#fic: to turn a bad thing good

[chateautae]

to turn a bad thing good | jjk. I

➵ summary: jungkook’s drunken one night stand goes awry when he comes to learn not only is he being forced into an arranged marriage, but it’s to the very girl he abandoned that night—and things get a lot more complicated when you’re the best hookup he’s ever had.

➵ pairing: ceo!jungkook x law student!f. reader

➵ genre: series, arranged marriage!au, fwb!au (?), haters to lovers!au, smut, fluff, angst

➵ rating: 18+

➵ word count: 13k

➵ warnings: swearing, loads of angsty arguing, sEXUAL tension, mentions of sexual content

➵ a/n: YAYYY it's here!! thank you endlessly to everyone who has loved, supported, and anticipated this series ever since I announced it. i’m grateful for  your patience and hope you enjoy this first chapter. I have so much in store 🥺 pls forgive me for mistakes i did not have a beta bLEH. your feedback means the world to me <3 

chapter one: “i’ve been to someone’s tomorrow”

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“Hello! Don’t you two dare get couply with me, I’m having a mid-life crisis!” 

 “Dude, you’re only 23, this isn’t a mid-life crisis, just a fucking crisis, goddammit.” 

 Jungkook scoffs derisively at Kim Taehyung’s curt voice over the phone. He rolls his eyes, knowing full well that his ride-or-die, lifelong friend is much more interested in indulging his wife right now. He’s happy for the man, he truly is, but Jungkook’s life is currently on the brink of destruction. 

 And he goddamn needs some sympathy. 

 “Hey Jungkook, it’s me.” Jungkook feels blessed to hear Taehyung’s wife on the phone, a much more kindred soul compared to his broody friend. “Go on, what happened to you? Why do you sound so scared?” 

 God, it’s good to hear that voice. Taehyung’s wife’s concern always sounded so genuine, like she’s handing you a cup of tea and creating a safe space for you to tear out your heart and empty its heft. It’s so goddamn sweet, it makes a person want to spill all their secrets until their soul is cleansed—it’s what makes Jungkook steel himself before relaying what’s happening to him. 

 After attending his friend Jung Hoseok’s club opening last night, he encountered the most enchanting woman he’s ever met. Her alluring eyes, her graceful body and seductive smile caught Jungkook like a Venus flytrap, unable to escape once nipped; but it was her sharp tongue and cleverly sexy mind games that keep Jungkook captive. He found that he enjoyed being captured, enjoyed the sweet pain of her cage and drowning in her nectar despite the poison; it resulted in the most mind-blowing sex of his entire life that night.

 Until he was slapped with the shittiest turn of events. 

 “What’s up, Jungkook? Did something happen with your hookup?” 

 “No, I need to tell you the crisis. So I had mind-blowing sex, yes, but then I woke up a couple hours ago and tell me how I heard my parents talking about getting me an arranged marriage, an arranged marriage for fuck’s sake!” Jungkook grinds his teeth with contempt, the word ‘marriage’ tasting foul on his tongue.

 “What? You’re getting an arranged marriage?” 

 “Yeah, my parents were just talking about it and I’ve been having a mental breakdown for an hour now, what am I supposed to do? I can’t fucking get married.” The very thought has been clawing at Jungkook’s stomach ever since. Marriage? Monogamy? Having his freedom stripped away? 

 He may actually turn green and throw up his stomach contents. 

 Jungkook has always been far from what most people expected a rich kid in Seoul to be. Devil-may-care, disobedient, allergic to responsibility. The word itself could make a disease break out in his blood, appalled by anything that demanded more than a night of fun or partying—it threatened his formula of escapism.

 Ever since Jungkook was old enough to grasp his family’s affluence, he’s had tradition, discipline and business politics rammed down his throat. The sheer force of it trained him to have an acute disgust for anything resembling it, resulting in a “troubled” child that rarely followed what his parents desired. 

 It was not his fault his father owned one of the largest gaming companies in Korea, on track to raiding the American markets and introducing a global name for Jeon Entertainment. It was not his fault he was his father’s child and his first born son, burdened with the responsibility to inherit the company from the moment he drew his first breath. It was not his fault he carried the weight of a thousand expectations of who he should be. 

 It was all decided for Jungkook. He had no say in the matter, no method to refute his prominence. No, he’d been forced to bid his parent’s wishes, unable to live a life of his own. So what did Jungkook do? How did he break out of these confinements and live his intemperate, so-called recalcitrant life? 

 He developed the only method he’d considered most effective; he’d live unapologetically. 

 Tattoos, piercings and partying proved his disobedience. He wouldn’t be the prim, proper son many expected of the Jeon family, adopting what society believed to be a “delinquent” image. Instead of posh ceremonies and frivolous flattering, Jungkook found his tongue down a woman’s throat in a dark bar or worked out until his muscles burned.

 Instead of unsteady politics and people-pleasing, Jungkook traversed every club in Seoul or smoked enough weed to forget the entire events of a weekend. Instead of empty words and fake smiles, he traded them for carefreeness, straight-forwardness, genuineness.

 Some would say Jungkook’s too simple, that he indulges in vices and the finer things in life because he’s too daft to comprehend the complexities of the ways of the world. A notorious playboy who’s only merit appears to be his ravishing good looks and god-like stroke game, but that’s only the image he builds, the persona he carefully curates for outsiders. 

 It’s not that he hides who he truly is, no, he merely goes about life without over-complication, allowing him the freedom he’s been forced to renounce. It’s his plan for the rest of his life; take as much control of it without giving a fuck about others, and he’ll always be happy. 

 It worked for as long as he was smart enough to understand people, to understand his indulgences and pleasures. But when Jungkook overheard he was being shoved into an arranged marriage, distaste was too light a word—he was filled with absolute loathing. 

 This is a complete fuck-up to his plan. 

 “Shit, you’re only 23, too, why would they be marrying you off?” 

 “I don’t know, I heard something about how she’s the daughter of some what-its-face CEO that our family knows.” Jungkook relays with a hard swallow, clutching his phone in his hand so hard his knuckles must be white. He gazes upon the horizon before his eyes in the early morning, brimming with an orangey hue that bathes the gorgeous skyline of Seoul, its light rays dancing across the Han River. 

 It rids Jungkook of the nausea climbing up his throat, threatening to hurl over his balcony. “I’m gonna throw up. I can’t do this, marriage is literally my kryptonite and I can’t get married, I can’t. What if the girl’s some stuck up brat? What if I hate her? Oh God.. what if she’s some goody two-shoes? What if-”

 “Shh, Jungkook, calm down.” Jungkook took a deep breath at the sound of Taehyung’s wife’s voice—he knows he’s losing it. “Look, I know it sucks and you didn’t agree to this, but maybe the girl won’t be so bad? Maybe you’re being matched because-oh fuck, Kim Taehyung, don’t you dare put your mouth there right now.” 

 “What? I can’t have my breakfast, thought I’d at least have a snack.” 

 Of course, this is what Jungkook should’ve expected to hear after he saw Taehyung and his wife nearly fucking each other on the dancefloor at Hoseok’s club last night. They were ravenous, practically impossible to not stumble upon and find either devouring each other with their eyes, one sitting in the other’s lap or lips passionately glued to one another. 

 Part of him envied their love and intimacy, but he's more glad the two seemed to be jolly again after the fight they’d been having for weeks. And as much as he’d love to hear the lovebirds go at it this morning, his patience was running thin. “Ugh, could you guys not get disgusting in front of me? I’m still having a fucking crisis here.”

 “Right.. right, Jungkook.” 

 “Jungkook, dude, look. Arranged marriages aren’t even that bad, look at how mine turned out.” 

 “That’s because your wife is literally perfect, you asshole.” Jungkook grits—he’s telling the truth. His friend’s wife was possibly the prettiest woman inside and out he’s ever seen. She’s kind-hearted, head-strong, and even has these adorable doe-eyes that could charm any man. It’s no wonder his friend fell so hard for her, he couldn’t blame him. 

 Jungkook harboured strong feelings of admiration for Taehyung’s wife—of a Seoul rich kid able to defy the status quo and live for herself. 

 His friend’s wife was a tale often heard and discussed; the daughter of famous architect and CEO Min Namhyun, running away from the family to pursue her dreams on her own two feet. While it wasn’t an exact replica of Jungkook’s tale, it was still a distant cousin. Someone who despised the closed quarters of a suffocatingly rich family, the disarming responsibilities, the soul-crushing pressure. 

 Jungkook could only hope he’d escape it like his friend’s wife did, but this marriage tosses him right back to square one. 

 “I mean, I can’t argue with that.” His friend boasts over the phone, tugging Jungkook back into reality. 

 “Fucking hell, you guys are just a special case, too. And it’s only because your wife is literally so perfect, and caring, and cute, and cool, not to mention a ride or die. I mean, who the fuck throws a right hook like her? And for your sorry ass? She’s literally the epitome of wifey material, hot and sexy-” 

 “Jeon, shut the fuck up before I personally murder you.” 

 “I mean, he isn’t wrong. I’m pretty cool. I also have nice eyes, don’t I? Not to mention my plushy lips? And my cute height, too, Mr. Kim?” Jungkook had to bite back his laugh, remembering when Taehyung became uncharacteristically timid and told all their friends three things he liked about his new wife. His marriage was still fresh after the initial arrangement then, just two strangers forced into matrimony, but even Jungkook knew there was something special between the two of them. 

 It was obvious; something warm and kindred in the way his friend looked at his wife that indicated his heart was meant to belong to her. 

 Jungkook knew his story wouldn’t be the same fairytale. 

 “You’re so sweet, Jungkook. You’re like the perfect package, all endearing but then you have muscles like that too? Do you work out?”

 Jungkook nearly blushed, flattered by the compliments. He’s seconds from adding to the joke before Taehyung’s so-calm-it’s-scary voice rippled through the phone.

 “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Princess. You’re naked right now, and I have access to every inch of your body. Want me to touch you while he’s on the phone? Let him hear the way you moan for me? Maybe give him a sneak peek of what happened last night? All I remember is you digging your nails into my back and riding me until-” 

 “Okay, Tae, shut up! God, you’re so annoying.” 

 Jungkook heard Taehyung bellow out a laugh, and he couldn’t help but be a shit-disturber like always, their happiness contagious. “Damn, Tae, I’m gonna get turned on over here, you know I have a voyeurism kink. Invite me over next time you’re going at it, I like watching my porn live-” 

 “Jungkook, you’re dead to me. Goodbye.” 

 “Wait, wait! I’m serious, Tae. What do I do about this goddamn marriage?!” 

 “Suck it up and marry the damn girl, for fuck’s sake. She’s probably not even that bad, if anything I feel bad for her, you’re the asshole, Jungkook.” Taehyung snips back. “Watch you end up falling in love with her, I’m gonna be there to say I told you so.” 

 “But-!” And Jungkook’s cut off, left to stare at his phone. He resists the urge to toss it over the railing and let it plummet to the ground, its pieces scattering everywhere until they’re eventually dust. How hilarious; that sounds a fuck-ton like Jungkook’s ravaged freedom right now, his goddamn autonomy, his sovereignty. 

 What happened to Jungkook’s rights? Why can’t his parents respect the goddamn progressive state of the world and just let him live?

 The things he’s fought to preserve ever since he was a kid, the things he valued more than anything else, gone with the wind just like his right to choose. He knew there was no fighting this one either, no manner of escape he couldn’t accomplish without completely destroying his family. 

 And despite what many want to believe about him, Jungkook isn’t selfish. 

 He can’t choose himself without damning others, so he swallows down his pride, his anger, his instinct to defy, and marches back into his room. He tosses away his shirt and strips off his dress pants, left to crawl into his bed and marinate in what the fuck he’s going to do. 

“Avatar is literally one of the best movies ever.” 

 “Crap. The best movie ever is Inception and you know it.” 

 “Oh please, you’re just trying to be edgy. You’re the same guy who hates on Silence of the Lambs for the fuck of it.” 

 “Not my fault I’m not into serial killers who skin their victims and wear them.” 

 You snort as you whack your best friend Taeksu in the bicep, giggling into your martini. “Admit it, you just like to be different.” 

 “What can I say, I’m a one of a kind guy.” 

 Taeksu’s full-of-it smirk makes you bop him in the shin, earning an overly-exaggerated exclamation of pain from him. You roll your eyes as you request a refill on your martini from the gorgeous bartender who hasn’t been discreet with his few-too looks in your direction and his sexy lop-sided grin. You send him a lascivious one in return, drinking up his bulky muscles and square jaw you ache to kiss. 

 “Hello, earth to Y/N?” Taeksu flails his hand in front of your face, earning a scoff from you. 

 “Why are you interrupting my game, loser? What the hell do you want?” 

 “I asked how your final essay for contract law is going.” Taeksu bites back with the same attitude, swirling around his Whiskey before downing it. “Forgive me for goddamn asking, you idiot.” 

 “Says you.” You retort, narrowing your eyes at him. He stares right back, challenging you with his formidable eyes, though not threatening in the least. 

 That was the thing about your best friend Cho Taeksu, his eyes told everything. Their stunning shade of hazel with green flecks made his gaze appear soft and light no matter the situation, and never allowed you to take the man seriously. 

 It’s what made you two such a great pair; both of you didn’t take anything seriously. You’d discovered your similar laissez-faire approach to life when you met the snot-nosed kid at the age of 8. 

 You stumbled upon a young Taeksu lounging in his bedroom rather than enjoying the bustling party his parents were throwing downstairs. He was wearing a dapper little button up with his tiny tie a little off-center, sniffling away his allergies. His light-brown hair was mussed and his lips drawn into a pout, annoyed with his constant sniffling. 

 Your mother had let you wander the Cho mansion earlier, a notion she was comfortable with considering the Cho’s were good friends with your parents. 

 Taeksu was playing with a model car, imitating the sounds of a roaring engine as he knocked over a tower of wooden blocks. His room appeared as cool as an 8-year-old’s room could; a gigantic lava lamp in the corner, a car bed with a water mattress, a Nintendo 64 with his very own TV. You’d opened his door further as curiosity plagued you, only for the creak of the cherrywood to alert Taeksu of your presence. 

 Fear gripped you at invading his space; would he be like the other boys that didn’t want to play with a girl? That refused to share their expensive toys with anyone else? That would be mean to you?

 “Are you not having fun?” 

 You tilted your head; what a weird question. “What do you mean?” 

 “At the party, is it not fun?” 

 The boy seemed so… calm, relaxed. He continued playing with his car as you ventured inside his room, timidness overcoming you. “I don’t like these parties. Too many people.” 

 The boy pouted, sighing. “Me neither.” 

 “Won’t you get in trouble by your parents? For being here?” 

 The boy pouted again, jerking his small shoulders up and down as he sniffled. “It’s okay. No biggie. I’m having fun like this.” 

 His lack of care honestly shocked you in that moment, taken by his ability to shut out what others wanted of him and simply pursue something he enjoyed, even if it was merely playing with a toy car. It was a trait of Taeksu’s that remained consistent throughout the 15 more years you’d known him, a trait you’d come to admire. 

 You found that your lives were so similar, so entangled that being best friends was simply fate. That connection extended to your families, your parents such synergistic friends that forging an unbreakable bond was inevitable. 

 It doesn’t hurt that Taeksu isn’t ugly either, no, he’s objectively one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen. His eyes were like rare gems of amber and emerald, a product of his Persian mother, complemented by brown, silky hair and flawless face structure courtesy of his Korean father. The man was a beautiful mix of rarity on his own. His physique was tall but lean, straight teeth that made for a handsome smile, and a kind heart that could ensnare the affections of any woman he set his eyes on. 

 He never really utilized that much around you, though. 

 After staring too hard, you and Taeksu burst into laughter, the alcohol poisoning your bloodstream by now, becoming loose-lipped and loose-limbed. Taeksu also appears slightly flushed, his grin a little too wide indicating that he’s now tipsy, and easily swayed. “So what, haven’t started your essay for contract law yet?” 

 “No, I started. Finished, actually.” You correct yourself, glugging your shot of tequila before sucking on a lime. You let the liquor burn your throat and dizzy your mind, leaning your cheek into your palm against the bar counter. “Why are you asking, anyway? Looking to copy off?” 

 Taeksu snorts. “Please, if I ever copied off you my GPA would drop.” 

 A look of disgust dawns on your features before punching his arm, once again earning his dramatics. “What the hell, Y/N?” 

 “You’re the one doing things to deserve it.” 

 Taeksu shakes his head in disapproval as your drunkenness takes over, slowing your speech. “Why are you even talking about school when that blonde chick over there has been eyeing you for 20 minutes?” 

 You make a light gesture towards the girl’s general direction, Taeksu flitting a glance to indeed find a gorgeous girl smiling at him, confident enough to even wave him a seductive hi. Taeksu scoffs through his smile, wetting his lips before his gaze falls to you. “I don’t remember saying I’m sleeping with someone tonight.” 

 “Well, you should.” You encourage him, clasping his shoulder like he’s your teammate. Indeed that’s what Taeksu always was; your partner in crime, your buddy, your homie. As attractive as the man might be, he’s also the same man that’s seen your absolute worst, and you his. You knew the kid when he thought replicating the movie “How to Eat Fried Worms” was a genius idea and his mother spanked him raw for destroying her microwave with cooked worm. 

 You knew the kid when he vomited all over you during field trips, his motion sickness as persistent as the damn devil. You even knew him when he needed to jump ship on a hookup because his dinner settled terribly in his stomach and he had the runs. You were his saviour that night; you posed as his mother texting him that his aunt had died. 

 Bless Taeksu’s auntie, but it was his most embarrassing moment he refused to tell anyone—save you.

 Suffice to say, Taeksu was and will always be a friend. Your feelings never bloomed beyond that. You could never see him in a romantic light without something foreign crawling through your blood or feeling as though you’re deeply wronging him. 

 The furthest you’d go is sleeping with him, and that would cause nothing but carnage. Your appetite for sex was nothing like his, used to fill a void that haunts your soul—sex could mean absolutely nothing to you but everything to him. You couldn’t risk rousing those feelings inside him nor jeopardizing the future relationship Taeksu could have with the right woman, someone he truly belongs with. 

 It’s what always allowed you to operate like this with Taeksu; best friends, and nothing more. 

 “Why do you think I should?” 

 “Because law school is so stressful, and you need a good fuck to relax.” 

 Taeksu frowns. “Who says I’m stressed?” 

 “Says the damn wrinkles forming on your forehead.” 

 “My what?!” Taeksuk screeches as he snatches his phone and accesses his front-facing camera, examining his forehead—you cackle. 

 “Taeksu, if you stress over the wrinkles, you’ll get even more.” You continue to snicker as Taeksu tells you off, flinging insults and teases he never means at all. Your banter persists for another five minutes before your gorgeous bartender refills your glass without you asking. 

 “Oh, I’m sorry. But my bill’s already quite–” 

 “Bill? It’s on me, love. Every drink has been.” 

 The magnetism of his stare has you believing you’re North and South poles, destined to connect. Your body could feel the buzz his own promised; thick muscles and broad stature, the low timbre of his voice invoking libidinous thoughts. The ghost of his whispers, the heat of his desire, the rough masculinity of his roaming hands… 

 “You look like you’re seconds from orgasming.” 

 Taeksu’s voice makes you cut a side-long glance at him. “And how would you know what that looks like?” 

 “Think I’ve made enough women come to know.” Taeksu sips his Whiskey with a smirk. “But neither of you are being discreet. Are you thinking of sleeping with him?” 

 “Yes, I very much am.” You answer matter-of-factly, your bartender returning to concocting more drinks, but the ghost of a smile on his lips telling you he’s in the same boat as you—your foreboding eyes cut to Taeksu. “Is that a problem?” 

 “No,” Taeksu stiffens like he always does, swallowing a little harder than he should. He steels himself, though, draining the rest of his liquor. “But you’re quite drunk. Sober up before sleeping with him.” 

 “Don’t worry, I’m only tipsy, Taeksu.” You drawl, stroking your bottom lip with a seductive finger, eyes only for your bartender. “Like I said, how else do you get rid of stress other than a good fuck?” 

 Taeksu breathes a laugh at your proclamation, nodding. “Like you said about the guy last night. You didn’t tell me much about that.” 

 The simple reminder of last night left tremors through your body, forced to recall the ecstasy of it. All you had in mind was perusing a newly opened club belonging to an infamous chain owned by Jung Hoseok, a man one would call Dionysus himself. His music was spell-binding, his liquor of the finest quality and his circle of people even more delicious. 

 You barely remember the man you’d had inside of you last night, but there wasn’t much room for talking once his lips landed on yours. His roaming hands made fireworks explode in your veins, his touch igniting a burning passion within you. 

 You’d had the most mind-blowing sex you’d ever experienced, a rarity in your usual escapades. The man knew how to touch you, not just that he knew women. He excavated your body, understood your pleasures as though he was a study in what made you tick and utilized it to give you the night of your life. 

 The sheer memory of him made you sweat, shooing away the thought before you longed for something gone. He’d left by the time you’d awakened in your apartment, alone, wondering whether you were angry at him or angry at yourself for expecting something more. 

 “Not much to tell.” 

 “The look on your face says there’s a lot to tell.” 

 You roll your eyes at Taeksu and flick his cheek, your face contorting with teasing. “You definitely need a good fuck; would teach you to stop over-analyzing me.”

 Taeksu chuckles, leaning his elbow against the bar counter. “Whatever you say, loser. Don’t say I never warned you about not being sober tonight, though.” 

 “Noted.” 

 You’re ready to make your move, downing your glass of water before straightening out of your dress and breathing deeply. You face Taeksu and blink rapidly, touching your hair. “Is my hair okay? I’ve been running my hands through it all night.” 

 Taeksu studies you, and it’s the kind of look that could get him in trouble. He gazes like you’re the only woman in the world, that softness shimmering with something indescribable. You swallow at the look, at his hand coming up to your face to softly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb coasts your cheek before he grins, a genuine and sweet one. “Bartender was right to call you beautiful.” 

 You inhale sharply, returning his smile before nodding and propping off your seat. You’re in the middle of banishing the conflicting thoughts Taeksu’s gaze just stirred when your phone begins buzzing on the bar counter, revealing a photo of your mom. 

 “Damn, why is she calling me now?” 

 Taeksu shrugs. “Want me to answer? Could be something important.” 

 “It’s okay, I’ll answer.” You thank him, snagging your phone and accepting her call without a single idea of the reality that’s going to hit you. 

  “You want me to what?” 

 “I want you to come with me on this cruise next weekend, Y/N. We’re meeting some very important people and I don’t feel like going alone.” 

 “But mooom—” 

 “Bidulgi, please. I’d much rather journey on a cruise with my daughter instead of alone.” 

 You sigh listening to the term of endearment your mother used with you. Bidulgi, dove, something she likened to calling you ever since you were four years-old and declared to the world that you wanted to be just like your mother—a lawyer who fights for people’s justice and freedom. She’d taught you that doves symbolized peace, freedom, and love, and wanted you to become not only a lawyer, but someone that emulated those things. 

 You couldn’t resist her when she called you her dove. 

 “Fine, mom. But who are we even meeting? And why is it a cruise? How long are we gone for?” 

 “Just half a week, Y/N. They’ve invited us on a cruise for the day that’ll dock in Hong Kong, and from there they’d like to take us to the Maldives.” 

 “The Maldives?” You squeak in question, absolutely bewildered. “Who the hell is taking us to the Maldives?” 

 “You’ll meet them next weekend. Spend this week packing for the cruise and the Maldives.” You sigh at your mother’s neglect for your life, not even registering how sudden this is.

 “Mom, as much as I’d love to go on a trip, I have school and my internship. I can’t just up and leave for a luxurious vacation.” 

 “Taeksu already told me that you’re ahead in all of your class assignments and merely have studying left. You’ll have plenty of time to study upon the cruise and in the Maldives, and we’ll be back before your exams. As for the internship, considering you’re the daughter of the firm’s owner, I see no reason why you can’t have some time off.” 

 “But mom, you know I love working for your firm—” 

 “That’s final, Y/N. You will accompany me to this meeting. Am I not allowed to spend time with my daughter?” 

 You exhale heavily, shaking your head as you rummage through escape plans from this. You come up short in the end, because is there truly a way? There’s no winning an argument against a lawyer; a task as Herculean as beheading a Hydra. “Fine, mom. What about Jihoon and dad, though? We can’t just leave them.”

 “Your little brother has school, and you know your father’s condition—he won’t be able to join us.” 

 Your mood plummets at the news, refusing to let it damper the rest of your night. “Okay. We’ll talk about this more later, though.” 

 “Good, I wouldn’t expect anything less. Always ask questions before taking any deal.” You breathe a smile at the pride in her tone, her parenting always having been through the lens of a lawyer. As annoying as it could be sometimes, it did have its perks, too. 

 “Bye, mom.” 

 “Take care, nae bidulgi.” 

 Cutting the call, you narrow your eyes at Taeksu. “You knew my goddamn mom was gonna whisk me away to the Maldives? And you didn’t tell me.” 

 “Hey,” he protests, hailing up his hands in surrender. “She told me not to say anything and you know your mom. The woman’s a kickass lawyer for God’s sake, I couldn’t defy her.” 

 Sticking your tongue out at him, you march towards where you last saw your bartender, fed up with the situation—you might as well fuck your mind off it. Unable to locate him, you land on the first employee you can spot, leaning over the counter. “Hey, have you seen that really good-looking colleague of yours? Dark hair? Super buff?” 

 “Ah, you probably mean Hyunwoo. He just went to the back. One of my best guys.” The man flashes you a sunny smile as he crosses his arms over his chest, tilting your head at his words. 

 “One of your guys? As in you’re his boss?” 

 “Everyone’s boss, technically. I kinda own the place.” 

 You’re far too tipsy to consider you’re speaking to the Jung Hoseok, having barely noticed him at yesterday’s club opening. You thank him for the information and he tells you it’s no problem, along with what time Hyunwoo gets off work. 

 His information was more than correct, because you ended up finding Hyunwoo after his shift, sticking your tongue down his throat, and letting him shove his hand in your panties as he pressed you up against his car, grinding like two teenagers in heat. He drove you to his place where you both went at it quick and dirty, rough and nasty, left with enough whisker burn to have scratched you raw. 

 Though it was like nothing you had with the man the night before, left with the ghost of him haunting you, and wondering if he’ll ever return. 

  “You want me to what?!” 

 “We want you to take over the company, son.” 

 Jungkook scoffs as anger rages inside him, threatening to boil up all his blood. “You can’t be fucking serious, dad.” 

 “Watch your language, child.” Jungkook’s father rebukes him. “You knew this was coming, son. Why are you so upset? You were always destined to inherit the company.” 

 “But I thought I had time, time to actually want it.” Jungkook argues, exasperated beyond belief. “I’m only 23, dad. You can’t make me run an entire company.” 

 “And who says you can’t?” Jungkook’s mother cuts in, her arms tightly folded across her chest. “Son, your father built this company at 20 years-old, who says you can’t run it at 23? Besides, you’ve always loved games, what’s stopping you now?” 

 “Mom,” Jungkook exhales with a dry laugh, raking his hands through his long hair. “Enjoying games is one thing but running an entire fucking company is another. You can’t just drop this responsibility on me, you can’t!” 

 “Jungkook, you cannot escape this.” His father’s voice grows stern. “You are my firstborn and only son, and you are to inherit my company. There is no negotiating this; I do not care how hard you try to rebel against me or ruin your image. I do not care if you are nothing more than my playboy son who wastes the last half of his brain on partying and drinking, you will inherit my company and embrace my legacy.” 

 Jungkook attempts to hide the disgust on his face, the sting in his heart when his father regards him with such disdain. He’d grown used to his undermining and condescending language since he was a boy, speaking to Jungkook as if he were an obtuse child unable to fill his father’s shoes. 

 This is why Jungkook has always looked the other way, why he’s been fighting for his freedom since the day he understood his fate; disappointing his parents by being the worst was much better than disappointing them with his best. 

 Jungkook’s fist clenched open and closed, remembering to breathe through his fury, to channel it into his fists later when they met the hardness of a punching bag. His head is pounding, his brain computing five million possibilities at once, his body buzzing with the need to rampage. “You’re already forcing me to marry someone, you can’t force me to own your company. You just can’t.” 

 “Yes, I can. And you will.” Jungkook’s father remains unmovable, utterly stubborn. “Do not defy me.” 

 “And what if I ruin your company?” Jungkook venously retorts, jaw tightly locked. “What if I run it to the ground and you lose every precious thing you’ve worked so hard for?” 

 Jungkook’s father smiles grimly, replicating the malice of the Joker himself. “Then you’ll be damning yourself and the rest of our family, son. And I know you’re not so stupid as to jeopardize that. After all, your money has been my money your whole life; what are you to do without the penthouse you live in or the car you drive? The luxuries you bathe in everyday? What of your mother and sister? Will you let them lose everything because of your ignorance?” 

 Jungkook’s mind shatters; this is why his father was doing this. He knew Jungkook would have no choice, knew that his one weakness was always his family, that he’d do anything for them. He was manipulating that love, knowledgeable that Jungkook truly had no choice when sandwiched between these two tragedies. He had to run the company as best he could to support everyone, and failure to do so would result in his worst nightmare. 

 His family destroyed… his sister…

 Jungkook laughs, meek and dry. He’s tired, he’s furious, he feels like tearing everything in this room apart. His chest aches and his brain throbs and his shoulders feel heavy with the weight of so much pressure, like a boulder crushing every tendon inside him. 

 He’s so… so fucking tired. 

 “Fine,” Jungkook grits, barely able to stand. His eyes fill with malevolence as he accusingly points at his father, his voice taut. “But I am not, and will never do this for you. I’m doing this for Mari… only for Mari.” 

 Jungkook doesn’t even give his father time to rebuttal before he turns his cheek and throws open the door of his parents’ suite, venturing away with white hot rage radiating through his every step.

  “Mom, why the hell are you dressing me up?” 

 “Because, my love, you need to look pretty for this meeting.” 

 You grumble as your mother flocks around you like a wild bird, pestering you about your makeup and hair and outfit and shoes and purse as though you’re meeting the Prime Minister of Korea himself. Her constant blithering is enough to make your eardrums surrender, left utterly exhausted. 

 “Mom, what’s wrong with you? Why are you acting as though this is the most important meeting in the world?” 

 Your mother stiffens for a millisecond before softening, her expression calm and collected. You know the woman spent the better half of her life schooling her emotions as a lawyer, slaying any feelings of anxiety and doubt like a warrior. But the nerves always showed in her eyes, in her hands that sometimes shook, in the entirely unconscious way she’d clean just to distract herself. 

 Right now she was tidying up your entire suite on the cruise, her voice distant. “Nothing’s wrong, Y/N. You know appearances are everything and I just want my daughter to look beautiful.” 

 “Do you mean to say I’m not always beautiful?” 

 It’s only a joke, your light-hearted tone and a small chuckle saying that much, but your mother gasps as though someone has misplaced one of her files. Your mother has always hated when people touched her files. 

 She approaches you with a kind smile as she cradles your cheeks, her eyes sweeter than cotton candy. She’s been so benevolent lately that you’re afraid this may be the calm before the storm, wary of what today really entails. 

 She still refuses to share many details about the meeting today, nor has she informed you of the people part of it. You could be walking into a den of monsters and not know, but she’s your mother—the woman who raised you to be relentless, strong-spirited, a goddess. You’d always trusted her, always let her be your confidant because she offered so much more than just being a mother—she acted as a best friend, a sister, a counsellor even. 

 Even if growing up under her strictness and expectations wasn’t easy, you like to believe she truly molded you into the person you are today. She did what was necessary; polished a rock hard enough until it became a diamond. 

 You trust your mother, so you’ll blindly follow her into this meeting if you have to. 

 “You are the most beautiful woman, Y/N.” Your mother coos, tracing one of the earrings you wear. “You look stunning.” 

 Your lips naturally curl, touched by her love. “I’m only beautiful because I get it from my mother.” 

 She grins, wide and true, but you can’t help but distinguish the lightest regret in her eyes, as though she’s shielding something from you. You want to press her, desperate to understand what’s going on, but you know your mother—whatever it is, it’s for your benefit. 

 Taking a deep breath, you clasp her wrist, bouncing your brows. “Shall we?” 

 She giggles warmly in return, gripping your hand. “We shall.” 

  To say this cruise was beautiful is an understatement, it was absolutely lavish, decadent. Its sheer opulence begged the question of the wealth of whomever you were meeting tonight, only a billionaire’s pockets deep enough to afford this.

 Your mother still opted for secrecy regarding everything tonight, but she informed you of the cruise. One of the most luxurious to sail; it was owned by the man you were both meeting, colouring you 26 shades of impressed. The activities and events on board were enough to spend days on the ship; it was genuinely disheartening to think you’d only be able to indulge until tomorrow. 

 Manuevering across the ship and into a more private, though equally opulent room above the main deck, your eyes widen at the sight beyond the windows. The vast sea offers a soothing sight tonight, the scent of salt water like balm to your soul. The sounds of waves crashing are shut out in this room, though present, threatening to lull anyone who listens too carefully to sleep. 

 You’re so busy admiring the breadth of the ocean that you’re startled by the sound of an older man entering the room, his voice joyful and welcoming. “Bitna, there you are, how great it is to see you!” 

 “Ah, Chinhae, it’s great to see you too!” Your mother lights up with a merry smile, reaching out and embracing the man with familiarity. “Let me introduce you to my daughter, Y/N.” 

 “Well would you look at her, she looks just like you, Bitna.” Chinhae politely compliments, extending his hand for a shake. You meet him in the middle and respectfully bow, plastering on a smile. “Nice to meet you, dear. I’m Jeon Chinhae. I’ve heard wonderful things from your mother.” 

 “Thank you, Mr. Jeon.” You squeeze his hand, soon shooting your mother a reprimanding look. “I’m sad to say my mother didn’t tell me much about this meeting or yourself.” 

 “With good reason, Y/N.” Your mother tuts. 

 “Bitna, how could you? I think you’ve wounded me a little.” Mr. Jeon jokes, causing you and your mother to chuckle. They begin some light small talk as your mind starts to wander, contemplating the significance of tonight’s meeting. 

 What is your mother planning? Considering this man owns this ship means he’s incredibly wealthy; perhaps a politician? Another lawyer? Someone you could potentially work with after you’ve finished law school? But you don’t know of any extravagantly affluent lawyers by the name of Jeon, already familiar with Seoul’s upper echelon of justice representatives. 

 Seoul’s upper echelon… now that gets your gears shifting. He must be a member if he’s in possession of such a lavish vessel and freely offering you and your mother an all-inclusive vacation to the Maldives. 

 You rake your mind for the name Jeon then. It sounds so familiar, a company of sorts often on the news and in stores… ah! Jeon Entertainment. 

 This must be the CEO of Jeon Entertainment, it’s the only viable option. Of course the CEO of a gaming company could afford all of this; the gaming market remains crazy profitable as technology advances, creating new ways for humans to escape their reality and immerse themselves in alternate worlds. 

 “She’s only told me of the wonderful trip you mean to take us on, which we’re very grateful for, Mr. Jeon.” You honestly extend your gratitude as you cut into the conversation; it’s not everyday an illustrious family waves you a free ticket for a vacation in your face. 

 “No need for thanks, dear. I’m certain we’ll be like family on this trip, anyway.” Mr. Jeon smiles kindly, and his words slightly confound you. Like family? Surely if your mom considered the man family, she would’ve told you about him. 

 “Please, Chinhae. Where is the rest of your family? I haven’t seen your wife in far too long.” Your mother laments, causing Mr. Jeon to regretfully exhale. 

 “Ah, she’s with my son. I’m sure they’ll be out soon.” Mr. Jeon kisses his teeth with slight annoyance and swivels around, calling out to the corridor he emerged from. “Jagiya, our guests are here!” 

 You and your mother fall into needless conversation to seem polite as Mr. Jeon nearly stomps his way to the corridor, calling out again. It’s then you hear whispered-yelling, barely coherent but evident. They sound angry and distressed, alerting you that something seems off about this. 

 Mr. Jeon settles as two shadows appear before him. His smile, though fake, rises. “Ah, Bitna, Y/N, let me present my wife and son. Jeon Aecha and Jeon Jungkook.” 

 You’re smiling politely, ready to respectfully bow for the two people that enter the room. What you’re met with is nothing you’d expect; your jaw unhinges the second you lay eyes on a frustrated man venturing into the room as though he’d rather watch paint dry, and his distraught mother trailing behind. 

 Your heart stops, your blood spikes and suddenly every hair on your body rises, unable to fathom…

 This is the exact same man you slept with the other night, the one who absolutely rocked your world.

 And now here he is before you, his eyes widening just like yours. Clearly he’s as shocked to see you, frozen. It takes all but two seconds for shame to dawn on his features, evidently recalling how things were left between you two—he’d run off before you could even wake up, dooming the night to a simple one night stand. 

 Petty anger settles into your bones, once again either hating the man for leaving or yourself for expecting him to stay. You weren’t anticipating much; you’re a woman who stands by one night stands, sex merely something you craved and often got. But you at least expected him to stay until breakfast, to have that awkward but mollifying conversation where both parties either agree to continue the relationship or end things there. 

 And you’d wanted to continue things with this man. He was different, and deliciously good in bed. But no, he didn’t respect you enough to have that conversation, or clearly hated the sex so much that he disappeared like a thief in the night. 

 Looking at his stupid face now, you hate that he did, hate him for leaving you, hate that his skills in bed were so good you’d been reeling for days.

 You decide to toss aside those notions now, forget the fact that you’ve slept with the goddamn CEO of Jeon Entertainment’s son. You could hardly look Mr. Jeon in the eye now, introducing his son as though you didn’t already know what he feels like inside of you. 

 The thought forces you to clear your throat and collect your wits, schooling yourself as you greet who you now know as Jungkook, and his mother. 

 “It’s lovely to meet you.” You say, swallowing down the urge to stare at Jungkook. “What could be bringing our two families together in such a wonderful place? I’ve heard the ship actually belongs to you, Mr. Jeon.” 

 “Ah, yes, it does, dear.” He grins widely. “I’m sure my son would be happy to show you around tomorrow. You’ll be spending quite some time together after all.” 

 You then remember you’re meant to spend this entire vacation with Jungkook’s family, and of course, Jungkook himself. The thought nearly makes your insides coil, forced to be with the same man that left you that night. Still, your mother was friends with this family, and you’d use every available method to hide the true nature of how you know Jungkook in order to preserve niceties. 

 No matter that the fucking heat of his stare from across the room keeps distracting you… fuck. 

 “Of course, the trip to the Maldives. Is there something to be celebrating?” You query, curious as to what occasion there is. Jungkook’s entirely blank face suddenly folds when his eyebrows quirk in confusion, eyes darting towards you. It’s then shock blooms on his features, soon his jaw flexing as he looks away.

 “Oh? Did your mother not tell you about our meeting today?” Mr. Jeon asks, shaking your head as you peer at your mother. 

 “No, she didn’t. Is there something I should know?” 

 Mr and Mrs Jeon then send each other puzzled looks, your mother barely able to meet your eyes. Your confusion only grows, peeking between both hesitant parties. 

 Mr. Jeon then grins politely, speaking carefully. “Ah, Bitna, you didn’t tell your daughter about the marriage between my son and your daughter?” 

 You choke, both literally and figuratively. Your body goes rigid, mind blanketed by a snowstorm. Your very understanding of reality crumbles, chest pierced by a cruel arrow of pain. You glance at your mother, who looks at you with a world of regret, finally understanding why she seemed so off today. 

 This entire time… this entire time she planned on having you married off, and she didn’t tell you? 

 “Mom…” You breathe, ribs threatening to cave in, leaving you bare and naked as you face the people in this room. You feel too vulnerable, too seen, too exposed. “Mom… you-you didn’t tell me?” 

 Your mother smiles with guilt, reaching out for you. “Bidulgi, I’m so sorry. I just wanted you to meet the Jeon’s without any judgement.” She coos, coos like she always does, even using that term of endearment with you to sweeten the blow of her words. 

 She planned this… she–she ambushed you with this news, purposefully withheld the information so you had no choice but to agree. You couldn’t rudely reject the marriage in front of the Jeon family, not with them letting you stay on their ship and taking you to the Maldives. Not with their son right here, who’s gone so still you’re certain the man is stone. 

 That’s nothing like you, though. No, you're a whirlwind of emotions; hurt, betrayal, pain, sorrow, betrayal. You feel like you’re living somebody’s life, somebody else’s tomorrow, certain this is all a cosmic joke because this can’t be your life. 

 But your eyes then fall to the woman responsible for this; your mother. Not anyone else’s, yours, meaning this is your life, and it is happening to you. You feel horribly wronged by her; she knew you trusted her, used that trust and manipulated you into a deadlock of a decision. 

 Marriage? Fucking marriage? She wanted you to marry someone, and of all fucking people on Earth, it’s to the man who left your bed as though you were some meaningless rump in the sheets? 

 You’re shaking with anger by the time your mother and Jungkook’s parents begin talking, discussing the most menial of things. Mr. Jeon asks about your father, and your mother gives the usual answer she does. Mrs. Jeon even dares to joke about wedding decorations, her and your mother beginning to discuss which flowers to purchase for the ceremony. 

 They continue to speak freely, acting as though their children they’re forcing to wed aren’t even there, mere pawns to be moved around on their chessboard. You can barely stand now, white hot fury poisoning your blood. To be in the same room as your mother feels akin to burning, the sting of her betrayal more agonizing than any venom. 

 Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, incapable of remaining here, of accepting this. Your embarrassment is gut-wrenching, unbelieving that your mother could do this to you, could leave you looking imbecilic in front of your future fiance’s family—those very words taste wrong in your mouth.

 She was always such a modern woman, forward-thinking and progressive. You would’ve never thought she could do something as old-fashioned as marry her daughter off to a stranger—it seems you were wrong.

 You can’t even breathe anymore, so overcome with emotion that you excuse yourself for a breath of fresh air, fighting to keep the contents of your dinner in your stomach. 

  “Uh… hey.” 

 You whip your head around to find Jungkook hesitantly sauntering onto the deck, shutting the door behind him. You grip the railings of the bow of the ship, letting the sea breeze whisk through your hair. 

 You’d ventured outside to clear your head, to let the unsettling waters of the ocean perhaps distract you from the choppy waves in your own mind. But it’s far from clear now as you watch Jungkook’s eyes dart elsewhere, lodging his hands into his pockets, feet shifting. 

 You despise that your memory of him the other night resurfaces, distraught with how he appears the same; strikingly handsome with a boyish charm that completely contradicts his playboy sex appeal. 

 You could sneak a peek of the tattoo sleeve you knew decorated one of his arms, extending to the back of his hand. His piercings present dangly earrings that glint in the moonlight, his lip ring harkening back memories of its metal against your skin. His hair is longer than your traditional male, falling in soft, slightly wavy strands that frame his face handsomely. A few even curl over his forehead in a comma, a faint undercut adding a hint of roughness to his soft features, his strong brows mesmerizing. 

 You can’t help but scoff, despising yourself for finding him even remotely attractive. He just had to have a Herculean body with delicious muscles that hugged a tall torso, adding insult to injury. Had to have thick thighs and a thick chest and thick shoulders that could carry the entire world. 

 Absolutely unfair. 

 “Well… if it isn’t you.” You snark, ripping your eyes away from the damn traitor. His hesitant behaviour in the meeting earlier indicated that he knew about this marriage before you did, possibly even knew it was to you. “Did you know about this shit? Because if you did, I won’t hesitate to throw you overboard.” 

 You listen to Jungkook scoff, tonguing his lip ring. “Wow, says the girl who told me her name was Yeji before sticking her tongue down my throat the night we met. Nice to meet you by the way, Y/N.” 

 “Please,” you narrow your eyes at him, disgust sprawling all over your face. “I don’t remember you hating it, so stop acting wounded. And you didn’t tell me your name, anyway. I was under the impression we weren’t going to meet again… let alone marry each other.” 

 “Trust me, I want nothing to do with this either. And no, I had no clue my parent’s arranged a marriage until after our… night together. And I just found out it’s to you… of all fucking people.” The last part he whispers to himself, causing rage to simmer within you. 

 “Fuck you; you’re the same person who left my apartment like I was some trollop.” You venomously retort. “I can’t believe I have to marry you of all people.” 

 Jungkook visibly stands down at those words. You hate that your hurt is apparent enough for him to soften, his body less rigid. His eyes shimmer with the lunar rays of the moon, reflecting… sympathy. “Look, I’m sorry I did that, okay. That night was… overwhelming, and I never meant to make you feel—”

 “Forget it, I don’t want your pity.” You spit his way, tightly clutching your shawl over your body. The sea had grown colder, attacking your exposed skin in this thin dinner dress your mother chose. 

 Now you want nothing but to toss it into the ocean. 

 Jungkook sighs deeply as he pinches the bridge of his nose, distress written all over his face. He runs a hand through his hair, lost in his head. “Listen, I know you may hate me, Y/N, but we’ll have to make this work somehow. We have to—” 

 “Are you mad?” You genuinely question, laughing even. “Jungkook, we’re going to pretend like the other night never happened, and we’re not going to get married, end of story. We’re going to march right back into that room and tell our parents that this isn’t happening.” 

 Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to laugh dryly, gesturing towards you. “Are you mad? We can’t fucking avoid this. We have to get married, we have no other choice.” 

 “We do; we simply don’t.” You refuse to budge, tone growing in its malice. “Don’t you see this isn’t going to work? We barely know each other and made a mistake the other night. We are not getting married.” 

 Jungkook’s features contort in disbelief. “We have to, okay? You don’t fucking get it, Y/N. I need to marry you, I have too much riding on this stupid fucking marriage.” 

 A derisive laugh escapes you, unbothered. “And what could you possibly have riding on this marriage? What more could a little fucking rich boy like you need?” Your words cause Jungkook’s eyebrows to furrow, a wicked grin forming on your lips. “Yeah, I did a Google search on you the second I came out here. All you are is a spoiled playboy who’s had his daddy feed him with a silver spoon all his life, what more could you need?” 

 Jungkook locks his jaw tightly, his fists clenching and unclenching. You knew you recognized the bruises on his knuckles, the coarseness of his calluses running over your heated skin that night. He clearly boxed or performed some kind of exercise fighting, indicative of the way he squeezes his hands together to no doubt control his anger. He swallows harshly, hard enough his Adam’s apple bobs and draws unnecessary attention to his neck… a sexy neck. 

 Fuck. 

 “Wow, you’re like a fucking angry kitten. Unaware of her size in the world and yet still slashing her claws.” 

 “Shut the fuck up. I am not a kitten.” 

 He breathes a tight laugh as he eyes your height, clearly finding you ridiculous. So what if you’re shorter than him? You are not a docile kitten, you’re a lioness ready to pounce on anyone who fucks with you.

 Jungkook’s cadence is leveled, his voice condescendingly honeyed over as he folds his arms. “We have to get married, little kitten. We just have to, we have no choice.” 

 “Well, I don’t want to marry you.” 

 “And I don’t want to fucking marry you either!” Jungkook suddenly explodes, his eyes wild as emotion overtakes him. “But for fuck’s sake, I have to take over my father’s company! I have to marry someone and prove something to him! I have it the fucking worst, the worst, and yet I’m still trying. I’m still compromising.” 

 “You have it the worst?” Your voice cracks, tears brimming your tired eyes. “I was fucking ambushed by my mother, the woman I trust most in this fucking world! She betrayed me in front of your family, you can’t possibly have it worse than I do!” 

 “Please,” Jungkook laughs, his tone cutthroat. “You did a Google search on me? Well I did one on you, too. You’re the daughter of a wealthy lawyer couple with a famous law firm, you were fed everything on a silver spoon, too. How hard could you have it?” 

 Rage boils inside you, having half the mind to not march over and slap him across the face. He knows nothing about you, absolutely nothing. Indignation becomes your friend, gritting at him. “Says fucking you.” 

 Jungkook appears exhausted now, shaking his head. He sighs again, hands perching onto his hips as he peers up at the inky black sky. “Look, I don’t care if you don’t want to marry me. You’re the only way I’ll get my parents off my fucking back, so be a doll and just do what you’re told, yeah?” 

 Now’s the time you truly can’t stand the man, approaching him with angry steps to invade his personal space. “Don’t you dare call me a doll, and what? You’re just gonna use me like you did the other night? Leave me once your needs are satisfied?” 

 Jungkook becomes formidable then, shoving himself in your face with mere inches between your heated, angry bodies. You hate that you focus on his height in comparison to yours, large enough that he could easily manhandle you. He towers you, sexily so, and you use every ounce of your strength to fight back your arousal. 

 “If I recall correctly, you’re the one that had four orgasms that night, kitten, so whose needs were really satisfied?” 

 The rumble of his foreboding voice shoots electricity through you, shoving down the urge to remember those four wonderful orgasms he made explode in your body. His words still implant disgust within you, ready to shove the man overboard.

 Jungkook seems to notice the way you swallow, his lips curving smugly, eyes dancing with amusement. “And here I thought you forgot about that night.” 

 You grind your teeth, hating his stupidly gorgeous face and sexy smirk. “Still doesn’t give you the right to use marrying me for your own benefit, you bastard. I want nothing to do with you.” 

 “Like fucking wise, wifey.”

 “Don’t you dare call me that.”

 “Then don’t you dare call me a bastard.” 

 You’re at your limit, hanging on by a fucking thread as Jungkook refuses to drop your gaze. He stares dauntingly, challenging you with his unmoving look. He’s still in your space, the gap between you two small enough to be closed by a single step. Your body reacts stupidly, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

 And something about being burned intrigues you beyond explanation. 

 You huff in his face, shaking your head in controlled fury before shoving past him and marching towards the door, shooting him an alarming death glare. “Mark me, and mark me clearly, you mongrel. I’ll be damned before I wed you and share a fucking marriage bed with you. Goodbye.” 

 “And here’s the bed you’ll be sharing!”

 You gawk at the suite with wide eyes, unable to speak. It’s similar to the room you share with your mother, except this room doesn’t have two beds… but one. 

 One fucking king sized bed that belongs to Jungkook.

 “Mom, what is this?” You rudely question, ignoring your tone and the fact that Jungkook stands just behind you. “What do you mean I’m sharing his room?” 

 “Well, us parents just thought it’d be better for you two if you shared a room together, so we decided to place you in Jungkook’s. You’ll be married soon after all!” Your mother appears overly thrilled, smiling widely with her hands clasped together. You can’t believe her at all, shaking with resentment. 

 “Mom, you can’t make us share a room.” You fume, barely containing your temper. “You’ve already done enough, this is too much.” 

 “We don’t have much of an option, dear.” She coos, acting as though she hasn’t just entirely fucked up your life. “The Jeons suggested it and it’d be rude for us to not accept their hospitality. Besides, Jungkook’s a sweet boy, and I’d hurt him myself if he ever did anything to you.” 

 Your mother reaches towards Jungkook and cradles his cheek, her later warning bright in her eyes. Jungkook smiles politely, as though he wasn’t just up in your face and spitting poison half an hour ago. “Thank you, Mrs. Y/L/N. I can assure you I’ll treat your daughter with respect. Always.” 

 Your mother hums delightfully at that, flashing a look at you. You refuse to meet her eyes, emotions still too raw inside you. She sighs and bids a farewell, leaving you two with your dicks in your hands. 

 You simmer angrily; your things were already transported here so you couldn’t make the excuse of leaving for them—shit. You suppress a snarl, hating every second of this. 

 “So, what was that about not sharing my bed, kitten?” 

 You scoff, hissing at him. “Fuck off, and don’t call me petnames.” 

 “But it’s so fun.” 

 Patience will certainly become your best friend with this man, whipping your head around with a death glare. “I’ll sleep on the Godforsaken couch if I have to. I am not sleeping with you.” 

 Jungkook laughs, dry and curt. He makes it a statement to walk towards you, slow and calculative. He invades your space as he pins you with an amused look, eyes as dangerous as the sea itself.  “Don’t know if you’ve forgotten, kitten, but you’ve already slept with me.” 

 The pride in his smirk leaves you unhinged, shoving Jungkook away from you. “I remember it being the biggest mistake of my life.” 

 Jungkook laughs humourlessly this time, obviously not used to a sharp-tongued woman. His gaze harbours something you can’t quite distinguish, like he’s attempting to figure you out, entertained by solving whatever puzzle you appear to be to him. 

 You hate that he’s trying, indicative of his still unwavering will to try this marriage, to truly be bound to each other as husband and wife. You can’t understand it, can’t understand how the man is so eager to prove a point that he’s soiling one of the most precious things in human life; the bond of marriage. 

 It only makes you consider how your mother could do this to you, strap you to some random person’s son as though you’re her doll. For all she knew you were in a relationship, in love, goddamn handfast with someone else, but her refusal to divulge any information or inquire about your love life says enough. 

 She doesn’t fucking care.

 Your thoughts send you swimming in the doubts of your mind, negativity poisoning the waters. You slowly step away from Jungkook, your anger subsiding like a tide that reveals the rocks and shards of your sorrow when it pulls backs. 

 Her betrayal hurts more than anything. You had always been her partner in crime, her confidant, her person, but she kept something so vital, so life-changing from you… 

 “I can’t believe my mother would do this…” The words escape you without thought, flattering onto the bed behind you. “I trusted her. I’ve trusted her my whole life… and she didn’t even tell me.” 

 The vulnerability is evident in your cadence, vision focused on nothing but the hardwood floor. You can’t see Jungkook, who stands a few feet away from you, but distinguish the slight sympathy in his tone when he speaks. 

 “What about your father?” He asks carefully, his hands finding his pockets. “Did he know?”

 “He’s… sick.” You swallow, slapping concrete over your heart so it doesn’t crumble at the thought of your father. It’s a story you rarely tell, and one you’re certain you’ll never tell Jungkook. “Don’t ask about him, ever.” 

 Jungkook seems to get the memo, ending that topic. He sighs then, long and deep, before taking a few steps towards you. “I’m not even doing this for myself, you know.” He informs, his voice oddly soft, quiet. “I’m doing this for somebody else. Someone I care about.”

 Your eyes flicker up to him. “Who?” 

 “My little sister, Mari.”

 “You have a little sister?”

 “And you have a little brother.” He adds with a charming smile, taking a seat as furthest from you as he could. You’re unsure whether he did it for your sake or his. “Google search, remember? 

 You silently absorb that information, tasting it. “Where is she now?” 

 “Asleep. She didn’t sleep the night before because she was too excited about the trip.” 

 Your lips don’t know which emotion to convey, left merely blinking. “How could someone like you be doing this for your little sister?” 

 Jungkook puffs air through his nose as he tongues his cheek, leaning back on his palms. “Just because you don’t like me, doesn’t mean I’m a bad person.” 

 You weigh his words, chewing on them—they’re indicative of the exact predicament you’re in. He needs to be logical about this, there’s sincerely no way you two could agree to marriage when you don’t even know each other’s character, let alone favourite colour. “But that’s the point, Jungkook, I don’t like you nor do I know you well enough to even discern if you’re a bad person. Neither do you with me. Don’t you see that we can’t marry each other? It’s blasphemous.” 

 “It’s just a marriage, Y/N.” Jungkook leans back with a devil-may-care attitude, completely unbothered. “It doesn’t mean shit.”

 “It may not mean shit to you, but it does to me.” You snap back, harmed by his idiotic nonchalance. “I’d rather marry a man who doesn’t leave my fucking bed in the middle of the night like a thief.” 

 Jungkook scoffs, his stupid doe eyes cutting you deep. “Says the woman who seduced me like a siren.” He spits. “Trust me, I want nothing to do with you and your sorry-ass way of getting attention.” 

 Now you’re hooked up to a livewire, darting off the bed and accusingly pointing. “Please, you’re the one who craves attention.” You snarl. “Anyone could take one good look at you and know that you only party and act like an idiot for mommy and daddy’s attention.”

 “Shut the fuck up.” His eyes harden with clear fury; looks like you’ve hit a nerve. 

 “Well would you look at that? Seems like I’ve hit a bullseye.” You sweetly condescend. “I’m right, aren’t I? You act like a little tantrum-filled playboy to get mommy and daddy’s attention. What? The silver spoons aren’t enough?” 

 “I said,” Jungkook fumes, his jaw locked firm enough he could’ve been breaking a tooth. “Shut the fuck up, Y/N.” 

 What a fucking classic; another boy with anger and mommy and daddy issues, should you really be surprised? It’s a tale as old as time, and you have no energy to poke at it anymore. “I’d shut the fuck up if you put on your big boy pants and told your parents to fuck off.” 

 Jungkook’s face contorts with disbelief, shooting up from the bed. “Like you’re saying shit to your mother? You’re the same little girl sobbing in a corner just because your mommy made a decision without you. Why don’t you put on your big girl pants and tell your mother to fuck off?” 

 “Fuck you,” you growl, both words dripping with venom, eyes the very harbinger of death. “I’d rather eat grass than spend another minute with you.”

 “Then get used to the taste of dirt, kitten. You’re spending a whole lifetime with me.” 

 You can’t believe him, you can’t believe how insolent and reckless and idiotic he is. Spend an entire lifetime together? Is he insane? He’d rather spend a lifetime with a stranger than stand up to his parents? He's the very definition of a fool. 

 “What is wrong with you? How are you okay with spending a lifetime with a stranger? How are you okay with that?” 

 Jungkook smirks, wide and charming. “Well, we’re not exactly strangers, are we, kitten?” 

 “Don’t fucking call me that, and stop brining up that night.” 

 “Why?” Jungkook asks with almost fascination, entertained by your denial. “Why do you want to forget it, Y/N? Is there something about that night that bothers you?” 

 He crosses the room to you now, his each step fluid, methodical. His approaching only makes you retreat in response, his aura enough to corrupt yours. His very existence alters the workings of yours, leaving your heart racing and your breath hitching and your skin heating. It made no sense, made no sense beyond being physically attracted to the man… 

 Oh fucking hell; you are ravenously attracted to this man. 

 And with him approaching you like this, with his eyes intent on you, his gaze hungry, you’re left nothing but to be his prey, succumbing to him. 

 “Tell me, Y/N.” He purrs, taking his last step before standing mere inches from you, scavenging the depths of your soul with his piercing gaze. “Tell me, why do you want to forget it? Why do you want to forget what our bodies felt like against each other?” 

 His words surge memories through you, seductive, bitter, sensual, powerful memories you’d much rather purge. You stand your ground despite shaking with arousal, despite your nipples hardening against your dress as you meet the man’s fiery gaze. “Because you were a mistake.” 

 Jungkook laughs that laugh that’s quick and dry, his voice deeper and richer than an aged bottle of Whiskey. “Was I really a mistake, Y/N? Do you really regret what happened between us?” He invades your space so much your ass nudges the vanity behind you, squeaking. His sex appeal oozes out of him as he stands this close, suffocating you, leaning down to your height until he cages you between himself and the vanity, hands gripping the edge either side of your hips.

 You swallow harshly, hormones on high alert. “I-I do. I regret it.” 

 Again, one of his laughs, making it a statement to tongue his lip ring, tempting you with his tongue. You unconsciously watch the hypnotic movement, recalling exactly what it felt like to kiss him; majestic, Dionysian, ecstasy. 

 He dares graze his mouth along your ear, causing goosebumps to freckle your skin. “Do you really, Y/N? Because I think,” he breathes hotly, electrocuting your body. He chuckles at your jolt, voice dropping an octave. “I think that night bothers you because you hate how much you want me.” 

 Disgusted by his accuracy, you become angry, not even understanding this yourself. “Shut up.” 

 “Why, Y/N? Because I’m right?” He chides, voice utterly spell-binding. “Because you remember the taste of me? Because you remember my hands roaming your body? My lips worshiping your skin? Because you remember the feeling of me inside you, and never wanting it to end?” 

 You’re an idiot, you’re an absolute fool for not listening to your head and shoving him off, calling him every repulsive name in the English language and demanding that your mother cut off this marriage. You’re an idiot, because your body is reacting too easily to this man, falling right into the trap he so effortlessly crafts for you. 

 You want to resist, want to break this spell, want to tie up every memory of that night and store it away in a box, but you can’t. That night infiltrates your mind like a dam being let loose, remembering his coarse hands on your body, the cherry taste of his lip balm, how he speared you open with the sheer size of him, bigger than anything you’ve ever felt. 

 You can’t stomach this, overheating by the second. Your head feels light and your pussy can’t help but throb, hating his heat, his proximity, his fucking scent. “Jungkook… shut up.” 

 “God, the way you say my name.” He practically groans, his breath fanning across your cheek as he levels himself with you, lips only separated by mere inches of space. “I should’ve told you that night, could’ve heard you moan it.” 

 Oh, he’s dangerous, he’s hazardous and calamitous and fucking dangerous. The temptation of him is stronger than your will, using every weapon in your arsenal to fight him. “Jungkook…” 

 “Tell me, Y/N.” He rasps, as overheated as you, breathing hard. “How long did it take? For my hickeys to disappear? For my cologne to stop lingering on your skin? In your hair? How long will it take for you to forget the memory of me touching you? Kissing you? Moving inside you?”

 You’re a goner, you’re so close to diving off the deep end, insane with lust. You hate that he’s dictating this situation, hate the power he’s exercising with that stupidly unwavering confidence. Two could play this game, and you need to remind him you’re not the kitten he keeps calling you.

 You grab his collar without thinking, digging your claws into the expensive material. You tug him so close you could’ve been kissing him—his eyes widen in shock when you sneer. “And what about you, playboy? Do you like remembering that night because of how much you liked it? Because you can’t forget the way I moaned? The way my nails dug into your back and scratched you raw? The way I pulsed around you when I wanted more?” 

 Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to pant, chest rising and falling with his faltering self-control. You hear how hard he grips the vanity behind you, creaking under his grip. You challenge him nonetheless, ready to relish in the way this man snaps. 

 But he merely smiles, as shaky as it is, and accepts your challenge. “Seems like we’re back to remembering that night, then.” 

 You shake your head, scoffing at him. “Face it, Jeon. You say you don’t like me but you’re so ready to marry me because you can’t help but want me after that night, and you fucking hate it.” 

 He exhales haughtily, his smile as wicked as the devil himself. “Then why don’t you face it, too, kitten?” He breathes, lips hovering just above yours, touching them. “You don’t want to marry me because you’ve been aching for me ever since, and you hate knowing what’ll happen if we spend a lifetime together.” 

 God, you’re seconds from shoving him against your mouth. He’s got you so hot and bothered you’re squishing your pathetic thighs together to stop your pathetic essence from leaking out of your pathetic cunt. You can’t help but breathe into his mouth, mere centimeters from kissing, his hips pinning you to the vanity. 

 You swear you feel the ghost of his length for a millisecond, and you’re close to transforming into a wild animal. His eyes dart between your lashes and your mouth, clearly losing his sanity the same way you are. The heat between you is searing, the tension so palpable you could cut it with a knife, only the modicum of respect you have for yourselves keeping you from risking it all. 

 That very thought sucks you back into reality, recalling the situation you’re in with this man, the gravity of your future. This isn’t going to be a fairytale with a happy ending, nor is Jungkook ever going to be your knight in shining armour or Prince Charming you’ll fall in love with. He’s the bane of your existence, an impertinent bastard that isn’t worth selling your happiness for. All he wants is to marry you to benefit himself. 

 It has nothing to do with how he feels about you, and all about what you can do for him.  

 The very reminder of his stupidly sexy face saying those words makes you hurtle him off you, watching him stumble back a few steps. He shakes his head as though he were lifted from a trance, swallowing as his eyes meet yours. You level your breathing and snarl at him, teeth bared. “You can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

 You don’t give him an opportunity to speak before you’re searching for your night bag, loaded with everything you need for your night routine. You salvage your suitcase for the Godforsaken thing but can’t find it, exasperated when you remember that your mother was using it this morning, so of course it wasn’t here. 

 You storm out of your shared room with Jungkook and stomp all the way down to your mother’s, using your keycard to open the door. You were glad to find it vacant of her, rummaging through the bathroom for the bag. You find it, but snatch other things she was sharing with you, far too angry with her to lend her anything anymore. 

 This one task alone eats up over 30 minutes, nearly exploding at just how many of your things you shared with your mother, and yet she couldn’t share this one fucking thing with you—the fate of your future.

 As anger becomes your old friend, you march back to your new room, swinging the door open. You expect to harp on Jungkook and his idiocy again, having concocted seamless arguments to counter his ridiculous notion of marriage the entire walk back, but are shocked as you enter the room. 

 Jungkook has changed into his nightwear, most likely a pair of shorts with a white t-shirt. You can’t exactly tell, because he’s tugged a throw blanket over himself, his hand resting on his taut stomach as the other remains wedged underneath his head… with his long legs nearly dangling off the couch. 

 Your mouth opens and closes as you find the empty, untouched bed, attempting to manufacture a sentence. Saying anything seems like a moot point now, though, considering his breathing is stable enough to suggest he’s sleeping. 

 You shake your head, so utterly confused by him. You throw away any trifling thoughts and quietly prepare yourself for bed, careful not to wake him. You despise that his presence remains something you’re careful about, or that your kindness-deprived brain keeps considering the benevolence of his one action. 

 Labelling it as a stupid whim, you tuck yourself into the unoccupied bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering what on God’s green earth you’re going to do about Jungkook, and considering the hell you’d rather perish in than ever marry him. 

a/n: y’all forgive me if it acc doesn’t only take around 24 hours to sail from seoul to hong kong on a direct cruise i swear i searched up the nautical miles and did the loose math if the boat doesn’t dock at any ports. I SWEAR I’M NOT DUMB so if i’m wrong forgive me <33

[eyndr-stories]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote/drew and tag as many people as there were words (or however many you want to tag).

Hi @trees-can-draw!!! Thank you for the tag :] <3 I've been getting back into the Monty centered fic i started writing ages and ages ago dfhkjgfhjf (which is actually why i'm up at , 5am ,, ahem anyways)

"The repairs had gone well, and even with the social nightmare they'd agreed to looming on the horizon, Lark felt a sturdy sort of comfortable feeling deep in their gut that had settled in like a home cooked meal."

I do not know as many people as there are words for this fkjgfhkgf so instead i will shrimply tag @shirajellyfish, @victarin, and @lavenoon (very no pressure tags, feel free to ignore <3)

[thevioletcaptain]

if you as a fic reader ever become possessed by the urge to do a popularity bracket with the fics other people wrote and shared for fun and for free, consider:

don't ❤️ 

[alangdorf]

Sorryyyy for dropping off the face of the earth; got kinda shy after that last post but mostly I’ve just been writing though I cannot guarantee that any of that will ever be finished (also I’m very insecure about my writing AAAH). Figure I might as well post the valentines I had done (like two months late lol); interestingly this turned into more of a hand lettering exercise than I was expecting lol

[boundinparchment]

I need to get back into reading fic and telling people how much I love their stuff

[workingforitallthetime]

.

[hes-a-tough-kid]

I’ve been thinking a lot about how Spider felt when he hit puberty and started growing facial hair, making him even more different to the Na’vi. I wonder if he hated it.

Also the inherent tenderness of a boy trusting someone else enough to help him shave for the first time… something about it makes my chest hurt. I really tried to capture it in Foreign Body but there’s so much more that I wish I’d left space for.

[gobstoppr]

and btw im in my hater arc rn. as time goes on the more i find a lot of 'fandom' stuff insufferable (i like art n stuff. just the way that fandom refits every media to fit a single mold and set of boring archetypes is exhausting.)

i just get really easily annoyed lately. and have been unfollowing people on a whim a lot. its not personal i promise

[oathkeeperoxas]

So @frostbitebakery tagged me in a last line meme, but in the spirit of six sentence sunday I am instead posting the last six paragraphs I wrote because I think they're chewy and tasty and deserve to be seen and likely otherwise won't be. Thanks Frost!

And Ice in turn looks undeniably, deeply sad. Not grieving or mauldin or hopeless or another dozen emotions that Maverick has seen of him that are shades of that feeling, but simply, obviously, incredibly unhappy. Ice carries an dissatisfaction inside him – different to the one that Maverick has, the one that has him burning like a star coming through the stratosphere, but there all the same – and there’s an underlying sorrow that accompanies that, always, but that’s not what this is. Now, he’s just sad, and Maverick has done that to him.  “We tried, didn’t we?” Ice asks, and somehow, even through that sadness, he smiles. Maverick wants to claw through the suddenly huge chasm of distance between them and cup his face in his hands, turn that smile into a true laugh, to make everything right again. To do anything to make Ice happy again. It’s intolerable that anyone hurt Ice. Even him. Maybe especially him. “Yeah,” Maverick says through a thick throat, voice catching. “We gave it a red hot go.”  “I still would do it,” Ice says, eyes deep, seeing, knowing. Not moving from Maverick’s face. Like he wants to savour every second left they have together. “I’d still want to try, even if I knew we couldn’t make it work. I’d still want to know what I know of you, Mav.”  And it hurts like a bitch. Like Ice has stood up and suckerpunched the air out of him, except that would only be a physical pain, and this one instead scours itself deep onto Maverick’s heart. “You can’t say shit like that,” Maverick says, breathless, almost choking on his grief, and Ice closes his eyes, that shade of a smile disappearing from his face. Now, he just looks tired.  “It’s the truth,” he insists. “I don’t usually get to tell the truth, but I’m not going to avoid it here. Even if it was only for a summer – I’d want you to be mine.” 

[legofemme]

Vani writing tips + personal thoughts that noone asked for but you will be hearing

1: longer is Not always better. If youre telling a story, then your audience doesnt need 3 pages worth of side material. If youre writing to genuinely draw in an audience and tell a story then you need to not treat it like a game where the goal is to get the highest wordcount possible. You should be treating yourself And your audience with respect and making sure the words you use make an impact rather than trying to fill empty space. Brevity is your friend

2: if you need to make a clarification that your work doesnt endorse what your protagonist is doing, or needs to clarify that the protagonist is a Bad Person, then youre not mature enough to be writing that material. At best it shows that you dont understand the nuances of writing villain protagonists, and at worst it looks like you think your audience is too stupid to understand that saying slurs is a bad thing.

3: you cannot attempt to break the rules of writing if you dont understand them in the first place. You arent douglas adams. You arent Mark Danielewski. You need to stop and learn how to use a semicolon and a hyphen and how different words help describe things before you try to make a thousand word 'stray from traditional storytelling' . At the very least learn the basics from a youtube video

4: YOU NEED TO LEARN HOW TO WRITE DIALOGUE EVEN IF ITS BAD. You cannot dodge around dialogue by just having back and forth phrases in quotation marks. And no marker you use to differentiate speakers is going to be anywhere close to just using "he said" or even "he yelled". Youre robbing yourself of crucial storytelling materials. Even if you dont want to learn every part of how to write you Need to learn how to do dialogue or your entire story is going to crumble

[chateautae]

to turn a bad thing good | jjk. II

➵ summary: jungkook’s drunken one night stand goes awry when he comes to learn not only is he being forced into an arranged marriage, but it’s to the very girl he abandoned that night—and things get a lot more complicated when you’re the best hookup he’s ever had.  

➵ pairing: ceo!jungkook x law student!f. reader

➵ genre: series, arranged marriage!au, fwb!au (?), haters to lovers!au, smut, fluff, angst  

➵ rating: 18+

➵ word count: 13k

➵ warnings: swearing, loads of angsty arguing aGAIN, sexual tension at its finest, depictions of anxiety and ptsd

➵ a/n: second chapter is hERE! thank you endlessly to everyone who waited for me despite completely disappearing 😭 life got crazy but i was always working on this second chapter, can’t wait until the third hehehehe. 🥺 pls forgive me for mistakes i did not have a beta bLEH. your feedback means the world to me <3

chapter two: “i’ll be in airplane mode”

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Jungkook is going to implode. 

He’s currently showering, letting the therapeutic water beat down his body this morning as he nurses a nasty crook in his neck; courtesy of sleeping on the couch. But that’s not the worst of his problems, no, the worst of his problems is soundlessly slumbering in his bed outside. 

You. 

 At this point, Jungkook has spaced out, palms flush against the shower wall as he depressively hangs his head. If he believed himself to be fucked before, he was deeply mistaken, because his situation has now plunged so deep into the ocean it could rival the Titanic. 

 When Jungkook was dragged out of bed with a horrible hangover and commanded to join his parents on this cruise last week for his marriage meeting, he at first, vehemently refused. 

 But after a demeaning scolding by his father, he was forced to agree. He seriously considered this matrimony then, anticipating a million possibilities besides you as his wife. He anticipated a too sweet, innocent girl, anticipated a spoiled brat or horrid witch or a woman so vapid he’d lose brain cells. 

 But he never anticipated you. 

 You, who reminds him of the sinful night he couldn’t vow to neglect. You, whose skin he couldn’t forget the softness of. You, whose lips beckoned visions of them all over his body. Seeing your face yesterday resurfaced such vivid memories in Jungkook’s head that he’s contemplating walking off the plank.

 He remembers everything. The ghost of your whimpers caressing his ear, your trembling legs hooking around his torso, your heart vibrating through your chest against his own. Your hands in his hair, your hips melding into one, losing himself in the tight, warm fit of you. Your feverish kisses and explorative tongue and sexy brain, your pleasured face and blissful moans and sharp nails digging into his sweaty muscles as he fucked you harder. 

 He shivers, usually able to brush off the finer details of a hookup, but there’s one slight… slight issue with attempting to forget you—you were the best hookup Jungkook has ever had. 

 He’d never had sex that cosmically good. You were simply different, from the second he laid eyes on you to the moment he was sheathed inside your heat; you were so good he was sporting a hard-on right now, so good he’s been standing under this shower for 20 minutes not having a moved a muscle, so good he isn’t sure how he’ll control himself when he sees you this morning in your sexy sleepwear. 

 Call him fucking weird, but Jungkook has always had a weak spot for women’s sleepwear. He loved himself a naked woman, sure, but something about her lazy hairstyle, cute cotton shorts or pants paired with a tank top or babydoll or whatever the fuck else women wear to sleep that could get him solid as a rock. 

 If he already can’t forget your velvet walls fitting his cock like a glove, then he’s surely fucked when he lays eyes on you this morning. 

 But he’s also fucked because he needs to stop envisioning your bent body, needs to squash the image of your plum-coloured bodycon dress pooled at your torso, needs to forget the sight of your over-spilled, gorgeous breasts and sopping cunt and swollen lips begging him for more. 

 For the love of God, he needs to avoid anything that has to do with touching you, or staring at your lush mouth, or gazing into your alluring eyes and forgetting what the hell you two were even talking about. 

 He wishes this was just a dream. A long, eerily vivid, impossible dream he’ll wake up from. Or better yet, he wishes this was all a simulation, waiting for somebody to tell him he’s simply living in the Matrix. But Jungkook knows better; nobody is going to tell him he chose the blue pill; nobody is going to rip a cord out of his cranium; nobody is going to wake him up. He’s seriously doomed to see this marriage through, to take over his father’s company and have the lifestyle he’s cherished for so long ripped out of his grasp.

 The pressure already felt unbearable, the idea of walking into his father’s office and knowing it would instead belong to him. His father had already arranged to announce the company’s inheritance by the end of next week, cursing Jungkook with a public ceremony that would slap an expiration date on his carefree life. 

 Jungkook cringes, grinding his teeth as the very idea irks his soul. He didn’t want to run a company, he didn’t want this responsibility; it’s far too demanding and disrupts his current flow. It’s not that he’s incapable, no, everyone has underestimated him his entire life and he liked it that way, loved relishing in the look on people's faces when he defied their expectations. But it’s like the axis of his world has shifted; he’s not only responsible for an entire company, but now responsible for a whole other fucking person. 

 You. 

 Jungkook seriously contemplates the idea of marriage, grimacing. He wasn’t all that good at relationships, hell, he can’t even remember the last time he dated someone. Hookups were much easier, whether they were one-night stands or entertaining a fuck buddy for a few months. It was low-maintenance, low-effort, only required a night of his time and not much else. 

 Marriage was a stretch, a long, long stretch for him, wondering how he’ll ever manage monogamy or sex with the same person… all the time.

 But then again, being married to you? Jungkook can’t lie, the idea isn’t half bad. He didn’t have to worry about the sex part; your sexual chemistry was clearly tested and proven, so thick only a diamond could incise it. It was good, too good, actually, so no faults there. Marriage with the best hookup he’s ever had couldn’t be so bad, right?

 If only you weren’t the very definition of a she-devil. 

 God, your attitude is nastier than you in bed. You’re all claws and teeth, cussing and shouting, feisty and daring. No grace, no elegance, not a subtle bone in your gorgeous body. Nothing is mild about you and Jungkook has a strong feeling you’d use any opportunity to shove him off this boat, even dust off your hands afterwards as if you’d just taken out the trash. 

 It’s wildly sexy to him, and he doesn’t understand why. Why does he find it hot when you’re quipping and snipping back at him? Why is he attracted to the way you scoff at him or grind your teeth or roll your eyes or make this cute angry face that’s equivalent to an explosive kitten? 

 Because yes, yes, you were an angry little kitten. You could deny it all you want, but something about your smaller stature and perfectly manicured nails and the way you hissed that was all cat-adjacent. Jungkook knew he was right—he’s secretly a genius—but was also fiercely attracted to the anger that boiled on your face when he called you a kitten. 

 Oh, does Jungkook already love making you mad. 

 He doesn’t know why, doesn’t understand why he’s so entertained by pissing you off or hearing you swear at him, but then again, he doesn’t really understand a damn thing about you.

 He still hates the things you say about him, the way you assume and write him off as any other playboy to walk this Earth because it’s not that simple. Jungkook is much more complex than that and he won’t stand for anybody arbitrarily labeling him. 

 He doesn’t know much moving forward with this, but all he knows is that he’s royally, royally fucked, because as much as you want to forget about that toe-curling, delicious night, Jungkook’s having a difficult ass time—he’ll never be able to wipe his memory of the most satisfying night of his life. 

 The horrid sun bleeds into your room so vibrantly, you feel like transforming into Icarus and fighting the overrated star. 

 You groan as you wake, despising the constant rocking of the ship. Your motion sickness isn’t as vicious as Taeksu’s, but something about knowing you’re not on stable ground leaves your brain disorienting. 

 Yawning, your eyes clear to observe the room you’re in, wondering where your mother is, until you remember what happened yesterday. 

 Yesterday. 

 You feel like smashing a pillow over your head, disintegrating into the bed, clicking your ruby heels three times until you’re home, because there’s no way you’re in your future fiance’s room… in his bed. 

 The same bed he slept in the night previously, having only belonged to him for a night, but the evidence of him still fresh. It smells like him, and you despise how attracted you are to the subtly sweet yet strongly musky, almost woodsy scent of him—a calming scent. You didn’t even know if the man slept naked, or worse, perhaps entertained someone last night. 

 It’s not a far fetch, really. He didn’t get the label of a playboy overnight. Jungkook earned his reputation as a result of years of practicing his ways. You felt inclined to categorize him as a manwhore, but it didn’t feel that black and white with Jungkook. And truly, are you any different? 

 Perhaps you’re not as persistent with your hookups, but sex is sex, and as long as you respect the people you sleep with, so what if you often get laid? It’s how you and Jungkook met in the first place. 

 Still doesn’t cure the nausea crawling up your gullet at the possibility that he fucked another woman in this bed. 

 Weary but attuned to your environment now, your brain finally decides to focus on the other person that should be in this room; Mr. Jeon Jungkook. His absence makes you wary, but then again, you can tell he’s not a monster, feeling relief once you contemplate at least Jungkook isn’t depraved enough to do anything indecent.

 You’re still in denial you even slept with the man, wondering what fresh hell you waltzed into. How could you have slept with the future heir of Jeon Entertainment and not known? 

 A swirl of pride fills your chest, detesting the feeling, but that doesn’t deny its existence. You happened to seduce a powerful man; of course you’re going to pat yourself on the back. Truly, sometimes a woman’s most lethal weapon can be her confidence. 

 Still, it doesn’t eradicate your predicament. Now you’re destined to marry the damn man? Jungkook can’t be keen on this marriage, he must’ve drank too much alcohol or smoked a wicked string of crack last night, because there’s nothing logical about your matrimony. And surely, as strict as your parents seem on the engagement, they have to stand down if both their children so vehemently reject it. 

 You’re hoping Jungkook woke up with a clearer head this morning, sighing. 

 Swimming in your questions of his absence, they’re answered when the door to the bathroom clicks open, and what emerges short circuits your brain. Steam curls around Jungkook as he extricates himself from the bathroom, in nothing but a fucking towel around his waist. 

 A very, very small towel. 

 Fuck the towel for being so small, because now you’re acutely aware of Jungkook’s size. For the love of Christ, his body is so deliciously thick you’re close to panting like a dog. His luscious, wavy locks of hair are soaked and tousled as he dries it with a towelette, catching the hint of his undercut—too sexy. 

 His honeyed-skin glistens with dampness, beads of water still stuck to him. You can’t help but remain glued to his physique, transfixed by his orgasmic masculinity, his powerful sex appeal—your gaze scavenges upwards. 

 Jungkook believed you’d still be asleep, clearly, because the shock once he meets your eyes is nearly comical. He freezes, wide-eyed, his own gaze suddenly leaving your face and traversing downwards. He lingers on your body, only half covered by the bed sheets, swallowing the image of your tank top and pajama shorts. 

 He visibly suppresses a reaction, still seemingly mesmerized by your sleepy state, and you’re utterly confused. He quickly tears his eyes away and clears his throat, reverting back to his condescending, smug grin. “Why are you staring, kitten? See something you like?” 

 That wakes you up. “Please, I was just wondering how self-satisfied you have to be to walk around nearly naked like that.” 

 “You’re in my room.” 

 The reminder nearly saws your dignity in half, regally tipping your chin. “Whatever, put all that,” you gesture in circles towards his body. “away.” 

 His lips curve widely, brows raised. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” 

 Forced to remember that night, you blanch, awkwardly acquiescing. “Actually, you were clothed that night. So no, I haven’t seen you without your clothes.” 

 Jungkook makes an expression of surprise, eyes distant as he recalls that night, too. He seems to remember that he in fact, was clothed, while you were the one close to completely naked—fuck. “You’re right, I didn’t remember that.”

 You scoff, expecting him to have forgotten. Why would a night with you even be worth remembering to him? He’s slept with enough women to have experienced far better sex and a myriad of wildly kinky things, certainly you’re not up there on his list of most memorable nights. 

 A silence impregnates the air. Jungkook furrows his brows before he crosses the room to check his charging phone. He presses his towelette against his neck to dry, tongue toying with his lip ring as he scans notifications. The moment grants you the perfect opportunity to soak him in, utterly fascinated. 

 His muscles are undeniably impressive, but his general physique is what stuns you. His broad, dense shoulders and chest taper off into a thin, almost elegant waist, but expand out into robust hips and what you can only presume is a thick ass. The scarce hint of his thighs give you enough confirmation they’re bursting with muscle, and you, funny enough, were already aware of the instrument between his legs. 

 He’s more than well-endowed. 

 Nonetheless, what you’re most distracted by isn’t his unique build, but the tattoo sleeve sprawling up his arm. You caught a glimpse with his rolled up sleeves when he was pounding into you. But now, earning an exclusive view of the detailed ink spreading up to his shoulder is remarkably fascinating. 

 The most intriguing of all, though, is the large tattoo on the left side of his torso. You see leaves and branches of a tree, an almost ethereal depiction that dwindles down into a strong trunk that disappears behind his towel. You’re suddenly curious, wondering what the other half of the tree is but find your face heating, your ladybits throbbing at the idea that Jungkook has…

 The motherfucker has a thigh tattoo—holy fuck. It’s a sizeable work of art too, beginning by the bottom left of his abs, past his hips, and onto his thigh.

 For fuck’s sake, if that isn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever encountered. If only you could remove that pesky towel and get a good—

 “You know, if you want to look, you just have to ask.” 

 Stunned, your saliva halts in your throat when Jungkook catches you staring at what could be mistaken as his bulge. You meet his gaze, finding his thumbs hovering over his screen as he devilishly smirks at you. The heat in your face grows hotter, tossing him a dirty look. “Shut up, I want nothing to do with your nasty tattoos.” 

 A lop-sided grin plasters his face, tonguing the inside of his cheek. “You didn’t think they were nasty when we first met.” 

 “I was drunk,” you counter. “And it was dark, clearly I was blind.” 

 Jungkook rolls his eyes, not buying it. He cuts the weird silence that ensues afterwards by jerking his head towards the bathroom, hanging his towel around his neck. “I moved your things, by the way. I roughly guessed what was inside by the size of the bags. Sorry if I misplaced anything. Didn’t wanna look into your things like that.” 

 Your brows climb up, taken aback by the gesture. The fact that he minded your privacy by not peeking into your belongings leaves your chest feeling oddly warm. You don’t like it, cringing at the sensation. “Wow, look at you being a nice person.” 

 Jungkook laughs. “I told you I’m not a bad person.” 

 “I’ll be the judge of that.” 

 You challenge his gaze once again, narrowing your eyes as he similarly clenches his jaw, staring back. You could practically feel the electricity buzzing between you two, a cartoon-ish crack of lightning blistering your already searing tension. 

 Nearly succumbing to the pull of him, you scoff, dropping your gaze. You shove your blanket off and steady on your feet, nabbing your phone. You flip around your tangled hair as you find a missed FaceTime call from Taeksu, kissing your teeth once you remember that timezones would be a bitch—not to mention how he’ll react to your news. 

 How are you going to tell your best friend you’re getting married? You’d left the Korean Penninsula a single, happily-fucking woman and would return as an engaged one. And to a stranger at that? It's flabbergasting, abrupt news, and your potential man obviously requires Taeksu’s approval—his opinion has always mattered to you. You’d crumble if Taeksu hated your future beau. 

 And Jungkook? For the love of fuck, you have no clue how Taeksu would react to Jungkook. The man embodies everything Taeksu hates about men, and you know you’re in for it when you break the news to him. 

 You carefully step towards the main area of your suite, focused on texting an apologetic message to your best friend when you notice how eerily quiet Jungkook’s become. You quirk a brow as you peer up, surprised by his state. 

 He’s staring. At you. Like, staring staring. Not the weird, creepy kind of leering, but the kind of staring that’s indicative of a lovestruck fool, dewy lips parted and eyes wide with fascination. He does that a lot, you think. He did it the first time you two ever met. Jungkook looks at things like they’re the most mesmerizing in the world, as though this is his first life and he’s soaking everything in. 

 It’s kind of cute. Wait, no, it isn’t cute, there isn’t anything remotely cute about this man. He’s a selfish bastard and you hate his guts. 

 Not cute. 

 You watch his gaze wander your body, and he lands on your chest—suddenly you’re acutely aware of your no bra and tight tank-top situation.

 You frown. “Would you stop staring at my tits, please?” 

 Jungkook blinks, and then blinks again. He clears his throat and rips away his gaze, his face fresh with colour. You freeze—did he just get embarrassed? 

 He schools his expression, though, voice playful. “Sorry. Not my fault I remember them so vividly.” 

 Stiffening, you make a disgusted face at his obvious lie and march your way to your suitcase, ignoring him. You attempt to locate an outfit for the day to leave this room quicker, but alas, you’re not even aware of the itinerary today, having forgotten to ask your mother throughout the chaos yesterday. 

 “What are we doing today?” You ask curtly, not interested in a conversation with Jungkook. 

 “Your mother didn’t tell you?” 

 You give him a look that questions deserves, and Jungkook mollifies. “Our families are having brunch together. We’re meeting on the upper deck at 10. Get dressed and I’ll take you.” 

 “I don’t need you to escort me,” you scold him. “Don’t try to act like my fiancé, we’re not getting married.” 

 Jungkook’s expression twists with a snarl. “I’m gonna take you because you don’t know your way around the ship, genius. I’ve been on this ship since I was 7, you got on it yesterday.” 

 Oh. Okay, you contend that was stupid, but you’re starting to hate when Jungkook does humanly decent things because you don’t perceive him as humanly decent. He’s the object of your hatred and you’d love for things to remain that way—you can tell he’s bad news waiting to happen. 

 “Fine,” you bristle, “but don’t think you’ve changed my mind. I’m not saying yes to marrying you.” 

 Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head at your impossibility. You send him a saccharine sweet smile with two equally vulgar middle fingers, disappearing into the bathroom and grinding your teeth so hard you give yourself a headache. 

 Walking up the deck is a slap in the face, because the view you earn reaching the top is inexplicably majestic. The sea beautifully glitters as the morning sun catches the surface, the waves rippling calmly. The temperature today is placid with some light wind, causing the skirt of your sundress to infrequently kiss your legs. 

 Enchantment overcomes you, so soothed by the wonders of the sea you barely hear your name being called. It’s only when a warm, large hand presses to the small of your back do you startle. Jolting, you peer behind you to find that Jungkook’s joined you at the top of the steps.

 “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He apologizes. 

 You swallow, controlling your hormones as his palm sears into your lower back. His touch was so careful, incredibly gentle, and suddenly you’re hating yourself for being so affection-deprived that you’re freaking out over a touch. 

 It already didn’t serve you well to remember that Jungkook participates in some form of fighting exercise, to remember that his hands are hardened by hard work and dedication, that they most likely have the ability to beat a man to death, but lay upon your skin with such gentleness. 

 You snuff out the warm feeling in your chest, replacing it with pure ice. “Maybe if you didn’t randomly touch me.” 

 He blanches, retreating his hand to instead scoff, looking away. You step forward with a side-glare in Jungkook’s direction, aiming to locate the table your two families are sitting at instead. You surf the crowds of other families dining away, only to be interrupted by the high-pitched squeals of a little girl hurtling in your direction. 

 You’re confused, wondering whose lost child could be running amok. You almost bend down to question her, but you’re smacked with surprise when you see the little girl isn’t charging towards you. She’s sprinting right at Jungkook, her eyes bright with excitement and her smile wider than the entire world as she squeals, “Jungkookie oppa!!” 

 You nearly choke, shock gluing your sandals to the ground. Oppa… oh God, he wasn’t kidding; Jungkook really does have a little sister, who gazes at him like he’s the most fabulous person to ever exist. Jungkook’s smile grows impossibly wide, too, lighting up his handsome features in an adorable way.

 He holds open his arms for the little girl to jump into, Jungkook scrunching his nose with a giggle that reminds you of a bunny. The little girl giggles too as she soars into his embrace, Jungkook plucking her off the ground and spinning her around. He perches her on his hip as his voice lilts, lighter and airier. 

 “Mari! Good morning to you, did you sleep well?” 

 “Good morning! I did,” Mari nods big, her petite arms curling around Jungkook’s neck. “I had to sleep early because fairies need their beauty sleep, you know?” 

 Jungkook giggles, smoothing over the folds in her stunning pink outfit. Baby pink overalls with an iconic cream, chiffon blouse underneath, the tulle collar and sleeves to die for, all complemented by a pink bucket hat the same shade as her overalls. “Of course, but why would you need beauty sleep? You’re already the most beautiful.” 

 Mari shyly blushes, her stunning milky skin stained by rosy colour. She nuzzles into Jungkook’s neck, and it’s then her eyes land on you, widening with curiosity. 

 “Oppa, who is that?” She points at you, and Jungkook wraps his hand around hers, clicking his tongue. 

 “Mari, remember what I told you? It’s rude to point.” He softly reprimands her, meanwhile you’re still stuck on the image of a child perched on Jungkook’s hip and his humongous, tattooed hand engulfing her tiny one.

 Cute… stupidly cute. 

 Jungkook’s apprehensive when he regards you, his eyes revealing uncertainty—it’s then you recall what his little sister asked him. Clearly he’s stuck on what to label you, telepathically searching for some confirmation. 

 “Okay, I’m sorry.” Mari pouts, but becomes animated again. “But daddy told me we’re meeting your girlfriend today. Is she your girlfriend? Do you love her?” 

 Jungkook freezes, coughing like an idiot as he stumbles on his words. “What? No, I don’t love her. I mean, I like her—but not really—wait, that’s wrong too. I don’t—” 

 “She’s your girlfriend and you don’t love her?” Mari interrogates her brother, and you force back a laugh as her adorable eyebrows furrow. “That’s bad, oppa! How could you not love your girlfriend? You’re so mean.” 

 Jungkook’s blushing now, his embarrassment too apparent to hide. He fumbles again with basic English, and now it’s truly too hard to hold it back. You laugh, brightly and unapologetically. Jungkook appears even more stuck now, struggling to survive. “Mari, she’s not my girlfriend. She’s—” 

 “His fiancée.” You interject, a warm smile spreading across your face. “I’m engaged to your older brother”

 For a second, Mari doesn’t react, and you’re horrified that you’ve said the wrong thing; perhaps came off too invasive or pried into their special relationship, but Mari’s eyes then glitter, just like her older brother’s kind of do. Her radiant grin follows, “Oh my God! Am I finally gonna have an older sister? Does this mean I get an older sister?” 

 Her excitement fills your insides with sunshine, being bombarded by her cute questions and joyful screeching and animated clapping. Jungkook has to simmer her down with constant hushing before placing her on the deck, descending onto a knee before her. 

 “We’ll talk more later, okay? Now go sprout fairy wings and tell mom and dad that me and my… fiancée are here.” Jungkook momentarily hesitates before pinching Mari’s cheek. She nods big and a charming smile plasters Jungkook’s attractive face, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of his little sister’s head before she toddles off. 

 You eye Jungkook with a playful, quirked brow, arms crossed. He purses his lips with light-hearted embarrassment as he regains his full height, rubbing the back of his neck. “She likes pretending she’s a descendant of fairies sometimes.” 

 You can’t contain your chuckle, hiding it behind your palm. “Not really pretend when she’s as adorably tiny as a fairy, and cute.” 

 “She really is the cutest, huh?” Jungkook adds, and you can’t help but soften at the fondness in his eyes. It’s then you remember what Jungkook told you last night; that he was only going through with his parents' wishes for his sister. At first, you found it bullshit, but seeing the empirical evidence of their bond left you truly wondering what Jungkook’s parents are holding over his head. 

 Said man indicates you two should join your families, beginning to walk side-by-side together, his hands snug in his trouser pockets. He decided to wear a black pair with a black button up and blazer—he clearly loves black, and God, does it look sexy on him. 

 Shit.

 “So… fiancée? I thought you were set on arguing away this marriage.” 

 Your gaze fixates on him, watching the ocean breeze leave its waves in his chocolate-coloured hair, lightly tossing it around. The sun also happens to exemplify his soft, incomparable beauty, and it’s now you realize the gorgeous mocha-brown of his rather kind eyes. 

 You catch yourself—you need to stop looking at this man, he’s too attractive for his own good. “I really wanted to, but the second your sister asked me who I was and said your father already told her… I realized that this marriage isn’t just about us. She got so excited thinking of me as her older sister that telling her that I’d only be a stranger soon… it felt wrong.” 

 It’s true. How would you feel if your little brother was elated to have an older brother like Jungkook, only for the man to claim that he’s nobody worth remembering? That he’d be a stranger? This entire situation was something kids didn’t need to understand, or else you’d be cruelly beating their concepts of love and marriage with a bat. 

 You suddenly despise your mother again; you realize this was all a tactic. She perfectly set this up so you couldn’t say no to this proposal—your father most likely knows, Jihoon probably understands a bare-bones version appropriate for a 12-year old, and your mother clearly allowed the Jeons to inform others of the match. Hell, the Jeons are literally paying for this entire luxurious vacation… how could you say no? 

 “So you’re agreeing… to marry me?” Jungkook sounds utterly displaced. 

 You roll your eyes. “I didn’t say that, just that I’m not opposed to being called your fiancée.” 

 Jungkook pouts, and your heart lurches at the way he pouts. Fuck. “How can you be okay with being labelled my fiancée but not marrying me? Engagement leads to marriage, you know.” 

 “Not all,” you counter with a shrug. “Just because you’re engaged doesn’t mean you have to marry. Technically, we can be engaged for a few years and not marry. The engagement then becomes legally null and void.” 

 “Oh God,” Jungkook drawls. “You’re such a lawyer.” 

 You smirk. “What can I say? Two lawyers raised me.” 

 Jungkook rolls his eyes, becoming silent then. You realize in that silence that you two just had a normal, nice conversation—something about the idea both pleases and scares you. 

 “Ah, there they are! Our happy couple.” 

 Your attention is stolen by Jungkook’s father welcoming you both to the table, slightly irked to find that of course, everyone situated themselves so that you and Jungkook were forced to sit next to each other. 

 Quite honestly, you’d take that over sitting next to your mother, so you shut your mouth and comply. You supply everyone with warm greetings without really acknowledging your mother, allowing the mouth-watering, varietal smells of breakfast to become your distraction. 

 “Eggs are my favourite!” 

 Everyone at the table happily giggles at Mari’s comments throughout breakfast, adorably monologuing why every breakfast item is her favourite until she finds a new one to adore. 

 She always did that, always looked at the world with bright eyes and an exuberant smile and sometimes, Jungkook envied that. Envied that his little sister could remain oblivious to the working world, could live in ignorant bliss. 

 Could be free of the expectations he was burdened with. 

 Jungkook would never trade places with his little sister, however, because he’d much rather be the one with arrows in his back, protecting her from this cruel world. He’d much rather earn the brunt of his father’s anger or the disappointment of his mother or his family’s suffocating expectations than let Mari experience it. 

 So what if he was his parents’ emotional punching bag? The eldest? The firstborn son cursed with a decided life? As long as Mari was happy, then Jungkook was happy. It’s truly the only reason why he hasn’t abandoned this family yet, excommunicated himself or run way; he couldn’t allow those horrid responsibilities to fall on Mari’s shoulders. 

 Jungkook unconsciously grins as he watches her happily eat, humming her own little tune and floating in her unique world. She’d always been a little quirky, a little eccentric, but it was all part of her adorable charm, and Jungkook could never get enough of her. 

 Her curiosity was another object of his affection, but earlier, Mari’s curiosity nearly made him choke on his saliva. 

 Leave it to his little sister to ask you if you’re his girlfriend and whether he loves you or not. The embarrassment heated his face instantly, the words “girlfriend” and “love” completely foreign between you two. Jungkook was certain at the time you’d completely shut down his sister, so it was to his surprise you gorgeously smiled instead and introduced yourself as his fiancée. 

 Jungkook took a deep breath, relieved that you’d actually agreed to this match. Even if you spouted some bullshit about only being engaged but not marrying, it was enough for him. As long as Jungkook’s parents could see him in a committed relationship, he was okay. 

 That’s all this was for, anyway. His parents knew he’d never had a real relationship and that marriage would be enough to settle him down. They wanted him to grow up and stop being a child, and apparently marriage along with being handed over an entire company would do the trick. 

 Stupid shit, absolutely stupid shit. 

 “So, I’ve heard that our itinerary in the Maldives will be quite eventful.” Jungkook perks up as your mother begins some conversation. She appears beaming, though her eyes keep flitting towards her daughter; his very cool, aloof fiancée next to him. 

 Jungkook bristles when he remembers your relationship with her at the moment—he could practically taste the amount of animosity you had for her now. 

 He’d genuinely believed your reaction to your mother last night was over-the-top; surely not being told something couldn’t sting that badly. But now, he realizes just how awful it is. Brushing off the topic of your father after indicating he was sick meant that you have some sort of deep, special bond with your mother. Her ambush must’ve burned, and not informing you until after being dragged all the way to the meeting… that just adds insult to injury. 

 “Yes, we’ve got quite the trip planned for you ladies.” Jungkook’s mother merrily begins listing everything in store, causing him to nearly groan. He knew his parents were only pulling every rabbit out of the hat for this trip to buy your enthusiastic “yes”. The tactic was clear. 

 “Indeed,” Jungkook’s father pitches in, slicing into his sausage. “We just wanted to thank you two for joining us, and especially Y/N for being so kind to my son. I hear you’ve accepted his proposal.” Jungkook’s father smiles brightly at Mari, who shyly hides herself. 

 “Well,” Jungkook interjects, “I haven’t exactly proposed—“ 

 “I didn’t ask you, son.” His father cuts him off—Jungkook has to bite back a derisive scoff. 

 Beside him, you hesitate, swallowing your fruits. “Y-yes, Mr. Jeon. How could I say no to your wonderful son? He’s quite the catch.” 

 Jungkook’s brows furrow, peering at you bewilderingly—just this morning you were spitting venom at him, what’s with your attitude shift? But then, he watches you nervously glance in Mari’s direction, and suddenly everything makes sense. You’re a lawyer’s daughter, and the internet taught him that you’re in law school; lies are probably your forté. 

 “Ah, I’m so glad to hear that.” Jungkook’s father heartily chuckles. “I know he may not be a man of the best reputation, so thank you for tolerating him.” 

 Of course, his father was going to pull some shit like this. He always had an outstanding ability—the power to dress condescension and belittling with pretty words. 

 Jungkook couldn’t help but scoff. “Says you.” 

 “I’m sorry,” his father fakely apologizes. “I didn’t catch that, son. What did you say?” 

 “Nothing, father.” 

 “That’s what I thought.” He snips, and Jungkook’s suddenly finding his bacon too salty. “But yes, I know my son is known for often partying and drinking, I will not hide that. His attitude is also quite deviant and insolent, though he is fierce in his passions. I hope that makes up for his many faults.” 

 Jungkook is now seriously contemplating tossing this plate at his father. He shouldn’t have expected anything less, obviously he would publicly trash him in front of everyone just to teach him a lesson. The table evidently grows a little awkward too, though his father carries on, completely unperturbed. 

 “He will be taking over my company, so you will be marrying the CEO of Jeon Entertainment, Y/N. I hope you and your mother will appreciate that. He may not be smart enough to run the company, but he will learn, even if he knows more about clubbing than he does about business.” 

 His father means it as a joke, laughing afterward, and some people grant him a polite chuckle. Jungkook doesn’t dare look up, afraid of the faces he’ll find; agreeing with your father, horrified by his lack of respect for him. So Jungkook eats, he eats because it’s calming, because it’s helping him bite his tongue and stopping him from ripping into his father. 

 “Of course, we’ve attempted to discipline him. You know us parents, always trying to do the best for our children. Even if they can be ungrateful and don’t understand that it’s for their betterment, it’s still crucial to help them grow up.” Jungkook’s father adds. “Isn’t that right, Jungkook?” 

 Jungkook grips his fork so hard he thinks he may dent it, gritting through a smile. “May I politely remind you I’m not a child anymore, father? I don’t need to be disciplined.” 

 “Mm, then I suggest you stop acting like one. Sometimes I cannot seem to tell you and Mari apart.” 

 Nostrils flaring and fists tightly clenched, Jungkook’s practicing self-control of the century right now. This is normal, Jungkook tells himself, a well-precedented occurrence. He’s learned how to control himself as a result, has learned how to tolerate his father’s bullshit and his exponential ability to insult him.  

 Jungkook’s mother picks up on the tension, redirecting like she always does. “W-well then, Y/L/N ladies, I can’t help but notice your youngest isn’t here. Where is he? We’re missing him terribly.” 

 Your mother immediately jumps in, covering her mouth as she chews. “Oh, yes. Jihoon had school and I didn’t want to interrupt his studies. He’s very particular about school, my youngest.” 

 “Oh wow!” Jungkook’s mother beams. “It seems we have a future scholar. Remind me of his age again?” 

 “He’s 12, and brilliant.” You add in beside Jungkook, who watches you gracefully handle conversing about your brother with his mother. It seems Jungkook was slightly mistaken before, maybe you could have some grace—it appears you don’t practice it with him, though.

 “I see, is someone looking after him?” Jungkook’s mother queries. 

 “Yes, our housekeeper who has been with us for a very long time watches over him.” Your mother chimes. 

 “That’s lovely. Does your husband look after him as well?” 

 At that, you freeze beside him, and Jungkook’s acutely attuned now. In his Google search earlier, he couldn’t find anything substantial regarding what happened to your father. He only read vague articles about an incident that temporarily impacted his role at the family law firm. 

 But when you spoke of him, you mentioned sickness? Jungkook’s never been more confused. 

 “My husband is still… recovering.” Your mother hesitates with her wording, flitting towards you, who’s gone so stiff Jungkook’s certain you’re having an aneurysm. He glimpses in your direction, finding your complexion bleak, your eyes wide. He can practically see the turmoil in your mind, fighting to remain normal. 

 “The housekeeper is more than kind with Jihoon, so there’s no need. My husband can’t—“ 

 “Mother.” 

 Everyone freezes when they hear your reprimanding tone. Your animosity is multiplied by tenfold, and Jungkook’s surprised to see your tightened jaw and clenched fists, eyes fierce with frustration. 

 And it’s all directed at your mother. 

 Said woman clears her throat, a sense of superiority tainting her persona. “Y/N, I believe we can talk about your father with our new family—“

 “No.” You admonish, the absolute epitome of anger. But it’s not all angst, though; there’s a tangible amount of… sadness in your eyes. Deep, deep sorrow that appears to cloud your mind—Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow. 

 “You will not take that away from me, mom. Never.” 

 The table is stunned. Even Mari’s gone rigid, observing the interaction with slightly scared, alert eyes. Jungkook’s mother and father attempt to act as though they’re eating, but they’re both secretly invested. Jungkook’s food remains neglected, getting cold. 

 “I have not taken anything away from you,” your mother fortifies her tone. “They are things you were eventually going to have; I merely sped up the process. A process that should have been sped up long ago.” 

 Jungkook detects multiple layers to this conversation, evident by the dense tension that suffocates the atmosphere. You consequently light on fire beside him, replicating the nature of a pissed-off lioness “Don’t you dare say that to me.” 

 “I can say whatever I want,” your mother presses. “I am your mother, Y/N, and I am simply doing what’s best for you.” 

 “No, you only do what’s best for you.” 

 He’s surprised to hear your voice—did it just crack? It sounds heavy and miserable, and sitting beside you grants him an exclusive view to your state. Your trembling is concerning, and your nails are digging into your palms. You practically heave, eyes glossy. “Don’t tell me to move on, I will not simply move on.” 

 “You must,” Your mother insists, folding her arms. “It’s what your father would’ve wanted.” 

 “You don’t know what he would’ve wanted!” 

 Your volume shocks everyone, malice radiating off you in waves. Now, Jungkook’s alarmed. This is not the fireball of a woman he met. Where were your snarky remarks and unwavering confidence? Where was your bad bitch energy and ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude? You’re shaking like a goddamn leaf, breaths destabilized and eyes bright with dread, anxiety, panic. 

 Jungkook can’t watch this, his chest inexplicably sinking. 

 “Mother, father. I realize that I haven’t given Y/N a tour of the ship yet.” He suddenly interjects, lightening the tension with his chirpy tone. “It’d be a shame if she didn’t see it before we docked in Hong Kong for our flight. I should show her around, huh?” Jungkook reaches out his hand to rest upon your shoulder. He’s terrified you’ll flick it away, certain, actually, that you’d smack the shit out of him for randomly touching you again.

 But Jungkook gains no response, and he’s incredibly relieved. He flickers towards you to find that you’ve entirely withdrawn from this brunch, eyes vacant. Your detachment feels incredibly off to Jungkook, whose empathy swirls against his will. 

 God-fucking-dammit.

 “Yes, son. Why don’t you show Y/N around? The ship will belong to you and her one day, anyway.” Jungkook’s father adds on, and Jungkook fights the urge to gag. 

 “Yes, father.” 

 Jungkook politely smiles at the table before rising, again, daring to rest his hand on your shoulder. “Come with me, Y/N.” 

 He watches as your eyes shift towards him, empty and darker than an abyss. Confusion with a hint of concern washes through Jungkook, but he forces himself to snuff out the unusual feeling. 

 In front of him, you clear your throat before snapping an irate look at your mother. You shoot up from your seat, immediately stomping away. Jungkook respectfully bows to everyone before tagging along, hot on your trail. 

  You’re going to fucking implode. 

 Every organ in your body is going haywire and your chest feels like it’s on fire. Your head is filled with lead, charging away from that horrid brunch with every ounce of strength you can muster. 

 Anger is all you feel. Or Is it even anger? Truly? Is it rather the stress you endure because of your trauma? Is it the force of flashbacks attacking you? Is it the blood curdling in your veins when you’re urged to remember that horrifying night? 

 And the fact that it’s your own mother who forces you to feel this way, to feel so helpless, weak, like you’re drowning. 

 Why? Why can’t your mother ever let you heal in your own way? Why does she push and push and push you until you have no choice but to bend to her will? She has no right to speak about your father as if it doesn’t kill you, doesn’t have the right to override your feelings or spring things onto you without consulting you first. 

 She’s always done this. She may have been your confidant, forming an irrevocable bond full of unwavering support, but this was her one, fatal flaw; she was an emotionless woman. 

 Forged by Michelangelo himself, your mother has been an unfeeling statue for most of your life. She never entertained emotions. She found them tedious and merely operated as though life were a game and she was its master. She could never understand how humans let their emotions rule them. She was kind, yes, but has always been able to compartmentalize her feelings unlike any other, separate her mind and heart and excel at anything with incomparable efficiency.

 She constantly wanted the same for you. 

 But you’re not a robot, you’re not unfeeling. You’re a sentient fucking being who’s been urged her entire life to simply move on from things—it’s not that simple for you, and she’s irritating you beyond what you can tolerate now.

 Insisting you openly relay your family situation? Admonishing you in front of strangers? This marriage? Everything about her enrages you at this moment, but what happened earlier was the cherry on top—she’d seen first hand what happened to you because of your father, had seen the way you’d destroyed yourself and continued to suffer as a result. 

 Your mind brews in rage and self-loathing, transporting to that night… that horrid, horrid night—

 You suddenly feel a strong hand clasp your bicep, and it’s their goddamn funeral. You grab their wrist with your opposite hand, swiftly spinning around before tugging your opponent towards you. The move is so basic to you it feels like breathing, the other individual now victim to your arm that sweeps around the front of their neck while your free one links with it from behind, choke-holding them.

 “Holy fuck—” You hear a familiar voice struggle, catching a whiff of shea butter with a hint of cedarwood that indicates exactly who this is. You watch as Jungkook’s tattooed hand claps your arm to release him, and panic overrides you. 

 You immediately disengage, shocked. Jungkook stumbles out of your grasp and stares at you in bewilderment, rubbing his throat. “Jesus, Y/N… are you alright?” 

 You blink, then blink again. “I just… I just nearly choked you, and you’re asking if I’m alright?” 

 The man across from you merely clears his throat, fixing the clothes you minutely ruffled. “Clearly you only attacked me because you thought you were in danger.” He says, his round, shimmering eyes sweeping over you. “You okay?” 

 Something about his care annoys you in this moment; perhaps the fact that he does so despite nearly hurting him, or because you haven’t experienced someone else’s genuine concern in ages. “I’m-I’m fine.” 

 A silence passes, your arms folding over your chest as Jungkook merely stands, rubbing the back of his neck. You’re both situated on the side of the ship, overlooking the vast sea as the gawks of seagulls pierce your quietude. Your attention is held captive by the sea, Jungkook abandoning his stance to instead lean against the railing, forearms pressing into the metal.

 He shoots you a curious look. “You gonna tell me how the hell you know an arm-drag rear naked choke?” 

 Your brows rise, slightly surprised. “You know the move I pulled on you?” 

 Jungkook nods. “That was an MMA move. Jiu Jitsu, to be specific. How did you know how to do that?” 

 You worry your bottom lip, oddly submitting to his questioning. “I did MMA for 8 years. My… dad took me.” 

 The memory of your first class washes over you like a tsunami. You could practically smell the air tinged with sweat, dry wood and old plastic mats. Could feel your first blossom of bruises, your muscles aching, your body slowly becoming accustomed to the movements. Could hear the sound of your instructor shouting, your friends giggling…

 Your father cheering. 

 “For 8 years? That’s impressive.” Jungkook comments with a handsome grin, sucking you back into reality. “But damn, now I know you can actually kick my ass. I don’t like that.” 

 That produces a faint snort from you. “Just don’t give me a reason to.” 

 Jungkook lightly chuckles, and you’re left to stew again. Feelings of guilt, regret, and loathing still wad up inside you, suffocating your heart and restricting your lungs. It’s a chronic sensation that never goes away, constantly licking at your chest ever since that one day. You let out a loud exhalation, and then laugh, dryly and humourlessly. 

 “Why did I just tell you that?” 

 “Tell me what?” 

 “About my father… why did I tell you that? How am I not disgusted by your presence right now?” You contemplate, scoffing.

 Jungkook rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Listen, if you’re truly uncomfortable with my presence or talking about anything right now, then I’ll leave. Just say it outright” 

 You narrow your eyes at him. “Why are you being nice to me?” 

 His eyebrows quirk, confused. “Because it’s the humanly decent thing to do? You literally looked like you were going to jump off the ship a couple minutes ago,” Jungkook then lifts his hands in surrender. “My bad for having a heart.” 

 You saccharinely grin. “Sorry, I was under the impression you didn’t have one after you abandoned me in my apartment.” 

 Jungkook faces you, his gaze heavy with frustration—he humourlessly huffs. “Fine, you know what? I don’t have a heart. In fact, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t haul yourself overboard because I still need someone to marry.” 

 You gape. “You fucking mongrel.” 

 Jungkook smirks. “You know what you need to do, Y/N? You need to stop assuming and accusing me of things because of that night.” He retorts. “Would serve your look a whole lot better.” 

 “And what the fuck does that mean?” 

 His lips curve sinfully. “Bitterness makes a woman age, kitten.” 

 You gasp, flaring with anger. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that? An obnoxious, idiotic asshole.” 

 “Mmm, look at you talking dirty.” He hums, leaning his cheek into his palm. “I do have to say, though, I’m more into degrading than being the one degraded.” 

 Your mouth hangs open. “Wow, you’re a piece of fucking work.” 

 “Indeed,” Jungkook gloats. “Rumour has it the Mona Lisa is jealous of me.” 

 You half-laugh, half-scoff, losing all your patience. “Can you ever have a normal fucking conversation?” 

 “Where you’re concerned?” He raises his brows. “Absolutely not.” 

 You shake your head with a derisive chuckle, leaning over the railing as you look away, needing to collect your wits. He’s so utterly disorienting you’re experiencing sensory overload. 

 Jungkook sighs next to you, swallowing. “Listen, Y/N. Real talk is that you seriously need to stop assuming things about me. Get to know me before you start saying shit. Funny how you’re a lawyer but  jump to conclusions about me without any evidence.” 

 “Fuck off.” You spit, scowling at him. “How can I see you as anything but an asshole when that’s all you ever are? And I’m not a lawyer yet, genius, I’m still only a student.” 

 “Same shit.” He claps back. “And it’s like I said before, you need to get to know me.”  

 You plaster on a fake smile, facing him. “That would be much easier if your face didn’t piss me off.” 

 Jungkook narrows his eyes, but a devilishly attractive smirk curves his lips, tonguing the inside of his cheek. “Oh yeah? You seemed to like it a whole lot when it was between your legs.”

 Heat flares your cheeks. Memories of that night have already plagued you ever since he left, and you’re not up for a reminder when he’s here, so close, in front of you. 

 Smirking, eyeing you carefully… looking edible. 

 “Whatever.” You concede. “Why are you even here? Did you come only to be an asshole like usual?” 

 Jungkook sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I chased after you like an idiot because I simply wanted to be an asshole, Y/N.” 

 “Don’t get sarcastic,” you admonish him. “That’s all you’ve done the entire time you’ve been here.” 

 He pulls back his lapels to perch his hands on his hips, accentuating his gorgeous, tiny waist—fuck. “I came because you looked like you were on the verge of a panic attack, and I actually wanted to make sure you didn’t haul yourself overboard.” 

 You challenge him with an invigorating glare, but find his opposition lacking. Jungkook isn’t kidding, he seriously meant what he just said. You realize then that in a way, Jungkook is trying to… care about you. Even if he hides it behind his snarky remarks and quippy attitude, he technically granted you an out earlier from that brunch. Whatever prompted him to speak up during your argument with your mother and to follow you out here came from a genuine place in his heart. 

 You loosen up, tipping your chin. “Thank you, or whatever. But I’m not hauling myself overboard.” 

 He grins. “I don’t know about that, kitten; you seem small enough to get tipped over if we hit a wave.” 

 Mouth falling open, you lift a threatening hand. “You motherfucker—” 

 Jungkook laughs as he dodges you, his hands up in surrender, and it’s unfair how mesmerizing his laugh is. “Okay, okay. I take it back.” He concedes. “I think you’d only get tipped over if we made an abrupt turn.” 

 At that, you snarl wildly before shoving him away, an unexpected laugh and smile escaping you. Jungkook joins you, too, and suddenly, you can’t remember why you came out here. 

  You remember when you were 8, strapped to your seat with an iron-clad belt as you stared out the circular window with unprecedented eagerness. 

 Your excitement was unmatched, swinging your legs back and forth while contemplating the country you’d be visiting. You’d only ever seen photos of Finland in school, a surreal, encapsulating nation that swept you into a daydream. But a series of jerks and jolts tore you away from that dream, fear intoxicating your system as you looked at your mother in horror, begging for an answer. 

 Turbulence, she’d called it, and ever since then, you’ve been irrationally afraid of flying. 

 Even now, as you grip the edge of your seat and carefully breathe, you can feel the horror you felt back then pinning your body in place, limbs frozen with apprehension. Repeatedly, you steel your nerves, telling yourself over and over and again that it’s only a 7 hour flight, that you’ll be in the Maldives soon and that the likelihood of a plane crashing is extremely minimal. 

 Those thoughts still don’t deter your persistent terror. 

 It’s not until a hand in front of you smooths over your knee do your eyes wretch open. “Are you okay?” 

 You find Jungkook’s warm, chocolatey eyes gazing at you, his features softened with a detectable amount of concern. You suck in a breath, flickering towards the tattooed hand nestled over your skin, and every hormone in your body does a happy dance. You despise the feeling. This feeling of helplessness and inexplicable desire that bolsters through you every time Jungkook touches you; despise that it beckons memories of that night, of his hands sliding down your body and gripping you in sinful places. 

 For fuck’s sake, it’s just a touch, Y/N. 

 You swallow, wetting your lips with your tongue. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

 “You sure?” He queries, still not having moved his damn hand yet. Why does his inked hand look so sexy against your skin? “You don’t seem okay.” 

 Again, another swallow, remembering to focus on your breaths. “I don’t like flying.” 

 Jungkook’s brows curiously furrow at that, and it’s now you realize how much he speaks with his eyebrows. His lips also had the tendency to pout. Whether he was angry, upset, arguing, they puckered cutely to the point in which you could delude yourself into believing he’s someone cute, someone worth marrying. 

 Definitely not.

 “You’re afraid of flying?” 

 “Yes,” you flatly answer. “What? It’s a completely normal thing.” 

 “No, it is.” Jungkook contends, pursing his lips. “I just didn’t expect…” He trails off, and suddenly you’re very curious about his next words. 

 “Didn’t expect what?” 

 “Didn’t expect for you to have a fear like that.” He replies, doe eyes boring into your soul. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, drawing your attention to his lip ring. What you wouldn’t give to feel it against your lips again. 

 “What about it?” You challenge. “Everyone’s afraid of something.” 

 “I know,” he says, shrugging. “It’s just cute.” 

 You freeze, feeling your cheeks heat up. Infuriation consumes you however when you contemplate how juvenile such a reaction is; who cares if he thinks you’re cute. “Shut up.” 

 The corner of his mouth tugs up. “I like when you tell me to shut up.” 

 “Really?” You snort. “I thought you weren’t into being degraded.” 

 He scoffs, reclining back as he peers out the window, folding his hands over his abs. “Try listening to music, or napping. It helps with the nerves.” 

 Taken aback, you acquiesce, his advice oddly… comforting. “I’m not falling asleep with you in my vicinity.” 

 He sinfully smirks, doe eyes shifting to you. “Of course; why dream of me when you can see me in the flesh?”

 Exhausted by him, you huff, tossing him a dirty look before snatching his blanket stuffed in his seat compartment. “Whatever; I’ll be in airplane mode.” 

It’s a dumb gesture, but you hope it delivers a “fuck you” enough, cuddling into a sleepy ball behind it and gluing your eyes shut.

You swear you hear Jungkook chuckle, but convince yourself it’s in your head.

 “For the love of fuck.” 

 You struggle to haul your suitcase across the last stretch of the corridor, hating yourself for packing so much. One of its wheel’s stupidly broke during the flight, and now you’re stuck shoving it across the floor. 

 The bell boy had already transported it up to your floor, but you insisted you could move it the last distance after watching him struggle, too. Goddamn you. 

 “Do you need help?” Jungkook’s voice filters in, nearly smacking your forehead over how he always seems to find you looking stupid. 

 “No, thank you.” You grin, but it’s forced and fake. Jungkook snorts, effortlessly gliding his things past you; a duffel bag perched over his shoulder as he wheels his suitcase.  

 “Suit yourself—pun intended.” 

 And he walks on, completely unbothered. You grit your teeth, knowing your instinctual habit of challenging Jungkook at every turn isn’t going to serve you well right now—you momentarily throw your pride to the wolves. 

 “Actually… actually! Wait!” 

 Jungkook halts, whirling around with a beautiful grin. “Yes, kitten?” 

 You narrow your eyes at the petname. “Could you help me?” 

  He smirks. “I’d be happy to.” 

 You watch as Jungkook walks a few meters down and opens a door, plopping his things inside the room—it must be his. He returns to you, his face far too smiley for your liking. 

 He’s up to something. 

 “Let me take that off your hands,” he cocks his head towards your suitcase, holding out his hand. You nestle the handle into his palm before Jungkook rips his hand away, tucking it behind his back. 

 “Actually, I think I need you to do something for me first.” The corner’s of Jungkook’s mouth evilly curve, and you resist the urge to slap him. 

 “Excuse me?” 

 “You should be familiar with quid pro quo, kitten.” He purrs. “Before I help you, can you do something for me?” 

 You roll your eyes at his use of the legal term. “And what the hell do you want from me?” 

 Jungkook suddenly advances on you, and you’re shocked by the action. You naturally falter back until you’re met by the wall behind you, his body pinning you to the surface. Jungkook’s smirk is unwavering, his eyes twirling with amusement as he fixates on yours. 

 You swear you see him flicker towards your lips, but he quickly abandons ship. 

 You feel the air sucked out of your lungs when Jungkook rests a hand against the wall by your head, leaning over. He towers you, and God, does his scent and warmth absolutely fuck with you. 

 “I want you to tell me that I’m handsome,” he demands, timbre deep and playful. “And that I’m the best fuck of your life.” 

 You choke. “Pardon-fucking-me?” 

 “You heard me,” Jungkook drags his tongue across his dewy, coral lips. “Tell me those things, and I’ll help you out.” 

 “Why do you need me to tell you those things? Are you mad?” 

 “Nope. Just an asshole, according to you.” 

 Your anger flares, grinding your teeth as you chew on a comeback, but it becomes stifled in your throat when Jungkook’s tongue starts fiddling with his lip ring. It seems like a habit he’s not even aware of, and you’re 100% certain it’s going to become your greatest weakness. 

 He leans in closer, and his warmth immediately leaves an impression within your very soul. His aura, his imposing presence burns you, the kind that’s an addictive heat, a drug you never want to give up. 

 “You’re missing braincells if you think I’m going to say that,” you spit back, eyes menacing as they cut into him, as if his impressive body shoved against yours isn’t reminding you of when he piston-fucked you. “I told you, you were a mistake.” 

 Jungkook’s eyes minutely change, as though he experienced a small pang, but he clears it away, replacing it with unflappable sensuality. “You won’t think that for long.” 

 Caught in an intoxicating stare with him, your body betrays you. His proximity is stirring old sensations inside you and you absolutely despite it; your pussy pulsing, your veins singing, your brain malfunctioning. This song and dance you two seem to do is something of another world, but it corrupts you all the time, detrimental to your mental health and yet the sweetest melody to every vessel in your body. 

 You are so incredibly fucked. 

 “Screw you, why can’t you just pick up the damn bag?” 

 Jungkook sexily chuckles. “Because it’s so much more fun seeing this look on your face.” 

 You attempt to school your expression, but it’s impossible in his presence. You fume, cheeks heating. “For the love of fuck, Jungkook, I’m not saying it.” 

 “Yes you are.” 

 “No I’m not.” 

 “Yes, you are.” 

 “No, I’m not!” 

 Jungkook laughs, hearty and warm. “Do you really want to deny me right now, kitten? When I’m the only thing standing between you and finally relaxing in a hotel room after a 7-hour flight?” 

 “Fucking, oh my God.” You huff out, folding your arms over your chest. “Fine. You’re… handsome. And you’re the best… you’re the best…” 

 Jungkook dramatically cups his ear. “I’m the best what now, kitten?” 

 “Thebestfuofmylife.” 

 He leans in closer, amused eyes looking down at you. His timbre drops an octave, low and throaty. “Speak clearer, Y/N.” 

 “The best…” You can’t get yourself to say it, not when he’s so close you’re overheating, not when he’s giving you those eyes. “Oh fuck it, I’m not saying this.”

 “Then do you want me to remind you of our night together again, kitten?” Jungkook’s entire demeanour suddenly changes. His voice is coated in lust as he wets his lips. “Want me to recall every depraved way I touched your body? I think I started at your waist, then I glided my hands up your stomach, then I gripped your hair and slid down your arms and cupped your—” 

 “Okay, fucking fine! You’re handsome and you’re the best fuck of my life! There!” 

 Jungkook’s grin is so wickedly satisfied you want to chokehold him again. He retracts his hand from the wall and nudges the bottom of your chin, bouncing his brows. “See? Told you you wouldn’t think of me as a mistake for long.” 

 You don’t even have time to react before Jungkook nabs your suitcase and effortlessly balances the three wheels, lugging it down the hall. 

 Exasperated, you clench your fists as you follow him. 

 “Where’s your room?”

 Still whiplashed by earlier, you swallow away your mixed emotions. “Um, so actually… there's a problem with that.” 

 He glances over his shoulder. “What problem?” 

 “I’m sharing a room with my mom, and I really don’t want to.” 

 Jungkook turns, his brows furrowed. “Oh? Where are you staying then? Did you get your own room?” 

 This is embarrassing. How are you going to tell him that you tried, only to find out that every room was booked? There was no way you’d survive rooming with your mother, the Jeon’s were already occupied staying with Mari, which left only… 

 “I’m going to be staying with you.” You confidently assert, even if you shake with shame. You’re torn between being so overbearing he says yes, but also exercising basic manners. You’d be invading his space, and he has every right to say no…

 “If… if you’ll have me.” You continue, nerves so nauseating you end up rambling. “I know it’s sudden and you hate my guys and we never agree on anything, but I have no other choice considering all the rooms are booked, and I think I might explode if I share a room with my mom. So I’m really sorry, but my room is your room, and I think it might stay like that for the rest of this trip because I’d much rather deal with you than my mother who’s quite frankly soured my mood and I may end up—“

 “Hey, Y/N, it’s okay.” You find Jungkook chuckling, a fist covering his mouth. “Jheez, I didn’t know you ramble when you’re nervous. Guess the angry kitten can be cute sometimes.” 

 Opening and closing your mouth, Jungkook cuts you off before you can respond. 

 “Don’t worry, you’re good. After that brunch, I can understand not wanting to stay with your mother. Just know that staying with me means abiding by my rules.” He gorgeously smiles—you pout.

 “What? Are you gonna be an idiot who requests I walk around with little to no clothing and utilize every opportunity to throw our night together back in my face?” 

 Jungkook’s features immediately twist with disgust, appalled. “Y/N, what kind of people do you hang out with? Who the fuck would do that?” 

 You simmer, ugly memories resurfacing. “Some people would.” 

 Jungkook narrows his eyes at you. “I would never use an intimate moment we shared against you. Maybe to tease you, yes, but never to disrespect you. I wouldn’t exploit the vulnerability and trust you once showed me like that.” 

 You blanch, stunned by his words. You can’t help but find what he said… incredibly hot, now flaming with shame. Maybe you really are assuming too many things about Jungkook, writing him off as every other shitty man that exists in this world when he’s far from that—fuck. “I’m sorry. I… didn’t mean to make an assumption about you. That was totally unfair of me.” 

 Jungkook purses his lip with a nod, breathing out before he jerks his head down the hall. “C’mon, let’s get to our room so we can freshen up.” 

 Silently, you comply, following after him as he hauls your suitcase, and suddenly you’re very aware of the thick muscles that strain against his shirt as he works. He’s so big, you think, but also has a big brain, kind of a big heart, too, and it’s these tiny things about him that are stupidly captivating you. 

 So captivated, in fact, that you forget about him using the pronoun ‘ours’. 

  Afer settling into his room, you’re both rearranging and situation your belongings until a familiar, soothing voice disrupts the silence. 

 “Ah, sweetheart, there you are. Would you mind taking your sister out for a while? Your father and I will be out with Y/N’s mother and I wouldn’t want her to be left alone at the hotel.” Jungkook’s mother elegantly waltzes into his room, her eyes lightning up upon finding you organizing your luggage. 

 “Oh, Y/N is here as well? Will you two be sharing a room?” 

 You exchange a look with Jungkook, who eases you with a nod and redirects to his mother. “Yes, mom. But considering you and dad didn’t bother sharing this entire arrangement with me, I won’t be sharing why she’s here, either.” 

 Jungkook’s mother pouts, and now you’re aware where Jungkook inherited his pout from. “Don’t be angry with me, sweetheart. This was your father’s idea, and you know how he is.” 

 Jungkook bristles then, sighing. “What were you saying about Mari?” 

 “Please stay with her? Or perhaps take her out, she’s been excited to see all the jewelry stores here. She did her research.” 

 You watch Jungkook smile fondly and it’s hard to look away—for fuck’s sake. “Of course she did.” 

 Jungkook’s mother smiles, too. “You may take Y/N with you as well; you two should go sight-seeing. The Maldives are beautiful.” 

 Jungkook nods, shifting those stupidly big, round eyes in your direction. He extends his hand, tilting his head. “Wanna go out with me?” 

 At first, his words smack you in the face. It was absolutely unnecessary for him to ask so pleasantly, as though he would respect whatever your answer was. The entire gesture floors you, swallowing before you meekly place it in Jungkook’s warm, large palm. 

 “Yes, I’ll come.” 

  “Okay, oppa, at what point does it look stupid to be wearing lots of necklaces? More than three or five?” 

 Jungkook can’t help but laugh at his sister’s question, holding his chin as he contemplates. “Hmm, honestly, if you’re the one wearing the necklaces then will it ever look stupid?” 

 Mari’s cheeks turn magnificently red, shyly grinning ear-to-ear. “Okay, whatever you say.” 

 Jungkook happily smiles in return before cupping Mari’s cheek, stroking his thumb across before watching her confidently march along. 

 You, Jungkook, and Mari had found a quaint street bazaar that instantly caught Mari’s eye, the current leader of your stroll through the vibrant, lively shops and stalls. Owners bustle about as they tend to their customers, proudly showcasing their creations and more. Whether it was food or clothes or jewelry, the burst of culture and the people’s community fascinated you. 

 “Is that how you’re so stupidly charming with other women?” 

 “What?” 

 Hiding your giggle, you scrutinize Jungkook. “You’re good at giving your sister compliments, I wonder where the talent comes from?” 

 Catching your drift, Jungkook snorts as he continues walking, keeping a subtle eye on his sister’s small steps in front of him. “Please, I simply adore the lovelier half of our species. Anything wrong with that?” 

 His clever choice of words makes you roll your eyes. You lace your fingers behind your back as you continue to leisurely stroll next to him. It’s not until you peer downwards do you see that Jungkook’s matched his steps with yours, clearly walking much slower than his usual pace. 

 Is he doing that for you? Or for his sister? Definitely his sister. “You’re good with her, you know.” 

 Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow, glimpsing at you. “Come again?” 

 You snort, watching Mari’s bright eyes swallow up the world. “With your sister, you’re good with her. Your relationship is admirable.” 

 Jungkook suddenly appears flabbergasted, eyes popping wide open. “Wow, hold on a second.” He gestures before patting around for his phone, tugging it out of his pocket. “I need to record this date; Y/N Y/L/N just said something nice to me.” 

 You scoff at his exaggeration and impulsively punch him in the arm. You gasp once you register the force you used, palm cupped over your mouth. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” 

 Jungkook chuckles before hissing. “Watch it, kitten, or my little sister may end up tackling you for hitting me.” 

 Scoffing it off, you watch the youngest Jeon prance about as she scavenges the beautiful pieces of artwork before her. “You really mean the world to her, huh?” 

 “I hope so,” Jungkook shrugs, hands sliding into his pockets. “I was so excited when my parents told me they were having a kid. I’d been an only child for so long that I was over the moon when my sister was born.” 

 A sheet of warmth wraps itself around your chest, stunned by his transparency. It pleasantly shocks you to experience Jungkook’s openness; he doesn’t hide behind a mask nor manipulate his words and actions to achieve some toxic sense of accomplishment like everyone else in your world.

 He’s just so… him, and his eyes sparkle with an abundance of genuineness. 

 “I can relate; sometimes I feel like my little brother is a gift, honestly.” 

 Jungkook vehemently nods. “One hundred percent. Some people find it exhausting but I love being an older sibling. Even if the burden is too much sometimes, I’m just glad I can be there for her. I can be her older brother, her best friend, her role model; I’m somebody to her, you know?” 

 Something in Jungkook’s honest tone makes you consider a myriad of thoughts—who knew he could actually exhibit down-to-Earth qualities? “Agreed. Even if my little brother is a little shit who’s obsessed with video games and space and meme culture, he’s too precious to me.” 

 Jungkook snickers. “No way, your little brother is into video games?” 

 “Very, you should hear the kid in lobbies. He’s that smart ass that roasts people so intelligently they can’t even make up good comebacks.” You hide a giggle as you recall the one time Jihoon accused another kid of being a “good little proletariat”, and you’d been genuinely confused about when the fuck he purused Marxism. 

 “I fucking love that.” Jungkook laughs. “I’ve been into gaming ever since I could sit up properly and press buttons; we’d probably get along.” Jungkook leans in closer as he dodges a group of tourists, his chest suddenly brushing your shoulder, and every hair follicle on your upper body freezes. You’re immediately submerged in his cologne, scarily fine with drowning in his masculine scent. 

 His careful eyes closely monitor his little sister, too, and something about his attentiveness causes your heart to spasm. “What about your sister? What’s she into?” 

 “She adores theater,” Jungkook replies, hyper fixating on the pair of men walking in front of you. He suddenly cups your waist,  swiftly tugging you away from the rowdy men and into him. You gulp, his veiny hands snug around you as he leans down, lips brushing the crest of your ear. “Stay close, these streets are so crowded.” 

 Swallowing down an explosion of heat, you can’t even remember the conversation until he continues. “She was born for the spotlight; anything that has to do with music or singing or dancing, she loves. Especially music, she’s talented with the piano.” 

 Your eyes instantly light up. “Oh my God, she plays the piano? That’s amazing! I play—” You almost finish that sentence before rethinking it, a wave of sorrow washing over you. “I–um–I used to play the violin.” 

 Jungkook’s brows furrow, watching your face closely. “Used to? What happened?” 

 Holding his gaze suddenly feels suffocating, his scrutiny causing you to feel so small. He just can’t know all the baggage and trauma you come with, determined to seal it away. 

 You tear your eyes from him and instead find Mari fascinated by a basket of necklaces. Following your line of sight, Jungkook spots her as well and quickens his steps, cradling your hand. You nearly trip over yourself to match his speed. 

 You both find Mari waving at the pair of you, excitedly chirping. “Oppa! Oppa’s girlfriend! Look at this, I finally found a rose quartz necklace!” 

 Jungkook fondly smiles as he corrects his little sister, reminding her that you’re not his girlfriend, but his fianceé, and that you have a name she should respectfully use. She compliantly nods and continues on a long story concerning her search for a rose quartz stone, her face brighter than the sun as she rambles. 

 “You know, the rose quartz symbolizes love. It basically like, encourages love and trust and it’s so pretty and pink and I think it’s the prettiest stone ever! Don’t you think, Jungkookie oppa? Actually, if this is a stone about love, maybe you should give it to your fianceé.” 

 Jungkook blanches, and his expression invokes a laugh out of you, snickering behind your fist. Jungkook clears his throat, tonguing his lip ring, his hand still searing into the small of your back… again. “But it’s the only one left and you’ve been looking for so long, Mari. You should keep it.” 

 Mari frowns all of a sudden, crossing her little arms. “But you have to get your fianceé a gift, oppa. You haven’t even gotten her a ring yet, you’re so mean!” 

 Jungkook comically smacks his forehead, shaking his head as you giggle. “Okay, fine. How’s about this? I’ll get Y/N noona a stone necklace as a gift right now for being my fianceé. The sound good?” 

“Yes!” Mari cheers, redirecting her attention to the other baskets at the jewelry stall in search of matching rose quartz earrings. Meanwhile, Jungkook awkwardly turns to you, sighing as he scrubs down the side of his face. 

 “Y/N,” he draws out, and something about your name on his tongue stupidly invigorates you. “Please don’t reject this gift, or my sister will scold me to death.” 

 Your mouth twitches as you contain your chuckles. “No worries, Mr. Jeon. Just don’t make it anything ugly.” 

 Nodding, Jungkook puffs out a breath as he begins scavenging the basket of stone necklaces, inspecting each one. 

 “Why don’t I choose so that it’s something I like?” You interject. “It would make it easier for you.” 

 “Um, no way.” Jungkook denies. “It’s not a gift if you choose it, now is it? No peeking.” He narrows his eyes at you before covering the table with his massive body, completely cutting you off from his selection process. 

 You roll your eyes as you decide to back off, watching Jungkook converse with the merchant. Your vision falls to Mari beside him, both siblings oddly moving with such similarity, it’s evident they’re brother and sister. 

 The only comical thing was how vastly different their sizes were; Mari, a dainty, fairy-like girl next to Jungkook; a male hunk of raw, thick muscle with dark tattoos and mischief entwined in his irises.

 To your dismay, your mind drifts to flashes of Jungkook from that night; his husky voice, his tantilizing lip ring, his dewy, coral mouth inches from yours. 

 Jungkook suddenly swivels around in your direction, carrying a small pouch—his lips deviously curve. “Why’ve you got that dreamy look on your face, kitten?”

 You groan loudly, shaking your head. “I was actually thinking about jumping you.” 

 “Itching to get on top of me, now are you?” 

 He playfully bounces his brows, irritation bubbling inside you. “Why are you looking at me like that, mongrel?” 

 He proudly puffs his chest. “Because, I chose the perfect gift.” 

 “Wanna tell me what it is?” 

 “Not yet,” his lips evilly curve. “Open it later.” 

 You narrow your eyes. “Are you trying to kill me with suspense?” 

 Jungkook sexily cocks a brow. “Something tells me you’re very used to having things your way. Time to meet your match, kitten.” 

 You dead-pan. “You’re such a little shit.” 

 “A little shit that happens to be your fiancé.” 

 “Ugh,” you groan, massaging your temple. “Please don’t remind me.” 

 Jungkook tips his head back as he laughs, stepping into your personal space. “Oh, trust me, kitten. I’m never letting you forget.” 

 Smacking your forehead this time, you look to the Almighty above. “Oh dear God, please help me survive this man.” 

 With his shoulder’s shaking, Jungkook’s so caught up in laughing at you that he barely registers Mari tugging on his shirt, her tone grave. 

 “Oppa, hurry up! We’re gonna be late for the horses. I don’t wanna be late for the horses!!”

 ———

 Your mouth is agape, practically glued to the floor as you stare, flabbergasted. “We’re gonna be riding horses?!” 

 Mari giggles as she bolts after a white stallion across the beach, beautifully sleek and quiet in her stance. Mari appears well-acquainted with the horse, the animal dipping its head to ease Mari’s reach in petting her. Her mother is just by her, also indulging in the animal’s wonder. 

 “Indeed, Y/N.” Jungkook’s father laughs as he approaches, watching his wife and daughter fondly before clapping Jungkook on the back. The volume of the slap indicates its force, causing Jungkook to minutely wincing—you’re not sure why it bothers you. “It’s a Jeon family tradition to go horseback-riding, isn’t it, son?” 

 You watch Jungkook fight back an eye roll. “Yes, dad.” 

 “Have you ever gone horseback-riding, Y/N?” His father asks. 

 “Never, Mr. Jeon.”

 “Aish, what’s with the title?” His father’s chest rumbles with a laugh. “You’re my future daughter-in-law, Y/N. No need for such formalities.” 

 Avoiding the urge to reject him, you politely smile. “Of course, father.” 

 “No worries about not having ridden a horse. This is one of the things my son’s actually good at.” His father says with a shining grin, but the underlying insult rubs you horribly. Jungkook’s jaw ticks tightly, grinding his teeth.

 You’ve never heard a parent speak about their own child in such a ghastly way. The entire brunch was shocking to you; you swear Jungkook’s father spent the majority of his time belittling Jungkook than he did eating. It irks you in an inexplicable way; especially the manner in which Jungkook seems used to the treatment. 

 It triggers slight empathy within you. 

 “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” You decide to say, unsure of why you defend Jungkook. 

 The smile that graces his dewy lips as a result sparks a sense of accomplishment, captivated when you meet his gaze. He’s as bright as the sun, and it’s now you notice that Jungkook has the cutest little mole right underneath his bottom lip. 

 How stupidly fucking cute. 

 “Well, Jungkook will be riding with you then, Y/N.” Jungkook’s father interrupts you two with a clearing of his throat. “You’ll be a Jeon soon, and it’s Jungkook’s responsibility to introduce you to our family traditions.” 

 You agree with him just so he can hear it, your curiosity shifting elsewhere. “Will my mother be joining us?” 

 “Ah, yes, she’s right—oh, there she is.” Jungkook’s father gestures towards a deep brown stallion your mother brushes the hair of, her vision surprisingly set on you. 

 Meeting her gaze still feels  raw right now, immediately turning away with an awkward swallow. “Great, why don’t you set us up on your horse, Jungkook?” 

 Jungkook furrows his brow for only a second before stepping aside, gesturing the way. You send him a grateful smile and proceed. He leads you towards a horse so gorgeous, she could’ve been made from stardust. Her sleek coat of fur is so spotless that an iridescent reflection radiated off of her—almost an ethereal, silvery purple beauty. 

 Captivated, you gape, reaching out your hand. “Oh my God, Jungkook, is this your horse? She looks like she was made from frickin’ stardust!” You don’t even think, caressing your palm across the soft fur—you gasp once you consider your impulsivity. “Wait, I’m so sorry I didn’t ask before touching her.” 

 Jungkook tilts his head with a curious little laugh, stepping towards the horse’s saddle. “You know, you say sorry for things you really don’t need to be sorry for.” 

 “I’m sorry—“ you get out before pursing your lips, hating yourself. 

 Jungkook giggles. “Her name’s actually Stardust ” He adds, reaching out his palm. “Come, pet her.” 

 Fitting your hand with his, Jungkook gently guides you to the sweet spot Stardust loves. You lightly stroke her, smiling widely once she whinnies. Jungkook watches you with something… warm in his eyes. You can’t quite place it, and when you meet his gaze, the hint of a grin on his lips nearly makes you believe he was watching with fondness. 

 How delusional of you. 

 “Let’s get on, yeah?” Jungkook asks. You send him a nod before he ensures the security of the saddle, adjusting it. The horse is ridiculously tall compared to you, awkwardly clearing your throat as you assess how exactly you’re getting onto the damn thing. 

 Large palms slip around your waist before you can act, jolting to find Jungkook gripping you. He hoists you up with little to no effort, a small yelp escaping you as you plop down on the horse's saddle. Jungkook easily mounts the horse too, settling in behind you. 

 This was a mistake. A big, fat mistake, because the second Jungkook shoves his thick, muscular frame against your back, every respectable part of you screams to unleash your inner whore. You didn’t realize how small you are compared to Jungkook, and when he connects his crotch against your ass, nothing is saving you. 

 Your breath hitches, swallowing away your raging hormones. His stupid cologne envelopes you, eyes nearly rolling back at his delicious scent. His arms cocoon you as he reaches for the horse’s rope. You’re doomed, you think, because his face now leans over your shoulder too, nearly cheek to cheek. 

 “Hold on,” he says in your ear—every joint in your body melts. 

 Jungkook thwacks the reigns and off you go, exclaiming when the shockwaves of each gallop hits you. You struggle to steady yourself as Jungkook masterfully guides the horse on the beach.

 “Press your back into me,” he advises, his breath tantalizing to your skin. “Or you’ll end up with back pain and I’ll have to massage it out.” 

 Throwing a dirty look over your shoulder, you scooch a little further back, now completely flush with Jungkook’s broad chest. His warmth engulfs you first, the very presence of him behind burning into your spine. His hard arms around you only feed your delusions, the safety you felt with him a concoction of your sickest fantasies. 

 Jungkook protecting you? Sounds like the punchline of a joke. 

 “Does your dad always talk to you like that?” 

 “What?” 

 “Your dad,” you clarify, attempting to piece this query together before the idea of his sizable crotch buries a home in you. “Has he always spoken to you like that?” 

 Jungkook, surprisingly, laughs, but it’s a dark and dry one, entirely void of amusement. “Wow, you’ve only known me two days and you’ve already noticed.” 

 You remain quiet, letting the gears in his mind shift. You enjoy the breeze kissing your skin, the scent of the sea calming you. 

 “Yes, to answer your questions. He always speaks to me like that.” Jungkook bristles, his arms closing tighter around you. “Why do you ask?” 

 “Because…” You pause, shuffling through appropriate words. 

 “Because my dad patronizes the fuck out of me?” 

 You wince. “Yeah, that.” 

 Jungkook swallows hard enough that you hear it, followed by a tight, yet notable sigh. “Don’t worry about it. It’s normal.” 

 You narrow your eyes. “I’m not worried, asshat. It’s just an observation I made.” 

 Jungkook quirks a brow before scrutinizing you. “Really? You’re not worried about me? Your angry little kitten pout is giving you away.” 

 Scoffing, the back of your hand lightly hits his chest behind you. Jungkook exaggerates the pain and reacts as though it were a gunshot, causing you to thwack him again. “Fuck you, you self-absorbed bastard. It’s just unusual.” 

 Jungkook stifles a laugh before his chest stops rumbling, his shoulders rather drooping. His demeanour abruptly shifts, now harder than stone. “He’s been like that since the day I was born.” 

 You don’t mean to, but you peer up at Jungkook once you hear those words. The melancholic tone sounds nothing like the Jungkook you’ve met. Rambunctious, devil-may-care and oozing sarcasm—all those traits seem to have suddenly belonged to another person. 

 Having moved slightly up the horse during its gallops, you nestle your ass back in between his thunderous thighs. Your nipples harden once you’re flush against him again, his embrace still disorienting. “That’s… jarring.” 

 “Quite.” He contends. “But like I said, it’s normal. Once you hear it enough you get used to it.” 

 But you shouldn’t have to, you think. You’re unsure why, but something about this bothers you. “You shouldn’t have to get used to it, though. It’s not really fair.” 

 Jungkook pensively exhales as he shortens the reign, his vision zeroing on you. He inspects you carefully, tongue toying with his lip ring… again. “What about you? Does your mother always speak to you like that?” 

 “Like what?” 

 “You know what.” Jungkook knowingly eyes you. His scrutiny ignites something within you, those mocha-brown eyes swirling with curiosity, stirring up something in your chest. Fuck. 

 “She’s… a character.” You manage. “We’re complicated.” 

 “Wow,” Jungkook marvels. “So descriptive.” 

 Elbowing him, Jungkook feigns another exclamation of pain. You scoff it off while a stunning smile plasters onto his face, nearly blinding you. You opt to turn away and focus on the beauty of the ocean instead. 

 You didn’t notice when, but somewhere along the line you started leaning against Jungkook’s chest as though he were a seat. Unconsciously, you scooted back often, the momentum of the horses strolling sending you backwards. 

 Shuffling, your ass meets his crotch, and the mere contact spins a web of delicious fantasies in your head. You’re close to reprimanding yourself before you hear Jungkook stifle a sound behind you. Off your rocker, your effect on him excites you, daring to repeat the action. 

 Wiggling inconspicuously, you’re graciously met by an audible, forced puff of air through his nose. 

 Oh, now this is interesting.

 With an evil grin on your face, you position yourself quite scandalously on the horse; hands gripping in front of you as you slightly lean forward, ass pressed tight against him. The action perfectly sets it up for Jungkook’s clothed cock to practically dry-fuck you, the sounds of Jungkook’s frustration evident behind you. 

 You peek over your shoulder, mischief swirling in your irises. “Hmm, this feels very familiar. I wonder why.” 

 Jungkook grits his teeth, purposefully tugging the reins for the horse to speed up, away from the rest of your families. His expression hardens with frustration when he regards you, clearing his throat. “Your ass is already wedged between my thighs, Y/N; stop moving.” 

 “Like what?” You feign oblivion, shuffling your ass so far back you’re nearly sitting on his cock. Jungkook lets out a low grunt, breathing through the arousal you no doubt spark in him. His once doe eyes darken, his jaw clenched tightly. 

 “You know what.” He grits, his large hand cupping your thigh and squeezing it. You slightly yelp, stupidly turned on by the action, only heightened when his lips brush your ear. “Funny how you chose this position; when I had you bent over and all you could do was moan my name.”

 Shivers crawl along your spine, arousal swirling in your nether regions. You immediately straighten your back, but quickly remember the advantage you have. You shove your back flush against his front and push your arms together in front of you, emphasizing the cleavage he has a 4K view of. “Because I know you’re dying to do it again.” 

 Jungkook breathes out a laugh, curling his arm around your frame and tugging you so impossibly close, you could’ve been one body. “Sure you’re not speaking for yourself, kitten?” 

 You scoff. “Very; you’re the one with a hard dick.” 

 “And you’re the one with perky nipples.” He counters, his voice dropping an octave. “And I bet if I slipped inside your panties right now, I’d find you wetter than Lake Superior.” 

 Appalled, you smack his cradling arm with a gasp, causing Jungkook to erupt into hearty laughter. The sound is unfairly rich and sweet, confusing your hormones and brain and heart all at once. 

 “I’m surprised you even know what Lake Superior is.” You grumble, causing Jungkook to cock a brow. 

 “Trust me, kitten,” his dulcet cadence ignites you. “I’m full of surprises.” 

 Winded, you can’t help but scoff through a laugh as you give it up, knowing damn well there’s no end to challenging him.

 “Dad, dad! Answer me!” 

 Your ears are blaring with an incessant buzzing, the taste of blood staining your tongue. A sharp pain is constantly jabbing your right wrist, unable to move it. Tears spill down your cheeks, horror seeping into every bone in your body. 

 “Dad, please, please! Just answer me!” 

 You stare at his figure next to you, unsure of his condition. Your world is entirely upside down, the very axis of your understanding flipped. Mirrored. As though you aren’t even in your own dimension, but in an alternate universe where this terrible, terrible thing is happening to you. 

 It can’t be real. It simply can’t. There is no way there’s a large piece of metal sticking out of your father’s chest cavity. There’s just no way. 

 “Dad, wake up. Wake up wake up wake up!” You wail, anger overcoming your body. Your dad is fine, he’s fine, so why isn’t he answering? Why do you hear sirens and the clambering of people? This isn’t real, this isn’t happening, and everything is going to be absolutely fine. 

 So you scream, you scream and you scream because you surmise it’s the only way out of this hell. Because screaming this loud is making you believe that you’ll wake up soon, that the litres of blood dripping out of your father are merely an illusion, that you’re simply dreaming.

 “Daddy, dad! Open your eyes, open your eyes, please! PLEASE!” 

 “You’re fine, you’re fine!”

 “Wake up, fucking WAKE UP!!”

 A hazardous gasp wakes you, vomit nearly crawling up your esophagus. You bracket your throat as you resupply your lungs with oxygen, eyes stinging with tears. 

 Your heart thunders against your ribs, anxiety spinning a network of pain and agony within your chest. Your breathing is choppy, hyperventilating as the memories fire into your brain in rapid succession. 

 One plus one is two. Two plus two is four. Three plus three is six. Four plus four is eight. Five plus five is ten. Numbers are real, you are real, the bed underneath you is real, the duvet on your body is real. 

 The flashbacks in your head are not real. 

 You swipe away the tears that betray you, refusing to let your trauma take you, to hold you captive like it has for months now. 

 Your attention drifts to your pillow, blankly staring at it as you attempt to level your breathing. Swallowing, you feel exhausted, your mind recovering from the emotional abuse of that horrible nightmare. 

 Your head’s been frantic all day as it stupidly replayed traumatic flashbacks on a loop ever since your disastrous brunch. Your heart still pounds thinking about it, nestling your palm over your chest and rubbing to alleviate the stress. 

 Exhaling slowly, you force yourself to focus on the present, today’s events filtering into your headspace. 

 And for some fucking reason, the common denominator of your thoughts ends up being Jungkook. 

 Not the more pressing issues like your invasive mother or your malicious PTSD, but Jeon fucking Jungkook. You couldn’t forget what he said to you earlier today, your mind involuntarily brewing. ‘Trust me, kitten. I’m full of surprises.’ 

 What other surprises could he have to offer? What more lies beneath Jungkook’s facade of easy-going sarcasm with a splash of ‘I’m-a-gigantic-asshole?’ Your dreary eyes shift over to the man across the room, his broad, muscly back bared to you as he sleeps soundlessly in his separate bed. 

 You’d battled every hormone in your body as you were forced to watch him get ready for bed earlier, your stupid cunt purring with need. You guess one of the many surprises Jungkook has to offer is that he’s meticulous about his routines; skincare, vitamins, even neatly folding his clothes. 

 His attitude crafted the misconception that he was a slob; a tornado of devil-may-care and unaccountability that always left a mess in his wake. Watching him was a slap in the face, reminding you that again, perhaps Jungkook was right. 

 You have to take the time to know him before making assumptions. 

 But making assumptions just felt safer. You’d spent your entire life making assumptions about people because it was simply easier to safe-guard yourself that way; expect the worst so you’re already prepared for when they eventually hurt you. 

 Yes, it’s unfair to the people you meet, but you’d rather do that than have your heart trampled over. It’s already gone through enough. 

 The image of Jungkook’s shirtless body flashes in your mind when it wanders, causing you to snap yourself out of it. You cast away your duvet and breathe out, anxiety still lingering within your body. Every vessel is starting to scream at you, begging for some form of relief from your constant turmoil.

 Huffing out, you slide your chilly feet into your slippers and take off faster than you can breathe, desperate for some air. You shuffle around just enough to find the grand balcony at the end of your corridor, luxurious and happily empty. 

 Throwing open the doors, you take a long, steady breath, allowing fresh air to saturate your lungs, to cleanse your mind. Your distress begins to melt upon the sound of waves, focusing on the beautiful sights the Maldives has to offer. 

 Your arms swing over the railing as you allow yourself some peace, the blissful sounds of the lapping water and rustling trees transporting you to a place of tranquility, the breeze caressing your skin like an old friend comforting you.

 It’s the most zen you’ve felt since embarking on this trip. 

 “Can’t sleep?”

 You freeze at the characteristically steely voice, recognizing that cadence anywhere. What prompted your mother to approach you and speak to you normally is beyond you, focusing on the resort instead. 

 “Bidulgi, you can’t ignore me the rest of this trip.” She coos, her voice gaining volume—you shrink at the idea of her approaching you. 

 “Actually, I think I can.” You retort. “If you can ignore respecting me, I think I can ignore you.” 

 You hear your mother sigh, rolling your eyes in response. “Y/N, I had my reasons, alright? You know if I told you the truth behind this trip, you wouldn’t have agreed. And I couldn’t–” 

 “No, mom. You don’t know that. You don’t know that because you never even asked me, and that’s the shittiest part.” Your voice stupidly cracks, swallowing your emotions before they explode.

 “Y/N, even if I did tell you I know you’d turn down the trip. You’re my daughter, I know you and I know you wouldn’t have budged.” 

 Your fists clench so hard you might cut yourself. “Even if I did or didn’t, you can’t just do this, mom.” You press. “You can’t walk around and dictate my life without consulting me first. You’ve done it my entire fucking life and I’m tired of it!” 

 “Watch your tone, dear. We can have a rational adult conversation ” 

 Your blood begins to boil, scoffing. “Oh please, there you go again; rejecting any emotions like they’re the damn plague. Well guess what, mom, I’m angry! And upset!” 

 “Be logical, Y/N.” Your mother admonishes. “What’s so upsetting about marrying a handsome, rich heir who’s set to become the CEO of one of Korea’s largest gaming companies? What is so horrible that you’re acting this way?” 

 “Because I don’t know him, mom.” You plead with her. “I barely know this man and you want me to, what, vow to be with him in sickness and in health? Till death do us part?”

 “Yes, Y/N. Because I never want you to settle for less.” Your mother reasons, approaching you carefully. “I want your husband to be the best man possible, and I know the Jeons’ son can be that man. He’s powerful and will be able to provide for you and your future family.” 

 “Stop it, mom.” You grit, retreating from her in near disgust. “Why do you keep emphasizing his power and wealth? Why do you keep assuming those are things I even want?” 

 Your mother hesitates then, opening her mouth only to seal it shut. She seems to consider her words, redressing, rethinking them, and that’s when you uncover the truth. 

 She trips up on her words only when she’s hiding something. “God, there’s a fucking deal in this, isn’t there? You’re getting something out of marrying us?” Your tone heightens in disbelief, betrayal etched into your features. 

 Your mother winces, guilt seeping into her eyes. “Dear, please. You know what happened to your father has set back the firm. We’ve been trying to handle his clients but they’re dropping like flies without him. I needed to sign someone who could secure–” 

 “Jesus fucking Christ. So you gave away my hand in marriage for the Jeon’s to become your fucking clients?!”

 “Y/N, I—“

 “Wow,” you huff, dry laughs attacking you. “Un-fucking-believable. You’re actually unbelievable.”

 “Y/N, please.” Your mother reaches out for your hand.

 “No, mom.” You physically reject her, tears welling up in your eyes as you stare at a complete stranger. You feel like you don’t know this woman anymore; a shadow of one you used to know. 

 “The worst…” You choke, swallowing down your rampant emotion. “The worst part is that you could’ve just told me, mom. Could’ve looped me in and I would’ve helped you acquire clients anyway. But you always do this; you always operate on your own accord without anyone else’s input. And you know what, mom? I’m tired of it. Sick and tired.” 

A weighty silence intensifies the air, suffocating you. Your mother’s disparaged expression causes you to look away, not allowing yourself to feel any remorse. She can’t deserve it, not after this, not after that brunch, and especially not after the accident…

 “Dad would’ve never done this to me.” You softly remark, feeling your connection sever in that very moment—an irrevocable break. Sniffling, you carry yourself out of her vicinity, disappearing down the corridor you emerged from. 

  You shut the door using your back, breaths coming out of you like a raging storm. You clutch your hand to your chest, poorly attempting to level your racing heart. 

 Nothing calming crosses your mind, contempt, fury, utter anger tainting every ounce of you. You stomp over to your bed, ready to break out into a tantrum, but recalling that Jungkook lays fast asleep in the bed just a few feet from you. 

 The sight of him causes you to be more mindful of your emotions, plopping down on your bed and tossing the covers over yourself. You curl into a tight, unyielding ball, scrunching the duvet between your palms as tears silently escape your eyes; tired of your emotions, tired of your mother, tired of it all. 

 In your fit of tears, you end up fixating on a small dark grey box sitting on your night table, raking your brain for what it could be. 

 Curious, you reach out and sit up to inspect the box. You find the etching that indicates the shop you, Jungkook, and Mari visited earlier in the day, causing a small smile to paint your lips. Wiping your tears from your face, you life the lid of the box, remembering Jungkook specifically chose a stone necklace for you. 

 Unearthing the necklace, you find an amethyst at its center, the gorgeous purple stone gently shimmering under the moonlight. You bite back a smile, admiring its natural lustre. 

 You find a note under the necklace, remembering that Mari mentioned stones each having their own meaning. Turning over the small card, an appreciative smile spreads across your face as you peek over at Jungkook’s slumbering body, the meaning echoing in your mind. 

 ‘Healing’.

[moregraceful]

Wrote 2.3k of my FTH fic in 3 hours

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

YOU CAN’T ESCAPE FROM ME AND MY HOARD OF ASCENSION MATS

[kabibblewrites]

“What have you got there?”

*shuffles 65 page WIP I’ve been working on for a literal decade into the corner*

[tempests-bards-and-birds]

wow the barbara-centric fic i was writing that was meant to be haha funny crack surrounding the whole thing of her being Oblivious to venti's identity has morphed into angst surrounding the questioning and potential collapse of the faith and religion that she has built her entire life on only to find out that maybe her god isn't so different from her at all and that maybe they're both suffering and imperfect in similar ways and that. yeah wow who could've guessed that this would happen

[daz4i]

too lazy and having trouble with words to work on my fic but i do enjoy imagining it. fuck yeah make that beast bleed