#this was one hell of a ride and also bruh my back hurts i've been in the same position for hours and ive got cramps

[sweetbunnykook]

Only You (6)

Word Count: 10,037 // angst (mention of dub-con), a hint of smut

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.  

A/N: Thank you so much for waiting so long! II hope y’all enjoy it! Would definitely love to hear your thoughts so feel free to jump in my inbox and scream after reading lol - 🐰

Yori opened her eyes to be greeted with the sight of her future husband sprawled on the sofa of his motel room. Namjoon had decided to drink his night away after his father paid him a pity visit at the room, surprised to see him in such a bloodied state but did not feel the need to question even when Yori explained what had happened. The older man was two weeks late to the news. Two. And he didn’t flinch when he hears about this Jeon Jungkook crushing his son’s nose into pieces. Before Yori could even add a single bitter adjective in her sentence about you, he’d turned his back on Namjoon and only advised the couple to stay away from you, to Yori’s displeasure. He didn’t ask if the child growing inside her was okay. He picked up his umbrella, his golf gloves, and left. It was no surprise that he would still be cold towards both his son and his son’s mistress; Namjoon may have made a grave mistake but reputation was forever. The people who were at the wedding night had close ties with the Kim family’s companies, unfortunately. The older Kim carried the shame of having an immature son as his only remaining heir, which is a bit hypocritical considering most men that talk behind the Kims’s backs has a few skeletons in their closets as well.

Through the entire tense visit, Namjoon barely spoke a word; but, as soon as the man left, he was fetching a bottle from the fridge. Yori pleaded for him, threatened to kill him, threatened to give away the child if he keeps this self-pity routine, but her words fell on deaf ears as he continued chugging his life down his throat. He’d fallen asleep in his jeans and loose button-down, half tucked in and half pulled taught up his stomach from tossing and turning all night. A stiff beige bandage was wrapped around the bridge of his nose and a few bruises scattered around the nose like oversized freckles. His oily hair was combed away from his forehead because even in his sleep, Namjoon had a habit of shrugging away his ticklish bangs. There was a half-empty bottle of alcohol on the nightstand next to him and inside the breast pocket of his unbuttoned shirt a platinum chain hung. Yori knew exactly what the necklace was and who it was for; after all, she was the one that suggested the idea of giving a necklace to you after the wedding.

Now, sitting under the soft morning light that filtered through the lavender curtains, she stared long and hard at the man who she was going to marry, the man who shares half of the DNA of the child growing inside her. At one point in her life she felt sorry for him, but the bitterness bites her back twice as hard when the thought wrings her head. Men have always been so good with feeling sorry for themselves for their own fuck-ups. Namjoon couldn’t have a backbone for once and face his consequences, face his future, face the fact that he had so little to lose compared to the woman he impregnated.

Yori expected the pain of knowing the person she wanted to marry will be in this pathetic disheveled state for a while, but she’d miscalculated the pain of losing you. He may have lost his ideal fiancée, but she lost her best friend, her sister, a better half of her. She lost her whole world way before she kept his bed warm, yet, nobody except her knew. It was a type of suffering that was created by choice, which makes it all the more painful. Months have passed yet Namjoon’s existence remained like that of a ghost. The baby was due in a handful of weeks but he had not glanced back twice at her unless it was to speak of their schedules, their lifestyle needs, like they were a pair of office workers on parallel shifts. She fetched her prenatal medications, scheduled her own appointments, drove herself to the hospital when she needed to while Namjoon wasted his days away in denial. Yori kept her head high still. Did she really think, after going through all of that shit because of men, that she will let people see her as a pitiful second-choice? An accident that can’t take care of herself? She filled the lack of support with money.  She was to spend as much money as she needs – with approval from his father, of course – and it wasn’t such a bad life, she found. People liked her for her pretty face and thick wallet; without the money, without the Kim family’s name attached, she would’ve lost to you and your lowly photographer boyfriend.

She hoped the excitement of living a lavish life would be enough for her. For the child too. Namjoon has turned into dust and, unlike him, she will live with her consequences without expectations for others to treat her kindly. She doesn’t want any love. In fact, she doesn’t need it at all when she already won. It was true victory to see you sticking with your photographer boyfriend and Kim Seokjin, that little boy who never grew up to be a man. Even then, she sometimes yearned for Namjoon’s warm hand on her stomach to give the child resting inside some sense of comfort.

But no, he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t even look at her.

Blinking a few times into the dim morning, Yori swung her feet over the edge of the bed and settled her manicured feet on the cheap carpet, wiggling her swollen toes. No matter how many times she’d pleaded for him to come stay with her at the villa where Namjoon’s father had – reluctantly – gave her a place to carry the child in peace, he still came back to this cheap motel with its hideous lavender sheets that reeked of even cheaper detergent. Was a shitty room better than her bed? She refused to think about the answer. It didn’t matter anyway. Women like her were better off alone; she won’t have the time to babysit two children once she gives birth in the coming month.

Sighing heavily, Yori walked to the sanitized bathroom with a hand over her lower stomach and closed the door behind her, settling her eyes in the mirror in front of her that revealed the top half of her naked frame. She sat on the toilet and relieved her full bladder, grateful that she was not cursed with morning sickness, only a full bladder every few hours. Once she wiped herself clean, washed her hands in the cracked sink and stretched her neck from side to side to undo the knots, she faced the mirror. A few stretchmarks adorned the sides of her overgrown breasts and some crust had formed around the darkened areolas. Although the pregnancy added extra weight onto her stomach, she could see how she had the same youthful face that drove men crazy. Despite the marks of motherhood making its way onto the surface in the last stage of her pregnancy, she still remained the same, terrified young woman with a future as complicated as her childhood.

Before she destroyed her only friend’s life, Namjoon had kissed her face with such fervor. This young, beautiful face with its long lashes, doll lips, faint freckles, an aristocratic nose, and arched eyebrows. She was convinced that he was in love with her and hoped that he would save himself the heartbreak when he realizes that she will never feel the same towards a man that cheats consistently. He once had kissed her nose and made her giggle with childish glee, filling her body from the tip of her fingers to the tips of her toes with warm affection. Even then, edged in his caresses and passion was his adoration for you, the woman whose shadow Yori lived under. He saw you in her lips, in her whimpers and moans, in her laughter and tears. She could imagine how easy it was Namjoon to hold her, after all, she had spent so much time with you that you and her finished each other’s sentences.

You held so much power over these men, and you didn’t even have to try.

A solemn smile crept up to her face and she wiped it away quickly, flicking her soft hair behind her shoulders. She twisted the gold lock on the door before stepping closer to the mirror and grabbing her face in her hands, rubbing her soft pink lips and high cheekbones.

“How did you get someone like that?” She whispered to no one in particular but the image of your boyfriend’s face came into mind. This Jeon Jungkook, a photographer with a bank account less than a fraction of Namjoon’s family’s assets. “You’re so fucking bland.”

She’d heard about your new boy toy, this very young person who had the face of a model and the physique of a Greek god. Yori was impressed with your catch, she has to admit. Jungkook was rather attractive and if she was in college, he would’ve been one of the men in her list of many. But she won’t dwell on such compliments because beauty is so temporary; once Jungkook grows older – or you grow older – you’ll grow out of love. It’s as simple as that. She’d entertained herself with the thought of you going from fucking the son of a respected businessman to throwing your body at the first young face that gave you attention. The fact that he was the photographer at your wedding was the cherry on the top. It had garnered many giggles when she’d told her circle of friends, some of who had been bridesmaids at your wedding. News had traveled right into Namjoon’s father’s office, earning a melancholy sigh from the father figure who’d adored your existence ever since you stepped into the Kim household.

It would be true to say Yori didn’t expect you to jump into another relationship so quickly and look so content. Despite the ceaseless gossip that she started – which she is sure you would know about – you stayed with this new boy longer than she thought. And in those two weeks that passed since the night Namjoon’s nose was crushed into powder, she felt a bitter taste at the thought that you moved on happily while she is still smothering her emotional needs under Chanel shoes and Louis Vuitton bags. And a carriage for the baby of course.  

You, the pity-princess, practically glowed as you stood next to that tall, dark, and handsome boyfriend who didn’t even spare a glance at her direction with a look of discomfort. There was anger, disgust, and all of it was because you got your little feelings hurt when Namjoon spoke to you for the first time in months. Yori wanted some type of reaction – anything really – from you that would give her a peace of mind but you simply had tears in your eyes that disappointed her greatly. What happened to the strong woman whose shadow towered over her? Where was the woman that earned respect with words while she had to act unapproachable to receive the same praise? Yori found that you really are the same as you’ve always been. That meek little privileged girl who was too good for the world.

Why is it that everything just works out perfectly for you? You lose one prince overnight just to find your knight in shining armor waiting for you at the wedding that should’ve left you crumbled to pieces. You came back with the same boy you left with, showing very little sign of stopping your life because you lost the man you pined over your whole life, the man who was foolish enough to fall victim to lust.

This angered her the most. Because she stopped her life for a man that wasn’t worth her salt and even with this knowledge, still loved him.

Yori wanted your anger above all, to have you fall down to the hellish level she lived in all her life when she craved your validation above everyone else’s, when your validation was all she had as the orphan girl that inherited her parents’ wealth too soon and made poor decisions with it.

You and Yori were inseparable after you lost your father and she lost both her parents in the same year; twins from different parents and different years people would say. It was unfortunate that despite the familial love, you had overlooked so many things about her that made her think maybe you didn’t love her so much after all. In your drunken haze during the party that ended it all, you forgot about your best friend, your half. To add insult to injury, you remembered nothing the next morning. You didn’t notice how much she had changed overnight crying endlessly when you wore Namjoon’s engagement ring on your finger so nonchalant. You didn’t notice how she wanted nothing to do with your wedding and everything to do with hating the way you laughed, the way you talked, the way you oh-so-kindly shared your wish to be a bridesmaid at her wedding. You didn’t notice that you took that dream away from her when you allowed Kim Seokjin, the man she has been in love with her whole life, to do what he did that night.

‘Unnie, are you okay?’ Yori placed her palm over your forehead, making you giggle and lean into her. She catches you in her arms and helps you lean against her shoulder for support.

You nod, brushing your cheeks against her shoulder. “Y-Yeah,” you murmured, “I’m just so…fucking wasted.”

Yori giggles along with you, pushing your head away from her as if she was pretending to be fed up with your antics for the night.

The house that she rented for the night was filled with alcohol in every corner; beer, wine, and other heavy liquors line the floors and covered tables. The modest house sat slightly isolated near a mountain, keeping an appropriate distance away from the next occupied house. It was an odd place to build a house in but perfect for college students to drink, socialize, and have wall-banging sex. Not that anyone would want to be caught having sex at a party, especially with the graduating class present. Who knows where rumors might travel. Because of how close-knit the privileged community you were born into and Yori was raised near is, people don’t want to risk creating a bad impression on future coworkers. Talk about networking.

“Is Jin here?” Yori asks over the music, brushing your hair back and leaning close to your ears. “I haven’t seen him at all.”

You sip on the dirty martini, swaying slightly into your best friend and then slightly away from her and into the curtains that hung over the windows. “Yeah, I s-saw him earlier buttttttt,” you burp, giggling again, “he disappeared again, probably to get some for the night, you know what I mean?”

Yori’s smile falters but you were enjoying the music and the liquor too much to notice, paying just enough attention to answer and not enough to see her reaction.

“Do you want me to go find him?” You ask, keeping your back against the wall as one of the straps of your glimmering peach Yves Saint Laurent dress falls down your shoulders. Yori must say she has never seen you loosen up so much that you almost looked like the typical fun girl if it wasn’t for your bare feet. With a pair of platform heels you would look like her on a Saturday night.

“No, it’s okay,” she answers, taking your martini from your manicured hands and downing the drink before returning the glass to you. “I’ll go find him. I have to tell him something. Stay here, I’ll be back!”

You raise the glass at her as a promise and drag your bare feet across the empty bottles, palming the corners of the marble kitchen counters to find any wine left.

It was a good night to get drunk, especially since Namjoon didn’t even bother contemplating coming with you. A simple maybe would have been nice. I’m too busy, he said and you remembered something along the lines of him having to prepare for a meeting with his father’s associates. You couldn’t care less now, not with the alcohol in your system, filling you with warmth and a constant buzz that feel oh-so-good in the back of your head. You’ll have a killer headache the next morning, but now, you simply didn’t care.

You’re not sure how long Yori had been gone or how much you’ve drank because the house was slightly empty, the noise now moved to the lawn where people gathered around the campfire once one of the sophomores came back to the house with a bag of marshmallows and chocolates. You stretch an arm to grab the jello shot next to an empty bottle and miss the mark completely, seeing doubles at this point. Your hand slips from the marble and you let out a panicked squeal, your knees digging straight into the glass shards of a broken rum bottle laying dangerously close to the overfilled trash bin.

You groan falling to your elbows and bringing your knees up to your chest, only seeing blotches of blood and feeling the pain intensify as you fumble to remove the shard.

Suddenly a hand wraps around your shoulders, hoisting you up against the counter and keeping you pinned with his arm sliding down to your waist as he uses his other hand to yank out the shard that was lodged deep in your knee cap. Warm liquid trickles down your waxed legs and you moan, muttering incoherently at the man who was now looking around for a kitchen towel.

“Jesus, fuck,” he muttered, grabbing a vodka-soaked towel to hold it against your bruised knee. You hiss, hands darting forwards to hold onto him by his shoulders. “It’s okay, I got you.”

“Y-Yori-ah,” you murmur into his shoulder as he throws the bloody rag into the sink and wraps an arm around your leg, holding you bridal-style against his chest.

“How much did you even drink?” Jin questions you only to have you giggle into his chest, wrapping your arms around him and digging your face into his neck. “I can’t believe Joon left you alone.”

He carries you upstairs, looking for an unoccupied room and luckily finding one in the corner of the second floor that had a bed, a music records scattered across the floor (strangely with no record player in sight), and a bathroom attached on the opposite wall. A dirty condom was sprawled across an Alanis Morissette album and Jin peels his eyes away from it.

Perfect. Just perfect.

He sits you down on the bed, shaking his head with worry when you slump back onto the mattress with your dress hiked up to your thighs. You kick your legs above you and wiggle into the mattress, the pain in your knee now soothed by the hazy warmth that the martini and shots offered. Some blood trickles up to your knees and onto your thighs. You can hear the sound of wood hitting wood as Jin searches for a first aid kit in the bathroom, flinging cabinet doors open and digging through the pile of toiletries a few girls left on the counter.

He grabbed a pad from one of the girl’s bag and make his way over to you, kneeling in front of your legs and blinking away the alcohol in his system as he huffs a sigh against your knee. He rips open the small white seal and rips the orange plastic covering off before pressing the base of the pad against the leftover blood that had seeped down your shin. He pins down your legs with an arm around the back of your legs, making you whine with frustration as you can no longer kick your legs back and forth like a child. Such a petulant drunk you are.

“Jinnnnnnn,” you groan when he presses the pad gently onto the wound and waits for the blood to clot.

“What?”

You lift your body up, on your elbows, wobbling to one side as you do so, spitting out the strands of hair that stuck to your saliva-coated lips. “Does Joooooon love me?”

He doesn’t answer, merely looks up at you with his dark brown eyes.

“D-Did you hear meee?” You groan again, this time stumbling forward onto his shoulder. He drops the pad on the ground, frozen stiff. You wiggle closer to him, hiking the dress up your thighs further.

“Does Joon love me? O-or,” you hiccup, rubbing your cheeks on his shoulder, the fabric of his leather jacket so soft and cool against your skin. “Does he love someone else?”

His shaky fingers grasp the side of your face, thumb brushing over your lips while doing so. He catches the few tears that fell from the corner of your eyes and watches you as you grimace, a heartbroken sob leaving you as you curl into him further.

“He loves you.” Jin whispers although the words don’t register in his mind. His lips were moving by its own will, spurred by the loud music that masks the rapid beating of his heart, spurred by the shots he’d taken when he found out you came to this party without Namjoon, wearing something that made blood rush down south.

God, how long has it been since he’d smothered his feelings for you. How long has it been since he’d watched you over on the sidelines, garnering information from Yori when needed and keeping you at arm’s length because he knew rich girls don’t marry poor boys. He’d held many women hoping they would be you, wishing it’d be you that’s raking nails down his back, calling him before bed, touching yourself for his gaze. He knew that you saw him nothing more than a brother because you’d smack his arm, lean into him, and hug him so casually like you were completely oblivious to the way he thought about you.

He could only blame his own lack of courage because he feared rejection, because he didn’t want you to be the girl that gave up her future of fancy cocktail parties and financial security for him. Because he knows damn well that if he had pursued you with the intent to marry you, you would have fallen for him. He was confident that you would. You didn’t care as much about money but he knew you wouldn’t be able to live without it; you were from a whole different world than him. He didn’t want to change you and he didn’t want you to change him.

But it would be a lie to say the fruit you held over his head didn’t look so tantalizing.

This insecurity of yours about Namjoon’s love that would bubble to the surface. He wanted to use it against you, to say that he can love you better so you can go right ahead and forget about that fucker. But how could he, when you looked so perfect for Namjoon and he looked perfect for you. You both had it all; beauty, brains, everything. How can he whisk you away when he knew that one day, when you fall out of love with him, you would wonder how much better Namjoon would be as your husband.

‘He loves you…more than you think.’ Jin whispers, eyes unfocused.

His heart was racing, his palms were beginning to sweat and the nauseating sound of the music vibrating the walls was giving him a headache. He looks down at your face and regrets it completely, seeing the neediness in your eyes, your pink lips parted, doe eyes wide, mascara smudged in the small crinkles of your eyelids.

You huffed. “Then why won’t he touchhh me?”

Jin doesn’t answer.

He couldn’t answer.

Because he was digging his fingers into your hair, pulling the strands taught and arching your neck towards him, capturing your lips with his. He tasted the sweet amber tones of liquor in the corners of your mouth before he can feel your tongue move against him. You whimper, your own hands wrapping around his neck tightly and digging into his overgrown inky black hair. The buzz in the back of your head intensifies, pressing into your temples with a pressure that feels unfamiliar to a college student like you who’ve never been as intoxicated as much as you are now.

You roll your head back onto his shoulder to break the kiss and catch your breath. Jin uses this opportunity to push you back onto the mattress only to capture your lips again, hands flying up to your shoulders to enjoy the feel of your collarbones underneath the pads of his thumbs. He toys with the straps of your peach dress before pulling them down your chest, popping your breasts free from the confines of the softly padded fabric around your torso. His greedy lips brush over your nipples, earning an appreciative moan from you as you keep your hands locked in his silky tresses.

“So fucking pretty,” he sighs as you arch against him, asking him for more.

He toys with the opposite nipple, pinching so harshly that you hissed and flinched away from him. He chuckles, burying his face between the mounds, relishing in your giggles and the scent of your perfume and-

He stops.

Jin pulls away from your chest, mouth open, watching as you look up at him with wide glazed eyes and furrowed brows. You were comfortable, playful, responsive – but you were confused. You didn’t know who he was. Hell, you don’t even know where you are.

With shaky fingers Jin removes himself away from you, breathing heavily as he sits at the edge of the bed, away from your pouty lips, away from your fingers that grabbed his hair like he was your lover. He covers his hands over his face, toes curling in his shoes as the laughter outside in the lawn filters through his ears, transforming into the sound of nails dragging against a chalkboard.

He couldn’t believe what he’d done, what he was about to do to you.

You didn’t know who he was.

You didn’t know where you were.

You were hurt.

You called out for both him and your best friend.

You were intoxicated.

Jin curls his fingers into his hair, tugging the roots enough to burn his scalp. No, this was a terrible mistake. His eyes stayed glued to the carpet flooring, unable to look behind him. He knows what you look like with your straps down to your shoulders, breasts falling and rising with every breath, hair fanned beneath you. If he looks back this would all be real and it would confirm the line he could’ve crossed, if he hadn’t crossed it already.

This could have been rape.

Hell, this is already considered sexual assault.

“Oh god…oh god…” he breathes out. He takes another deep breath in and then spares a glace back at you.

You’d fallen asleep.

He swallows and scuttles towards you, slowly at first, as if he was scared you would be jolted awake with the smallest of movements. He tugs the straps back up to your shoulders and covers your chest. Turning completely towards you, he carefully holds your ribs in his hands and moves you up onto the mattress, letting the dress tug itself down to your mid-thighs at its true length.

The blood on your knee had dried, leaving behind a dark red patch that alarmed him again and gave him another jolt of adrenaline. Like a bird his head snaps back and forth against the slightly open door and the bathroom, suddenly growing paranoid of the possibility that someone could have seen this immediately and could landed placed both you, and him especially, in hot water.

It was unfortunate that this thought only crosses his mind after he’d indulged in his sick fantasy because he was completely oblivious to the girl downstairs with her bag in her hands, running out of the kitchen, the living room, and into the darkness outside.

Yori had been hurt many times in her life, had been lied to, had been in situations where she thought she wouldn’t make it out alive. But none of it hurt as much as coming to look for you, to make sure you were okay, only to find the man she’d pined over secretly hovering above you, his mouth on your breasts, on your lips, and your fingers in his hair with a familiarity that makes her stomach churn. She runs to the brightest place her dizzy gaze could make out which turns out to be the corner store, stopping only to empty her stomach onto the dirty pavement in which the smell of rotten garbage only contributed to the nausea that clawed into her head. She leans against a telephone booth, vomit on her chin and on her short white dress, shaking as she sobs enough for the people passing by to flash her a few looks of concern. She clutches onto her bag and vomits again, this time squeezing out nothing more than stomach acid.

It was only when the soft breeze hits her face and refreshed her senses momentarily that she was able to stagger her way to the store, leaning against the glass exterior lined with advertisements about the latest discounts and products that looked like nothing but a swirl of colors.

She leans her shoulder against the black frame of the swinging doors and digs through her bag, frustrated when she couldn’t find her cellphone and causing her to impatiently spill the contents onto the floor. Wallet, lipstick, tampon, earbuds, jewelry, and finally her cellphone. Yori slumps onto the floor and grabs the cellphone, flipping it open to see the picture of you and her in the background during the first day of the semester.

She closed her eyes for a moment, heart thundering, palms sweating, and then reopened with a deep breath. The number for the taxi was the first on her contact list. She hoped that it wouldn’t be too dangerous for a woman to catch a taxi this late in the night.

But it was something she didn’t have to worry about.

Because underneath the number for the taxi was yours and underneath yours was Kim Namjoon.

She stared at the numbers long and hard, swallowed the bile in the back of her throat. And, with the conviction of a scorned woman, calls her precious friend’s fiancé.

The bathroom mirror squeaks as Yori wipes the reflected image of her face over and over with the heel of her hand. Even now, she can’t see her own reflection. She could only see yours – your elegant visage and vulnerable mannerisms. As clear as day she can still see the way your soft breasts slid out of the cups of your peach dress so easily and welcomed itself in Jin’s eager mouth. She can still see how gentle Jin was with you, a stark difference compared to his nonchalant nature. She watched you in silent rage when you kissed him back with the same fervor, the same passion, smiling into the kisses with such natural tenderness that she was convinced you’d done such a thing with him before, even when she knew deep down it was nothing but a drunken mistake. She watched you knowing it should have been her in your place. She watched you knowing you were drunk and found she couldn’t care less whether you wanted it or not because you’d taken everything away from her in that moment. She couldn’t tell anyone because she couldn’t get the image out of her head no matter how much she tried to talk herself out of it; your soft peach dress hiked up to your thighs and pulled down to your elbows, your fingers in the older man’s soft tresses, his plump lips sliding across your lips and neck, your giggles and squirms.

You were intoxicated, and he wasn’t.

But it didn’t matter. From that moment, Yori decided you’d betrayed her.

From the moment Jin placed his lips on yours you were dead to her. You, the golden child who was good at everything, who Yori looked up to and loved and worshipped. When she ran away from that house, from that bedroom, she didn’t just run away from you; she ran straight into Namjoon’s arms. She didn’t want him, but what choice did she have? What choice did you give her? Did you really think she was going to chase after a man like Kim Seokjin with his dirty little secret rotting his brain each time he is around you? She’d spit on her own parent’s grave before something that like would happen. She was sick of rotting underneath your shadow, always struggling to find her light while you had everything worked out from you since birth.

She was sick of wanting men that you recycled.

You took away the one person she wanted out of the hundreds that chased her and asked for her hand in marriage. It was only a fair trade; you can have Seokjin, an average middle-class boy with his dapper mannerisms and notoriety for womanizing. Yori decided to sit back and watch the show unfold with her own fuck sessions with Namjoon. He wasn’t half as bad as she thought; he had some personal issues that she could pseudo-sympathize with and use to keep him on a leash in bed and around you.

But two weeks before now, the show didn’t have an ending she wanted. You were supposed to be the angry, bitter woman she became after that night. You were supposed to go mad with betrayal and at least make a clever but pathetic attempt at getting back at her. You were supposed to remember how you became putty in Jin’s hands and how you perhaps gave him more than you showed that night. But you got a new boy toy whose tongue apparently matched Jin’s expertise and he apparently gave you some sense of comfort even when you lost your place in the social circle. What a heartwarming ending, albeit boring.

The rich princess lives happily ever after with her knight in shining armor, while Yori, the vengeful leg-spreader, is pregnant with the child that belongs to a man drowning in his own regret.

Pathetic pieces of shit. You, Namjoon, Seokjin.

Yori had very little energy to hold people on a pedestal when all they do is let their emotions be swayed like children. Boo hoo, Namjoon is too trapped in his own mind to be a better fiancé. Boo hoo, Seokjin became your stress reliever for one night. Boo hoo, you settle on the next pretty dick that you can bounce on, pretending to be the captain of the morally aligned club. Yori was sick of it all, sick of people around her maintaining such brittle spines. So, she decided to take this lesson to heart, and take what she wants without fear of consequence, just like you – the big-hearted sister – taught her all those years ago. She decided she wanted to be a socialite with no risk of losing her place in a powerful family, hence Namjoon’s role in her life. She decided she wanted to create a villain out of you when you broke her heart, hence she kept Seokjin’s dirty secret to her grave.

Life is just simple accounting. Balance the equations and you have no winners. Tip the scales in your favor, and the world is your oyster.

“Yori-ah?”

She turned with a slight gasp at the rattling gold lock, lips parting slightly before settling back into a thin line. She grabbed the fluffy white robe on the hanger next to the shower stall and wrapped it around her, tying the belt made with the same material just above the swell of her belly. The child was kicking, moving inside her, jolting her awake from her daydream.

“Yes?” She answered, softly, pressing her hands on the door. She sometimes felt immense pity for the man on the other side. He was just a troubled soul that didn’t know how to love; it’s a shame that he’d easily leaped onto the idea of committing adultery with her. If he didn’t, if he showed immense hesitation because he loved you, Yori would have respected him a little more.

“I need to use the bathroom.”

Yori sighed. “Of course.”

She unlocked the door with a soft smile on her face, a hand resting protectively over her belly. Namjoon was leaning against the door with one hand, his forehead resting on his knuckles. He gently shoved her to the side and entered the bathroom, unzipping his alcohol-stained pants over the uncovered toilet.

Yori spared a glance at her husband struggling to see his cock over the large bandage across his nose and made her way back into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Life as a mistress is dull, but at least it was better than the life she had as your best friend.

Your friend flashes you a welcoming smile when you stepped into the office that morning. He was sipping on his usual cup of coffee – black with two sugar cubes – and going over the paperwork he needed to file for the day. From the bags under his eyes and the slight lack of color on his face, you knew he was hungover, hence the large cup he was holding in his hand – the one you gave him for Christmas – was filled to the brim. Even then, you’d noticed that his files lay organized by color and date. Typical Jin.

He was always one step ahead and you were already starting to enjoy his company again, more than you’d like to admit. After the wedding disaster there weren’t many people you wanted to talk to and Seokjin unfortunately ended up on the list. He reminded you too much of the past and if you wanted to at least keep your career intact, you had to distance yourself from him, as cold as it sounded.

But Jin being Jin, he understood.

“Good morning,” he smiles from behind the white table in the lunch room. It was rare to see you at work so early, especially when you have a boyfriend as needy as Jungkook.

“Mornin’,” you smile back with half the enthusiasm, turning your back to him to fix your own batch of coffee. You weren’t much of a coffee drinker but sometimes an extra dose of caffeine was just something you needed to get your mind away from your restless boyfriend.

“I’m sorry about the files the other day, I didn’t know it was going to take forever to recover them again.”

You shake your head, chuckling as you pour the dark liquid inside a mug. “It’s okay, I know you’re terrible with computers.”

He laughs along with you, understanding the inside joke as he did minor in computer informatics back in college.

“To be honest, I’ve forgotten almost completely about handling excel files. I remember taking three semesters worth of classes back at SNU though. It’s been what, seven, eight years?”

You pondered over the calculation and nodded, taking a seat across him and crossing your legs underneath the table. Jin eyes your attire, admiring the thin beige V-neck cashmere sweater and a black shin-length skirt you wore to match your pearl teardrop earrings. You were so effortlessly beautiful. The closer you crept to thirty, the more you exuded a strange type of cozy, maternal warmth that was so attractive to him.

“I miss college so much,” you sighed and brought your mug to your lips, pausing momentarily to digest what you’d just said.

No, you don’t miss college. You don’t miss it at all. You don’t miss the way Namjoon pulled and pushed you as if you were a ventriloquist dummy. You don’t miss the way your best friend fucked him behind your back while sharing meals with you every other day.

Jin notices your hesitation and clears his throat, taking a sip from his own mug as well.

“I mean, that I missed the freedom that came with youth,” you corrected and he smiles knowingly, letting the image of Namjoon and Yori sit between you both.

“I bet. Must be because you were such a party animal.”

You giggled. “I’ve only went twice and only to one of those two willingly. While you, Mr. Casanova, made your way around the school.”

He grins and downs the rest of his coffee, stomach turning slightly at the thought of your peach dress, your bruised knees, soft lips, and untamed hair. He missed you, missed speaking with you so casually and reminiscing. It was the closest he’ll ever get to you after everything that had happened.

“My days of womanizing are over, unfortunately. I’ve grown old.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Is it really?”

“For the most part,” he laughed and you giggled, tucking your damp hair behind one of your ears. You take another sip while he speaks. “It gets boring after a while.”

“I understand,” you hesitated, not sure whether to tell him but decided to anyway. It’s not like you can talk about it to anyone else. “Jumping from one person to another…I resorted to that after the wedding.”

Jin places his mug on the table. “I know. You were never home when I came over, so I assumed.”

Your lips parted in surprise. “You came over?”

“Only a few times. I wanted to see how you were holding up.”

“You should’ve called beforehand.”

He shrugs. “I’d rather give you time to rest. I know you were still in shock from everything that happened. You’re not the type to talk about things.”

You smile grimly, fingers tracing the rim of your coffee mug. “You know me well.”

“Not well enough,” he chuckles. “Didn’t imagine in a million years you’d be with someone new so quickly.”

You sigh, a small shy smile dancing on your lips as you think about Jungkook and his sweet, gentle ways of loving you. You’d never experienced anything like it.

“I didn’t know I’d jump into a relationship either. It just sort of…happened. He took care of me throughout the whole phase and didn’t ask for anything in return. It was a bit crazy. Next thing I know, he was moving in with me.”

Jin grabs his mug and stands, moving over to the sink to place the mug underneath the faucet. Turned away, he pushes for more information, hoping to learn something that would prove his unease about your boyfriend.

“Isn’t it odd that he moved in so quickly?” He asks, taking his time washing the cup clean before placing it back on the hanger to dry.

You twirl the bracelet that Jungkook gave you a few months ago, a gold band with a small rabbit charm attached on a hook.

“It wasn’t stressful,” you move away from the table, grabbing your own mug and placing it in the sink while he wipes his hands clean on a paper towel. “It just happened.”

Jin took it as a sign that you didn’t want to talk about it. He had his hopes too high, thinking that you were finally able to talk to him like you did back then, but some things can’t be fixed. He takes his time wiping his hands, muttering an ‘I see’ under his breath to at least acknowledge your answer.

It was going to be tough milking you for more information. He was alone in this investigation; even Hoseok and Yoongi have their own doubts despite looking through Jungkook’s file once again in their small Hong Kong apartment.

“You should be more careful with things like that,” he leans against the counter, crossing his arms, brows furrowed with serious concentration. You hang your mug next to his and look up at him.

“With what?”

“With being so kind to people,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “What if he’s got things to hide?”

You giggle, your smile faltering once you see that Jin was dead serious about this topic. “Jin, I’m a grown woman. I know how to take care of myself.”

“I know,” he sighs, face stoic. “I just worry.”

You place your hand on his arm, tilting your head to take a good look at his face, eyes scanning his soft, rounded features. “I think that’s the government agent in you speaking, Jinnie.”

He chuckles, cocking his head to one side to brush his bangs away. It’s been a while since you’ve called him that; you’ve only used such a term when you were playful or not taking him completely seriously. Unfortunately, the latter applies in this context. You were far too comfortable for someone who had her life turned upside down overnight. Jin had a hard time accepting that you can move on so quickly, especially with how devoted you were to Namjoon back in the days. The title of an arranged marriage didn’t apply to you despite your mother arranging the engagement with Namjoon’s father years before the event happened. You loved him.

Your Joon; your first everything.

“He’s been good to me. He hasn’t done anything that made me believe going into a relationship was too much.”

He turns his body towards you and you keep your hand on his arm, anchoring yourself to him, maybe because you feared that the worry behind his eyes fell deeper beyond just plain worry.

“He’s young.”

You frown. “I know.”

“No no, I don’t mean it that way. I’m not saying you’re old, I’m saying it’s not easy to be in a relationship so quickly, especially a relationship with an age gap. What if he breaks your heart? What are you going to do?”

You nibble on your bottom lips, a small ounce of doubt growing in your chest but you swallow it back down. Jungkook had made his promise, marked you on your neck, marked you by blood. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“I trust him,” you answer meekly, unable to give him a better answer. Jin huffs in frustration, turning away to walk back to the table when you grasp his bicep harder this time, bringing his eyes to your face.

“I trust him,” you repeat. “He’s not like Namjoon. He loves me.”

And all memories of the night he kissed you comes back to him. The feel of your fingers through his hair, on his skin, on his lips, caressing him for more affection, more of everything he was giving to you. Do you remember? His lips graving over your nipples, hard from the cool air of that small dirty bedroom. Your whimpers, your gentle arches. Jin felt blessed that you didn’t remember but tortured that he does. Because the image is forever burned in his mind and it squeezes his chest again and again when he sees you, when he hears you talk passionately about your boyfriend, when he believes deep down this boy is going to hurt you again and he wouldn’t know what to do when he does.

“He’s not like Joon,” you repeat.

He’s worse.

The door knob to the lunch room rattles and you jump back, startled, head turning towards the sound. Jin, too, flinches away from you, blinking the image of your peach dress away and faces the stranger that is standing in the doorway, holding a familiar lunch box in his hand.

“Noona,” Jungkook steps into the room, leaving the door open behind him. You can see behind him that a few coworkers were already making their way through the revolving glass doors, preparing for the shift to start.

“What are you doing here so early?” You stepped towards your boyfriend, away from Jin, as your heart begins pounding at the way his eyes locks onto the taller man who stares back with the same intensity swimming in his eyes.

He keeps his eyes on the man, answering. “You forgot your lunch on the counter.”

“O-Oh I’m sorry, I must’ve forgot when I was looking for the car keys. But Kookie you’ll be late for your meeting, didn’t you have a-”

Jungkook’s head snaps in your direction, freezing you in place. “Who’s this?”

You look back and forth between the two men, unsure how to begin the conversation because you were sure he can hear your heart drop and bounce across the floor. If you didn’t act so quickly, if he saw your hand on Jin’s arm, he would surely not be this calm.

“I-It’s Kim Seokjin, r-remember? I told you how I have to work with him for a while because one of my coworkers is on maternal leave.”

“Oh,” Jungkook smiles, the joy not reaching his eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he bows slightly at the man. “I’m her boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jin steps forward, hands deep in his pockets, spine straightened. Jungkook’s tongue pokes through his cheek as he waits for the taller man to speak.

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” he said, smiling to you, then your boyfriend. “It’s a pleasure to meet you to.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he relaxes slightly, his free arm snaking around your waist to rest his arm on the small of your back.

You clear your throat, taking the wrapped lunch box from him. Jungkook lets go of the box and watches you place it on the white table where you and Jin had sat earlier. He eyed the chairs that were not pushed under the table. Two chairs, slightly tilted towards the sink and counter area. Two wet mugs. It seems, he observed, you’ve been talking to Jin for a while.

It didn’t sit right with him. The way your body stood too close to Jin when he walked in, the way you looked like you were caught red-handed, the way you stuttered. Jungkook was desperately swallowing his anger down as he stood, watching you and also watching Jin from the corner of his eyes.

He hated the walking corpse before you introduced him and hated him even more after finding out this is the childhood friend you’d told to him about weeks ago.  

Jungkook hated the way the bastard looked at you with aged affection. He couldn’t stand the fact that Jin was taller, had shoulders as broad as the ocean horizon, looked so clean-shaven and fresh. The man wasn’t just handsome, but he dressed well too. It grated his nerves that you sit next to him, converse with him, share meals with him five out of seven days. God does it bother him.

“Noona, can I talk to you for a second? In your office?” He asked suddenly, skin itching all over as he watch you nervously nibble on your bottom lip.

“Y-Yeah.” You nod, then turned to your friend. “Wait for me at the cubicle, I’ll fetch the remaining files.”

“Thanks,” Jin nods and returned to the table, clearing up the desk full of his notes and calculations to prepare for the day. He knew it was going to be a long day judging by how uncomfortable you already looked.

Jungkook doesn’t spare a glance back and grabs your hand, tugging you behind him as he marches his way to your office, jaw clenched taught. You follow him, half-jogging, glancing across the main office area to see some people looking your way and then turning back to the printer or the computer. To everyone it looked like Jungkook was holding your hand, but in reality he was dragging you, grip tightened to the point that the tips of your fingers were growing numb.

He pulls you inside your office, pushes the door behind him close with the back of his feet, and turns to you, watching you scramble to sit on the arm of the cushioned seats.

Jungkook walks forward and cups your face in his hands, pulling your gaze up to his. You shiver, toes clenching in your loafers. “Do you mind telling me what I just saw, noona?”

“I…I-” you stutter again, heart pounding against your rib cage as you struggle to hold your boyfriend’s piercing gaze. His eyes were watering. “We were just talking,” you explain after swallowing a ball of saliva that stuck in the back of your throat. “He was just there.”

“And you stayed with him? You let him look at you like that?” he whisper-snarled, holding your face closer to his, holding in his breath when your soft hands twist in his locks.

“No baby, no.” You lean forward and kiss the corners of his lips, growing worried when he doesn’t return your kisses and stayed as stoic as a statue. “You’re thinking too much, we were talking about you baby. He was just curious who you were.”

Jungkook grinds his teeth, chest heaving up and down as images of your body pinned to that white table with Jin’s face between your legs flashes across his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been friends with him since I was a child,” you ramble, grasping for any reasoning you can think of when your mind was drawing a blankm trapped under his distress. “I’ve never formally introduced you to him. I-It just made me wonder i-if I should invite you out for a meal with some people I was close to when I was younger. We talked about that, that’s it, we barely drank coffee together.”

He blinks once, and then twice, before placing his head on your shoulder. He exhales, wrapping his arms around your small frame, closing his eyes. You feel him trembling, whether from anger or from the cold, you can’t tell.

“I hate it,” he murmured. “I want to know everything about your life, noona, but I hate him…I don’t want to know anything about him. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want you around him.”

You squirm your arms away from him and wrap them around his neck, kissing the mole just a few inches above the swoop of his shoulders. “He’s just someone I know,” you whisper, kissing him again. “The only one I love is you. Trust me, Kookie…”

“It hurts me when you talk to him.”

You sigh, closing your eyes as you garner your energy to face his insecurities. It was unreasonable how jealous he is of Seokjin and seeing the man in person made the problem even worse; you know well enough that Jin is quite a charmer and looked the part as well.

“I have to work with him, Kookie. Just for a little while, okay? And he’s going back to his department after all the work is done.”

Jungkook stays silent for a few seconds and then tilts his head to capture your lips, slipping his tongue inside your mouth while he pulls you closer to him, crushing your ribs against his hard pecs. You melt in his arms, hoping that this wouldn’t impede the progress you made with him these past two weeks. It had been nothing but bliss – you’ve made violent love to him every step of the way, broke down old boundaries, and established new ones. You’d hate for it all to end just because he has wild nightmares about Seokjin having a crush on you. It was mad that he would even think that. You ponder over the idea multiple times, unable to see the possibility of Seokjin ever seeing you in that way and vice versa.

“I want you,” he grits, trailing his hand down to the zipper of your skirt. You place your hand over his fingers and stop him, gasping at the way he tugs your skirt hard enough to pull you back and forth like a doll.

“Kookie, no!” You scold, glancing at the frosted glass and around the ceiling to see if there were any cameras around. Thankfully, you couldn’t find any. “I have work, we can’t do this now.”

“But noona,” he pouts, holding your skirt in his fist.

You grab his face and kiss him, pulling back just before he can trap you in his arms again. “Tonight, okay? I’ll try to get off early and I’ll buy some wine on the way.” You press your lips to his again, sealing your promise with a kiss.

Jungkook heaves a frustrated sigh, pushing his bangs away from his forehead and straightening the collars of his white button-down. His tongue slides over his sharp canines and finally pokes through his cheek, a habit that tells you that he wasn’t pleased but he wasn’t completely angry with you.

“Okay,” he nods solemnly, caressing your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “Call me during lunch time.”

You nod a few times, pushing him gently towards the door. He opens the door and glances back at your lovestruck state before closing it behind him, his eyes falling onto Jin immediately. The older male was leaning against the cubicle you work at for most of the day, arms crossed as his eyes follow Jungkook walking down the main carpeted path. Jungkook was the first to look away but by the way his fists were clenched at his sides, Jin knew your boyfriend wasn’t just looking at him.

He was memorizing his face.

Take a good look, Jin wanted to say. You’ll be seeing me again.

By the time Jungkook feels the sun on his back and sees the semi-full parking lot stretched out in front of him, he digs for his cellphone from the back of his jeans. He unlocks the Hyundai with a free hand and slams the door close, kickstarting the engine.

Thankfully he had Taehyung on speed dial, or else he would’ve lost his patience already with having to look for the damn number in the midst of his nausea. He doesn’t even know how he’s going to make it back to your apartment with a massive headache looming in his skull.

“Hello? Jungkookie?”

He stills at the sound of Taehyung’s voice, eyes watering and lips trembling. Placing his forehead against the steering wheel, he lets a sob escape and then a few groans, warm tears falling down his face and onto the surface of his phone.

He hears a chair scrape over the phone and fall over and Taehyung’s rushed words saying something about coming over and something about money. Jungkook swallows and shakes his head, clearing his throat before he calms his breathing.

“H-hyung, I n-need your help,” he hiccups, glancing around the parking lot to make sure there isn’t any witnesses.

He quickly pulls out of the parking lot and into the streets, wiping his tears away with the fabric of his shirt. It was disgusting, how pathetic his voice is now, how small he seems now that he’s seen the extent of your relationship with Seokjin.

“What do you need?” Taehyung almost roars across the line, making Jungkook flinch away slightly. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” he gasps, stepping on the gas pedal, racing through the streets.

He clenches his phone enough to hear the plastic crack as he thinks back to your surprised eyes, the way you look at Jin, the way you stammered and panicked. You looked guilty. He could just picture your hands on that asshole’s chest, rubbing tenderly like you do to him after he comes back late. He can imagine how you must compare Jin to him, probably thinking why you’re still with him when you can have a broad, masculine man that smelled as expensive as he looked.

Jungkook waits for the red light and swerves into an isolated lane, parking under a tree in an empty, rubbled area. He couldn’t wait to talk to Taehyung until he got to his studio. He has to do it now. He needs to make this decision now.

“I need you to make something for me.”