, “You gonna cum for me baby?” He nodded, head dipping to your tits and lying there, “Cum. Need you. Cum.” He went harder, you brought your hand down, playing with your clit so you could come with him. He whined as your finger grazed his dick. You snaked other hand around, cupping his balls and rubbing them against your folds watching as he stuttered above you.

“Ah!” He yelled, “Gonna cum!” “Cum inside baby,” he didn’t need to be told twice. Completely collapsing on top of you as he filled you up. You moaned at the feeling. He was breathing heavy, face flush against your tits too scared to pull out, “So good.”

The tears came back, he winced as you moved your legs from around him. He cried, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“For what baby?”

“For trying to make you jealous. For letting them treat you like that. For not making you cum,” he dug his face further mouth opening slightly around your mound. You were pretty sure he had an oral fixation kink. You shook your head, “Don’t worry baby, next time.”

“No,” he lifted his head, “Need you to cum now,” he huffed clearly determined as he lowered himself face to face with you drenched pussy leaking his cum. “What do I do?” “Kiss it,” your hands came up to squeeze your boobs. You let out a small mewl as his nose bumped your clit, slowly inhaling your scent mixed with his cum. You were surprised to see him so eager to kiss your pussy. He moaned at the taste going more in and letting his tongue pop out.

He was a natural sex god and he was in your bed.

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luvme1600

3 years ago

Automaniac: Masterlist.

synopsis. His steel made heart wasn’t supposed to beat for you.

pairings: yandere!cyborg jungkook x fem!reader x ex!taehyung.

warnings: YANDERE, DARK, OBSESSION, gore (?), mature themes, triggering themes, jealousy, posessiveness, robots, science stuff, tae is also kinda yandere HAHAHHAA! tba.

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tba.

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