#I don’t condone or support any of this behaviour | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovelyspring7 · 3 months ago

Text

Black Pearl (Pt. 3) | Yandere JJK x Reader

Preview: Jungkook always got what he wanted. And he wanted you. Dangerous. Obsessive. You ran, but he was never going to let you stay gone. Because pearls aren’t born from perfection. They’re born from pain. A wound, buried deep, pressed and shaped until it becomes something rare. Precious. And you? You were his pearl. And this time, he won’t let you slip away so easily.

Word count: 17k

Genre: Yandere

Pairing: CEO Billionaire Jungkook x reader.

Warnings: Yandere, smut (praise kink, soft dominance, oral, edging, overstimulation, creampie, mild breath play), stalking, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, manipulation, controlling & emotionally abusive behaviour, self starvation, self inflicted injury.

Disclaimer: This type of content is not suitable for all audiences and I do not condone any of the presented behaviour. This is purely for entertainment and fictional purposes and I don’t think any BTS member would act like this.

Author's note: The final chapter of the Pearl series is here! It’s truly been a journey, what started as a simple one-shot has now transformed into a full three-part series lol. Can’t wait to know what you guys think of this long awaited chapter! Don’t be a silent reader, show some support and feedback!💜

Read Part 1 Here | Read Part 2 Here

Jungkook couldn’t sleep.

For the third night in a row, the bed felt too cold. Too empty.

The penthouse, with its towering windows and sprawling view of the city, offered no comfort. The soft hum of traffic below only amplified the silence pressing in, the void you’d left behind. The space where you used to sleep, beside him, against him, was untouched. Undisturbed.

The scent of you was already fading. That delicate trace of vanilla, once clinging to his pillows, was now nothing but a phantom he couldn't chase. And still, it haunted him.

His hand drifted across the sheets, fingers searching for a warmth that wasn’t there. How many nights had he held you close, pressing his lips to your hair as you slept, the steady rise and fall of your breath easing something sharp inside him?

Now, there was nothing.

All he had was silence.

He missed your laugh, that soft, breathless sound when he held you too long while watching late-night movies. The way you’d roll your eyes, teasing him for being too clingy.

You were his. Safe. Perfect. Until you weren’t.

And now, the pain in his chest twisted deeper with every hour you were gone.

He had been patient. He had given you space. Three days. Three days too long.

And all it had done was prove what he already knew.

You weren’t safe out there. Not without him.

And if you wouldn’t come back willingly? He’d bring you home himself.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened as he sat up. His black hair strands over his forehead, messy from restless tossing, the ends curling slightly against his temples. He dragged a hand through it, pushing it back in a slow, frustrated motion.

The pain of your absence wasn’t just a wound.

It was a void.

And he was done waiting.

The rain pounded against the thin windows of the dingy motel room, a relentless rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. The air smelled of damp carpet and stale cigarettes, the kind of place no one asked questions, a perfect hiding spot, for now.

You sat on the edge of the unmade bed, arms wrapped around your knees, your body trembling despite the layers of clothing you’d borrowed from Bora. The oversized hoodie swallowed your frame, the scent of her perfume lingering faintly as if it could somehow protect you from the icy grip of fear pressing against your chest.

The cash Bora had given you was already running low, the stack of bills feeling smaller each time you counted it. You hadn’t slept. Not really. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow shifting outside the window made your pulse race.

He could be out there. He was out there. But you couldn’t think about that. Not yet. You have made it this far. You had escaped him, for now.

The cheap motel phone sat untouched on the nightstand. No messages. No calls. No way to reach out. You couldn't risk it. He had made you disappear once already, who's to say he couldn't erase you completely this time? But even as you tried to calm yourself, your mind whispered cruel truths.

He’s looking for you.

He never stopped.

And deep down, you knew that this wasn’t freedom.

The shower sputtered weakly, lukewarm water cascading over your shoulders as you stood under the spray, hands tangled in your wet hair. The tension in your muscles hadn’t eased, it felt as though it were pressing into your bones. You had been running on fear for days. The motel’s water pressure barely did anything to wash the grime from your skin, but it was the first moment of quiet you’d allowed yourself. Alone. Hidden. At least, for now.

You tilted your head back, fingers massaging your scalp, when-

There.

A small bump.

You froze, fingertips brushing over the back of your neck again, right at the base of your hairline. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but unmistakable now that you’d felt it. Your pulse roared in your ears, the water no longer soothing but deafening.

No. No, no, no.

It couldn’t be.

A tracker.

The nausea hit fast, your stomach twisting as panic set in. You pressed both palms against the cool tiles, breaths shallow, the water blurring your vision as it ran down your face.

That son of a bitch.

He had tagged you.

A shaky, horrified breath escaped your lips. You needed to get it out. Now.

Ripping the towel from the rack, you wrapped it around yourself and stumbled out of the bathroom, dripping water onto the worn motel carpet. The tiny blade you’d swiped from the first-aid kit sat on the nightstand.

Your hands shook as you dialed the front desk.

“Front desk. How can I help you?”

“I-" your voice cracked, but you forced it calm. "I need a first aid kit delivered to my room. Please, it’s urgent.”

“Of course, ma’am. Someone will be up shortly.”

You hung up, staring at your reflection in the dim motel mirror.

It’s fine. You could do this.

The first slice was brutal, the sharp sting making you wince as the blade nicked the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. Blood beaded instantly, but you pressed on, teeth gritted as you dug deeper, forcing yourself not to stop.

And then, there.

A hard bump.

It shifted beneath your fingers, foreign and wrong.

You had to get it out.

Pinching it, nails slick with blood, you yanked the tiny object free with a wet snap. The pain was instant, sharp, but the chip, barely the size of a grain of rice, sat trembling in your palm.

You stared at it, chest heaving. He had tracked every move you took.

Rage burned hotter than fear. Without hesitating, you slammed the metal edge down on the chip, grinding it into the nightstand with all the force you could muster. The delicate material cracked under the pressure, shattering completely beneath the blade.

Gone.

You won.

A knock echoed through the room. The first aid kit. Relief flooded you so hard your knees almost buckled. Finally.

Without hesitation, you unlocked the door, the towel still clutched loosely around your chest, hair dripping down your back.

You swung the door open wide.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Dripping from the rain, black hair clinging to his forehead in damp strands. Soaked, but unmoving. Water streamed down his pale skin, tracing the lines of his jaw.

The first aid kit you had asked for was clutched loosely in his hand.

His eyes, darker than you’d ever seen, seemed to pierce through the dim light, stormy and unreadable, yet fixed unrelentingly on yours.

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. You couldn’t breathe. The towel slipped an inch lower on your shoulder, the sting at the back of your neck flaring as the open wound met cold air.

His gaze dropped.

Saw the blood.

You didn’t even get a chance to speak before his hand shot out.

Fingers wrapping around your throat.

Not choking. Not yet. Just holding. Firm enough to pin you against the doorframe as his other hand slid up the side of your neck- brushing over the cut, making you wince. Then he saw it. The torn skin. His thumb grazed the blood on your skin, his breathing ragged, his soaked shirt clinging to every tense muscle.

When he spoke, it wasn’t loud. It was soft. Deceptively calm.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

You swallowed harshly, pulse hammering beneath his touch. His cold fingertips against your raw skin sent a shiver through you, but it wasn’t from the pain. It was the look in his eyes, dark, calculating, unreadable.

“I asked you,” he repeated, softer this time, more dangerous, “what did you do?”

Your eyes flicked toward the crushed remains of the tracker, the fragments of it scattered across the nightstand. His eyes followed. And then something shifted behind those dark eyes. Understanding. Realization.

His fingers curled tighter around your neck, but it wasn’t the pressure that scared you most. It was the heartbreak you saw cracking through his rage. You swallowed hard, voice trapped somewhere between a sob and a whimper.

He studied the wound at the back of your neck. For a moment, his lips parted like he was about to speak, but instead, his hand dropped to your wrist, holding it firmly but without the earlier desperation.

You winced as he turned you slightly, his eyes narrowing at the crimson streaks staining your skin. The cut, still raw, an angry slash where you’d torn the tracker from your flesh. His jaw flexed, the tension visible in his shoulders as if the sight of you hurt was somehow a personal attack.

“You could have seriously hurt yourself,” he muttered under his breath, voice lower now, controlled. But his hand trembled slightly as he released your wrist, his fingers ghosting over the wound again, almost hesitant. Almost gentle.

You stayed frozen, heart hammering, the sharp pain pulsing with every beat. Without another word, Jungkook turned, reaching instead for the small first-aid kit you’d called down for.

He unzipped it with a single sharp motion, tossing the contents onto the bed with practiced efficiency. Alcohol wipes, gauze, antiseptic, a small roll of medical tape. His hand hovered briefly over the disinfectant before grabbing it, his knuckles pale with restraint as he returned to you.

“Sit,” he ordered softly, nodding toward the bed.

You didn’t move. Not right away.

The flare in his eyes returned, but he didn’t force you. Not this time. He just stared, voice tight. “Please.”

Slowly, cautiously, you sank onto the edge of the bed, the towel still damp around your body as you watched him kneel before you, his damp hair curling over his forehead. His soaked clothes clung to him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. All his focus was on you.

“This is going to sting,” he warned, peeling the cap off some bootle with a soft pop.

You flinched when he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing the wound fully. The cold air made the cut throb, but it was nothing compared to the sharp sting of whatever he was using. You gasped, body jerking slightly as the pain flared.

“Easy,” he murmured, his free hand bracing your shoulder, thumb tracing soothing circles against your collarbone. “It’s almost done.” His voice was softer now, less like the man who had just cornered you and more like... something else. Something frighteningly tender.

He was quiet as he worked. His fingers were precise, methodical, but the way they lingered, soft brushes against your skin. When he secured the gauze with medical tape, he finally exhaled, his hands lingering at the sides of your neck for a heartbeat too long. His head dropped forward, his damp hair brushing your shoulder as he stayed there, breathing deeply, as though he was grounding himself in your presence, trying to steady the storm beneath his surface.

You could feel the tension in his body, as though he might shatter if you moved. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. Because despite everything, despite the anger, the fear, this closeness felt dangerous in an entirely different way. His warmth, his tenderness, it whispered of something terrifying. And yet, when he spoke, the tenderness cracked.

His fingers ghosted over your jaw, so light you barely felt them. But the way his voice broke sent a chill through your veins. “You never stopped running. You never even looked back.”

“You thought you could just leave me,” he whispered, voice trembling with restrained fury. “That you could run, disappear, like I wouldn’t burn the whole world down looking for you?”

Tears burned behind your eyes, but you blinked them back, chest heaving. “You... you chipped me Jungkook. You didn’t give me a choice.”

His lips twisted, something bitter curling the edges of his mouth. “I gave you everything. I made sure you were safe, well taken care of. Protected, loved…”

You shook your head, struggling to speak as his grip lingered. “That’s not love, Jungkook. That’s control.”

For a moment, the storm in his eyes faltered. “You don’t understand,” he whispered, voice breaking, “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

The vulnerability was so brief, so fleeting, it almost felt like a trick. But you saw it, the cracks in his armor, the fracture behind his anger. And then, just as quickly, it was gone. His jaw clenched.

“You’re coming home,” he said, voice resolute, as if there had never been another choice.

You shook your head, “No. You can’t-”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” his breath warm against your face. “I told you before. I would never hurt you. But this? This? You’re hurting yourself. You’re lost without me.”

“I’m not-”

“You are.” His voice was a low snarl now, but there was an ache beneath it. “You think this is freedom? Hiding out in a place like this? Looking over your shoulder every second, terrified? That’s not living, baby. That’s suffering.”

You tried to push against his chest, but he didn’t budge. He was a wall, an immovable force caging you in.

“I was fine before you,” you whispered, voice cracking.

His lips curled into a bitter smile, shaking his head. “No, you weren’t. You were lonely. You were scared. You let men watch you every night because you thought you had no other choice. But I” His hand brushing over your waist. “I gave you one. I took care of you. And you ran.”

Your entire body trembling as the weight of it crashed down. He was everything you feared. Who did he think he was? Twisting your choices, your pain, into something he could control.

“Let me go,” you demanded.

His eyes darkened, “no.”

And just like that, the storm returned. His grip shifted, rougher now as he cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ve had your freedom,” he hissed, the pain in his voice undeniable. “Three days. Three days without me, and look at you. Bleeding. Shaking. Scared.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t listening.

“I’ve been generous, haven’t I? But I can’t do this anymore. I won’t.” He whispered, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Stay with me. Love me. Try to love me back.”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “And if I say no?”

The answer was already there in his eyes. The anger. The twisted devotion.

“Then I’ll give you what you want,” he said softly. “You want to be alone?”

His hand fell away from your face, his expression hardening, voice chilling.

“Then be alone.”

Your stomach twisted as the meaning sank in, but before you could process it fully, Jungkook moved, so quick, so controlled. His hand clamped around your wrist as he pulled you forward with terrifying ease.

“No!” you gasped, struggling, twisting against his grip, but it was like fighting against iron. “You don’t get to- Jungkook, let me go!”

He didn’t speak, didn’t react. His face was void of emotion now. When you twisted harder, thrashing, his grip only tightened, dragging you toward the door.

“Please,” your voice cracked, desperate. “You can’t do this!”

“I can,” he said darkly, yanking the door open. “And I will.”

The storm outside raged as he hauled you into the rain. You fought, kicking, clawing, nails digging into his wrist as the cold downpour soaked you both. But it didn’t matter. He barely faltered.

You caught glimpses of him through the rain, the sharp lines of his jaw, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he held you fast. His soaked shirt clung to him, but his expression remained blank. Detached.

Like he wasn’t even there.

“Stop! Jungkook, stop! You can’t make me stay with you!” you screamed, voice raw, trying to dig your heels into the wet pavement.

He said nothing.

The sleek black car waited just outside the motel. The door opened with a mechanical click as Jungkook shoved it open, dragging you inside despite your thrashing.

“Get off me!”

But the door slammed shut, trapping you.

The rain blurred against the glass, muted as the lock clicked softly into place. Jungkook climbed into the driver’s seat, soaked to the bone, silent. His chest heaved, hair plastered to his forehead, but he refused to meet your eyes. The quiet inside the car was deafening.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Please.”

Still, nothing. Just the sound of the rain and the steady hum of the engine as he pulled onto the street. The city lights bled past in streaks of white and orange, distorted through the water clinging to the windows.

The fight in you was waning, your body exhausted from struggling. Still, you refused to give up. Not yet.

You pressed yourself against the door, heart hammering. “Where are you taking me?”

A beat passed.

Then, finally, his voice broke through the quiet.

“Home.”

----------

The rain pounded harder against the windows as the black car sped through the city, the rhythmic drumming a sharp contrast to the suffocating silence inside. The leather seats were cool beneath your bare legs, the damp towel clinging to your skin, and every bump in the road made you acutely aware of how exposed you were.

Jungkook hadn't said a word since he said where he was taking you. His steady grip on the steering wheel was far too calm for someone who had just dragged you from a motel against your will.

You shifted uncomfortably, clutching the towel tighter around your chest, heart still racing. The streetlights flickered past, blurry through the rain, but your mind kept circling back to the same desperate thought. Someone could see you.

A girl in a towel, dripping wet, visibly distressed, someone might notice. Someone might help. The tension only thickened when Jungkook’s voice finally cut through the quiet, low and steady.

“Change into these.”

Your head snapped toward him just in time to see him reach toward the backseat, one hand still on the wheel. He tossed a bundle of clothing onto your lap, his sweatpants, a black hoodie, and a pair of flip-flops. The fabric was warm, soft, and smelled unmistakably like him. You stared down at the clothes like they might burn you.

“No.”

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Put them on."

You shook your head, pulse hammering harder now. “No.”

His gaze flicked toward you, dangerously calm. “You’re soaked. You're freezing. Put them on.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady despite the panic rising in your chest. “I’m not changing.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

You gripped the towel tighter, not saying anything. The brake lights ahead glowed red, painting his face in shadows as he slowed for the stoplight. And then, he turned to you. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“You think someone will save you?”

You stayed silent, too afraid to answer.

He didn’t blink. “Listen very carefully.” His voice was soft, “You will put those clothes on. Now. Or I will pull this car over and dress you myself.”

Your breath caught. You could feel the weight of his control in the way he said it, the promise behind those words leaving no room for argument. A car passed by in the opposite direction, headlights flashing across his face. The shadows in his eyes deepened, unrelenting.

“I’m being generous,” he whispered. “Don’t make me remind you what happens when you push me.”

The stoplight turned green. The car surged forward. And you knew, deep down, he wasn’t bluffing. With trembling hands, you reached for the hoodie.

The hoodie felt heavier than it should have, the fabric warm but stifling as you unfolded it with shaky fingers. Your heart pounded as you clutched the material, hesitating, half-expecting him to reach over and force it onto you himself. He didn’t. But his silence was far worse.

The only sound was the steady rhythm of rain against the windshield, the soft hum of the tires on wet pavement. Jungkook’s knuckles stayed pale against the steering wheel, his profile carved from stone, unreadable and cold.

You bit your lip, turning slightly in the seat, as much as the seatbelt allowed, and slowly, so slowly, peeled the towel away just enough to slip the hoodie over your head. The fabric swallowed you whole, the sleeves hanging past your hands, but at least it covered you.

The scent of him hit you instantly, familiar, overwhelming, like the last three days had never even happened. Your stomach twisted violently, teeth sinking deeper into your lip as you fought the sting behind your eyes.

You weren’t free. You’d never been free.

The sweatpants were next. The damp towel fell away entirely as you wiggled into them, struggling with the heavy fabric. They were far too big, bunching awkwardly at your ankles, the waistband nearly slipping down despite the drawstring tied tight. The flip-flops came last, the rubber cold against your still-damp feet.

You felt ridiculous. Humiliated. But most of all, trapped.

Jungkook hadn’t said a word. Just a few glances your way as you finish dressing.

The city lights blurred outside the rain-streaked window, neon reflections rippling across the glass. The tension was unbearable, pressing in on all sides.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice was hoarse, barely louder than a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t respond. Not at first. Then, with agonizing slowness, his fingers flexed on the steering wheel. His gaze remained fixed on the road, but his voice, when it came, was devastatingly calm.

“Because you belong to me.”

Your breath caught. “No, I-”

“You do.” The words lashed through the air, sharp enough to cut. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking just beneath the surface. “And you’ve already proven you can’t be trusted on your own.”

You shook your head. “I was fine.”

“You were bleeding in a motel room. Alone.” His voice dropped lower. “That’s not fine. That’s you falling apart without me.”

You stared at him, heart pounding so loud you could barely hear the rain anymore. The car slowed. The entrance to his penthouse garage loomed ahead, the metal gate rising automatically as he approached.

Panic gripped you in full force, your hands curling into fists against the hoodie. “Jungkook, please, just- just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t.”

His head turned, his eyes met yours fully. The look in them shattered your words completely. Deadly. Devastating. And worst of all, aching.

“I already let you go,” he whispered. “Three days. I gave you three days. And all you did was run yourself into the ground.”

The car pulled into the garage with a soft hum, the doors locking the second it came to a stop. The rain had slowed, a dull patter echoing in the silence.

You were trapped. Completely.

And you could feel it in the air, the shift. The way his control tightened like an invisible leash. Jungkook exhaled, his hands finally leaving the wheel. For a long moment, he just stared ahead. Silent. Tense.

Then, without warning, he turned to you. His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

“Come inside.”

You shook your head violently.

“Fine.”

The sound of the driver’s door opening made your stomach twist. He walked over and opened your door.

“Jungkook.”

His hands were gentle when they closed around your wrist. But firm. You fought, thrashing in the seat, but his grip only tightened, dragging you forward until your feet hit the garage floor. The damp flip-flops slapped weakly against the concrete, barely making a sound.

“Don’t,” you gasped, twisting. “Please!”

He didn’t respond. He just scooped you into his arms, your body going weightless as he carried you toward the elevator, holding you close like you were fragile, like he cared. But you knew the truth.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and your heart nearly stopped.

No.

Not here. Not again.

You fought harder, hands pushing at his chest, but he didn’t budge. His grip stayed, his face betraying nothing but calm control as he stepped inside. The doors slid shut.

And you knew.

You were back in his world. And no one was coming to save you.

----------

The penthouse loomed, all glass and cold marble, the rain blurring the city skyline beyond its massive windows. The space was as you remembered, pristine, expensive. But there was a weight now. A darkness you couldn’t shake.

The elevator doors slid shut behind you both with a soft chime, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Jungkook’s arms remained locked around you, holding you securely against his chest as he carried you through the silent halls.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at you.

The only sound was the faint hum of the rain against the windows and the measured rhythm of his breathing, calm, controlled. But you could feel it, the tension tight beneath his skin, the restraint in every step he took.

“Jungkook, put me down” your voice cracked. He didn’t. Not until he stopped. In front of a door you didn’t recognize.

You stiffened, stomach twisting. “What is this?”

He didn’t answer. Not with words. The door swung open with a quiet click. The room inside stole the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t like the rest of the penthouse. No sharp, black marble. No cold steel fixtures. This was... warm.

The walls are painted in a soft colour, the exact shade you’d once offhandedly mentioned loving. Shelves filled with your favorite books and ones you've wanted to read. The bed, covered in rose-scented sheets you recognized instantly, and a cozy reading nook, complete with a folded blanket draped carefully over the cushion.

It smelled like you. It felt like... you.

Jungkook’s arms finally loosened. Gently, he lowered you onto the bed. The plush mattress sank beneath your weight, but the moment your feet touched the floor, you recoiled, heart slamming against your ribs.

“This, this isn’t…”

“Yours,” he finished, voice soft. He crouched before you, at the edges as he met your gaze. “This is yours. I made it for you.”

Your breath hitched, horror crawling up your spine. He had built this. Every detail. Every scent. This wasn’t care. It was a cage disguised as a gift.

You shook your head, throat tightening. “You can’t, you planned this. You can’t just lock me in here and expect me to follow though.”

His hands caught your face, cupping it so gently it almost felt like a lie. “I’m giving you a choice.” His voice trembled, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones as his gaze bored into yours. “I’ve been patient. I let you run. I gave you time. And all you did was tear yourself apart. You were hurting.”

His voice broke. “And I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

You shook your head violently, but his grip only softened, his forehead pressing to yours, damp hair sticking to your skin. “You’re mine,” he whispered, “Stay with me. Love me. Try to love me back.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “You can’t force love, Jungkook.”

His face twisted, pained, but still, he didn’t let go. “I’m not forcing you,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “I’m saving you.”

You tried to pull back. His grip didn’t budge.

“So what?” your voice shook. “You’re going to keep me locked here? Make me stay until I say the words you want to hear?”

The answer was already there. Written in his eyes. The ache. The obsession. The broken devotion. His hands dropped. And the softness was gone.

“Then be alone,” he said, voice hollow.

Before you could react, he stepped back.

The door clicked shut.

You lunged for it.

Too late.

The lock engaged with a soft, damning click.

“Jungkook!” Your fists slammed against the door, voice breaking. “Don’t do this! Let me out!”

Silence.

No footsteps. No threats. Just you. Alone. In a room made for you.

It wasn’t love. It was a prison.

And Jungkook wasn’t going to let you go.

----------

Day 1

You screamed at the door. Pounded your fists until they ached, your throat hurting from calling his name over and over. No response. No one came. A small, square opening at the bottom of the door, just large enough for a tray, slid open on silent hinges. A meal. Gourmet. Expensive. The kind of meal you used to love. You didn’t touch it.

Day 2

You stayed curled on the floor, refusing the bed. Refusing comfort. The room, so carefully crafted to mimic everything you loved, only made it worse. His presence clung to the sheets, to the perfectly chosen vanilla-scented candles on the nightstand. You couldn’t escape him here. But it wasn’t the comfort he wanted you to feel.It was control. And the silence pressed heavier with each passing hour.

Day 3

Your stomach ached. The small panel slid open again. Another tray appeared. Steaming food, carefully arranged, as if he had personally chosen every dish. The scent lingered in the air longer this time, making your stomach twist painfully. But you stayed on the floor, glaring at the tray like it was poison. Until the hunger gnawed so deep it felt like your ribs might cave in. You gave in, just a little. Two bites. A few sips of water. It was enough to take the edge off. Barely. But you hated the way it felt like you had given up.

Day 4

You spoke aloud, just to hear something. Your voice cracked, hoarse from dehydration. A whisper.

The silence mocked you.

Day 5

You ate half the meal. Not because you wanted to. But because you had to. You were trembling. Dizzy. And the tray slid open like clockwork. Silent. Unchanging.

Day 6

You were counting the ticks of the clock.

Waiting.

Day 7

You were trembling. Dizzy. Your stomach had dulled into something hollow, no longer sharp but lingering, a constant reminder of how weak you’d become. The tray slid open. Silent. Unchanging. A fresh meal. Water. Neatly arranged, as if this wasn’t a prison but a carefully curated illusion of care.

You stared at it for a long time. You didn’t touch it. Not yet.

The silence felt heavier today, pressing in on all sides. The ticking of the clock had become unbearable, a steady, relentless rhythm mocking the pulse hammering beneath your skin. The books on the shelf blurred together when you stared at them too long. The soft sheets felt like a trap rather than comfort. And the loneliness, the loneliness was suffocating.

You sat on the floor, back pressed against the wall, knees drawn to your chest. The hunger gnawed, but it wasn’t the worst part anymore. It was the quiet. No voices. No sound beyond the clock and the faint hum of the ventilation system. You hadn’t heard him. Not once. Not his voice. Not his footsteps. Nothing. And somehow, that was worse than his presence. Because deep down, you knew he was watching.

You could feel it. That unbearable tension in the air, the invisible weight pressing down on your chest. You imagined him behind a screen somewhere, waiting. Studying. Calculating how long it would take for you to break completely.

And the most infuriating part was...

It was working.

You hadn’t eaten everything on the tray the last few days. But you’d eaten enough. And with every bite, shame curdled in your stomach, the bitter truth settling in. You were already losing.

And Jungkook knew it.

----------

Day 8

The door slot slid open at the same time it always did, another tray. But this time, something was different. Beside the untouched plate of food sat a cup of tea. Your favorite. Steaming. Fresh.

Your stomach twisted as you stared at it, the familiar scent filling the room, so gentle yet overwhelming. It wasn’t just tea. It was a message. A whisper through the silence.

I’m still watching you.

You clenched your jaw and shoved the tray back toward the door without taking a sip.

Day 9

The hunger was unbearable now. You hated the way your body trembled when you stood, knees buckling. The pounding in your skull made everything blurry, the edges of the room tilting.

When the tray arrived this time, you didn’t shove it back. Not right away. Your stomach had gnawed too deep, wearing down your defiance. You forced yourself to eat. Just a little. Enough to stop the dizziness. The tea was gone this time. The blanket you had ignored for days? You dragged it onto the bed that night, curling beneath it despite yourself. Pressing your face into the pillow, trying to block out the smell of him lingering faintly in the fabric.

You hated how much you missed the sound of his voice.

Day 10

It was quiet.

You found yourself standing in front of the bookshelf, fingers trailing over the spines. The books were yours. The same worn covers, the same creases where you had folded pages. You pulled one down, a comfort read. Something you knew by heart. And a piece of paper fluttered from between the pages. A note.

Four words, written in the same sharp, elegant script you knew far too well: “Reading this again baby?”

You crushed the note in your fist, heart pounding so violently it hurt. You hated him. Hated the way he was always in your head. But hours later, you still found yourself reading the book. Turning the pages like they might somehow drown out the loneliness.

Day 11

You woke suddenly that night. Not because of a nightmare, but because of a sound. Footsteps. Soft, deliberate, right outside the door.

Him

You froze, breath caught in your chest, listening as the steps paused. He's here. He's right there. Your heart pounded louder. Waiting. He’s going to come in. He has to. But the door never opened.

The footsteps faded. You stared at the door for a long, long time after that.

Day 12

You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first. The words just spilled out, a broken whisper into the empty room. “Why are you doing this?” Silence. “Why won’t you face me? Say something! Anything. If you’re watching, just- just talk to me!” The only answer was the steady ticking of the clock. And somehow, it was worse than hearing his voice.

Day 13

The tray arrived. This time, along with the untouched food, there was something else. A small music box. You hesitated, fingers trembling as you lifted it. Delicate. Fragile. When you twisted the key, a soft, haunting melody filled the room. The same song you’d hum when showering. He remembered. He always remembered. With a broken sob, you hurled the music box across the room. The melody cut off with a sharp, metallic crack. Shattered. Just like you. But later that night, as you sat curled in the corner, you found yourself picking up the broken pieces.

Day 14

The silence was unbearable now. You were curled beneath the blanket, barely able to focus, when the static crackled softly through the ceiling. You jolted upright. His voice, smooth, calm, filled the room.

"You're not eating enough."

Your breath caught. Hands clenching into fists. “Stop it! Just leave me alone!”

The speaker remained quiet for a moment before his voice returned, quieter. Steadier.

"You can keep fighting me... but I won't let you waste away."

Rage flared hot. “You’re trying to break me! You don’t care. You never cared.”

Silence.

You screamed, hurling the empty tea cup across the room. It shattered against the wall, pieces scattering across the floor.

But he didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Because deep down, you could feel it. The cracks forming in your defiance. And Jungkook knew you were breaking.

Day 15

It was the middle of the night when the speaker crackled again. You were half-asleep, curled on the bed with the blanket wrapped tightly around you. When his voice cut through the quiet, your eyes snapped open.

"Did you sleep better tonight?"

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. Your throat felt tight, sore from days of yelling that had long since stopped. “I’m fine,” you whispered, though no part of you felt fine.

There was a pause, a soft static hum lingering before he spoke again.

"I miss you."

You shut your eyes, fighting the tears burning at the corners.

Day 16

The next time the speaker turned on, his voice was softer.

"I only want to keep you safe. Look at you now... You're just hurting yourself. This isn't what I wanted."

You stayed silent, curled on the floor, facing away from the door. Your chest ached as you pressed your hands against your ears. But even then, you could still hear him. Gentle. Soothing. "You don’t have to be alone." You hated how badly you wanted to believe him.

Day 17

The next food tray wasn’t like the others. There was food, yes. But also, a single white rose. Beautiful. Your stomach twisted as you stared at it. The same flower he had given you when you first started to meet. A symbol. A reminder. You wanted to throw it away. Smash it. Instead, you set it carefully on the nightstand.

Day 18

You woke up shaking. A nightmare, dark and suffocating. The room felt smaller today, colder. Lonelier.

You sat by the door, knees drawn to your chest, speaking to the silence like it might answer back.

“Jungkook... please. Just talk to me.”

Silence.

You pressed your forehead against the wood, voice breaking. “Please...” But he didn’t answer. And somehow, that hurt more.

Day 19

The tea returned. This time, it wasn’t just tea. A slice of strawberry cake sat neatly beside it. The kind you used to share with him, back when he’d seemed... softer. Safer. You stared at the tray for hours. The sweetness felt too much like a trick. But eventually, you caved. The tea was warm, the cake sweet and rich on your tongue. Comforting in a way you hadn't felt in weeks. You hated that it made you feel better.

Day 20

You were pacing. The walls felt closer. The silence is heavier. The loneliness clawed deeper with every passing hour. You found yourself lingering at the door. Waiting. Listening for footsteps. For him. But no one came. You whispered into the empty air. “I hate you.” But it sounded so much weaker than before.

Day 21

The speaker crackled back to life just after you had finished eating. You didn’t even flinch this time. "I’m proud of you." His voice was low, soothing, so calm it made your chest ache. "You’re taking care of yourself again. That’s good. I told you I wouldn’t let you hurt yourself."

You stared at the untouched rose, wilting slightly in its glass. "I’ll be with you soon." And you didn’t know whether the fear twisting inside you... was still just fear. Or something worse.

Day 22

The speaker remained silent all day. No soft reassurances. No sweet words drifting through the room. Just silence. And it was louder than anything else. You found yourself pressing your ear against the door, straining for the sound of footsteps. Waiting. Hoping.

But there was nothing.

Day 23

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The weight of the quiet pressed too hard, suffocating every thought in your mind. So when the speaker finally crackled to life that evening, you spoke first.

"Jungkook?" Your voice was fragile, breaking with every syllable.

The silence lingered. Then, softly "Yes?" You closed your eyes, hating how much relief bloomed in your chest just from the sound of him.

"...Why won’t you come in?"

The pause that followed stretched too long. Then, his voice returned, softer. "You’re not ready yet."

You clenched your fists, trembling. "You don’t get to decide that!"

"I do."

And then the speaker cut off.

Day 24

The next tray arrived with something new.

Resting beside the plate was the pearl necklace.

Untouched. Perfectly intact.

You stared at it, pulse rising, throat tightening as you remembered the weight of it against your skin, the way he’d fastened it himself the night he gave it to you.

There was no note. No message. Just the necklace. A silent reminder. You left it on the tray. But you didn’t push it away.

Day 25

The room felt utterly unbearable now.

No matter how you shifted, how you paced, there was no comfort. The books blurred together. The food was tasteless. The scent of the room.

You wanted out.

Just... anything but this silence.

You whispered, voice broken, “Please... I’m sorry.”

But there was no answer.

Day 26

The tears came unexpectedly.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until the sobs shook your chest, your body trembling as you curled into the bed.

It wasn’t just the loneliness anymore.

It was the pain of being ignored.

You had screamed his name a hundred times before.

But tonight, you whispered it like a prayer. "Jungkook... please."

And he still didn’t come.

Day 27

You heard it.

A soft click. The sound of the lock shifting.

You sat up so fast the room spun, heart racing as you stumbled toward the door, pressing both hands against it.

It didn’t open.

But it was unlocked.

For the first time.

Your pulse pounded louder than ever before. Was it a trick? A test?

You stood there for hours. Waiting. Listening.

But nothing else came.

Day 28

You didn’t move.

The isolation had settled deep in your bones by now, making you feel weightless and heavy all at once. You had stopped marking the days, though you knew it had been weeks. Your loneliness had shifted into something quieter, emptier. You had forgotten the sound of your own voice, the rhythm of real conversation.

So when the door creaked open and his figure appeared, the sight of him knocked the breath from your lungs.

Jungkook.

He stood in the doorway, dressed in black, as calm and unreadable as ever. But something was different. His eyes. They lingered longer, tracing over the fragile state he had left you in. The trembling of your hands as they rested limply in your lap. The way you curled in on yourself at the edge of the bed, too exhausted to even flinch.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t step closer.

But he didn’t leave either.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. He was there. Watching.

“Why…” Your voice cracked, hoarse from disuse. “Why are you here?”

No answer.

His gaze dropped, just briefly, to the half-eaten tray of food from that morning.

The silence stretched. He was giving you nothing, no hint of emotion. And somehow, it hurt.

You hated him.

You missed him.

“Say something,” you whispered, voice breaking as you gripped the sheets beneath you.

His lips parted. Just barely. Then he exhaled slowly, like he was gathering himself.

“You’ve proven you can live alone.”

Your breath hitched, a bitter laugh escaping you, though there was no humor in it. “You call this living?”

Jungkook’s face didn’t change. But there was a softness. “No,” he said quietly. “This isn’t living. But you made your choice. You didn’t want me.”

Your pulse pounded so loud it drowned out the rest of the room. He was turning this on you. Making it your fault. And the worst part? It was working. The walls felt smaller. The air colder.

“I never wanted this. I wanted to be left alone, not be lonely” Your voice cracked, rising slightly. “You’re the one keeping me here. You.”

He stepped closer.

Not threatening.

Not towering.

But calm.

Dangerously calm.

“I gave you everything,” he murmured, gaze locked onto yours. “And you ran. So I gave you what you wanted. Isolation. Freedom from me. And look what it’s done to you.”

You hated the way your body reacted to his presence. The way the sound of his voice filled the void you hadn’t even realized was so loud.

A tear slipped down your cheek, unbidden. Weak. And when it fell, Jungkook’s expression shifted, just for a heartbeat. Regret.

“I won’t keep you in here forever,” he continued, quieter now, crouching slightly so you were eye level. “I just need you to understand. I can make it better for you.”

The words hung heavy between you, poisoned with manipulation you were too tired to fight.

You shook your head, tears streaking faster. “You’re lying.”

His head tilted slightly, dark eyes searching yours with unnerving patience. “Am I? Look around you. Have I hurt you?”

No.

But the absence of pain didn’t make it right.

“I don’t want to feel like a prisoner,” you whispered.

“You’re not my prisoner. You’re here because I care. I want you safe. And you can have more than this. But you have to stop fighting me.”

He reached for you then. Not harsh. Not demanding. Just a careful, gentle touch, fingertips brushing the damp tear from your cheek. You flinched but didn’t pull away. Not completely.

The weight of his hand was warm. Familiar. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a threat.

It felt like relief.

His voice was a whisper, coaxing. “Let me take care of you. Let me make this better.”

You hated him for it.

You hated how much you wanted to believe him.

And when his hand lingered, waiting for your answer, the worst part was how quiet the room felt when he finally stood, turned, and left.

The door locked behind him.

And you felt colder than ever.

----------

The lock clicked open.

This time, when the door swung open, he didn’t stand in the doorway like before.

The hall beyond was empty.

You blinked, heart pounding as you stared into the open space, pulse thrumming in your ears. He hadn’t spoken through the speaker today. No roses. No food tray.

Just the silence, and this.

You should have run. Should have bolted straight for the exit. But your legs didn’t move. Not out of fear. Out of something worse.

The endless days of nothing. The quiet that pressed so hard against your ribs you thought you might break under it.

And that was the moment you realized, this was intentional.

This was another test.

A crackling whisper brushed through the speakers, making you jump.

“You can come out now.” His voice. So calm. So controlled. “I’m not keeping you in there anymore.”

You hesitated, arms wrapping tighter around yourself.

Your steps were slow as you crossed the threshold, the numbness in your legs reminding you just how long it had been since you’d moved beyond those four walls.

The penthouse was silent.

Spacious. Beautiful. The floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the cloudy city below, so far away it felt like another world entirely.

You barely had time to process it before you saw him.

Jungkook sat in the oversized armchair near the windows, legs spread, forearms braced on his knees as he watched you. No threat. No chains.

But the weight of his presence was more suffocating than any lock.

“Come here.”

You didn’t move.

His lips pressed together. But he didn’t get up. Didn’t chase you. His voice softened, low and coaxing.

“You’ve been through a lot. I just want to talk.”

And then you noticed it.

The couch. A folded blanket. A steaming cup of tea on the coffee table, the scent wafting faintly.

No.

He wasn’t trying to trap you.

He was making it look like comfort.

You shook your head. “I don’t want this.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning back in the chair. “I know. But you need it.”

A pause. His dark eyes swept over you, scanning every tremble, every sign of weakness you couldn’t hide. “You need to rest. To heal. You’re… you’re hurting yourself more than you realize.”

You hated how calm he sounded. How convincing.

And you hated yourself more for wanting to believe it.

But you stayed frozen.

That was when he stood.

Slow. Unthreatening. His hair hung over his forehead, sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos along his forearm.

And when he approached, he didn’t grab you.

He just… reached.

Fingers brushing your wrist, barely a touch. Just enough to let you feel the heat of him.

“I’m not going to hurt you. You know that?”

Your throat closed.

You didn’t fight when he guided you gently toward the couch. The blanket was warm as he tucked it around your shoulders, the tea, hot, fragrant, pressed into your trembling hands.

And then he knelt in front of you.

Not towering. Not intimidating.

Just watching.

You stared at the cup, trying to steady your breath.

It was too much. The silence. The quiet care.

This wasn’t control. This was… kindness.

Wasn’t it?

Jungkook’s voice broke the quiet. Softer now.

“You’re safe, baby. You don’t have to be scared.”

And for the first time since he took you

You felt like you were breaking.

Jungkook exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly when you didn’t resist. His gaze stayed on you, lingering on the faint tremble in your hands.

He stayed silent, letting the tension breathe. Letting the quiet speak louder than words.

Until he reached out again.

Slow. Deliberate. His fingers brushed your cheek, so gentle it felt like a question.

You flinched but didn’t pull away. Not fully.

His eyes darkened. Something flashed behind the calm exterior, but he didn’t press. He just held his hand there, warm against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

The words made you freeze.

Sorry?

His touch lingered, and for the first time, there was no trace of that quiet control. Only something vulnerable.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he continued, voice breaking just slightly. “I just…” His thumb pressed a fraction deeper, tilting your face to meet his eyes. “I couldn’t lose you. I won’t lose you.”

The worst part was, you could hear it. The sincerity beneath his words.

And you felt yourself softening.

No.

You clenched the cup tighter, forcing your voice to steady. “You didn’t really have me in the first place, Jungkook.”

His expression shifted.

Not anger.

Worse.

Disappointment.

He lowered his hand but didn’t move back. “I kept you safe. I made sure you were taken care of. And I gave you time. To think. To understand.”

You shook your head, pulse spiking. “You locked me away. That’s not care.”

“You were hurting yourself.” His voice sharpened. “Running around, starving yourself. Bleeding in some filthy motel room.” His jaw flexed, the calm mask cracking just slightly. “Tell me what part of that was freedom.”

You didn’t have an answer. Not one you could say out loud.

Because deep down, you knew.

You had been falling apart.

But that didn’t make this right.

Jungkook’s hand closed over yours where you still gripped the cup, his warmth sinking into your skin. His voice softened again, calmer. Dangerous.

“You’re not a prisoner.”

You swallowed hard.

The door was still locked. You both knew it.

And yet…

You didn’t fight when his thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“You’re here because you belong with me,” he whispered. “And I know you can feel it. Even now.”

The worst part was, he wasn’t wrong.

Because after weeks of isolation, weeks of silence and aching loneliness…

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The way he made you feel.

Or the fact that, for the first time,

You didn’t want him to leave.

And he knew it.

Jungkook didn’t speak again. He didn’t have to. The quiet filled the space between you, heavier than before but softer too. Less suffocating. His presence lingered like the scent of him, clean, warm, familiar in a way you wanted so badly to resist.

But when he finally stood to leave.

“Wait,” your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

He paused, fingers curling into his palm at his side.

But he didn’t turn around.

“I…” Your throat tightened painfully. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Betrayed, by yourself.

Jungkook turned back, his face unreadable, you hated how desperately you searched for softness in his eyes.

But it was there.

Beneath the control.

Beneath the satisfaction.

He stepped closer, moving so carefully, as if not to startle you. His hand rose, fingertips brushing along your jaw in a touch so delicate it sent a shiver through you.

“You don’t have to be,” he whispered.

His thumb stroked gently over your cheek, and you hated how your body melted into the contact, how your eyelids fluttered shut despite every part of your mind screaming at you to stop.

“But you have to let me take care of you,” he continued, voice lower now. “No more fighting. No more running.”

You nodded.

Barely.

And his breath caught like you’d just given him the one thing he’d been waiting for all along.

Jungkook’s thumb traced over your cheek, lingering just a moment longer before he finally spoke again, voice hushed, coaxing.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just let me in.”

The words felt like velvet, soothing you, wrapping around the emptiness he had left behind for so long. You hated how desperately you clung to the warmth of his hand against your skin.

You should have felt disgusted. Angry. But all you felt was… relief.

Jungkook’s hand fell away, just for a moment, and you nearly leaned into it, craving the contact you had sworn to resist. But instead of pulling back completely, he reached for you again, his fingers curling gently under your chin, guiding your face to meet his eyes.

No anger. No coldness.

Just patience.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” he murmured, searching your face like he was memorizing every fragile piece of you. “You don’t have to hurt like this. I can make it better. But you have to trust me.”

You blinked, heart pounding.

“I… I don’t…”

The words wouldn’t come. Your mind felt too foggy, too heavy with exhaustion.

He didn’t push.

Instead, he shifted closer, slowly lowering himself to sit beside you. His presence was overwhelming, but not in the suffocating way you had feared.

Not yet.

You hated the warmth his nearness brought.

Hated that it felt good.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer. Vulnerable.

“I missed you.”

Your breath caught, throat tightening painfully.

“I shouldn’t feel like this.” The confession escaped you before you could stop it, trembling and broken.

His head tilted, eyes narrowing just slightly, but not in anger. He looked almost… wounded.

“Like what?” he pressed gently.

You shook your head, biting your lip hard to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

“Like I need you.”

The words felt like betrayal. A surrender you hadn’t meant to give him.

But instead of pouncing on it, instead of twisting it into something cruel, Jungkook exhaled a slow, steady breath. His hand moved, not to restrain you, but to cup your face again, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

His voice was barely a whisper.

“You do.”

You felt your pulse stutter.

“But that’s not weakness,” he added, his lips parting as his gaze softened further. “It means you’re finally being honest with yourself.”

You wanted to fight him. To tell him he was wrong.

But your body had stopped listening.

His touch felt too steady. Too comforting after so much silence.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?”

You nodded, barely.

Jungkook didn’t speak immediately. He stayed close, his hand lingering on your face, thumb brushing gently over your cheek as if grounding himself in your presence.

“Let me help you, just for tonight.”

You hated how those words sank into your chest, how warm his touch felt after so many cold, empty days. But you were too weak to fight. Too lonely to push him away.

Jungkook guided you carefully to your feet, the weight of his hands steady but never harsh. He didn’t rush. Didn’t force. But you knew, somehow, that there was no choice. Not really.

The bed was as you remembered, too soft, too perfect, like it had been crafted to comfort you in ways he never should have known. He helped you sit, kneeling briefly to smooth the blanket over your lap. Every movement was precise. Practiced.

You should have felt caged.

Instead, you felt seen.

And you hated it.

He stayed by the edge of the bed, watching you carefully. His dark eyes traced the curve of your face, the trembling rise and fall of your chest, like he was memorizing every vulnerable piece of you all over again.

Then he shifted.

Slowly, he reached for your wrist, fingers brushing your pulse. Not restraining. Just… there.

His hand lingered, when the warmth of his palm closed gently over yours, anchoring you in that quiet, unbearable moment.

You didn’t pull away.

You didn’t want to.

“I missed you.”

You closed your eyes.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

And that was all it took.

Jungkook shifted, closing the space between you so carefully it felt inevitable. His hand cupped your face, his thumb catching the tear, wiping it away like it physically pained him to see it fall.

You flinched, but not from fear. It was the tenderness that hurt more.

"Don't cry," he whispered, so gentle it made you want to break apart completely. "Not because of me. Not anymore."

Your lips parted, breath shallow, and for a moment, it felt like he was waiting. Not for permission, but for the final thread of resistance to snap completely.

You leaned into his touch. Barely. But it was enough.

Jungkook's eyes darkened, something unspoken lingering behind his gaze. His thumb traced your cheek one last time before his hand fell away, leaving your skin cold in its absence.

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he spoke quietly, carefully, as if testing the fragility of the moment.

"No more silence, not when you’re with me."

You should have said no. Should have pushed him away and demanded your space back.

But you didn’t.

You nodded.

And when he shifted onto the bed beside you, when he wrapped his arm around you, tucking your head against his chest as the warmth of his body bled into yours...

You let him.

----------

The next morning came softly.

Sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains, casting pale gold patterns across the walls. You blinked awake, the unfamiliar warmth pressing against your back making you still for a heartbeat before you remembered.

Jungkook.

His arm was still wrapped around you. Loose but present, his palm resting over your hip, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. He was close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against the back of your neck, the steady weight of him on you in ways that felt both comforting and terrifying.

You should move.

But you didn’t.

And as much as you wanted to hate it, there was a part of you that had craved this, the safety of being held. The feeling of not being so completely... alone.

Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly, the tension breaking as Jungkook stirred behind you. His grip tightened, not harsh but possessive, and you felt him exhale slowly, his lips brushing just above your shoulder as he murmured, half-asleep.

“You’re still here.”

His voice was deeper, softer in the haze of waking. But there was something heavier beneath it. Relief.

“I... didn’t want to wake you.”

He stilled, fingers flexing slightly where they rested against your waist. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then, he drew back just enough to press his forehead lightly against the curve of your neck, voice barely a whisper.

“You never have to wake up alone again.”

The words sank into you like a promise. One you weren’t sure how to feel about.

You nodded once, throat tight. But you didn’t pull away.

Not yet.

When you finally shifted, pushing yourself upright, Jungkook let you go without protest. His eyes followed your movements, dark but calm as he sat up as well, the sheets pooling around his waist.

You expected him to say something. Maybe a demand. Maybe a reminder that you were still his.

But instead, he only offered a quiet, “Are you hungry?”

It caught you off guard. The simple, human question. You blinked, unsure how to answer, until your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

You nodded.

Jungkook didn’t move right away. He just watched you, gaze softening, lingering on your face as if he were committing this moment to memory. Then, without another word, he stood up and disappeared into the kitchen.

You stayed there, frozen, the sheets warm where he’d been. And for the first time, you felt something you couldn’t quite name.

Not freedom.

But not fear either.

The scent of coffee drifted from the kitchen, warm and rich, grounding you in the present. You sat there, fingers curled loosely in the sheets, listening to the soft sounds of Jungkook moving, the quiet clink of plates.

Everything felt so... normal.

And that was the most dangerous part.

You should have felt restless. On edge. But instead, the tension had dulled, replaced by something you couldn’t explain. Your chest felt heavy, like something you had been bracing against was finally slipping. And it left you hollow.

When he returned, a tray balanced effortlessly in his hands, the sight struck you harder than it should have.

Two plates. A cup of tea. A cup of coffee.

Like you were just any other couple sharing a quiet morning together.

He placed the tray on the bed, careful, measured. The food was simple. Toast, eggs, a bowl of cut fruit.

You hesitated, waiting for the catch. Waiting for the control.

But it didn’t come.

Jungkook sat at the edge of the bed, close but not touching, and for the first time, there was no expectation in his expression. No pressure. Just quiet observation, his gaze tracing the delicate way you curled your fingers around the teacup.

You took a sip, letting the warmth settle your nerves.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible.

Jungkook’s eyes softened, a flicker of something almost... hopeful.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, voice low, but so achingly tender it made your throat tighten again.

You lowered the cup, unsure why his words felt so heavy. So final.

The silence stretched as you picked at the food, the tension shifting into something unfamiliar. Not fear. Not anger. Just... quiet. Comforting. His presence filled the space without suffocating it, his gaze never leaving yours but no longer pressing in the way it once had.

And you hated how easy it felt. How his care felt so real.

You should have been angry. You should have resisted.

But all you could feel was the warmth lingering in your chest.

Jungkook finally broke the silence, “Are you... feeling better?”

You knew he wasn’t just asking about your physical state. You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But then, with quiet honesty you couldn’t explain.

“Yes.”

His breath hitched, so subtle you barely noticed. But you saw it. The way his fingers curled slightly against his thigh, like he was restraining himself from reaching for you.

The thought of him doing so didn’t feel bad? It felt... safe.

That moment lingered between you, the silence stretching just long enough to feel fragile. Like if either of you spoke, it would shatter whatever fragile peace this was.

Jungkook didn’t move, his gaze still soft but searching, as if he were waiting for something he wasn’t ready to name. His hand, so close on the bed beside you, flexed as though he was fighting the urge to touch you again.

You should say something. Set a boundary. Remind him that this, whatever this was, was not real.

But you didn’t.

Because for the first time in weeks, there was no fear twisting in your chest. No loneliness gnawing at the edges of your mind. Only warmth. Only him.

You felt it when his gaze dropped, lingering on your lips for just a heartbeat too long. The tension shifted, heavier but not threatening, intimate in a way that made your pulse race.

You were the first to look away, blinking down at your hands curled around the tea cup. The heat of it seeped into your palms, grounding you as you struggled to steady your breath.

And still, he said nothing.

Until.

“Can I hold you?” His voice quietly asked.

You swallowed, heart hammering, the vulnerability in his words cracking something deeper inside you. He wasn’t demanding. He wasn’t forcing. He was asking.

And you hated that you didn’t know how to say no.

You nodded.

Barely.

But it was all he needed.

Jungkook moved carefully, cautiously, as though afraid you might vanish if he moved too fast. His hand lifted first, brushing your wrist, fingertips tracing the inside with a softness that made your breath hitch. And then, slowly, he shifted closer, drawing you into him.

The heat of his body pressed against yours, his arm curling around your waist as he tucked you into his chest. His heartbeat was steady. Calming. And when his chin rested lightly against the top of your head, a broken breath escaped you.

You should pull away.

You should hate him for making you feel this, this way.

But all you felt was your chest easing as you sank against him, as the tension melted away and left only the steady rhythm of his breathing.

And when he whispered, “I missed you,” voice so low it barely reached your ears, you didn’t stop the way your fingers curled into his shirt.

You didn’t stop yourself from believing him.

Because, in that moment, you missed him too.

----------

The minutes passed in quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier with each heartbeat. His arms stayed wrapped around you, steady but never tightening, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as you both stayed like that, eating your breakfast.

And you hated how much you didn’t want it to end.

You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. He smelled the same as always, clean, warm, familiar. The scent that had once felt suffocating now felt like a strange kind of comfort.

It made you wonder when you’d stopped fearing his touch.

You shifted slightly, just enough that your head rested more fully against his back. His fingers brushed your waist, light but grounding, and you felt the subtle way he reacted to your closeness, his breath catching, his hold instinctively tightening just the slightest bit.

You should speak. You should break whatever spell this was.

But instead, your voice betrayed you.

“I missed you too.”

The words barely left your lips, so soft you thought he might not hear. But he did.

Jungkook stilled beneath you. Completely. As if those words had stolen the breath from his lungs.

You felt it when he exhaled, shaky but measured, his face pressing closer, lips just above your hair. His hand shifted from your waist, fingertips tracing along your spine in slow, careful circles, like he was trying to soothe you but couldn't quite stop himself from savoring the moment.

“Say it again,” he whispered. His voice was not demanding. Just... desperate.

You hesitated, teeth sinking into your lower lip. The walls you’d tried so hard to build felt paper-thin now. Crumbling. You couldn't let yourself lie.

“I missed you,” you repeated, voice quieter but steadier this time.

Jungkook made a sound, low, pained, almost like a sigh of relief, and then his lips pressed softly against your temple. Not forceful. Not possessive. Just... there. The kind of touch meant to soothe. To comfort.

But it left your skin burning.

His voice, rougher now, broke the quiet again. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You should have argued. You should have reminded him that taking you, locking you away, controlling every piece of your life, was hurting you.

But in this moment, with his warmth around you, with your body pressed against his, the words caught in your throat.

But because his voice sounded too real. Too genuine.

And you were so, so tired of fighting.

So instead of speaking, you let your fingers curl just slightly tighter against his chest.

And when he pressed another kiss, so soft, so reverent, to your forehead, you didn’t stop him.

You let it happen. You didn’t want him to stop.

His lips lingered against your forehead, warm and gentle. His breath fanned softly against your skin, but he stayed still, holding you in that delicate silence where neither of you spoke, both too caught in the weight of the moment.

You felt the tension low in your stomach, the heat of his body so close, too close. And yet you didn’t move. Didn’t stop the way his fingertips brushed along your waist, tracing lazy circles like he was memorizing the shape of you.

You hated how badly you wanted more.

The way he made you feel so seen, so painfully aware of every inch of your body pressed against his. The steady strength of his arms. The soft way he held you, careful but possessive, like you were something he couldn’t bear to lose again.

You exhaled shakily, your fingers curling tighter into his shirt as your heart pounded louder than the thoughts screaming in your mind.

Stop. Don’t do this.

But then his lips grazed your temple, slower this time, lingering longer. And when he whispered your name, just your name, like it meant everything, you felt your resolve slip further.

“I missed you, so fucking much,” he whispered again, voice rougher now, closer. “More than you could ever understand.”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you tilted your head just slightly, just enough for his lips to go lower, brushing the curve of your cheek. His breath caught, so did yours.

His hand flexed at your waist, fingertips pressing a fraction deeper, grounding you both in that unbearable closeness. You could feel his pulse beneath his skin, the steady rhythm matching your own, too fast, too desperate.

“I’m right here,” you whispered back, the words slipping free before you could stop them.

Jungkook’s breath deppend. And then his lips were closer, brushing the corner of your mouth, lingering in that unbearable space just shy of a kiss.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly.

The question shattered something inside you. The gentleness. After everything, after all the ways he had broken you down, he was asking.

You hated how much you wanted to say yes.

Your lips parted, trembling as you nodded once, the faintest movement. But it was enough.

Jungkook closed the space between you, his lips pressing against yours, soft but deliberate. The kiss wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rough. It was slow, careful, his mouth moving against yours like he was memorizing every second, savoring the way you let him in.

You melted against him, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. Your hand slipped from his chest, fingers curling into his hair as the kiss deepened. His other hand slid up your back, pressing you closer, as if he needed to feel every inch of you. You hated how much you didn’t want it to end.

Jungkook’s lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm, shallow, as he searched your face. The tension was unbearable, the heat crackling in the air between you, electric and undeniable. His hand, still cradling your jaw, shifted, thumb pressing lightly at your chin, tilting your face just enough to keep you open for him.

This wasn’t soft anymore. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, he barely contained as he fought not to lose himself in you.

“You don’t hate me,” he whispered, voice rough now, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. “Say it."

Your pulse pounded, your chest twisting, heat spreading low in your belly despite every voice in your mind telling you to stop. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

“I don’t hate you,” you whispered back.

And then he kissed you.

Harder this time. Deeper. His hand curled tighter around your waist, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left between you. The kiss was consuming, dizzying, his tongue parting your lips in a slow, deliberate slide that left you breathless.

You hated how much you wanted it.

The warmth of his body, the way his hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, spreading heat along your bare skin, it felt too good, too real. His other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back, deepening the kiss until your body melted against his completely.

“Look at you,” he whispered against your lips, voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re finally letting me in.”

You whimpered, torn between defiance and submission, but the way his body pressed into yours was relentless. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make your stomach twist with want. And you hated yourself for how badly you wanted for more.

“This is what you needed, wasn’t it?” His lips brushed along your jaw, “You needed me. You were always mine. And now... you're finally ready to admit it.”

“Jungkook,” you gasped, but it wasn’t a protest. Not anymore.

It was a plea.

He felt it. Heard it. And the darkness in his eyes only deepened.

“Say it.” His fingers trailed lower, dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, teasing, barely touching, but enough to have your breath catching. “Say you want this. Say you want me.”

Your body betrayed you completely, hips arching into his touch, heart slamming in your chest. Every trace of resistance felt like it was slipping through your fingers, lost in the haze of him.

You whispered it.

“I want you.”

The words broke something in him.

His mouth crashed against yours again, hungrier this time, his grip bruising as he pulled you closer, pressing you back into the sheets. His body covered yours, the heat of his skin searing against you as he moved, lips tracing your neck, hands exploring every inch of you like he had finally won.

Because he had.

Jungkook’s breath shuddered against your skin, his forehead pressed to yours, the heat between your bodies smoldering, thick with tension. His grip stayed gentle, but you could feel the way he trembled, the way he fought every instinct pressing him to lose control. His hand brushed along your waist, fingertips tracing so lightly you barely felt it, but it was enough to make you shiver.

The darkness in his eyes wasn’t anger. It wasn’t dominance. It was hunger, desperate, consuming, and yet so carefully restrained.

He was holding himself back.

You could see it in the way his jaw flexed, the way his breathing stuttered when your lips parted, so close to his, yet not quite touching. His thumb along your cheek, as if memorizing the shape of you, as if this wasn’t enough, could never be enough.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice rough, thick with need.

You didn’t answer with words. Your body spoke for you, arching just slightly, leaning into him instead of away. Your skin burning beneath the whisper of his touch. And he saw it. He felt it.

He kissed you again. His hand slid up, cupping your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, to taste you the way he’d been holding back from for far too long.

A soft, helpless sound escaped you, muffled against his mouth. And that sound undid him.

“You’re perfect,” he rasped, voice breaking as his lips grazed the sensitive spot below your ear. “You feel perfect.”

You gasped as his teeth caught gently, nipping just enough to make your pulse spike. And still, he was holding back. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the way his hands trembled as they mapped the curve of your waist, the dip of your stomach.

But then his hand brushed lower.

And you froze.

He felt it instantly, the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched, not in pleasure, but fear.

Jungkook pulled back, his face hovering inches from yours, brows furrowed with concern as his gaze searched yours. His voice was softer now, careful. “Baby... what’s wrong? Did I-?”

You shook your head quickly, shame burning your cheeks. “I...” The words caught, and you swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “It's just been a while since….”

Silence.

The tension shifted. But it wasn’t the kind you expected. Jungkook didn’t pull away. He didn’t look frustrated or disappointed. If anything, his gaze darkened, softer, but more intense, his thumb stroked along your cheek, reverent.

For a heartbeat, he was silent. Then he exhaled slowly, like he was grounding himself, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips brushed yours, gentle this time, coaxing. “I’ll be gentle. I’ll take care of you. Just... let me.”

You nodded, but your pulse hammered so hard you thought he could feel it where his chest pressed against yours.

Jungkook’s touch shifted, his lips returning to your throat, his hands sliding lower, exploring. Slow. Unhurried. He kissed his way down your collarbone, lingering, tasting, savoring every inch of skin he could reach. His hands explored your sides, your waist, the curve of your hips, never pushing, never rushing, just admiring.

When his fingers brushed between your thighs, you gasped, body arching instinctively, and he froze again, watching your reaction with careful, deliberate patience.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, pressing a kiss just below your navel, waiting for your answer.

You nodded, breathless, the heat blooming under his touch so consuming you could barely think.

“Words, baby,” he murmured, his lips trailing lower, his voice huskier now.

You swallowed, voice trembling. “Yes. Please... don’t stop.”

His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and restraint. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, grounding himself as he fought to maintain control.

His grip trembled slightly as his hand brushed beneath the hem of your shirt.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His fingertips grazed the fabric, waiting. Giving you a chance to pull away. “Let me see you... please.”

You swallowed hard, heat blooming low in your stomach. The feeling was unbearable, spreading through you in a way that felt both terrifying and... so painfully good. Your hands curling into the sheets beneath you, heart pounding as he slowly began to lift your shirt.

Your body tensed. The vulnerability of it all, the way his dark eyes stayed fixed on yours, not even glancing lower yet, made your throat tighten.

“Jungkook...” your voice was barely a whisper, shaky and unsure.

A groan rumbled low in his chest. The shirt slipped higher. Over your ribs. Up to your collarbone. His gaze never faltered, never dropped, holding yours like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered.

You exhaled shakily, nodding, and with careful patience, he peeled the fabric over your head, letting it fall forgotten beside you. His eyes finally dipped lower, trailing over your bare skin, his lips parting just slightly like the sight had stolen the breath from his lungs.

“God, you're perfect.”

A flush burned beneath your skin, heat creeping all the way to your ears. Your hands instinctively moved to cover yourself, but Jungkook caught your wrists gently, stopping you before you could hide.

“Don’t,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Please, don’t hide from me.”

His lips returned to your neck, pressing soft kisses along the delicate line of your throat, trailing lower as he shifted down the bed, his mouth exploring every inch of skin he bared. Slow. Reverent. His touch ignited something deeper.

When his hands found the waistband of your shorts, you stiffened again. His thumbs traced slow circles at your hips, and when he finally met your eyes again, his expression wasn’t demanding. It was patient. Tender.

“I want to make you feel good,” he murmured, voice raspier now. “Will you let me?”

You nodded, chest heaving as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, inching it lower, pressing soft kisses to your stomach as he guided them off your legs. Your underwear followed, and you barely had time to process the sheer vulnerability of being so bare before he spread your thighs gently, pressing his palm to the inside of your knee, urging you open.

You tensed instinctively, thighs trying to close, but his grip was steady.

“Shhh,” he soothed, voice soft. “Let me take care of you, baby. Just relax.”

Your pulse hammered, the vulnerability making you feel lightheaded, dizzy, but the way his eyes darkened as he stared at you, like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched, made it impossible to pull away.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh first, lingering there, lips soft and patient, before trailing higher. Your breath caught, your body trembling beneath his touch as his mouth moved closer.

“You’re so sensitive,” he whispered, voice thick, his breath fanning against your bare skin, making you shiver. “So perfect.”

And when his tongue finally pressed against your core, soft but deliberate, you shattered.

A gasp broke from your lips, your back arching as the sensation flooded through you, overwhelming and unbearable all at once. Your hands flew to his hair, unsure whether you wanted to pull him closer or push him away, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t hesitate.

He held you steady, his hands gripping your thighs gently, keeping you open for him as he worked you apart with slow, torturous strokes of his tongue, learning your body, savoring every reaction.

“That’s it,” he murmured between kisses. “Let me hear you, baby.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. The pleasure was too much, too consuming, and when his fingers joined, circling you in perfect rhythm, your entire body jolted beneath him, your thighs trembling against his shoulders.

“Jungkook” Your voice broke.

His response was a groan, the vibration against you making your stomach tighter, the pressure building unbearably fast. His hand slid higher, pressing gently against your stomach as if to hold you still, to keep you grounded as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“Princess,” he whispered against you, his tongue circling that sensitive spot again, sending you spiraling. “Let me feel you come for me.”

And when you did, when your body finally gave in with a cry, shattering completely beneath him, he didn’t stop. He kept pressing soft kisses along your trembling thighs, easing you through the waves of pleasure until you were boneless beneath him, breathless.

Only then did he rise, his lips brushing yours, tasting you as he whispered softly.

“That’s my girl. You’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

He hovered above you, his body warm, solid, grounding you as you shook beneath him. His lips brushed along your jaw, slow and tender, whispering soft reassurances against your skin. “Shh I've got you, I’ve got you, baby.” he murmured, his voice a gentle hum, low and comforting.

“Breathe, baby,” he coaxed, lips brushing your ear as he trailed his thumb along your trembling thigh.

His hand slid lower, caressing the curve of your waist, your hips, his touch gentle. You felt the heat of him pressing against your entrance, the slow, insistent nudge that made you tense instinctively

He moved with infinite care, easing just the tip of himself inside you. Your body resisted, stretching around him in a way that made you gasp, your grip tightening on his arms.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with restraint, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know, you’re doing so well for me.”

His hand dipped between your thighs then, circling that aching bundle of nerves with slow, deliberate motions, coaxing your body to relax, to surrender to the pleasure he was giving you. The tension ebbed, replaced by a deeper warmth, a slow ache that wasn’t pain but something else entirely.

“That’s it,” he praised softly, pressing just a little deeper, the fullness making you whimper. “You’re taking me so perfectly.”

His lips finding yours again in a kiss both sweet and desperate. “You feel so perfect,” he groaned, pressing deeper, stretching you inch by inch, the sensation so overwhelming yet so right.

“Almost there, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with praise, his fingers still working you in time with his slow thrusts.

And when he was finally fully inside you, when your body clenched around him in a way that made his breath catch, he stilled, his forehead pressed to yours, whispering, “You did it. You’re mine now, baby. All mine. So perfect… so beautiful.”

“That’s it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his hips barely rocking forward, just enough for you to feel the movement, the way he filled you completely. “Tell me how it feels,” he coaxed.

“It… feels good,” you whispered, breath hitching as he pressed just a little deeper, his body moving in perfect rhythm with his hand.

A soft, trembling moan spilled from your lips, shaky and unrestrained.

“I know, baby,” he cooed, his breath warm against your ear. “I know it’s big, baby. But you can take it, can't you?”

The pleasure swelled higher, overtaking everything else as his hips moved more fluidly, his thumb pressing just a little harder, matching the steady rhythm of his thrusts. The tension inside you coiled tighter, unbearable, and the way he watched you, like he was unraveling right along with you, was enough to send you spiraling.

“Jungkook” Your voice broke on a whimper, your body arching into his touch, trembling as the heat burst inside you, shattering everything.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, his voice thick as he followed you over the edge, his body shuddering as he buried himself deeper, holding you so close, so completely his.

He felt you tighten around him, your muscles clenching instinctively. You whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders, and he kissed your neck, his lips trailing down to your collarbone, soft and coaxing. “Such a good girl, taking me so well.”whispered, his tone laced with that condescending pout.

His grip on your hips tightened just enough to hold you steady, his chest pressing flush against yours as he filled you completely, stretching you inch by inch. The burn of it was sharp, overwhelming, but he didn’t let you retreat. He kissed the corner of your mouth, his voice a low, soothing whisper against your lips.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay… I know it’s a lot,” he cooed, his breath warm as his lips trailed down your neck.

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body clenched around him, the ache mingling with unbearable pleasure. He paused, barely moving, giving you time to adjust, but not without teasing.

“Feel that, princess?” His voice was dark against your ear, praise dripping from every word. “Feel how deep I am? Stretching you open, taking me so perfectly. My good girl.”

Your walls fluttered around him at the praise, the fullness making you pulse with unbearable need. His hips shifted, deeper, faster, and the pressure made your breath stutter, a broken gasp leaving your lips.

“That’s it,” he groaned, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So tight- so fucking perfect for me..”

His fingers traced down your trembling body, circling lower. Teasing. Testing. Then pressing exactly where you needed him, a firm, slow stroke against your swollen clit. Your body jolted, hips bucking into his hand.

“Just like that,” he praised. “I want you to fall apart for me, princess.” His pace fast as he thrust deeper, harder, but still painfully controlled.

A strangled moan slipped from your lips, head tipping back against the pillows. Every inch, every pulse of his body against yours sent you spiraling closer.

"Say my name," he growled, voice thick with need, the demand pressing into your skin as his hips rolled deeper, dragging a gasp from your lips.

“J-Jungkook-”

And with one final, punishing thrust, he pushed you over the edge. Your body clenched tight around him as the pleasure hit.

His body stayed flush against yours, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as he buried himself completely inside you, holding you there, so deep, so full it made you whimper softly. His lips brushed along your temple, soothing yet possessive as he whispered, "Shh, baby... just stay like this for me."

His hand slid up your waist, fingers splayed wide, anchoring you beneath him as he kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and lingering. You clenched involuntarily around him.

He stayed buried inside you, stretching, filling, refusing to move. He stayed there, buried deep inside you, keeping you close

“You okay, baby?” He asked softly, a tenderness lingering in the words, but there was something deeper, almost hesitant, like he was holding something back.

You nodded, though your body felt heavy, boneless beneath him. He saw it, the tension behind your eyes, the worry you couldn’t quite voice.

He lingered inside you a beat longer, his hands cradling your waist, before he slowly, carefully eased out. You whimpered at the loss, body clenching around the emptiness, and he kissed your forehead as if to soothe the throb he’d left behind.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he whispered, slipping from the bed. His absence felt colder than it should have, and when he returned, the damp cloth in his hand, his expression was quiet, too quiet.

He cleaned you with such care, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, but his eyes lingered longer than usual, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

After he finished cleaning you up, he helped you into a fresh pair of clothes, carefully smoothing the fabric over your skin as if tending to something fragile. His own shirt hung loosely on his frame, his hair falling into his eyes as he pulled you close. His warmth surrounded you, steady, grounding. His hand traced those soothing circles along your back, lips grazing your hairline.

“I’ll take care of you… always,” he whispered, the words a vow more than reassurance.

Minutes passed, the quiet stretching comfortably between you, until your voice broke it, hesitant but firm.

“Jungkook… I need the morning-after pill.”

His breath hitched, barely noticeable, but you felt it. His hand paused, resting lightly against your hip as he exhaled, steadying himself.

“Of course, baby,” he murmured, voice soft but tighter than before, laced with something heavier. He kissed the crown of your head, holding you so close it almost hurt. “We’ll take care of it first thing, I promise.”

But when his lips pressed to your forehead again, lingering this time, you felt it. You knew he wanted something different. Something he knew you weren’t ready for yet.

----------

Late afternoon. Outside, the city moved on without you, cars honking, people living, oblivious to the silence pressing against your chest.

In here, the world was still. Controlled.

Jungkook sat across the room, seated on the edge of the grand sectional, reading through paperwork like it was any other day. Like you weren’t trapped here, your life rewritten by his hands.

But the pressure was unbearable now, pressing so tightly against your ribs it hurt.

He had stolen your freedom, hidden you from the world, branded you as his. You were supposed to despise him. Fear him. And yet... you couldn’t untangle the warmth from the pain anymore.

The sweater wrapped around your body, the one keeping you warm, smelled like him. The meals he cooked, the gifts he brought you, the way he was always there, hovering silently as if his presence alone could make up for the control, it made everything so confusing.

You hated him? You couldn’t stop craving him.

“Jungkook.”

His head snapped up instantly, the dark, unreadable gaze locking onto yours as if the mere sound of his name was all it took to demand his attention.

“Yes, Princess?”

The endearment made your throat tighten. It felt real when he said it. Like you were his world. But you weren’t his world, you were his prisoner.

And yet...

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding in your ears.

“I need to talk to you. Please.”

The papers fell forgotten. He was up instantly, crossing the space between you with that silent, predatory grace. Close but not touching. His presence was too much. Always too much.

“I’m listening.”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes. He couldn’t intimidate you into silence this time.

“I don’t want to live like this.”

Silence.

The tension in his face shifted just slightly, the smallest crack in that perfect, controlled mask. His lips parted, but no words came.

You continued.

“I know you care about me. I know you love me too much to let me go freely. But, Jungkook, I feel trapped. You control everything. My clothes. My food. My freedom. I miss some parts of my life. My classes. My friends. My family.”

His brows furrowed. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if forcing back words.

You took a breath.

“I can’t be yours if it means losing everything else. I can’t be your precious pearl if I’m just something you keep hidden away.”

His jaw clenched, hands flexing at his sides as he turned away, pacing toward the window.

The reflection in the glass made him look even colder. Detached.

But you saw through it.

“You think I’ve taken your life away from you,” he said, voice tight.

“No- well yes,” you whispered, throat closing. “You have.”

The quiet was deafening. His back remained to you, shoulders tense, head bowed slightly as if weighing every word.

Then, so quietly you almost missed it.

“I had to protect you.”

The words sliced through the tension, rough, pained.

He exhaled, voice lower now.

“You were putting yourself in danger every night. Dancing for strangers. Letting men stare at you. Touch you. They didn’t deserve to see you like that.”

You stiffened. “It wasn’t like that-”

“Yes. It was.”

He turned then, eyes darker, filled with something too complicated to name.

“I watched. I saw the way they looked at you. They were never satisfied just watching. They wanted to consume you. Tear you apart. You would’ve let them if it wasn't for me!”

You flinched.

His voice dropped. “I couldn’t stand it. Seeing you let yourself be treated like you were nothing when you-” His voice broke, the rawness seeping through his control. “You’re everything. And you didn’t even see it.”

The anger drained from his face, replaced by something worse.

Vulnerability.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, chest tight.

He shook his head, turning back toward the window, his reflection fractured in the glass.

“I couldn’t lose you,” he rasped, voice broken now. “Because no one else ever stayed.”

The truth in his voice left you breathless.

You thought of the wealth he came from. The cold, distant parents. The hollow loneliness that shaped him long before you.

You finally understood.

Your hand brushed his sleeve.

“You don’t have to keep me like this,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I’m not leaving you. But you have to let me have some part of myself back. Let me go back to school. Let me see my family.”

His head shook instantly, jaw tightening. “No. I made sure of it. The world... they think you’re gone.”

“But you can undo it.”

He froze.

You forced yourself to keep speaking. “You have power. You could make this disappear. Make them stop looking for me. I can live again, and I’ll...”

You hesitated, voice shaking.

“I’ll stay. Willingly.”

His eyes snapped to yours, searching, desperate.

“Willingly?”

You held his gaze, pulse unsteady, then gave a slow nod.

“I won’t leave you. I just... I can’t stay if you keep me like this. I need to feel like myself again.”

For a long, painful heartbeat, he said nothing.

And then his hand cupped your cheek. Tender. Devastating.

His thumb brushed your cheek. His lips parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

And then, brokenly,

“I can give you that. If it means you’ll stay with me... love me. I’ll undo some things. School. Your family. The reports. I can... I can make it all disappear.”

His forehead rested against yours. His voice barely a whisper.

“Just don’t leave me.”

And the worst part?

You whispered back.

“I won’t. I promise.”

But the tightness in your chest whispered the truth you weren’t ready to admit.

You were falling for him.

----------

A year had passed.

The world outside shifted, seasons blending into each other. The penthouse no longer felt like a cage. Not when you stayed every night by choice.

You stood now in front of the floor-length mirror, adjusting the delicate pearl necklace Jungkook had fastened around your neck just an hour earlier. His pearl. His perfect, untouchable treasure. But it didn’t feel like possession anymore. Not in the way it once had.

Not after everything you’d both endured.

Your gaze lifted, meeting his reflection across the room. He stood near the windows, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored black suit, the city a blur of lights behind him. The sharp cut of his suit only emphasized the strength he carried so effortlessly, but his face was different now, softer, less guarded.

Yet even with that quiet vulnerability, the way he looked at you, like you were something delicate, precious, hadn’t changed. His gaze followed every detail of you, lingering where the fabric of your dress hugged your waist, heat in his eyes, reverence in his stillness.

You still felt it. That ache. Not the old ache, the pain of being trapped. This was something deeper, heavier. An ache you couldn’t explain, except it felt like trust.

Like love.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, closing the space between you, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed a kiss just beneath your ear. His hands slid to your waist, steady, grounding you against his chest. "You're going to make me lose my mind tonight."

A smile tugged at your lips despite the flutter in your chest. "You say that every time we go out."

"And every time, it’s true."

The feeling inside dulled, replaced by something warmer. Something you hadn't fought in a long time.

Jungkook had changed. Slowly. Carefully. The control was still there, woven into the very fabric of who he was, but not like before. No more locked doors. No more isolation disguised as protection.

You were finishing your final year of university now. Just weeks away from graduation. And he had kept his promise, your name cleared, your life restored, the whispers of your disappearance carefully erased like they had never existed.

And tonight, you were late for dinner with his mother.

The thought made your stomach twist. He felt it immediately, he always did.

“Hey.” His hands shifted to cup your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones. “You’re overthinking again.”

You swallowed hard. “She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“She thinks I’m... I don’t know. A distraction. Or a gold digger or something.” You exhaled shakily.

Something flickered in his eyes at that, pain, just barely contained. His fingers tightened, but when he spoke, his voice was gentle.

“She doesn’t know us. Of you.”

Your heart pounded as you nodded, leaning into his touch. His lips found yours, slow and deliberate, a kiss meant to soothe, to reassure. When he pulled back, it wasn’t enough. You were too close. You needed him close.

But he smiled, a hint of mischief softening the intensity in his eyes. “We’re already late. But first.” His hand slipped into his pocket, retrieving a sleek black envelope with a silver wax seal. “I have something for you.”

Confused, you blinked. “What is this?”

“Open it.”

You carefully broke the seal, heart thudding as you unfolded the thick paper. The header was instantly familiar. Jeon Industries. But lower, Co-Chief Executive Officer. Official Offer of Partnership.

Your breath caught.

“Kook...”

His lips twitched, almost shy, a rare sight. “You’re graduating soon. You’ve worked so hard. And I…” His voice dropped, softer, vulnerable. “I want you with me. Not just here. But at my side. As my equal.”

You stared at the offer, words blurring as the weight of what he was offering sank in. Co-Chief Executive Officer. Power. Trust.

It wasn’t control.

It was faith.

“I- I don’t know what to say.” Your voice trembled, the words too small for what this meant. For how far you’d come together.

“Say you’ll think about it.” His thumb brushed your lower lip, gentle but possessive in that way he still couldn’t quite shake. “Say you’ll stay. With me. Always.”

Emotion swelled in your chest, and this time, you didn’t fight it. You reached for him, pressing your lips to his with a fierceness that startled even you, hands curling into the lapels of his jacket, needing him closer.

When you finally broke apart, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“Forever,” you whispered.

His lips curved, but it wasn’t playful this time. It was raw. Honest.

“Good. Because I was planning to keep you anyway.”

A laugh bubbled up, light, genuine, effortless. This is us now. Complicated. Imperfect. But whole.

He kissed your forehead once more before straightening, smoothing his tie as he murmured, “Now, let’s go. We’re already late, and my mom... she’s terrifying when she’s waiting.”

You rolled your eyes but let him lead you toward the door, his hand laced with yours, grounding. Reassuring.

This was your life now. A life you had chosen. A life where both of you were still healing, still learning, but together.

And neither of you was going anywhere.

----------

The pearl rested against your collarbone, cool, delicate.

A perfect thing. Untouched. Just like he wanted you to be.

But pearls weren’t born perfect. They were born from wounds.

A grain of sand, sharp, intrusive, buried so deep in the flesh it festered, twisted, until the ache became something beautiful.

"Love me. Stay with me. Try to love me."

You had said yes.

Not because he held you too tightly. Not because he asked.

But because, somehow, the ache had become him. Embedded too deep. Impossible to remove without breaking you open entirely.

Not trapped.

Not broken.

Shaped into.

His pearl.

986 notes · View notes

lovelyspring7 · 4 months ago

Text

White Pearl | Yandere JJK x Reader

Summary: You’ve been working as a str1pper for a month until billionaire Jeon Jungkook suddenly takes an interest in you, actually maybe too much of an interest…

Word count: 7,6k

Genre: Yandere, sugar daddy au

Pairing: CEO Sugar daddy Jungkook x str1pper sugar baby reader, short mentions of Cha Eunwoo & Jung Jaehyun.

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, abuse of power, fight scene, non consensual touching, mentions of a dead father.

Disclaimer: This type of content is not suitable for all audiences and I do not condone any of the presented behaviours. This is purely for entertainment and fictional purposes and I don’t think any BTS member would act like this.

Authors note: Okay I’m really proud of how this turned out! I really hope you enjoy reading it! Don’t be a silent reader, show some support and feedback!☺️💜

Read Part 2 Here | Read Part 3 Here

In three days, Jeon Jungkook will become the heir of his deceased father’s successful real estate company. Jungkooks fate was written from the moment he was born, it was only a matter of time before it happened. The old man had it coming, drinking aged scotch and smoking the finest Cuban cigars since he could remember.

Jungkook has never been close with his parents. He despised them. His parents wanted nothing to do with him, his only purpose was to take over his father’s company, and Jungkook knew that. That’s why he wasted no time trying to get closer to his parents. It was no use. They made that very clear when they sent 7-year-old Jungkook to a prestigious boarding school with other rich snobs.

Although, being an only child, rich and privileged. All he had to do was to snap his fingers and he’d get what he wanted almost immediately.

The newest expensive car? Check.

Private jets? Check.

Luxury real estate? Check.

You could say he had it all, at least the materialistic stuff.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Jeon,” Eunwoo said with his usual charm, offering a polite nod to Jungkook’s mother.

She barely reacted, her lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, Eunwoo. Jungkook’s inside.” Her voice was light, devoid of grief. Eunwoo nodded before he entered the study, Jaehyun trailing behind.

“Hey, Kook,” Jaehyun said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

Jungkook didn’t look up. Instead, he swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “I’m fine.”

“Your mom seems fine too,” Jaehyun added, his voice tinged with disbelief. He perched on the edge of the desk, glancing at Eunwoo.

“So,” Eunwoo began, leaning casually against the wall. “How much did you inherit, exactly?”

Jungkook smirked. “A lot.”

Jaehyun grinned. “Lucky bastard. Hey, how about we grab a drink? Celebrate your, uh, newfound wealth.”

“Sure,” Eunwoo added, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Or we could check out that new club. You know, the one with the strippers? Rumor has it they’ll do anything for the right price.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously suggesting we hit a strip club the same day as my father’s funeral?”

Jaehyun shrugged. “Excess was his thing, wasn’t it? You’re just keeping tradition alive.”

The comment shouldn’t have amused Jungkook, but it did. He pushed himself up from the chair, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “You’re both idiots.”

“But we’re your idiots,” Jaehyun said with a wink, throwing an arm around Eunwoo as they headed for the door. “Be there by eleven. And bring cash! Lots of it!”

﹉﹉﹉

“You’re late,” Bora called, not even looking up as she leaned toward the mirror, expertly reapplying her cherry-red lipstick. The fluorescent lights of the dressing room buzzed softly overhead.

“Yeah, I had to submit an assignment early today,” you replied, shrugging off your jacket and pulling your hair back. The soreness in your shoulders hadn’t left since your morning shift at the café.

Bora glanced at you in the mirror, her eyebrows raising as she watched you strip down to your work attire, a sparkling two-piece that felt far too bold against your skin. “Girl, you’re gonna burn yourself out at this rate. You know that, right?”

You shrugged, forcing a smile as you strapped on your pink glitter heels. “Gotta pay rent somehow.”

It has been a month since you started working at Black Pearl Club. When the bartender job didn’t pan out, stripping felt like your only option. Temporary, you’d told yourself. Just until you graduate, just until you get out of debt. But every time you caught your reflection in the dressing room mirror, the weight of it all made your stomach turn.

“Okay, well, hurry up. It’s getting crazy out there,” Bora said, as she fluffed her hair. “All the big spenders are here tonight.”

“Just give me five minutes,” you replied, swiping on mascara.

Before Bora could respond, her eyes widened, and she let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh. My. God.”

“What?” you asked, startled, almost smudging your makeup.

“It’s freaking Jeon Jungkook,” she hissed, peeking through the cracked door. Her voice was breathless with excitement, like she’d just spotted a celebrity, which, apparently, she had.

“Who?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Bora whipped her head around to gape at you. “You can’t be serious. Jeon Jungkook. The heir to Jeon Real Estate? Rich, sexy, and way too powerful for his own good?”

Your blank expression didn’t change, so she sighed dramatically. “Never mind. Just know he’s loaded. And he brought Cha Eunwoo and Jung Jaehyun with him. Jackpot.”

She tugged her top down a little lower, adjusted her already perfect hair, and shot you a wink. “Don’t wait too long, or the girls will snatch them up. But not before I do.” With that, she was gone, strutting confidently out the door.

You rolled your eyes playfully, muttering to yourself. “Wow. The power of Bora.”

Taking one last glance at your reflection, you squared your shoulders and stepped out onto the floor. The music hit you immediately, a deep, pulsing rhythm that matched the sway of bodies on the dimly lit stage. You moved cautiously, still new to this world and its unspoken rules. You weren’t like Bora or the other dancers, who walked with easy confidence, drawing men like moths to a flame. No, you stayed in the background, lingering by tables, feeding shots to customers, even helping to clean up spilled drinks.

The pole? That was for the pros. You didn’t dare try it on nights like this.

“Hey,” a voice called out, cutting through the music. It was low, smooth, with just a hint of amusement.

You turned, and your stomach dropped when you saw him. His dark eyes glinted under the club’s shifting neon lights, framed by long lashes that softened the sharp angles of his face. Tattoos peeked out from the sleeves of his tailored blazer, and a silver chain glinted against his silk shirt. He looked like he didn’t belong here, like he owned the place.

“Excuse me?” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

“How’d you end up here?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. His smirk was small, almost playful, but there was something in his gaze that made you uneasy. “You don’t look like the type.”

You crossed your arms, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Listen, sir, I don’t know what kind of weird roleplay you’re into, but I’m not interested.”

He laughed softly, the sound rich and low. “Wait, hold on,” he said, stepping in front of you before you could turn away. “I’ll pay you a thousand bucks just to sit on my lap.”

You blinked, startled by the casual audacity. “A thousand? For just that?”

“Exactly that, Princess,” he said, holding out his hand. His confidence was infuriating, but something about it also intrigued you. Against your better judgment, you took his hand.

He led you to a private VIP room, the scent of leather and faint cologne trailing after him. The room was as luxurious as you’d imagined, matt black walls, plush velvet furniture, and crimson LED lights casting everything in a sultry glow. A strip pole stood in the center, glinting under the chandelier above.

No wonder it cost a fortune to reserve, you thought. He sank into a chair, pulling you onto his lap with a fluid motion that left you unsteady. One hand rested lightly on your thigh, the other brushing against your waist as if it belonged there. You hesitated, unsure of where to place your own hands, before finally draping them around his neck.

For the first time, you took him in fully. His face was almost unreal, sharp jawline, perfectly shaped lips, and those dark, doe-like eyes that seemed to pierce through you.

“You’re staring,” he said, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.

“Shut up,” you muttered, looking away. “It’s not that impressive.”

He laughed again, soft and deep, sending a shiver down your spine. “So, what’s your story?” he asked, his tone casual.

“What do you think?” you replied, your voice tight. “Student debt, rent, crappy part-time jobs. Same story, different girl.”

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “No,” he said finally. “You’re different.”

“Right,” you scoffed. “Let me guess, I’m not like other girls?”

“You’re more of a white pearl,” he said, his voice softer now. “Innocent. Beautiful. Out of place.”

Your breath caught as he tilted your chin up, his fingers brushing against your skin. “You don’t belong here.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“I watched you, you know,” he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. “The whole time. You’re not cut out for this.”

You swallowed hard, heat rising in your cheeks. “What do you want from me?”

“A chance,” he said simply. “To show you something better.”

You blinked, “Show me something better?” you repeated, a flicker of disbelif in your voice. “What does that even mean?”

His lips curved into a small smile, one that didn’t offer answers but promises. “It means you shouldn’t have to do this,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

His hand, warm and deliberate, slid slightly higher on your thigh. The touch was slow, too slow. His thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin. The warmth of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of your outfit, and you froze, unsure of what to do.

Your breath got a bit faster, and he noticed.

“Easy now,” he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue like silk. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, your voice steadier than you felt. But your hands, still resting on his shoulders, betrayed you with their light tremble.

“Are you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. His other hand drifted up, brushing against your waist as if testing your boundaries. His gaze pinned you in place, dark and unreadable. “You’re tense.”

“You don’t exactly make it easy to relax,” you shot back, trying to mask your nerves with sarcasm.

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Fair enough,” he said, his thumb continuing its slow, rhythmic strokes against your thigh. “But I don’t think that’s the whole story.”

You didn’t respond, unsure how to answer without giving too much away. The truth was, his touch wasn’t unwelcome, but it was overwhelming, like he was peeling back layers you weren’t ready to expose.

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice dropping a notch. “You’ve been fighting to stay afloat. Juggling school, work, life. And this place? It’s just survival, isn’t it?”

You stiffened, his words cutting too close to the truth. “You don’t know anything about me,” you said, but your voice lacked its intended bite.

His smile deepened, his fingers pausing for a moment before resuming their soft, hypnotic movements. “I know enough,” he said, his tone almost gentle. “Enough to see you’re not like the others.”

His words hung between you, heavy and undeniable. You swallowed hard, your throat dry, as his hand slid up just an inch more. It wasn’t invasive, it wasn’t even inappropriate, but the intent behind it was unmistakable. He was testing you, seeing how far you’d let him go.

“You’re bold,” you said, trying to regain control of the situation, though your voice betrayed your unease. “Does this whole act usually work for you?”

He laughed again, soft and rich, his head tilting back slightly. “It’s not an act,” he said, his gaze snapping back to yours, sharp and unwavering. “I know what I want.”

“And what’s that?” you asked, your heart thudding painfully in your chest.

His hand on your waist tightened slightly, anchoring you in place. “You.”

The single word sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you were certain he could feel it. His confidence, his touch, the way he looked at you, it was all too much, too consuming. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run or stay exactly where you were.

“You don’t even know me,” you said, but the words came out softer than you intended, almost a whisper.

“I will,” he replied simply, his voice steady, as if the answer was obvious. “If you let me.”

The weight of his words pressed against you, leaving no room for pretense. He wasn’t asking for permission. He was laying a claim, one you weren’t sure you could fight.

“I can’t,” you said finally, shaking your head. “This… whatever this is, it’s not me.”

His smile didn’t falter. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “You don’t have to decide now,” he murmured. “But I’ll make you an offer.”

“What kind of offer?” you asked in a quiet voice.

“Be my escort,” he said, his tone calm and measured, as though he were offering you a business deal. His thumb pressed a little harder into your thigh, the heat of his hand impossible to ignore. “Not the kind you’re thinking,” he added when your eyes widened. “Think of it like a sugar baby. Parties, events, dinners. No strings attached, just company.”

You swallowed, your mind racing. The word sugar baby sounded ridiculous, almost laughable, but the way he said it made it sound like a lifeline, a way out of this mess you called life.

“I’ll pay you well,” he continued, his fingers giving a soft squeeze to your thigh for emphasis. “Up to a couple thousands of dollars an hour.”

Your breath caught, and his smirk returned, knowing he had your attention now.

“You don’t even know me,” you said again, your voice weaker this time.

“But I want to,” he replied, leaning back against the chair as if he had all the time in the world. “So, what do you say, Princess? Ready to let me take care of you?”

You stared at him, your mind a whirl of doubt, disbelief, and something far more dangerous: temptation.

“What’s the catch?” you asked, still skeptical. Your voice was steady, but your fingers tightened around the edge of your outfit.

His smile curved slowly, his confidence as unshakable as the air of control that seemed to follow him. “No catch,” he said, his tone light, but his eyes sharp. “You show up when I need you, and I’ll make sure you never have to worry about rent or student loans again.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you said, your voice softer now, though you fought to keep your composure. “Why me?”

His smirk widened, and for a moment, his gaze flicked over you, “Because you’re different,” he said finally, leaning forward just enough to close the space between you. “You don’t belong in a place like this.”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. His words felt like a challenge.

“I don’t know,” you said, shaking your head. “This… it feels like a bad idea.”

He leaned forward, closing the small distance between you. His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, his fingers pressing just enough to keep you close to him. “Sometimes the best ideas start out feeling wrong,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “Let me prove it to you.”

His gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second before flicking back to your eyes, and the air between you seemed to crackle with tension. You hated how easily he seemed to unravel you, how your body betrayed you with every shallow breath and unsteady heartbeat.

“Okay,” you said finally, the word slipping out before you could stop it. “But I’m not doing anything I’m uncomfortable with. No strings, remember?”

“No strings,” his voice echoed. It was steady, composed, and carried an air of finality. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a sleek silver pen and a small leather checkbook. The movement was precise, deliberate, like everything else about him.

He flipped it open, his gaze flicking to you briefly before he began to write. “I’ll arrange a meeting tomorrow,” he said, his voice a soft command. The sound sent a faint shiver down your spine. “We’ll go over the details.”

The scratch of the pen against the paper, each stroke deliberate as he signed his name with a flourish. He tore the check free, and held it out to you.

You hesitated before taking it, your fingers brushing against his, a spark that lingered even as you looked down at the paper in your hand.

One thousand dollars.

The number stared back at you, bold and undeniable, written in his confident hand. Below it, his signature sprawled across the bottom with an elegance that felt almost intimidating. It was real.

“You don’t waste time, do you?” you said, your voice faint as your fingers tightened around the check.

He leaned back against the chair, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I never do,” he replied smoothly. His eyes dipped to your hand, watching the way you held the check as though it might slip through your fingers. “Consider it a gesture of good faith. A down payment.”

You glanced back at him, your breath catching when his gaze met yours, dark, intense, and filled with something you couldn’t quite name. His hand slid to your thigh one last time, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. The touch was almost teasing.

“Don’t keep me waiting, Princess,” he said, his voice low and velvety.

Before you could respond, he stood, easing you off his lap with a care that felt almost... tender. He straightened his suit jacket, adjusting the cuffs with the kind of precision that only added to his air of control. As he glanced back at you, his faint smile deepened.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said simply, and then he was gone, disappearing through the door with a confidence that left no room for doubt.

You sat there for a moment, the check clutched tightly in your hand, the air in the room still heavy with his scent. You unfolded the check again, your eyes scanning it absentmindedly, until they caught on the name at the bottom.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your breath caught. No way.

Your mind raced, torn between disbelief and temptation.

Was this your way out, or a mistake?

The check felt heavy in your hand, a stark reminder of the offer he’d made. His touch still lingered on your skin, his words replaying in your mind. Dangerous. Tempting.

And maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk.

﹉﹉﹉

You had just finished your lecture and were ready to head back to your apartment, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Between work and school, the weight of your schedule felt suffocating. You rubbed your eyes in a futile attempt to shake off the sleepiness, your vision adjusting just in time to spot a sleek black Bugatti pulling into the campus parking lot.

The sight stopped you in your tracks.

The driver’s door opened smoothly, and out stepped Jeon Jungkook.

He looked different today, less polished but somehow more striking. Gone was the formal suit from last night, replaced by a black silk blouse that glinted faintly in the sunlight, tucked neatly into tailored trousers. The silver chain around his neck caught the light, matching the glint of his piercings. Even casual, he radiated a confidence that turned heads.

Your stomach twisted as he walked up the stairs toward you, his steps purposeful and deliberate. He greeted you with a smile, his undeniable charm radiating effortlessly.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice smooth.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “How did you know where I go to school?”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. “I have my ways.”

The evasiveness of his answer annoyed you, but before you could press him further, he extended his hand, the second time this week he’d done so, with the same quiet authority. Reluctantly, you placed your hand in his, his touch warm and firm.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

“And I won’t,” he replied, his smirk deepening as he led you toward the car.

You felt the weight of curious stares from other students as you walked across the lot. Jungkook didn’t seem to notice, or care. For once, though, their judgment didn’t faze you. You felt… safe.

He opened the passenger door for you, his hand brushing lightly against the small of your back as he helped you in. The gesture was brief but lingered in your thoughts as he closed the door behind you and moved to the driver’s seat.

The ride was quiet, save for the faint hum of the radio. You stared out the window, unsure if the silence between you was comforting or unsettling. Every so often, you could feel his eyes flick toward you, but he said nothing, his focus mostly on the road.

The tension in your chest grew as the car slowed in front of a towering building that looked more like something out of a movie than reality. Glass windows stretched skyward, gleaming against the sunlight, and the sheer size of it left you momentarily speechless.

“Where are we?” you finally asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

“My place,” Jungkook replied, parking the car. He exited swiftly, circling to your side to open your door before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Come on,” he said, his hand outstretched once more.

You took it, allowing him to guide you to the entrance. He typed in a code at the door, his movements smooth and practiced, and the lock clicked open with a quiet beep.

When the door to his penthouse swung open, you couldn’t suppress your reaction. The space was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline. The minimalist decor was luxurious without being ostentatious, each piece of furniture carefully chosen to complement the space.

“Like what you see so far?” he asked, amusement dancing in his voice as he placed his hand lightly on your back, guiding you toward a sleek office space.

You nodded, unable to find the right words. The room smelled faintly of leather and something vanilla, a scent you were beginning to associate with him.

He gestured for you to sit across from his desk. “So, where were we, Princess?” he said, pulling out a file from the desk drawer.

“You said there were rules,” you reminded him as you ignored the nickname, your voice sharper now as the reality of the situation set in.

“Right,” Jungkook said, pulling out a sheet of paper and sliding it across the desk toward you. “They’re simple. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Your eyes scanned the document, your eyebrows furrowing as you read:

Rule 1: Until the contract expires, you’ll be living with Jeon Jungkook.

Your head snapped up. “What?!”

“Hm? What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, his expression calm.

“I can’t live here!” you said, your voice rising. “I have an apartment. And it’s too far from school. And my jobs-”

“About that,” he interrupted, his tone still infuriatingly calm. “You no longer work there. I emailed both the café and the club this morning. You quit.”

Your jaw dropped. “You did what?”

“You didn’t think I’d let you keep working those jobs, did you?” he asked, his tone patronizing. “It would be too stressful. And besides, you have a chauffeur now.”

The audacity of it left you speechless. He had completely upended your life without so much as asking. You wanted to scream at him, but all you could manage was a strangled, “This is insane.”

“You’re welcome,” Jungkook said, his smirk returning.

You forced yourself to breathe, scanning the rest of the document.

Rule 2: Jungkook will pick out your clothing.

“Seriously?” you asked, glaring at him. “You’re not dressing me like a doll.”

“It’s not about that,” he replied, his tone soothing. “I just want to make sure you look the part. Trust me, Princess, you’ll thank me later.”

Rule 3: Always let Jungkook know where you are at all times.

Your eyes narrowed. “This is overkill.”

Jungkook shrugged, unbothered. “I like to stay informed.”

You set the paper down, exhaling sharply. “These rules are insane.”

“But they’re necessary,” he countered smoothly. “Do you agree?”

After reading through all three rules, you hesitated, the weight of the agreement settling on your chest. They were restrictive, sure, but not impossible. And when you considered what he was offering in return, the decision became easier than you’d anticipated. You picked up the pen and signed your name at the bottom with a steady hand, ignoring the way Jungkook’s gaze lingered on you, sharp and satisfied.

“Good girl,” he murmured, taking the papers back and setting them aside.

He then gave you a tour of the penthouse, which was as stunning as the first time you’d seen it. Every corner of the space exuded wealth, from the marble floors to the sleek furniture, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the rooms in natural light. When your belongings arrived later that evening, you unpacked in silence, settling into what would now be your home.

As you folded the last of your clothes into a drawer, Jungkook had casually mentioned a party tomorrow night- a celebration for him taking over his late father’s company. The weight of his words hung in the air, but you didn’t press further. It wasn’t your place, after all.

Now, you found yourself seated at the expansive dining table, the two of you at opposite ends. The food before you was nothing short of perfection, a feast prepared by a professional chef that tasted like nothing you’d ever eaten before. Each bite melted on your tongue, and despite your best efforts to maintain composure, you devoured most of your plate.

As the meal wound down, you glanced up at Jungkook. His posture was relaxed, a glass of red wine cradled in his hand, but there was a distance in his eyes. Taking a steadying breath, you decided to break the silence.

“I overheard that your father passed away,” you said cautiously, offering a faint smile. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been tough.”

The shift in his expression was immediate. His jaw tightened, his wine glass frozen halfway to his lips. For a moment, he simply stared at you, his dark eyes cold and unreadable. When he finally took a sip, his movements were slow.

“Don’t be,” he said, his tone void of emotion. “The old man had it coming.”

The bluntness of his words left you momentarily stunned. You searched his face for any trace of vulnerability, but there was none, only a hardened edge that hinted at years of resentment. He cleared his throat, setting his glass down with a soft clink.

“We should get ready for bed,” he said, his voice clipped as he dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow.”

Sensing the finality in his tone, you nodded and rose from your seat, understanding more in his silence than in his words. Whatever relationship he’d had with his father, it wasn’t one he cared to revisit. You almost felt sorry for him, but the thought quickly passed as you excused yourself to your room.

The warm spray of the shower was a welcome relief after the long day. You let the water cascade over your skin, washing away the lingering tension from the dinner conversation. Wrapping yourself in a plush towel, you moved to the bathroom mirror, quickly brushing through your damp hair and applying a bit of moisturizer.

By the time you changed into a loose-fitting t-shirt and shorts, the exhaustion had fully set in. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you grabbed the hairdryer and began to run it through your strands, letting the rhythmic hum fill the quiet space.

“Princess, may I come in?” Jungkook’s voice broke through the sound of your hairdryer.

You turned it off and called back, “Yeah, it’s fine. Come in!”

The door creaked open, and he stepped inside, holding a large gift box wrapped with a pristine white ribbon. “I brought you something,” he said simply, placing the box on the dresser.

Your curiosity piqued, and you moved to open it, your fingers carefully pulling at the ribbon. Inside was the most stunning red dress you’d ever seen, its silky fabric gleaming under the soft light. You couldn’t help the way your lips parted in awe.

“I’m guessing you like it,” Jungkook said, amusement lacing his tone.

“I love it,” you admitted, running your fingers lightly over the fabric.

“There’s more,” he added, his excitement barely contained. He pulled out a smaller jewelry box, opening it to reveal a simple yet breathtaking white pearl necklace.

Before you could say anything, Jungkook stepped closer, gently taking the necklace from the box. His hands found your waist, guiding you toward the mirror. “Hold still,” he murmured, his voice soft.

He brushed your hair aside, his fingers grazing the nape of your neck as he fastened the clasp. You watched his reflection in the mirror, the intensity in his eyes as he focused on the task. When he finished, he didn’t move away. Instead, he stood behind you, his hands still resting lightly on your waist.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

Your throat tightened, a flush rising to your cheeks as you struggled to find your voice. “We should… we should go to bed,” you said, your words barely above a whisper.

Jungkook held your gaze in the mirror for a moment longer before he stepped back, his hands falling away reluctantly. “You’re right,” he said quietly. His lips curved into a faint, almost embarrassed smile. “Tell me if you need anything.”

With that, he turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.

You stood there for a long moment, your hand lightly brushing the necklace at your throat. The weight of it was unfamiliar, it felt like more than just jewelry.

﹉﹉﹉

Weeks had passed, and your new life with Jungkook had become almost... comfortable. He kept his word, sending more money than you’d ever expected, along with daily gifts that seemed to grow more extravagant. Designer clothes, jewelry, and things you never even dreamed of owning appeared in your room like clockwork.

Surprisingly, Jungkook’s manner had softened since the night you met. The sharp edges of his arrogance dulled ever so slightly, replaced by a quiet attentiveness that caught you off guard. He showed up at your campus during breaks to take you to lunch, ensuring you ate properly. He complimented you often, his words effortlessly slipping into your mind and settling there. His attention was unrelenting, and his affection, though subtle, began to feel natural, even comforting.

The nights you spent together weren’t spent in the dazzling chaos of parties, but in the quiet intimacy of his penthouse. You’d sit on the couch, sharing popcorn as black-and-white movies played in the background. He’d tease you for your poor choice in films, only to get drawn in himself. Mornings when he’d make you breakfast with your favorite tea, prepared just the way you liked it. For someone so commanding, Jungkook had an unexpectedly gentle side, one he reserved just for you.

One evening, after a long day of classes, you arrived at the penthouse to find another gift waiting on your bed. Your heart quickened as you unwrapped it, the soft rustle of tissue paper revealing a breathtaking gown in deep emerald green. The fabric shimmered under the room’s soft lighting, the design simple yet undeniably elegant. Beneath it lay a small white card, his handwriting precise and elegant:

Wear this tonight, Beautiful. Be ready by 7.

– Love, Jungkook

You traced the words with your finger, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. Slipping into the dress, you paused in front of the mirror, taking in your reflection. The way the fabric hugged your curves, the way it made you feel, it was transformative. Still, a flicker of doubt crept in. What does he see in me? you wondered. Why me?

The soft knock at your door broke your thoughts. “Come in,” you called, sitting on the bed as you searched for the perfect heels.

Jungkook stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that made your skin tingle. He moved toward you, crouching gracefully as he took the shoes from your hands. “Let me,” he murmured, his voice low.

Kneeling before you, he gently slipped one heel onto your foot, then the other, his touch careful, almost reverent. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Perfect.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as he stood and offered his hand. “Come on, baby,” he said, his voice softening. “I have a surprise.”

﹉﹉﹉

The car ride was quiet, Jungkook’s hand resting possessively on your thigh as he drove. His thumb traced idle patterns against your skin, the touch soothing. You didn’t question where you were going, he liked his secrets, and you’d learned to trust them, even if they left you on edge.

When the car finally pulled up outside a towering glass building, you frowned slightly. The opulence of the place was undeniable, but it only heightened the unease twisting in your stomach. Sensing your hesitation, Jungkook appeared at your side, offering his arm. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his lips brushing close to your ear. “You’re with me.”

Inside, the restaurant was just as grand as the exterior promised, the air thick with the scent of truffles and candle wax. Jungkook guided you through the space with practiced ease, every head in the room turning to watch as the two of you passed.

“This is beautiful,” you admitted as you reached the table, glancing up at him. “Thank you, Jungkook.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he replied smoothly, his hand briefly brushing against yours as you sat down. “Expect more of these in the future, Princess.”

Before you could respond, the waiter appeared, a young man with a practiced smile. “Welcome to Jungsik,” he said. “I’ll be taking your order tonight.” He turned to you, his smile widening. “And may I say, you look stunning this evening.”

You forced a polite smile, glancing at Jungkook out of the corner of your eye. His jaw tightened slightly, his grip on the edge of the table subtle but telling.

“Thank you, could I please-”

“Wait,” the waiter interrupted, his expression shifting to one of surprise. “Sorry, but… you look familiar. Have we met before?”

Your heart sank as panic bubbled in your chest. “I-I don’t think so,” you stammered, but he wasn’t convinced.

“No, I’m sure of it!” he said, snapping his fingers. “Black Pearl Club! You’re one of the-”

The sound of Jungkook’s chair scraping against the floor silenced the waiter instantly. His expression darkened, and before you could stop him, he grabbed the man by the collar, his knuckles white with fury. “Say another word,” Jungkook growled, his voice low and dangerous, “and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Jungkook, stop!” you pleaded, your voice trembling as you grabbed his arm. “Please, let him go.”

He turned to you, his breathing heavy, his eyes wild. For a moment, it felt like he didn’t see you at all. Slowly, he released the waiter, who stumbled back, his face pale. “We’re leaving,” Jungkook grabbed your wrist as you left the restaurant, his grip firm but not painful, yet. His jaw was clenched, his movements brisk and purposeful. You struggled to keep up with his long strides, the cool night air biting against your skin as you stepped outside.

“Jungkook, stop!” you protested, trying to pull your arm free. “You’re overreacting!”

“Overreacting?” he hissed, spinning around to face you. The intensity in his dark eyes made your breath hitch. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened in there? What they could’ve said? To me? To you?”

“They’re just words!” you snapped, yanking your arm again. He didn’t let go.

“Words ruin reputations,” he shot back, his voice low and dangerous. “And yours is tied to mine now. Do you understand that?”

You glared at him, your chest heaving as frustration and confusion clashed within you. “I didn’t ask for this! For any of it!”

“And yet, here you are,” Jungkook growled, dragging you toward his car. “Now, get in.”

You planted your feet, resisting his pull. “No. Not until you calm down and stop talking to me like I’m a child.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might lose his composure entirely. Instead, he took a step closer, his presence suffocating, his voice dropping to a sharp, cutting whisper. “Don’t test me, Princess.”

You glared back, defiant. “Or what? You’ll drag me into the car?”

His lips curved into a smile that was anything but kind. “If that’s what it takes.” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he added, “And if I do, I’ll make damn sure you stay there. Buckled in. Understand?”

Your pulse raced, his words infuriating. You wanted to fight, to shout back, but his dominance was overwhelming, leaving you feeling trapped. He straightened, his eyes locked on yours.

“Now,” he said, his voice cold but steady. “Get. In. The. Car.”

You hesitated, your gaze darting between him and the sleek black vehicle parked at the curb. Every nerve in your body screamed to defy him, but the sheer authority in his voice made you falter.

“Last chance,” he warned, stepping even closer. “Do it yourself, or I’ll do it for you.”

The challenge in his tone sent a shiver down your spine, and reluctantly, you moved toward the car. Jungkook opened the passenger door with a sharp motion, watching as you climbed in with slow, deliberate steps.

Before you could react, he leaned over, buckling your seatbelt himself. The closeness was suffocating, his movements rough but controlled. “See? That wasn’t so hard,” he murmured, his voice thick with sarcasm as he pulled back and slammed the door shut.

He rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension. Without a word, he started the engine, his jaw tight as his hands gripped the steering wheel.

The silence was deafening as he pulled out onto the road, the weight of his anger hanging over you like a storm waiting to break. You turned your gaze to the window, your reflection staring back at you, but you could feel his eyes flick toward you every so often, sharp and assessing.

It was going to be a long ride.

﹉﹉﹉

The car slowed to a stop, and you realized you’d arrived at his penthouse. Jungkook threw the gear into park with more force than necessary before turning to you, his gaze hard and unreadable.

“Let’s go,” he said curtly, stepping out of the car, waiting for you.

You hesitated, the thought of following him back in didn’t feel right. But as the cold night air seeped into the car, you realized you didn’t have much of a choice. Steeling yourself, you stepped out, your legs feeling unsteady beneath you.

Jungkook was waiting by the elevator, his expression unreadable but his eyes never leaving you. The tension between you felt like a live wire, crackling with energy that threatened to snap.

Inside the elevator, the silence was unbearable. Jungkook stood close, too close, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. The soft hum of the elevator only seemed to amplify the pounding of your heart.

As the doors slid open, you stepped into the penthouse, the familiarity of the space doing little to ease the unease gnawing at your chest. Jungkook didn’t say a word as he shrugged off his blazer, tossing it onto the back of the couch before running a hand through his hair.

“Jungkook,” you tried again, your voice softer now. “We need to talk.”

“Not tonight,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“But-”

“Not tonight,” he repeated, turning to face you. His expression softened just slightly, but the intensity in his eyes remained. “You need to rest, Princess. We’ll talk tomorrow, hm?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the weariness in his voice stopped you. Not knowing what to say and still shaken by the night’s events, you only nodded, your voice caught somewhere between fear and disbelief.

After finishing your bedtime routine, you sat on the edge of your bed, wrapped in the softness of your pajamas, wishing the night had ended differently. The image of Jungkook’s rage at the restaurant replayed in your mind like a haunting echo. Despite everything, a part of you wanted to check on him, to ensure he was at least calmer. Quietly, you tiptoed across the cold tile floor, your heart thundering in your chest as you approached the slightly ajar door to his office.

“...Yes, Son Jiho. At Jungsik restaurant. Take care of it. I want him gone for good,” Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence, low and sharp like a blade.

Your breath caught in your throat as you peeked inside. He was seated at his desk, his phone pressed to his ear. His jaw was tense, his expression unreadable except for the cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. As he ended the call, he let out a low chuckle, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk.

You froze. Every muscle in your body tensed as the weight of his words sank in. Gone for good. The realization hit you like a cold wave, leaving your chest tight and your heart racing.

You stumbled backward, your movements slow and careful to avoid drawing his attention. Once back in your room, panic seized you. Your hands trembled as you grabbed your old backpack, throwing in clothes and essentials as quickly as possible. You couldn’t stay. Not after what you’d heard.

Changing into something practical, you peeked out of your bedroom door. The penthouse was shrouded in darkness, the silence unnervingly heavy. You tiptoed to the front door, holding your breath as you reached for the keypad. But when you typed in the code, the door didn’t budge.

Frowning, you tried again, only to be met with the same result. A sinking dread spread through you.

“Princess?”

His voice sliced through the darkness, sending a chill down your spine. Slowly, you turned to find Jungkook standing a few feet away, his figure partially illuminated by the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the windows.

“Where are you off to so late at night?” he asked, his tone calm but laced with an unsettling edge as he began walking toward you.

Your mind raced for an excuse. “I-I forgot my book at the library,” you stammered, forcing a casual tone. “I need it.”

Jungkook’s gaze darkened, his steps deliberate. “Oh, really?” he murmured, his voice dropping. “So you didn’t happen to overhear me in the office earlier?”

Your stomach dropped. He knows.

Panic bubbled up as he closed the distance between you, his presence heavy. He stopped just inches away, his frame towering over you as he leaned in slightly.

“W-what happened to him?” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

Jungkook’s hand came up to your cheek, his touch deceptively gentle as his thumb brushed over your skin. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that, baby,” he cooed, his voice soft yet chilling. His dark eyes locked onto yours. “But if you really must know... he’s in a better place now.”

The smirk on his lips sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but his presence pinned you in place.

“Enough about him,” Jungkook continued, his tone shifting to something almost affectionate. “You weren’t planning on leaving me, now were you?”

You swallowed hard, your head shaking in silent denial. “No,” you whispered, the lie barely audible.

Relief softened his expression as he exhaled, his hand moving to cradle your face. “My good girl wouldn’t leave me.” His lips curled into a possessive smile. “Not that you could, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice cracking.

He tilted his head, his smile widening. “From the moment you signed that contract, you’ve belonged to me,” he said simply, his voice both calm and dominant.

Your heart skipped a beat as you took a step back, but his grip tightened, keeping you in place. “What? No, Jungkook, I-”

“I’m the only one who can look after you!” he snapped, his frustration boiling to the surface. “I was the only one who helped you when no one else did. You need me.”

His voice rose, but he quickly paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “All you need to know,” he said, his voice eerily calm now, “is that you’re mine. I’m never letting you go, and the sooner you accept that, the better it will be for you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you nodded slowly, too afraid to argue. “I... I understand,” you choked out.

Jungkook’s features softened, a pleased smile spreading across his face. “There’s my good girl,” he murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“You must be tired huh,” he said, frowning, his tone gentler now, though his grip remained firm.

“Come on, baby. Let’s go to our room and get ready for the night.”

#whitepearl #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fanfction #bts yandere fanfic #bts yandere #yandere bts #jungkook yandere fanfiction #jungkook yandere #bts #yandere #jeon jungkook #bts ff #bts series

322 notes · View notes