Please Love Me (Series Masterlist) | JJK

Please Love Me (Series Masterlist) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: arranged marriage, childhood friends, CEO kids; angst, fluff, smut

Series Warnings: seemingly controlling parents but not really, sexism, alochol consumption, foul language, sexual content (fingering, hand job, making out, breast play, straddling, oral sex (m & f receiving), unprotected sex) (18+) - specific warnings will be written on applicable chapters

Word count: 64,350 (main story + follow-up)

Series summary: As the only unmarried Jeon and Kim children, your families propose a union to symbolize your unbreakable bond that spans generations. But despite developing an affection for Jungkook growing up, he never returned it; he never seemed to like you, actually. You’re okay with the proposal, but surprise surprise, he isn’t.

A/N: This story is growing so I decided to put up a masterlist! Thank you so much for still going back to read this; they’re truly one of my favorite couples. 🥰🥰 @jeonwiixard also made a moodboard for this some time ago; do check it out! 🙂

Main story + Follow Up

Part 01 (wc: 13k)

Part 02 (wc: 16.6k)

Part 03 (wc: 18.3k)

The Honeymoon (16.3k)

Drabbles

Seeing an old fling. Again.

An Unlikely Date

Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Baker!OC

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: mentions of creepy guys

Summary: Astrid is greeted by a mysterious guy in her bakery one morning, but he's not as mysterious as she thought he was.

Astrid flicked the switchblade open before slicing open the cardboard box. These had been piling up recently at the bakery, and for some reason, no one had bothered to flatten them and throw them out. They didn’t receive that many shipments of pastry boxes each week, so these had to have been in here for a while for there to have been so many of them.

Recently, she’d been pondering her life. She’d done more research on Jungkook and found out just who he was exactly. There was no shortage of interviews and livestreams from him, and she was sure it would be very hard to keep up that sort of a persona for this long. He’d been in the eye of the public for eleven years, and despite the tattoos and piercings, he still seemed to be the sweet man she’d met at the coffee shop a couple months prior.

She never had bothered to text him. She was generally a very outgoing person, but the thought of talking to a celebrity freaked her out for some reason. Why had he given her his number, anyways? They’d met twice. And those meetings had been more like disasters. He didn’t strike her as the type of person to give his phone number to any girl he talked to. So why her?

“Astrid, there’s someone looking for you. Go run the register. I’ll finish these.”

She looked up at her coworker, Thea, who was holding her hand out for the box cutter.

“Who is it? If it’s Jacques again, tell him I don’t want to talk to him.”

“It wasn’t him! This guy only spoke English! He said Astrid, but that was all I understood.”

She sighed, shutting the switchblade and slapping it into Thea’s hand. “If it’s one of those weird guys again, I’m calling the police.”

“It wasn’t!” Thea swore. “It was an Asian guy!”

Astrid stepped into the dining room as Thea’s last words rang in her ears. Oh. Oh. What was he doing here? She wasn’t sure how she recognized him with the bucket hat and massive pair of sunglasses he was wearing, but she did.

“Jungkook?”

He glanced up from his phone, sliding his glasses down as he did so. He grinned when he saw her.

“Astrid!”

She couldn’t help but smile. The way he said her name sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“Hi there. How can I help you?”

“You never used the phone number I gave you. I was wondering why.”

She raised an eyebrow as she approached the counter. “How did you find me?”

Somehow, the prospect of him stalking her wasn’t as terrifying as it should’ve been. Generally, the guys that showed up at the shop were slimy and very clearly had bad intentions, but Jungkook was grinning like a little kid as he pulled his sunglasses off.

“It was completely by chance, honestly. I was looking at bakeries around here and found this one’s Instagram page. I was shocked to find you in a few of the photos.”

She laughed. “That’s lucky. You came to ask why I haven’t texted you, then?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I suppose that doesn’t sound good, does it?”

She shrugged. “I find no fault in someone being curious. Although I have to wonder why you’d go out of your way to come here and find me.”

“I’ve come across you three times now on accident. That can’t be a coincidence.”

“I suppose you may be right. What are you doing in France, though? It’s nearly Christmas. Shouldn’t you be home with your family?”

“I’m headed to America for Christmas. We just decided to take the scenic route on the way here. And I can’t pass up a good pastry. Do you have anything that’s chocolate?”

“We have plenty of chocolate options. Would you like a chocolate filled croissant?”

“That sounds amazing!”

Ten minutes later, Jungkook was seated at a table eating his croissant when Astrid brought him a cup of coffee. Then she seated herself across from him.

“Can I ask why you’re headed to America for Christmas?”

“One of my bandmates is spending Christmas with his girlfriend in California. He’s going to propose to her. We just so happened to have someone who wanted to record a song with us, so we’re all meeting up there.”

“Oh, that’s sweet! Good for them! Have they been together long?”

“About a year and a half?” he guessed.

Astrid nodded. “That’s nice.”

The two of them sat there in silence for a few moments as Jungkook continued to eat and Astrid watched him. For the most part, their bakery was rarely visited. Astrid and her friend had built it from the ground up, but her friend had ditched her suddenly with the excuse that Astrid wasn’t a good business partner.

“Hey, this is going to sound insane, but I’m attending a wedding in February. Would you like to join me?”

Astrid laughed. “Um, where is it?”

“It’s in Australia.”

“Oh?” she giggled. “That sounds like fun. I suppose I can see if my schedule can manage that. Are you sure I can trust you, though?”

“I have about five girls that would beat me up if I harmed you, and I’m sure my mom would find a way to Australia as well to join them.”

“Sounds like you know a lot of strong, confident women.”

He nodded in agreement. Before Astrid could respond, Thea appeared from the back of the shop with a mountain of broken-down cardboard boxes in her arms.

“Astrid, where is the recycling bin again?”

◇◆◇◆◇

“Atti, who is Kim?” Elliot asked as he flipped through the new year’s calendar on Astrid’s wall. “And why are you going to her wedding without me?”

Astrid entered the room just in time to smack him in the head with her slipper. “Stop snooping around in my stuff. Kim is their last name. I’m going to Australia next month for their wedding.”

“They have the same last name already? That’s awesome!”

She groaned. “No, you idiot. It’s the groom’s last name.”

“Who are they, though?”

“They’re friends of my boyfriend.”

“Oh, you mean the Korean guy who gave you his number?”

Astrid smacked him again. “Out.”

He grinned mischievously as he walked backwards out of her room. “Can’t wait till the wedding, Atti,” he winked. Then he disappeared around the corner before she could hit him with her slipper again.

This is part of the Dad!BTS series that can be found here

A/N: Well I'm just cranking stuff out at this point...I'd say help but I'm quite enjoying getting to know these characters more

It would be greatly appreciated if you reblogged the story if you liked it!

Taglist: @jiminie-and-his-pinky-finger @jinnie-forthe-winnie @taehoneycheeks @aianloveseven @bangtansjonas @fly-you-dam-fools

The Operator

Synopsis: there is nothing normal about Greenwood University. however, the school is your only option. it is even more fearful when the person everyone told you to stay away from, Jungkook , is the one who won’t leave you alone.

parings: yandere! inhuman jungkook x reader/ overprotective sibling taehyung x reader

chapter warnings: murder, cheating, inhuman behavior, car crash

word count: 4.4k

series masterlist

chapter 09: origins

"I will like an iced vanilla latte." Taehyung said to the barista as he waited in line at a coffee shop.

"Alright, that would be 5.50 sir."

"No, i'll pay." A girl behind him informed. The girl was wearing a luxuriously outfit with black shades covering her eyes. She pulled out of her stuffed wallet an 100 dollar bill.

"I will also like what this man is getting, keep the change." She declared sending the barista a wink.

The barista looked at the money in shock, a big smile forming on his face. "Wow, thank you!"

Taehyung eyed the lady. He hated being someone's charity. "Listen ma'am, I don't need your money I can pay for my own coffee." He hissed.

"Wow Taehyung? You woke up on the wrong side of the bed." She insulted. Taehyung looked back at her with wide eyes.

"H-How do you know my name?" He nervously questioned. He hoped she didn't work with the police.

She took off her expensive sunglasses putting it in her YSL handbag.

"I'm Park Roseanne, you would be surprised what I know."

———————-

Storm anxiously waited on the couch as Jimin stared at his phone, urgently texting. He roughly put the phone down and stared at her.

"What I'm about to tell you Storm, you gotta keep it to yourself." He spoke.

She furiously tapped her fingers on the nearby table. "Yeah whatever Jimin, just tell me please. I deserve to know."

"It's a long story so get comfortable."

"In a nearby galaxy they were two planets. Bangtan was the first one. It is where Jungkook and I was born.

The planet was very outdated, I would compare it to the 1600s of Earth.

400 years ago, my great great great grandfather lived on the planet. He was a smart man. He was really into science, more specifically Petrology."

"Petrology, the study of rocks?" Storm asked.

"Yes, he would study them. Nobody really cared for his studies. One day a tower collapsed, there was rubble everywhere. The tower was barely used so nobody bothered to clean it up or reuse the material.

It was like he was the only one who questioned why a tower would fall like that. The building was always stabled. He decided to go to the tower to study the rocks and maybe see how it fell.

When he went to the tower he saw a bunch of kids. The kids were playing with this basketball sized green rock. When they saw him they ran off leaving it.

My grandfather decided to study it. He didn't understand what this glowy green matter was. He studied it for months, it drove him crazy.

Frustrated one day he rubbed his eyes under his spectacles. He didn't realized he still had the green matter on his hands.

His eyes started burning for days, it was like he was blinded. He passed out and was sleep for 4 days.

When he woke up he felt different. He could see now. His eyesight was way better, he could see from miles away.

As an experiment, he decided he would wash his face with the matter to see how it reacts. When he woke up the next morning he looked younger, like 10 years younger.

When he went around his village people started to notice how handsome he was now. This was a privilege because it was a new queen arising.

In order to marry the queen you must be the smartest man on the land. He was always the smartest but now with his youthful look he would definitely get the kingship.

The thought of marrying the queen excited him. So he did something that would possibly take away his life or make it better.

He injected the matter inside himself.”

———————

Taehyung sat in awe as he looked at Rosé. Rosé had rushed the two of them to a private seating area in the cafe.

"I can't believe Park Rosé knows my name! You know you're my favorite millionaire! Wait, are you going to hire me as your stylist!?"

Rosé glared at him.  "As if I would ever let a man style me. Thats not how I know you."

"Then how do you know me?" Taehyung questioned.

"Yesterday night I got a text. I think my suspicions are right as always. Here's how were going to do it, we're playing 20 questions!"

"Uh ok. We can play that." He retorted.

"I'll go first. Taehyung, how long have you known Jungkook." She casually asked.

Taehyung's face of admiration changed to a cold nervous glare. His hands that was presently on the table nervously went to his lap shakingly.

"W-Who is that?"

"Oh is that one of your questions Taehyung? I'll answer even though you ignored mines. Jungkook is an asian male who is 22 year old who resides in a private masion near Greenwood University with his friends, 23 year old asian male Kim Taehyung who majors in fashion, 26 year old asian male Min Yoongi who is a rising rap artist, 19 year old white male Lance O'Brien who is from Ireland on a Visa, he majors in computer science and 22 year old black male Ford Thomas who is the nation's best college runningback. Also has 27 year old asian male Kim Seokjin who is a butler." Rosé spoke almost as if its from memory.

"What the fuck! How do you know all this?" Taehyung yelled.

"It's amazing what a background check will get you. Oh and it looks like you used another question again, so i'll ask you another one

How would you like to get rid of Jungkook?"

—————

"When my grandfather injected it in himself he went to sleep for 15 days.

When he woke up his eyes were green and glowing

Just like the matter and just like mines." Jimin explained by turning his brown eyes into a bright green.

"He also could hear for miles away. He was stronger, stronger than any human and fast.

It was like he was smarter too. My grandfather learned information that helped them advance in technology.

The first thing he did was run to the castle and told the queen if they married he could make her live longer and make her more beautiful.

This was important because on Bangtan we didn't live past 40 years.

She agreed because her and the whole village was fascinated over his green eyes.

They both got married and my grandfather injected the matter into the Queen.

It was one problem though, they both didn't know how to control it. The blaring noise of every conversation, not being able to look at people in a normal sight.

The nightmares drew him crazy. He had nightmares of landscapes of another planet. It grew them both mad and the village were now scared.

One day a strange ship arrived on Bangtan. A lady named Lily. She was a beautiful fit lady with vibrant pink eyes. She told my grandparents she will help them. They would just have to follow her to her planet.

My grandfather knew the green matter was not from Bangtan. He accepted not only to get rid of his dreams but Lily had powers also. It made him trust her.

Lily brought them to the planet of Ringstar. Ringstar Planet was huge. They were very advanced in technology. Even more advanced then Earth right now.

That wasn't even the best part. Their people had bright colored pink eyes. Majority of the planet were women. Everyone on that planet was powered with the same powers my grandfather had.

The people of Ringstar have advanced senses, speed and strength.

When my grandparents arrived at the planet they were approached by The Queen and King. Also known as Shay and Ash.

Shay was the most beautiful person alive. She had dark skin which brought out her bright pink eyes.

Ash was very intimidating but handsome.

But the King and Queen was more powerful than the people of Ringstar. The king more specifically, he could read minds and move objects with his mind.

The most important thing? They we're immortal. They could not die.

They did test on my grandparents and discovered that a rock from Ringstar landed on Bangtan giving them powers.

They assigned Lily, the strongest warrior to teach them how control their powers and The Royal couple stated they could visit anytime.

My grandparents wanted to stay on Ringstar because their powers are more powerful on Ringstar. But the King and Queen refused to let them stay.

Years past by, my grandparents lived to be 150 years old. That's over 3 lifetimes for Bangtan.

They had kids and their children started to have the same powers as them. It seemed like the more decendants they had the more powerful their line would come. For example, my grandparents started to loose their powers slowly each time their children had children. It also seemed like every child born was more powerful than my original grandparents.

24 years ago my parents, The Prince and Princess of Bangtan got married. They then had me.

Since I was the newest born I was the most powerful on the planet. I had bright green eyes, super senses, super strength and speed but I also had a special power none of my ancestors had.

I control people's mind and I had the ability to charm people. I could also see people's happiest desire."

"Is that why I felt like I could trust you the first day we met?" Storm asked.

"Yeah everyone I meet feels that way. I was like a gift to my planet. Everyone in Bangtan loved me. My father loved me the most, since I was his firstborn.

My mom visited Ringstar to tell the Queen and King, Shay and Ash of my new powers. They were in awe and started become nicer to us. They even donated new technology to our planet.

My mom loved Ringstar she would always visit there. Her and Queen Shay we're close friends.

Then my mom became pregnant again. It was Jungkook.

Jungkook was very different from me. For the first time we've ever seen his eyes were purple.

Nobody in my family line eyes were ever purple, it was always green.

Jungkook was a more quiet child. He was a momma's boy. My mother loved him, I think even more than me.

The people of Bangtan didn't praise Jungkook like they did me. They thought his purple eyes were evil.

But Jungkook was a sweet child who was very smart. He always read books or stared at people.

Jungkook powers were more complicated than mines. It was like he was faster and stronger than anyone we've every seen.

Jungkook and I were very close but our mother was his best friend. Him and his mother would go visit Ringstar all the time.

My father however, he was stoic towards Jungkook. It's not like he didn't care for him, but he didn't show love like he did to my mother and I.

As Jungkook got older he discovered a new power. He could control people's mind like I did.

Since I got all the attention he would use his powers to control maids to get him extra snacks. You know nothing malicious.

When Jungkook was around 14, our mom was giving us a hug goodnight. When Jungkook touched her he discovered his new power.

Contrastingly to mine, he could see people's darkest desires and secrets.

He saw my mom's.

Our mom's darkest secret was King Ash of Ringstar, the true father of Jungkook."

———————-

Taehyung stared at Rosé. "What do you mean you can get rid of him? You're hilarious. That thing can not be ridden of."

Rosé chuckled. "Yes he can Taehyung, just listen to me."

"No, listen to me! Jungkook isn't normal he's like some vampire or demon or something! I don't know, all I know is i'm not trying to poke the bear."

Rosé let out an enormous laugh. "Y-You think Jungkook is a demon! PLEASE! Vampire? What do you think he's Damon Salvatore? Vampires don't exist stupid!"

Taehyung angrily groaned in annoyance. "I'm not kidding, that dude is like not human. He got like these purple eyes. He fucking punched me and I landed like 50 feet away." Rosé stopped laughing.

"Jungkook is an alien. Just like me." Rose smiled. She looked at Taehyung as her brown eyes turned pink.

Taehyung frighteningly jumped. "Shhh! Calm down Taehyung!"

"No! Are you trying to kill me?! I'll tell you everything just stop!" He yelled.

"What are you a snitch? I'm not the killer here, you are?" She defended.

Taehyung's eyes got big in shock. "N-No I'm not. Look, just leave me alone!

"You're a terrible liar, Taehyung. I've been paying attention to Greenwood's killings for years. I wanted to make sure if my pretty rich ass moved here I would be safe. This morning when I learned Jungkook was here I thought It was him but then I remembered.

Jungkook torture people to death. These killings were more out of anger and frustration. Someone who brutally and quickly killed. I look at your medical history, you have some serious issues." Rosé calmly spoked.

"Stop! I'm no killer. T-Thats not me."

"But it is. I also noticed that nobody kills like that in Greenwood for their first murder. I figured Jungkook was hiding these bodies in exchange for your loyalty? I researched your hometown to see if it was some suspicious killings.

None suspicious to a human police officer but I saw one that was weird. Over two years ago there was a car accident, the car crashed into a tree and went into flames. The victim was burnt alive accourding to an autopsy. But if the car was burnt, why was the tree ok?

Police officers are dumb. I researched the lady name and it was Lillian Cho. I was like why would Taehyung first kill be some random lady named Lillian Cho. Then I looked at your sister's birth certificate..."

"Don't mention my sister, you know nothing!" Taehyung yelled.

"Oh, but I do know her. Her birth certificate said her birth name was Cho Nari but when she was adopted along with you her adoptive parents changed it to Kim Nari, but you call her Storm right?" Rosé chuckled.

Taehyung said no words and just stared at Rosé.

"Apparently Storm met her birth mother at 17, but at the time you were 20 in your first year of college. Did Storm stop calling you when her mom came in her life? When she did have time to talk to you was she in a hurry? Did you hear the joy in her voice as she spoke about her?" Tears started to fall out Rosé's eyes as she spoke as Taehyung guiltily looked at her.

"I got a favor from a friend to send some of Cho Lillian's belongings once I found out she was dead this morning. In her diary she wrote, that she couldn't wait to travel with her daughter. She wanted to move her out of the state. This made you jealous, right? Your sister, the person you taken care of your whole life, the person that you loved the most was leaving you. So you killed her mother."

Taehyung sadly nodded with his head down.

"How could you? Why couldn't you be happy for your sister? Cho Lillian had a family!" Rosé cried.

Taehyung's guilt was replaced by a mischievous laugh. Rosé looked at him in disgust.

"Did she though? She left Storm when she was a baby? She was just going to leave her again. I did a heroic act that night." Taehyung grinned.

"She did have a family! She never wanted to leave Storm! She had a family! She loved us." Rosé sobbed.

"Us? Why do you care so much?" Taehyung asked.

"She was my aunt. Aunt Lily."

———————-

"Jungkook finding out about his mom completely changed him. He was now stoic. The only person he truly trusted had lied to him.

He didn't confront his mom about it at first. When his mom forced him to randomly visit the Queen and King thats when he saw it. The features he had alike with the King.

His opinion changed on his mom. How could she deceive the Queen into thinking they were best friends when she slept with her husband? How could his mom lie to his dad?

So he decided to blackmail her. He told her that if she didn't do anything he wanted she would tell father that he cheated.

My mother was too ashamed that her son knew to even try to stop him. Jungkook basically did whatever he wanted now. It was like he had no parents. He would travel for days, he would get the biggest room of the castle, he got everything.

Then one day he saw his grandfather's deepest secret.

He found out about how his great great great grandfather got his powers from the green matter.

This was a big deal. Our family always told us we were like this because our family was special.

The people of Bangtan only lived 40 years. His family lived well over 150. The green matter that they had still existed, but they didn't use it to help their own people.

They used it to keep the family powerful to be worshipped.

This disgusted Jungkook, it made him angry. He was no longer his old self. Everyone around him had manipulated him.

Him and I were still close but he was still closed off. When Jungkook told me the truth I was angry as well. It changed how we looked at our family.

But Jungkook never told me his plan.

The next day he killed my grandparents and took the kingship. He was only 15. His purple eyes now had dark veins underneath his eyes.

My family was scared of him. It was the way he killed them Storm, he was much more powerful than all of us.

My father was angry at Jungkook, he was devastated. That is when Jungkook told my father and I that he was the king's son.

My father's anger was now redirected towards my mother. My father confronted the King about it. The king already knew that Jungkook was his son. Apparently my mother and him have been sleeping together for years. The Queen of Ringstar was angry and felt betrayed.

My father was not dumb, he didn't try to fight the King. He knew the king was much more powerful.

They didn't do much over the situation. The King and Queen of Ringstar didn't care about Jungkook taking over Bangtan. The King did seem proud however.

Despite everything, my parents and the Queen and King stayed together.

Jungkook however was busy. He had divided the planet of Bangtan into two groups Abom and Pukkas."

Storm gasped. "Just like he does in Greenwood University." She observed.

"Jungkook has the power to control minds but that's boring to him. The Pukkas were the good people of Bangtan.

The Aboms we're the bad people. He didn't brainwash the aboms. He threatened them and manipulated them to do work for him. It was Jungkook's way of punishing them.

Some Aboms were so scared of Jungkook they changed their bad ways and joined the Pukkas.

Others didn't listen and faced the cruelest of deaths.

As for the Pukkas, Jungkook gave them the green matter making them just like us. The Pukkas of Bangtan started to live longer lifespans

My mother hated this. People no longer praised the royal family anymore. She hated that Jungkook ruined everything.

So she went to King Ash and cried saying that Jungkook needed to be stopped. King Ash was still in love with my mother so he agreed.

King Ash had a talk with Jungkook and said he needed to end the Pukkas and the Aboms and kill the Pukkas that have the power.

Jungkook refused. He told the king that he wanted to rule Ringstar and nothing will get in his way.

Jungkook knew that if he was on Ringstar he would be much more powerful. Ringstar's atmosphere supports his power."

"So that means you and Jungkook are less powerful on Earth?" Storm asked.

"Yes, Earth weakens are powers. If you think Jungkook is powerful on this planet, trust me, he is way more powerful on Ringstar.

Anyways, The King took this as a threat. He gave my mother a weapon. A weapon that can kill immortal people.

My mom thought if Jungkook was dead it would be better for their people. One day, she asked to speak to Jungkook alone.

She pretended to be proud of him making Jungkook let his guard down. She then stabbed him with this weapon.

The weapon didn’t work

This meant that Jungkook was immortal and could not die, even by the weapon.

Jungkook was so betrayed that his mother would try to kill him. The look on his face alone was enough for my mom to use the weapon on herself.

My mom killed herself and died. Jungkook was so angry, he knew exactly where this weapon had came from. He flew to the planet of Ringstar and killed the king.

This will now make him the King of not only Bangtan but Ringstar. The Queen of Ringstar was actually glad and happily gave him the throne. She thought Jungkook was karma for his mom and her husband cheating."

"How did the king die of the weapon but not Jungkook." Storm questioned.

"Think about it. Jungkook not only have power from the most powerful being of existance but he also have power from the rock. He is more powerful than the king. Its never been a being like him.

Jungkook also did the class system of Aboms and Pukkas on Ringstar. The people of Ringstar weren't bad people. So it was very few Aboms.

The people of Ringstar was scared of Jungkook. He was now about 17, despite that he was a good king for both Ringstar and Bangtan.

Jungkook even let me help rule with him. It was hard to run two planets so he gave me jobs to do. My father though, he was depressed.

My mother's death was hard on him. In his eyes, Jungkook killed his parents and his wife. He wanted Jungkook dead.

While Jungkook was busy running the planets he was looking at ways to get rid of him. He found one.

A less advanced planet called Earth. Jungkook wouldnt be able to find his back way to Ringstar or Bangtan. His powers would be weakened and the planet wouldnt have a strong or advanced enough spaceship to travel back.

While Jungkook was asleep he injected him with a huge amount of sedatives. Enough to kill a human 50 times, but for Jungkook it was like a deep sleep.

He put him in the spaceship and shipped him off to earth. When I found out I was angry so I took a spaceship to follow him.

When we both woke up we landed in different places. I haven't seen Jungkook since I've followed him. I've been searching for him for years.

Then I met Rosé, she was on Earth. She is from the planet Ringstar. Apparently she came down here to look for her Aunt.

The Queen sent Lily to go find Jungkook on earth and bring him back. Lily was one of the strongest warriors on Ringstar.

Rosé was looking for her but never did. Rosé and I decided to get married, not romantically but more as a way of sticking with each other for life.

Something drew me to Greenwood I had no idea Jungkook was here though. That explains it.”

"What the fuck? Rosé in on this too? I'm sorry but all this is beyond shocking." Storm admitted trying to put the pieces together.

"Yeah but Rosé has been changing she is obsessed with finding Lily." Jimin admitted.

"How is Lily alive? Didn't you say she was alive when your great grandparents discovered the rocks?"

"Storm, the people of Ringstar live a long time of they are on their home planet. The King and Queen are immortal but their people live about 1,000 years."

"So what are you going to do about Jungkook?" Storm asked.

"What do you mean what am I going to do with him? He's not a bad person just misunderstood. Imagine being born to think the worst of everyone. I just want my family back and Jungkook is the only family I have left." Jimin explained raising his voice.

"B-But didn't you say he killed people? He manipulates people Jimin. That's not good."

"He only hurts people who deserved it. His classification of Aboms and Pukkas have saved alot of people. This planet is literally shit! If you separate the good from the bad, the good won't get hurt. Jail and prison is not enough punishment for people. In order for a person to be good it must be scared out of them." Jimin explained.

"I don't know what to think Jimin." Storm honestly admitted. She was conflicted about whether to view Jungkook as an anti-hero or villian.

"It seemed like my brother has taken a liking out of you. I do too Storm, you're like a little sister to me. Which is why I'm telling you to don't do anything stupid." Jimin warned.

—————-

Taehyung was shocked. "It's no way, you have to be lying. Storm isn't your cousin."

"She is though and I have the DNA to prove it, unlike you. I loved my aunt, if you want to live the rest of your life then you're going to help me kill Jungkook. My aunt came to this planet looking for him and never returned. If Jungkook was never a rebellious king, nobody would have to go look for him!" Rosé threatened.

"Planet? Storm's mom was an alien?" Taehyung curiously asked.

"Yes, which will make her half mortal and half alien. She would be much more weaker than us but more powerful than an average human. It’s how I knew Lily didn't die by a fire, she would have healed. Someone had to strike her in her vital organs." Rosé explained.

Everything was adding up to Taehyung. "So that's why Jungkook is so interested in her?"

Rosé gave Taehyung a curious look. "What?! He and Storm are close?!"

"Oh yes, he practically almost killed me for not approving. He had Lance stalk her every move. That's not even all yesterday night, they went on a date!"

"Jimin never told me that when he sent me that text last night. All he said is that Jungkook was in Greenwood and that Storm knew everything." Rosé thought to herself.

"None of that matters. Storm will be away from Jungkook by the time that were done."

——-

AUTHORS NOTE: Dear reader, if you are confused fear not! I will be doing an explanation post, please ask any questions in the comments or ask question box. ALL QUESTIONS CONCERNING CHAPTERS 1-8 WILL BE ANSWERED. thanks

Lay Waste to Me | One

Description: Lead theoretical physicist and Professor, Jeon Jeongguk takes an alarming interest in you.

Ship: Broke Graduate Student Reader x Wealthy Professor JK!

Genre: Yandere Behavior, Obsession/Stalking, SMUT, Angst

Disclaimer/Note: I do not condone Yandere behavior, read at your risk as this mini-series will contain murder, gore, and obsessive stalking of the reader. This is part one of a mini-series with ONLY 3-6 chapters.

wc: 7.5k

Taglist Form Here!

You

It’s 9:30 P.M., you’re deep in the evening shift, hauling platters of wings and six-pound burgers when Jeon Jeongguk sits down at one of your tables.

You almost drop your tray of cocktails.

Jeongguk cuts such a striking figure that almost everyone at the sidewalk tables stares at him. Women within a hundred-yard radius are suddenly compelled to smoothen their hair and check their lipstick. Even your boss, Jim, squints and frowns, asking the hostess if someone famous just sat down.

Jeongguk has that effortless off-duty model look. He’s tall, muscular, and elegantly dressed in clothes you know cost well over five figures. But what really tops it off is his careless arrogance. You’ve convinced yourself that if you were hit by a semi-truck going ninety on a sidewalk, he wouldn’t even notice.

He sees you long before you see him. He’s already smirking, his dark eyes glittering with malice under the dimmed light of the restaurant. He’s so stunning that it increases your distrust of him. Nobody that beautiful could be good, it’s impossible, you've seen enough movies to differentiate between good and evil.

“Bring me one of those sparkly cocktails,” he orders.

You think you hate him. A wave of anger surges inside of you at the sight of his godly face. Jeongguk’s expression doesn’t change as you turn your attention to him.

“You’re supposed to wait for the hostess to seat you,” you mutter, resisting every possible urge to not roll your eyes.

“I’m sure you can handle one more table,” Jeongguk says, looking around the surprisingly empty bar to push you just one button further.

You might as well have taken that idiotically expensive tie around his neck and strangled him with it. Instead, you tightly smile and ungraciously thrust a menu into his hands.

When you return a few minutes later with his cocktail (extra edible glitter), he says, “I want you to eat with me.”

“I can’t. I’m kind of in the middle of my shift, y’know, like my job.”

“I’ll wait.”

“No, you won't,” you snap. “You can’t sit here that long.”

“I doubt Jim will mind. Should I go ahead and ask him?”

Jim? Since when was he on a first-name basis with your boss? How did he even know Jim's name? “Look,” you hiss. “I don’t get what you’re trying to pull, giving me the grant for my research. But, you can’t buy me off that easily.”

“I’m not buying you off,” Jeongguk says, deadly black eyes fixated on yours. “I already told you what I had to say, I don’t care what you think of it.”

“Then why’d you give it to me?”

“Because your's was the best.”

His compliment hits you like a slap. He sounds completely matter-of-fact. And god, you’d like to believe it. But, you don’t trust him, not one fucking bit.

You're a third-year Ph.D. student at one of the best theoretical physics departments in the world, one that housed more than one hundred grads and what sometimes felt like an infinite amount of undergrads.

It’s been three weeks since Jeongguk— a Professor in your said department— granted your research project to be fully funded by no one other than him. Granted, you did submit your paper to his office (along with quite literally all of the other ambassadors) but that’s because you were almost certain he’d outright deny you.

Jeon Jeongguk, more infamously known as Dr. Jeon was the reason behind an abundance of late graduations; the sole culprit for half of the students in the department being forced to postpone their thesis. Not to mention, he forced your roommate, Jimin, to scrap two of his research projects and completely start from scratch—mid-semester.

You vividly remember Hyuna, Jeongguk’s assistant stopping you three weeks ago. “I have good news for you,” she said, running up to you.

“You do?”

“Yes, Dr. Jeon and his team have reviewed all of the research proposals… and you’ve been chosen for the grant!”

You stared at her, dumbfounded.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all, congratulations!” She passed you a slim envelope with your name neatly handwritten on the label. “There’s your check. You’ll accompany Dr. Jeon at his conference in one month to propose your research to a panel. I’ll email you the details for making use of his building.”

A week later, Jeongguk, showed up at your job for the first time ever, staring daggers into your direction. At the time, you hadn’t even known it was him. You assumed he was another hotshot coming in to pick up the bartender, Krystal. You nearly threw your entire tray of various drinks at him until he introduced himself.

“Finish your shift,” Jeongguk says, dismissing you. “Then we’ll talk.”

You finish your evening shift, feeling his eyes on you everywhere you turn, every move you move. Your skin burns and you fumble through tasks you usually could perform in your sleep.

He was mental. There was no reason for someone like Jeongguk to be hauled up at this run-down bar of all places. You could count six much more lavish bars that would be way more fitting for him.

“What’s with him?” Jim asks you, nodding in Jeongguk’s general direction.

“Sorry— he’s waiting to talk to me. He’s funding my research.”

“Like your Professor?” Jim questions, peeking around the corner to get a better look at Jeongguk.

“No, well yes— he is a Professor, but not mine. He funds like half of the school and somehow granted my proposal.” You toss your head, irritated that Jeongguk has invaded all aspects of your academic and now personal life.

“He looks rich as hell,” Jim snickers. “You should ask him out, Professor and his student, eh?”

“No fucking way.”

“He is rich though, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” you admit.

“Knew it.” Jim nods, wisely.

“He’s wearing Alexander Wang, you’re not exactly Anna Wilson here.”

Jim gasps fakely, placing his hand on his chest as though someone just shot him. “You better drop the attitude or he’ll never date you, missy.”

You wish you could slap Jim and Jeongguk at the same time, with both hands.

“Well, go ahead on to your Prince Charming, I’ll finish your stuff off,” Jim says.

“Thanks,” You respond, not actually grateful. You’d much rather deal with drunk-off their ass old men and frat boys for another two hours than sit and talk to Jeongguk for five minutes.

You take your apron off and plop in the seat opposite to Jeongguk.

“Listen, whatever the hell you’re trying to pull—“

You’re interrupted by Jim, who apparently has decided tonight would be the night to wait a table for the first time in a decade so he can have the pleasure of observing your annoyance up close and personal.

“Good evening!” he sings. “What can I get for this fine couple?”

Jeongguk turns to Jim with a smile of such sincerity that you could only gape at him. His entire face has transformed, suddenly animated. Even his voice softens, becoming warm and humorous. You pinch the flesh of your hand to make sure you’re not dreaming, you wince at the jolting pain reminding you that you are very much awake.

“___ was just telling me how hungry she is,” Jeongguk says. “I want to treat her to all her favorites— I’m sure you know what she likes.”

“How incredibly generous,” Jim says, eyes wide behind his spectacles.

Your hand brushes the full glass of water before you, itching to swing it directly at Jim.

“I am quite generous,” Jeongguk says, grin widening. “Thank you for noticing.”

Jim laughs. “And to think she didn’t want to spend her evening with you.”

“Is that so?” Jeongguk questions, patting your hand in a way that makes you feel murderous. “She never knows what’s good for her.”

Jim is enjoying this ordeal so much he doesn’t want to leave to punch in your order. You clear your throat several times, sending him daggers until he decides to finally get the memo.

As soon as he’s gone, you snatch your hand back from Jeongguk.

“I don’t need you,” you inform him.

Jeongguk snorts.

“The fuck you don’t. You’re broke, barely can afford to pay off your shitty apartment. You have no connections and no cash. I don't think you understand how grilling this field can be. You absolutely need my help, sweetheart.”

You wish you had a counterargument to that.

All you can do is scowl and say, “I’ve gotten quite far with what I have now.”

Jeongguk lets out a long sigh of annoyance.

“I think we both know that’s not true. Let's be honest, you're not doing so great in the real world. But now you’ve met me. In a few weeks, you’ll be joining me at my press conference. I could recommend you to the best Physicists in the world with my connections. You have no idea how many doors I could open for you, darling…”

You cross your hands over your chest. “In exchange for exactly what, Dr. Jeon?”

Jeongguk smiles. Now, this was his genuine smile— not the one he put on for Jim minutes ago. There’s nothing warm or friendly about it. In fact, it’s fucking terrifying.

“You’ll be my protégé,” he says.

“I’m sorry. What does that even mean?”

“It means we’ll get to know each other. I’ll give you my outstanding advice, mentorship. You’ll follow that advice and you’ll flourish.”

The words he’s telling you sound perfectly benign. Yet you can’t stomach the feeling that you’re about to sign a devil’s bargain with a hell of a hidden clause.

“Is there some kind of sexual implication here that I’m completely missing?” You say. “Are you the Epstein of the Physic’s world?”

Jeongguk sits back in his chair, sipping the sparkling cocktail lazily. This new position shows off his long legs and his powerful chest flexing beneath his cashmere sweater, a display that was beginning to suffocate you.

“Do I look like I need to bribe women for sex?”

“No,” you admit.

Half of your roommates and colleagues would fuck Jeongguk in a heartbeat. Actually, all of them would, except maybe Seokjin.

You bite the edge of your thumbnail, considering it.

“Don’t bite your nails,” Jeonnguk snaps. “It’s disgusting.”

You bite the nail harder, scowling at him.

He’s going to be bossy and controlling, you can already tell. Is that what he wants? A puppet dancing on his strings?

“Can I see your lab?” You ask.

It was an audacious request. Jeon Jeongguk doesn’t show his lab to anyone. Especially not when he’s in the middle of conducting experiments to solve yet another world-renowned theory. You have no right to ask— but you have just the strangest sense that he might agree.

“Already making demands?” Jeongguk says. He stirs his straw through his ice with a cold clicking sound.

“Surely a protégé gets to see their master at work,” you test.

Jeongguk smiles. He likes being called “master.” Sick fuck.

“I’ll consider it,” he says. “Now…” he leans forward on the table, steepling his tattooed, tan hands in front of you. “We’re going to talk about you.”

Is he serious? This happens to be your least favorite topic.

“What do you want to know?”

He looks at you hungrily. “Everything.”

You swallow hard. “I’ve always had a passion for Physics. I lived out in Arizona for a while, until Princeton accepted me for my Ph.D.”

“What about your family?”

Come to think of it, that tops the cake for your least favorite topic.

You put your hands down on your lap so you don’t start chewing your nails again.

“I don’t have any family,” you say.

“Everyone has a family.”

“Not me.” You glare at him, lips pressed together, stubborn.

“Where’s the alcoholic father?” Jeongguk says.

To you, the conversation at his office was a blur of shouted accusations and utter confusion. Jeongguk apparently remembers every word, including the part you blurted out and now fervently regret.

“He's still in Arizona,” you reluctantly mutter.

“What about the stepmother?”

“As far as I know, she lives in California. I haven’t talked to either of them in years.”

“Why?”

Your heart is hammering and you feel that sick, squirming sensation in your stomach that always arises when you’re forced to think about your father. You like to keep her trapped behind a locked door in your brain. He’s emotional cancer—if you let him out, he’ll infect every part of you.

So what if you had daddy issues?

“He’s the worst person I’ve ever met,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “And that includes my stepmother. I ran away the day I turned eighteen.”

“Where’s your actual mother?”

“Dead.”

“So is mine,” Jeongguk says. “I find it’s better that way.”

You look at him sharply, wondering if that’s supposed to be a joke.

“I loved my mother,” you say coldly. “The day I lost her was the worst day of my life.”

Jeongguk smiles. “The worst day so far.”

What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. Him.

“So Mommy died, leaving you alone with Daddy dearest and not a penny between you,” Jeongguk prods you, wrinkling his nose as he can still smell those awful years on your skin.

“There are worse things than being poor,” you inform him.

“Enlighten me, then,” Jeongguk says, one dark eyebrow raised.

“No,” you say flatly. “I’m not your evening entertainment.”

“Why must you make everything so difficult?” he says. “Have you ever tried cooperating?”

You laugh. “In my experience, when men say ‘cooperative’, they mean ‘obedient’.”

He grins, leaning closer. “Then, have you ever tried being obedient?”

“No.” You lie.

You have tried it. And all you learned from it is that no amount of submission is ever good enough for a man. You can rollover like a dog, beg for mercy, apologize profusely and they’ll keep beating you.

Jeongguk’s dark eyes rove over to your face, giving you an uncomfortable sensation that he can see through every thought you try tirelessly to keep hidden.

Thankfully, you’re saved by Jim depositing several familiar platters of steaming food in front of you two.

Only after Jim leaves you does Jeongguk examine the food with his usual critical glare.

“What is this?” he demands.

“That’s the bacon sampler platter,” you say, nodding toward four marinated strips of premium pork belly labeled with a fancy script like each is a guest at a wedding.

Jeongguk frowns. “It looks . . . intense.”

“It’s the best thing you’ll ever put in your mouth. Look,” you cut off a bite of the rosemary balsamic bacon. “Try this one first.”

Jeongguk takes a bite. He chews slowly, his expression melting from skepticism into genuine surprise.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“I told you—try this one now. Brown sugar cinnamon.”

He takes a bite of the second strip, eyebrows rising and an unwilling smile tugging at his mouth.

“This is so good.”

“I know,” you snap. “That’s why I work here. It’s the literal best food in the city.”

“Is that really why you work here?” Jeongguk asks, watching you closely.

“Yes. The smell of food—I can’t stand it if it’s not good. The food here smells incredible because it is incredible. Here, try this now—take a sip of the cocktail, then eat one of the spicy-sweet potatoes.”

Jeongguk does exactly what you said, taking a small sip of his drink, then quickly biting into the potato.

“What the fuck,” he says. “Why is that so good?”

“I dunno.” you shrug. “Something about the sour citrus and then the pop of salt. They amplify each other.”

Jeongguk is watching you as you eat your own food, taking a small bite of one thing and then another, cycling through your favorite combinations.

“Is that how you eat?” he says.

You shrug. “Unless I’m in a hurry.”

“Show me more combinations.”

You show him all your favorite ways to eat the magnificent brunch spread Jim laid before you both—lemon curd layered with fresh strawberries and clotted cream on the scones, blueberries between bites of maple bacon, a dash of hot sauce mixed in with the hollandaise . . .

Jeongguk tries it all with an unusual level of curiosity. You’d assume somebody as rich as him has eaten at a million fancy restaurants.

“Don’t you eat out all the time?” You ask him.

He shakes his head. “I don’t spend much time on food. It bores me.”

“But you like this?”

“I do,” he says, almost as if he hates to admit it. “How do you come up with all this?”

You shrug. “I never tried most foods until I started working at restaurants. I’d never tasted steak, cilantro, or avocado. I wanted to try everything—it was like discovering a whole new sense.”

“But there was a time when you weren’t poor,” Jeongguk says, harrying that point like a dog with a bone. He’s really not gonna fucking drop it.

“Yes,” you say testily. “When we lived with Melissa.”

“That’s your stepmother.”

“Yes.”

“What did you eat then?”

“Not fucking much. She used to scream at me if my spoon clinked in my cereal bowl.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven.”

Jeongguk’s relentless . . . and hypnotic, the way he fixes you with those deep, dark eyes, never looking away for a moment. The way he absorbs everything you say with none of the usual displays of sympathy or irritating commiseration. He just soaks it in and demands more, like he plans to drill down to the core of you, strip-mining your soul.

He insisted on paying for the meal, leaving an extra hundred-dollar bill as a tip for Jim— something you’ll never hear the end of.

You can already see how he uses his money to manipulate people—including me. You cashed that seven-thousand-dollar check because I had to. You were not only late on rent but you owed Jimin somewhere around four hundred dollars for spotting you the past two months.

Jeongguk knows exactly how much leverage he has over you, and he isn’t shy about leaning on the lever.

And yet, despite the fact that he’s clearly callous and manipulative, you still find yourself walking with strange lightness down the campus streets to your sparkling new lab in his building.

Maybe because he wasn’t trying to make you feel better. In fact, it’s the first time you’ve ever mentioned this topic without hearing the words, “But it’s your dad . . .”

Jeongguk offered no sympathy. He also offered no excuses. No fucking platitudes. No lies.

You spend the afternoon working on studying light. You’ve never felt such confidence in your work. You bend over the display of water and turn on the main lamp above it, you then take the wooden dowel to your left and make indentations in the water.

The idea is already there, inside the depths of your brain. Perfect and whole—all it needs is to be unveiled.

You spot something in the reflection that you hadn’t noticed before: a camera mounted above the door, pointed into the lab. You frown, turning your face away from the lens.

Why the hell is there a camera in here?

Is it recording all the time?

Something in the back of your brain tells you yes, it most definitely does.

You suddenly feel self-conscious, replaying your behavior all afternoon. Did you talk to yourself? Scratch your ass? Pick your nose?

You’re suddenly paranoid that Jeon Jeongguk is watching you.

He unnerves you, and you don’t fucking trust him. Your talk at the bar didn’t help to ease what his intentions were. Sure, he said that you’d be his protege. But, when a man takes a special interest in you, it’s never good.

As your leaving, you stop at the cafe on the ground level, treating yourself to one of the iced lattes Hyuna promised were so good. She’s not wrong—the coffee is rich and perfectly prepared.

Hyuna herself comes through the front doors as I’m leaving.

You kind of wish she hadn’t caught sight of you, since she’s dressed in a stylish scarlet pantsuit, her hair freshly blown out and her lipstick immaculate. Whereas you look like you spent the night riding around in the back of a garbage truck.

“Oh, ___!” she says, “You’re here early.”

“Hey,” you say nervously. “Just leaving, actually. I came in extra early—I hope that’s okay.”

“More than okay.” She smiles. “That’s why you have twenty-four-hour access.”

“Yeah . . .” you say. “Actually I was curious . . . I noticed a camera in the lab. Right above the door.”

“Oh, yes,” she says. “All the studios have them. It’s for security purposes only—we’ve had issues with theft in the past. Don’t worry, no one has access to the feed. It would only be reviewed in cases where an incident has occurred.”

“Sure.” you nod.

You don’t believe a word she’s saying. Jeongguk owns this building, and those cameras are there for a reason.

A week after granting your proposal | Jeongguk

Jeongguk takes his stalking of you online.

Like most people, you’ve splashed your life all over social media for anyone to see—both on your own accounts, and your friends.

You and your friends are a smart bunch, so the photos you share are less eclectic than average. Jeongguk has to wade through any number of sepia-toned lab photos, aesthetic campus photos, and landscape shots to find something useful. Once he does, he finds endless portraits of you.

He spends a long time examining your face. You’re an interesting conundrum. Vulnerable yet fierce. Damaged yet stubborn.

You do not make personal posts—no long, rambling dissertations on your inner feelings under a mirror selfie, and no vague captions intended to elicit a flood of comments begging for more details.

Jeongguk’s already decided that you and he will inevitably cross paths—the Physic’s world is too small to avoid it.

He intends to choose the time and location of that meeting. He’ll control all the elements, arranging the players like pieces on a chessboard.

It’s unlike him to fixate on a woman like this. Jeongguk finds most people horrifically boring. He’s never met anyone as intelligent as him, or as talented. Other people are weak and emotional—slaves to their impulses. Constantly making promises they can’t keep, even to themselves.

Only Jeongguk seems to have the power to control his own fate.

Whatever he wants to happen, happens. He makes it so by his own cunning, his determination.

Everyone else is a victim of chance and circumstance. To arbitrary rules set up by people who died a hundred years ago. To their own pathetic ineptitude.

He does what he wants. He gets what he wants. Always. Every time.

If there’s a god of this world, it’s Jeongguk.

But even Zeus found mortals interesting from time to time.

He desires to see you again, to speak to you. Jeongguk wants to manipulate you and see how you react.

And if Jeongguk wants something . . . that means it’s good.

Jeongguk breaks into your room later that afternoon.

You’re working at that sleazy shit bar, something that usually takes you until 10:00 P.M.

It’s almost impossible to find a point in the day where none of your roommates are home, so Jeongguk doesn’t bother waiting. The apartment is so crowded, with so many people coming and going, he doubts that any of them will notice a few extra creaks from a room that ought to be empty.

It helps that your room is on the topmost floor. It’s easy to scale the trellis of the neighboring house, drop down onto your deck, and force open the flimsy lock on the glass door.

The attic room is certainly not to code. The ceiling is so low that he can’t stand upright, even in the center of the peaked space. Your bed is a futon mattress on the floor, your clothes folded in plastic milk crates because you have no closet or dresser.

This is the sort of cramped, chaotic space that usually disgusts him. The dusty air and stacks of battered secondhand Physics books next to the bed—no bookshelf to hold them—reek of poverty.

Curiosity staves off his repulsion. He’s drawn to the obviously used cover of his very own book. It’s his research paper from when he was a Ph.D. Student, “Fundamentals of Physics” laid prettily in your room.

He smiles to himself.

Of course, you had good— no, great taste.

He sets the book down.

He can smell your perfume on the sheets, stronger than when he followed you a week prior.

Jeongguk lays down in your bed, his head on your pillow. He turns his face so his nose is pressed against your crumpled sheets and he inhales.

Your scent is layered and complex. Warm notes of vanilla, caramel. A botanical scent—mandarin, or maybe black currant. Then something exotic, spiced—perhaps a jasmine soap. Under that, the light scent of your sweat arouses him far more than any of the others. Jeongguk’s cock swells until it’s no longer comfortable within his trousers.

He enjoys the trespass of laying in your bed. Knowing that you may catch a hint of his cologne lingering there tonight. It may confuse or frighten you. Or arouse you, if his chemical composition calls to you as yours does to him.

The idea of your heart beating fast, of you startling awake, searching your room for evidence that someone else was here, amuses him.

Deliberately, he rearranges the order of the books next to the bed making sure to put his on the very top.

Then he looks through your clothes.

You wear cheap nylon underwear, thin and transparent, in shades of black, gray, and purple. How colorful.

Most of your clothes are dirty, stuffed in a drawstring bag to be hauled down to the laundromat.

A single pair of black briefs lies abandoned next to the bed. Jeongguk assumes this is the underwear you shucked off this morning.

Lifting it to his face, Jeongguk inhales the scent of your warm morning pussy.

It’s similar to the smell of your sheets but musky.

His cock is raging now. Jeongguk unzips his pants, allowing his thick dick to spring free. He strokes it gently while he breathes in the scent of your cunt. He even puts out his tongue and tastes the cotton strip that is nestled between your pussy lips.

He remembers the picture of you laying on the ground from two weeks ago, tightly bound, arms behind your back and breasts thrust forward. Your knees pulled back, your bare pussy exposed. He could have shoved his cock in you.

If he had smelled this scent, he would have done it.

Jeongguk’s never experienced anything like it. It’s addicting. The longer he spent in your room with your sheets, your half-empty shitty perfume bottle, your dirty laundry, the more it fills his lungs, surges through his blood.

The more he wants it. Fresh from the source.

Jeongguk’s jerking his cock harder, taking deep breaths.

He imagines you tied down, this time on your back with your legs pulled apart. He imagines burying his face in you, thrusting his tongue all the way inside you while you thrash against the ropes.

His balls are boiling, his cock throbbing with every heartbeat.

Jeongguk wraps the panties around the head of his cock and he thrusts into them, right against the crotch. His cock erupts, pouring cum into your underwear.

He uses your panties to catch every last drop, squeezing them around the head.

That skimpy black fabric feels better around Jeongguk’s cock than any actual pussy he’s ever fucked. Maybe it’s the novelty, or maybe it’s the way your scent still clings to his fingers, lingering in his lungs.

It’s not enough. The orgasm was rapid, powerful as a rifle shot. Jeongguk’s not satisfied.

He wants to watch you in this space. Want to see how you walk around your room, how you undress, how you behave when you think you’re alone.

Jeongguk looks out your window.

The adjoining row houses offer no line of sight into your room. But the house behind hers—the tall Georgian with the black shutters—offers a perfect view from its own attic space.

You have no curtains on your windows. You’re so high up, you feel as safe as a crow in its nest.

Crows forget about hawks.

Jeongguk drops the panties back on the floor where he found them.

Then he leaves the way he came, already planning to call his estate agent.

You

By the time you get from your night shift, you’re already late for your meeting with Minho.

He’s good-looking, decent at sex, and better at conversation, though he has a tendency to get preachy. He’s judgmental as fuck about you bartending at Hybe because he says half the regulars are alcoholics and you’re fueling their addiction. Never mind that you met him at Hybe, and he’s hardly a teetotaler.

You hurry into the house, knowing Minho will be annoyed if you’re late again.

Seokjin passes you on the stairs, likewise hurrying to a date with his long-term boyfriend Taehyung, as you jog up the three flights to your attic room.

“You look gorgeous!” You tell him.

“You too!” he lies.

You laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m about to change.”

You strip off your clothes, sweaty from skating around the park with the dogs. Even though you’re well into October and the sky was cloudy, it was close to eighty degrees, muggy and humid.

You consider rinsing off in the shower, but you don’t really have time. Instead, you pull a black mini dress out of the closet, along with pair of thigh-high boots.

Shimmying into the dress, you look around for some clean underwear. It’s been two weeks since you hauled your clothes down to the laundromat, and you’re in short supply.

Desperate and late, you snatch up the panties off the floor, pulling them on.

“What the fuck,” you mutter, as wetness presses against your pussy lips.

Hooking your thumbs on either side of the briefs, you lower them to knee level.

You examine the crotch of the underwear, trying to figure out if you got your period without noticing. It’s hard to tell on the black material.

Stepping out of the panties, you rub your thumb across the strip of cotton sewn into the crotch. It feels distinctly slippery. Raising your fingers to your face, you smell a faint bleachy scent.

You drop the panties on the floor, heart racing.

You know what cum smells like.

Don’t be ridiculous, you tell yourself. You’ve lived in this house for two years. Nobody comes up here.

Three of your roommates are male, and all three of them are gay.

It’s possible some asshole could have come up here and poked around your stuff. You sweep the room, wondering if you would notice if anything had been moved.

Your copy of “Fundamentals of Physics” by Jeongguk is still right next to the bed, open to the same spot as before.

Other than that . . . how the fuck would you know if someone had been in here?

Your heart hammers against your sternum, your hands trembling as you set down the theory once more.

You’re being paranoid. So your underwear was wet. It’s probably just . . . you know, discharge or some shit.

You don’t want to be this person. Jumping at shadows and thinking everybody is out to get you.

You can’t live like this, terrified and paranoid.

You take several deep breaths, trying to slow your racing heart. You look at your new phone, bought with a credit card.

10:14.

You’re really fucking late.

Snatching up your purse once more, you leave the underwear on the floor and hurry out of the room commando. No underwear is probably better than dirty underwear anyway.

Jeongguk

Jeongguk had a dinner for the Theoretical Physicist Embassy he was supposed to attend, but he skipped it in favor of further reconnaissance.

He found the house directly behind yours listed on Airbnb for eight hundred dollars a night. After messaging the owner, Jeongguk convinced him to cancel his next three bookings so he could take the place for a month, starting immediately.

So intense was his desire to spy on you that he probably would have bought the damn thing.

Jeongguk drove over to the townhouse early in the evening, parking his Tesla at the curb.

The three-story Georgian wasn’t nearly as nice as his own house, but it’s ten times more habitable than yours. The pale oak floors look freshly polished, and the host left a bowl of foil-wrapped chocolates on the kitchen island, as well as stocking the fridge with bottled water.

As long as the house is clean, Jeongguk doesn’t give a fuck about anything else. Strike that—it’s the view he cares about.

He climbs the creaking stairs to the third floor, which includes an office, a small library, and a sitting room.

The library window is the one that looks across the back garden to your house. The beveled glass offers a watery view into the protected alcove of your balcony.

You could be forgiven for thinking that you have complete privacy in that space. The library window is small, set high up on the wall, divided into a dozen diamond panes.

Jeongguk cuts out the entire window with his glass cutters. Then he covers the space with black paper, leaving only a hole for his telescope.

From a distance, it will look like nothing more than a dark window into an empty room.

His efforts are rewarded when you rush into your bedroom only twenty minutes later before he’s completed his preparations.

You rush everywhere you go, running from job to job, always late.

He respects the hustle, but your existence is tawdry and depressing. The thought of waiting tables, taking people’s orders, and serving their food is offensive to Jeongguk.

Jeongguk’s interest in this hectic, desperate girl baffles him.

His desires have never been mysterious to him. In fact, they’ve always felt rational and natural.

Jardin—his mentor— irritated him, so Jeongguk removed him from his sphere. He put his bones inside the sculpture in his apartment as his own private joke.

This is the first time in Jeongguk’s life that he’s desired something without understanding why.

Out of all the thousands of women, he’s encountered, how did you catch his attention like a hook through the gills of a fish?

Jeongguk noticed you the very first moment he saw you when you spilled wine on your dress. You hardly even flinched—just marched into the bathroom, emerging with that makeshift tie-dye that was creative and beautiful.

You had Jeongguk wondering what it would take to break you. To shatter you into so many pieces that you could never put them together again.

The view through the telescope is so clear that he could almost be standing in the room with you.

He watches you strip off your clothes, revealing a lean, taut body with average breasts and wide hips. He’s intrigued to see that you haven’t removed the piercings from your nipples—the twin silver rings remain in place.

As you hunt for clothes, a cold bead of excitement runs down Jeongguk’s spine. He already knows you have no clean underwear.

Sure enough, you spot the discarded panties on the floor. Jeongguk’s heart stops and he can hardly breathe, riveted in place, eye to the telescope, watching . . .

You pick up the underwear and step into it.

Blood rushes to Jeongguk’s cock so fast that he’s lightheaded.

You’re wearing panties soaked in his cum without knowing it. The most intimate part of him pressed up against the most intimate part of you.

You hesitate, standing still in the center of the room.

You’re feeling the wetness of his cum against your cunt.

Jeongguk’s cock is so hard it tents out the front of his trousers.

He loves the thought of his cum on your bare flesh. How long does sperm survive? He wonders if those desperate, minuscule swimmers are trying to wriggle inside you right now.

You yank down the underwear, examining the material.

Jeongguk watches the panic and confusion on your face, his cock harder than it’s ever been.

You touch his cum. Smell it. Then rips off the underwear and flings it away from you.

His whole body is warm and throbbing. Jeongguk can’t remember when he last felt this level of excitement. He’s been so fucking bored lately. Nothing impresses him. Nothing interested him. Until now . . .

Tormenting you without even touching you is so stimulating that Jeongguk can hardly imagine what it would be like to put his hands directly on your flesh . . . to circle them around your throat . . .

You shift your weight back and forth, trying to decide what to do.

You’re wondering if you felt what you think you felt.

You don’t trust yourself.

Finally, you snatch up your purse and exit the room.

Jeongguk’s already heading down the stairs. You’re not dressed for work—he wants to see where you’re going.

A date, he suspects.

At the thought, Jeongguk’s pupils contract, his throat tightens, his heart slows. He’s cold and focused.

Who do you date? Who do you fuck?

He wants to know.

He exits the townhouse, not bothering to lock the door behind him. He cut across 96th Street, catching sight of you walking ahead in your tight black dress and thigh-high boots. You don’t wear heels often. Jeongguk like how it hobbles you, slowing your pace.

It’s easy for him to track you, walking along the opposite side of the street like a disconnected shadow. Jeongguk follows you to a trendy little restaurant a few blocks away, where you meet some scruffy-faced hipster in a too-tight t-shirt.

Unlike you and your date, Jeongguk doesn’t have a reservation. A hundred-dollar bill pressed into the hostess’s palm solves that problem. He probably could have convinced her just by holding her gaze and letting his fingers trail across her wrist. The hostess giggles and blushes as she heads him to a table he requested, tucked away in a corner.

Jeongguk has no problem attracting women. In fact, it’s too easy. The wealth, the fame, and the looks suck them in before he says a word. There’s no challenge.

He wonders if you will fall at his feet as easily as that hostess.

You don’t seem particularly enthralled with your date. In fact, you twitch irritably as he rests his arm across the back of your chair.

Your date yammers on about something, oblivious to your expression of boredom. He doesn’t seem to notice how you angle your body away from him, only rarely meeting his eye. When he tries to tidy your hair, you jolt away from him.

Jeongguk feels a strange sense of satisfaction in your rejection of this buffoon. It would have lessened you in his eyes if you were besotted with someone so . . . pedestrian.

His pleasure evaporates as your date reaches under the table to fondle your pussy.

In its place: a sharp spike of fury.

Jeongguk wants to rip that hand off his arm, leaving a ragged stump with a bare glint of bone.

Even in Jeongguk’s most extreme moments, when he’s slit the throat of someone he hated and watched their blood run down his arm, his heart rate barely rose.

The feeling of that lump of muscle pounding in Jeongguk’s chest is something new to him—something that makes him sit back in his chair, breathing hard, hands clenched into fists on his lap.

What the fuck is happening.

He almost feels. . . jealous.

He’s never been jealous before. Why would he? No one on this planet has anything he envies.

Yet he’s already decided, with absolute certainty, that no one should be touching that sweet little cunt except him.

He’s smelled your scent on his fingers.

He wants it fresh from the source.

As if obeying his command, you jump up from the table, shoving back your chair. Jeongguk hears your hasty apologies as you throw cash by your plate. Then you leave, abandoning your disgruntled date before you’ve even ordered your entrées.

Lucky for him—Jeongguk was already planning how he’d cut off his balls with a box cutter.

Luckily for hipster boy, he's saved by the expedient of Jeongguk's urge to follow you instead. He's left his own folded bills tucked under his unused fork.

The sky is fully dark, thick with clouds. The wind is colder than before.

He walks back to 96th Street, feeling a curious elation at the prospect of watching you alone in your room.

Jeongguk likes you best in your private space. It’s a look inside your mind—your comforts and preferences.

Settling himself behind the telescope once more, he sees you pacing your room. You are a skittish horse. When you’re calm, you move with grace. But when you’re frustrated or uncomfortable—and you were certainly both in the company of your incompetent date—you become stiff and withdrawn, hypersensitive to irritants.

You haul your mattress out on the small deck attached to your room.

This is all the better for him. He can see you as clearly as a figure in a diorama.

You lay down on the futon, a pair of headphones over your ears. It takes a long time for your breathing to slow, for you to settle deeply into the mattress. Your lips move in time with the lyrics of the song.

You’re so still now that Jeongguk wonders if you fell asleep. Your chest rises and falls with metronome regularity.

The breeze whispers through the hedges in the garden between him and you. It slides across your skin, making you shiver. Your nipples are hard, visible even through the black dress.

Jeongguk hears the soft rumble of thunder.

A few scattered raindrops hit the black paper covering the library window.

You stir, feeling the rain on your skin.

He expects you to rise, to pull your mattress back inside.

But you seem determined to surprise him at every turn.

You sit up. Lift your palm. Feels the rain pattering down.

Then you pull your dress over your head and toss it aside.

You lay down on the mattress once more, fully nude.

Jeongguk lets out a soft sigh, his eye pressed against the telescope.

Thunder rolls and the rain falls harder. It shatters all across your naked skin: on your thighs, your stomach, your bare breasts, your upturned palms, your closed eyelids. It falls in your partly opened mouth.

You’re soaking it in. Feeling the delicious coolness and the tiny impact of each droplet breaking on your skin.

Your expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure. Fully relaxed for the first time since Jeongguk has been watching you.

Again he feels that strange, squirming feeling in his guts.

Jealousy.

The rain falls harder, soaking your hair, drenching the mattress, chilling your skin.

You don’t give a fuck.

You reach between your thighs. You begin to stroke your fingers back and forth across your pussy lips. Touching yourself lightly, delicately.

Your lips part wider, allowing more rain into your mouth.

The rain beats against the side of the house. A bolt of lightning sizzles across the sky, illuminating your shining body like a camera flash. Every detail stands out in sharp relief: the long column of your throat, the divot of your collarbone, the points of your nipples, the long, flat expanse of your abdomen, the delicate bones of your hands, the slender fingers slipping inside of yourself.

Jeongguk’s never seen anything so beautiful.

Your bronze as a statue in the purplish light. If he could sculpt you exactly like this, it would be his greatest work.

He wants to pour molten metal over your, freezing you in time forever.

Jeongguk puts his own hand down the front of his pants, feeling the thick rod of his cock, painfully hard.

His skin feels feverish.

He wants to be out where you are, drenched in rain, touching that cold flesh . . .

Jeongguk pumps his cock in time with the motion of your hand.

Your pace quickens, back-arching, head thrown back.

He fucks his hand harder and harder, imagining he’s about to explode over your body, hot cum raining down on you harder than the storm.

Your eyes squeeze tightly shut, your cries drowned out by the rain. Your thighs clamp around your hand, your body shaking.

Jeongguk’s cumming for the second time today, a hot flood that pours over the back of his hand, dripping down onto the floorboards.

He can’t tear his eyes from the telescope.

He can’t stop looking at you for a single second.

Lay Waste to Me | One

Description: Lead theoretical physicist and Professor, Jeon Jeongguk takes an alarming interest in you.

Ship: Broke Graduate Student Reader x Wealthy Professor JK!

Genre: Yandere Behavior, Obsession/Stalking, SMUT, Angst

Disclaimer/Note: I do not condone Yandere behavior, read at your risk as this mini-series will contain murder, gore, and obsessive stalking of the reader. This is part one of a mini-series with ONLY 3-6 chapters.

wc: 7.5k

Taglist Form Here!

You

It’s 9:30 P.M., you’re deep in the evening shift, hauling platters of wings and six-pound burgers when Jeon Jeongguk sits down at one of your tables.

You almost drop your tray of cocktails.

Jeongguk cuts such a striking figure that almost everyone at the sidewalk tables stares at him. Women within a hundred-yard radius are suddenly compelled to smoothen their hair and check their lipstick. Even your boss, Jim, squints and frowns, asking the hostess if someone famous just sat down.

Jeongguk has that effortless off-duty model look. He’s tall, muscular, and elegantly dressed in clothes you know cost well over five figures. But what really tops it off is his careless arrogance. You’ve convinced yourself that if you were hit by a semi-truck going ninety on a sidewalk, he wouldn’t even notice.

He sees you long before you see him. He’s already smirking, his dark eyes glittering with malice under the dimmed light of the restaurant. He’s so stunning that it increases your distrust of him. Nobody that beautiful could be good, it’s impossible, you've seen enough movies to differentiate between good and evil.

“Bring me one of those sparkly cocktails,” he orders.

You think you hate him. A wave of anger surges inside of you at the sight of his godly face. Jeongguk’s expression doesn’t change as you turn your attention to him.

“You’re supposed to wait for the hostess to seat you,” you mutter, resisting every possible urge to not roll your eyes.

“I’m sure you can handle one more table,” Jeongguk says, looking around the surprisingly empty bar to push you just one button further.

You might as well have taken that idiotically expensive tie around his neck and strangled him with it. Instead, you tightly smile and ungraciously thrust a menu into his hands.

When you return a few minutes later with his cocktail (extra edible glitter), he says, “I want you to eat with me.”

“I can’t. I’m kind of in the middle of my shift, y’know, like my job.”

“I’ll wait.”

“No, you won't,” you snap. “You can’t sit here that long.”

“I doubt Jim will mind. Should I go ahead and ask him?”

Jim? Since when was he on a first-name basis with your boss? How did he even know Jim's name? “Look,” you hiss. “I don’t get what you’re trying to pull, giving me the grant for my research. But, you can’t buy me off that easily.”

“I’m not buying you off,” Jeongguk says, deadly black eyes fixated on yours. “I already told you what I had to say, I don’t care what you think of it.”

“Then why’d you give it to me?”

“Because your's was the best.”

His compliment hits you like a slap. He sounds completely matter-of-fact. And god, you’d like to believe it. But, you don’t trust him, not one fucking bit.

You're a third-year Ph.D. student at one of the best theoretical physics departments in the world, one that housed more than one hundred grads and what sometimes felt like an infinite amount of undergrads.

It’s been three weeks since Jeongguk— a Professor in your said department— granted your research project to be fully funded by no one other than him. Granted, you did submit your paper to his office (along with quite literally all of the other ambassadors) but that’s because you were almost certain he’d outright deny you.

Jeon Jeongguk, more infamously known as Dr. Jeon was the reason behind an abundance of late graduations; the sole culprit for half of the students in the department being forced to postpone their thesis. Not to mention, he forced your roommate, Jimin, to scrap two of his research projects and completely start from scratch—mid-semester.

You vividly remember Hyuna, Jeongguk’s assistant stopping you three weeks ago. “I have good news for you,” she said, running up to you.

“You do?”

“Yes, Dr. Jeon and his team have reviewed all of the research proposals… and you’ve been chosen for the grant!”

You stared at her, dumbfounded.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all, congratulations!” She passed you a slim envelope with your name neatly handwritten on the label. “There’s your check. You’ll accompany Dr. Jeon at his conference in one month to propose your research to a panel. I’ll email you the details for making use of his building.”

A week later, Jeongguk, showed up at your job for the first time ever, staring daggers into your direction. At the time, you hadn’t even known it was him. You assumed he was another hotshot coming in to pick up the bartender, Krystal. You nearly threw your entire tray of various drinks at him until he introduced himself.

“Finish your shift,” Jeongguk says, dismissing you. “Then we’ll talk.”

You finish your evening shift, feeling his eyes on you everywhere you turn, every move you move. Your skin burns and you fumble through tasks you usually could perform in your sleep.

He was mental. There was no reason for someone like Jeongguk to be hauled up at this run-down bar of all places. You could count six much more lavish bars that would be way more fitting for him.

“What’s with him?” Jim asks you, nodding in Jeongguk’s general direction.

“Sorry— he’s waiting to talk to me. He’s funding my research.”

“Like your Professor?” Jim questions, peeking around the corner to get a better look at Jeongguk.

“No, well yes— he is a Professor, but not mine. He funds like half of the school and somehow granted my proposal.” You toss your head, irritated that Jeongguk has invaded all aspects of your academic and now personal life.

“He looks rich as hell,” Jim snickers. “You should ask him out, Professor and his student, eh?”

“No fucking way.”

“He is rich though, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” you admit.

“Knew it.” Jim nods, wisely.

“He’s wearing Alexander Wang, you’re not exactly Anna Wilson here.”

Jim gasps fakely, placing his hand on his chest as though someone just shot him. “You better drop the attitude or he’ll never date you, missy.”

You wish you could slap Jim and Jeongguk at the same time, with both hands.

“Well, go ahead on to your Prince Charming, I’ll finish your stuff off,” Jim says.

“Thanks,” You respond, not actually grateful. You’d much rather deal with drunk-off their ass old men and frat boys for another two hours than sit and talk to Jeongguk for five minutes.

You take your apron off and plop in the seat opposite to Jeongguk.

“Listen, whatever the hell you’re trying to pull—“

You’re interrupted by Jim, who apparently has decided tonight would be the night to wait a table for the first time in a decade so he can have the pleasure of observing your annoyance up close and personal.

“Good evening!” he sings. “What can I get for this fine couple?”

Jeongguk turns to Jim with a smile of such sincerity that you could only gape at him. His entire face has transformed, suddenly animated. Even his voice softens, becoming warm and humorous. You pinch the flesh of your hand to make sure you’re not dreaming, you wince at the jolting pain reminding you that you are very much awake.

“___ was just telling me how hungry she is,” Jeongguk says. “I want to treat her to all her favorites— I’m sure you know what she likes.”

“How incredibly generous,” Jim says, eyes wide behind his spectacles.

Your hand brushes the full glass of water before you, itching to swing it directly at Jim.

“I am quite generous,” Jeongguk says, grin widening. “Thank you for noticing.”

Jim laughs. “And to think she didn’t want to spend her evening with you.”

“Is that so?” Jeongguk questions, patting your hand in a way that makes you feel murderous. “She never knows what’s good for her.”

Jim is enjoying this ordeal so much he doesn’t want to leave to punch in your order. You clear your throat several times, sending him daggers until he decides to finally get the memo.

As soon as he’s gone, you snatch your hand back from Jeongguk.

“I don’t need you,” you inform him.

Jeongguk snorts.

“The fuck you don’t. You’re broke, barely can afford to pay off your shitty apartment. You have no connections and no cash. I don't think you understand how grilling this field can be. You absolutely need my help, sweetheart.”

You wish you had a counterargument to that.

All you can do is scowl and say, “I’ve gotten quite far with what I have now.”

Jeongguk lets out a long sigh of annoyance.

“I think we both know that’s not true. Let's be honest, you're not doing so great in the real world. But now you’ve met me. In a few weeks, you’ll be joining me at my press conference. I could recommend you to the best Physicists in the world with my connections. You have no idea how many doors I could open for you, darling…”

You cross your hands over your chest. “In exchange for exactly what, Dr. Jeon?”

Jeongguk smiles. Now, this was his genuine smile— not the one he put on for Jim minutes ago. There’s nothing warm or friendly about it. In fact, it’s fucking terrifying.

“You’ll be my protégé,” he says.

“I’m sorry. What does that even mean?”

“It means we’ll get to know each other. I’ll give you my outstanding advice, mentorship. You’ll follow that advice and you’ll flourish.”

The words he’s telling you sound perfectly benign. Yet you can’t stomach the feeling that you’re about to sign a devil’s bargain with a hell of a hidden clause.

“Is there some kind of sexual implication here that I’m completely missing?” You say. “Are you the Epstein of the Physic’s world?”

Jeongguk sits back in his chair, sipping the sparkling cocktail lazily. This new position shows off his long legs and his powerful chest flexing beneath his cashmere sweater, a display that was beginning to suffocate you.

“Do I look like I need to bribe women for sex?”

“No,” you admit.

Half of your roommates and colleagues would fuck Jeongguk in a heartbeat. Actually, all of them would, except maybe Seokjin.

You bite the edge of your thumbnail, considering it.

“Don’t bite your nails,” Jeonnguk snaps. “It’s disgusting.”

You bite the nail harder, scowling at him.

He’s going to be bossy and controlling, you can already tell. Is that what he wants? A puppet dancing on his strings?

“Can I see your lab?” You ask.

It was an audacious request. Jeon Jeongguk doesn’t show his lab to anyone. Especially not when he’s in the middle of conducting experiments to solve yet another world-renowned theory. You have no right to ask— but you have just the strangest sense that he might agree.

“Already making demands?” Jeongguk says. He stirs his straw through his ice with a cold clicking sound.

“Surely a protégé gets to see their master at work,” you test.

Jeongguk smiles. He likes being called “master.” Sick fuck.

“I’ll consider it,” he says. “Now…” he leans forward on the table, steepling his tattooed, tan hands in front of you. “We’re going to talk about you.”

Is he serious? This happens to be your least favorite topic.

“What do you want to know?”

He looks at you hungrily. “Everything.”

You swallow hard. “I’ve always had a passion for Physics. I lived out in Arizona for a while, until Princeton accepted me for my Ph.D.”

“What about your family?”

Come to think of it, that tops the cake for your least favorite topic.

You put your hands down on your lap so you don’t start chewing your nails again.

“I don’t have any family,” you say.

“Everyone has a family.”

“Not me.” You glare at him, lips pressed together, stubborn.

“Where’s the alcoholic father?” Jeongguk says.

To you, the conversation at his office was a blur of shouted accusations and utter confusion. Jeongguk apparently remembers every word, including the part you blurted out and now fervently regret.

“He's still in Arizona,” you reluctantly mutter.

“What about the stepmother?”

“As far as I know, she lives in California. I haven’t talked to either of them in years.”

“Why?”

Your heart is hammering and you feel that sick, squirming sensation in your stomach that always arises when you’re forced to think about your father. You like to keep her trapped behind a locked door in your brain. He’s emotional cancer—if you let him out, he’ll infect every part of you.

So what if you had daddy issues?

“He’s the worst person I’ve ever met,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “And that includes my stepmother. I ran away the day I turned eighteen.”

“Where’s your actual mother?”

“Dead.”

“So is mine,” Jeongguk says. “I find it’s better that way.”

You look at him sharply, wondering if that’s supposed to be a joke.

“I loved my mother,” you say coldly. “The day I lost her was the worst day of my life.”

Jeongguk smiles. “The worst day so far.”

What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. Him.

“So Mommy died, leaving you alone with Daddy dearest and not a penny between you,” Jeongguk prods you, wrinkling his nose as he can still smell those awful years on your skin.

“There are worse things than being poor,” you inform him.

“Enlighten me, then,” Jeongguk says, one dark eyebrow raised.

“No,” you say flatly. “I’m not your evening entertainment.”

“Why must you make everything so difficult?” he says. “Have you ever tried cooperating?”

You laugh. “In my experience, when men say ‘cooperative’, they mean ‘obedient’.”

He grins, leaning closer. “Then, have you ever tried being obedient?”

“No.” You lie.

You have tried it. And all you learned from it is that no amount of submission is ever good enough for a man. You can rollover like a dog, beg for mercy, apologize profusely and they’ll keep beating you.

Jeongguk’s dark eyes rove over to your face, giving you an uncomfortable sensation that he can see through every thought you try tirelessly to keep hidden.

Thankfully, you’re saved by Jim depositing several familiar platters of steaming food in front of you two.

Only after Jim leaves you does Jeongguk examine the food with his usual critical glare.

“What is this?” he demands.

“That’s the bacon sampler platter,” you say, nodding toward four marinated strips of premium pork belly labeled with a fancy script like each is a guest at a wedding.

Jeongguk frowns. “It looks . . . intense.”

“It’s the best thing you’ll ever put in your mouth. Look,” you cut off a bite of the rosemary balsamic bacon. “Try this one first.”

Jeongguk takes a bite. He chews slowly, his expression melting from skepticism into genuine surprise.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“I told you—try this one now. Brown sugar cinnamon.”

He takes a bite of the second strip, eyebrows rising and an unwilling smile tugging at his mouth.

“This is so good.”

“I know,” you snap. “That’s why I work here. It’s the literal best food in the city.”

“Is that really why you work here?” Jeongguk asks, watching you closely.

“Yes. The smell of food—I can’t stand it if it’s not good. The food here smells incredible because it is incredible. Here, try this now—take a sip of the cocktail, then eat one of the spicy-sweet potatoes.”

Jeongguk does exactly what you said, taking a small sip of his drink, then quickly biting into the potato.

“What the fuck,” he says. “Why is that so good?”

“I dunno.” you shrug. “Something about the sour citrus and then the pop of salt. They amplify each other.”

Jeongguk is watching you as you eat your own food, taking a small bite of one thing and then another, cycling through your favorite combinations.

“Is that how you eat?” he says.

You shrug. “Unless I’m in a hurry.”

“Show me more combinations.”

You show him all your favorite ways to eat the magnificent brunch spread Jim laid before you both—lemon curd layered with fresh strawberries and clotted cream on the scones, blueberries between bites of maple bacon, a dash of hot sauce mixed in with the hollandaise . . .

Jeongguk tries it all with an unusual level of curiosity. You’d assume somebody as rich as him has eaten at a million fancy restaurants.

“Don’t you eat out all the time?” You ask him.

He shakes his head. “I don’t spend much time on food. It bores me.”

“But you like this?”

“I do,” he says, almost as if he hates to admit it. “How do you come up with all this?”

You shrug. “I never tried most foods until I started working at restaurants. I’d never tasted steak, cilantro, or avocado. I wanted to try everything—it was like discovering a whole new sense.”

“But there was a time when you weren’t poor,” Jeongguk says, harrying that point like a dog with a bone. He’s really not gonna fucking drop it.

“Yes,” you say testily. “When we lived with Melissa.”

“That’s your stepmother.”

“Yes.”

“What did you eat then?”

“Not fucking much. She used to scream at me if my spoon clinked in my cereal bowl.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven.”

Jeongguk’s relentless . . . and hypnotic, the way he fixes you with those deep, dark eyes, never looking away for a moment. The way he absorbs everything you say with none of the usual displays of sympathy or irritating commiseration. He just soaks it in and demands more, like he plans to drill down to the core of you, strip-mining your soul.

He insisted on paying for the meal, leaving an extra hundred-dollar bill as a tip for Jim— something you’ll never hear the end of.

You can already see how he uses his money to manipulate people—including me. You cashed that seven-thousand-dollar check because I had to. You were not only late on rent but you owed Jimin somewhere around four hundred dollars for spotting you the past two months.

Jeongguk knows exactly how much leverage he has over you, and he isn’t shy about leaning on the lever.

And yet, despite the fact that he’s clearly callous and manipulative, you still find yourself walking with strange lightness down the campus streets to your sparkling new lab in his building.

Maybe because he wasn’t trying to make you feel better. In fact, it’s the first time you’ve ever mentioned this topic without hearing the words, “But it’s your dad . . .”

Jeongguk offered no sympathy. He also offered no excuses. No fucking platitudes. No lies.

You spend the afternoon working on studying light. You’ve never felt such confidence in your work. You bend over the display of water and turn on the main lamp above it, you then take the wooden dowel to your left and make indentations in the water.

The idea is already there, inside the depths of your brain. Perfect and whole—all it needs is to be unveiled.

You spot something in the reflection that you hadn’t noticed before: a camera mounted above the door, pointed into the lab. You frown, turning your face away from the lens.

Why the hell is there a camera in here?

Is it recording all the time?

Something in the back of your brain tells you yes, it most definitely does.

You suddenly feel self-conscious, replaying your behavior all afternoon. Did you talk to yourself? Scratch your ass? Pick your nose?

You’re suddenly paranoid that Jeon Jeongguk is watching you.

He unnerves you, and you don’t fucking trust him. Your talk at the bar didn’t help to ease what his intentions were. Sure, he said that you’d be his protege. But, when a man takes a special interest in you, it’s never good.

As your leaving, you stop at the cafe on the ground level, treating yourself to one of the iced lattes Hyuna promised were so good. She’s not wrong—the coffee is rich and perfectly prepared.

Hyuna herself comes through the front doors as I’m leaving.

You kind of wish she hadn’t caught sight of you, since she’s dressed in a stylish scarlet pantsuit, her hair freshly blown out and her lipstick immaculate. Whereas you look like you spent the night riding around in the back of a garbage truck.

“Oh, ___!” she says, “You’re here early.”

“Hey,” you say nervously. “Just leaving, actually. I came in extra early—I hope that’s okay.”

“More than okay.” She smiles. “That’s why you have twenty-four-hour access.”

“Yeah . . .” you say. “Actually I was curious . . . I noticed a camera in the lab. Right above the door.”

“Oh, yes,” she says. “All the studios have them. It’s for security purposes only—we’ve had issues with theft in the past. Don’t worry, no one has access to the feed. It would only be reviewed in cases where an incident has occurred.”

“Sure.” you nod.

You don’t believe a word she’s saying. Jeongguk owns this building, and those cameras are there for a reason.

A week after granting your proposal | Jeongguk

Jeongguk takes his stalking of you online.

Like most people, you’ve splashed your life all over social media for anyone to see—both on your own accounts, and your friends.

You and your friends are a smart bunch, so the photos you share are less eclectic than average. Jeongguk has to wade through any number of sepia-toned lab photos, aesthetic campus photos, and landscape shots to find something useful. Once he does, he finds endless portraits of you.

He spends a long time examining your face. You’re an interesting conundrum. Vulnerable yet fierce. Damaged yet stubborn.

You do not make personal posts—no long, rambling dissertations on your inner feelings under a mirror selfie, and no vague captions intended to elicit a flood of comments begging for more details.

Jeongguk’s already decided that you and he will inevitably cross paths—the Physic’s world is too small to avoid it.

He intends to choose the time and location of that meeting. He’ll control all the elements, arranging the players like pieces on a chessboard.

It’s unlike him to fixate on a woman like this. Jeongguk finds most people horrifically boring. He’s never met anyone as intelligent as him, or as talented. Other people are weak and emotional—slaves to their impulses. Constantly making promises they can’t keep, even to themselves.

Only Jeongguk seems to have the power to control his own fate.

Whatever he wants to happen, happens. He makes it so by his own cunning, his determination.

Everyone else is a victim of chance and circumstance. To arbitrary rules set up by people who died a hundred years ago. To their own pathetic ineptitude.

He does what he wants. He gets what he wants. Always. Every time.

If there’s a god of this world, it’s Jeongguk.

But even Zeus found mortals interesting from time to time.

He desires to see you again, to speak to you. Jeongguk wants to manipulate you and see how you react.

And if Jeongguk wants something . . . that means it’s good.

Jeongguk breaks into your room later that afternoon.

You’re working at that sleazy shit bar, something that usually takes you until 10:00 P.M.

It’s almost impossible to find a point in the day where none of your roommates are home, so Jeongguk doesn’t bother waiting. The apartment is so crowded, with so many people coming and going, he doubts that any of them will notice a few extra creaks from a room that ought to be empty.

It helps that your room is on the topmost floor. It’s easy to scale the trellis of the neighboring house, drop down onto your deck, and force open the flimsy lock on the glass door.

The attic room is certainly not to code. The ceiling is so low that he can’t stand upright, even in the center of the peaked space. Your bed is a futon mattress on the floor, your clothes folded in plastic milk crates because you have no closet or dresser.

This is the sort of cramped, chaotic space that usually disgusts him. The dusty air and stacks of battered secondhand Physics books next to the bed—no bookshelf to hold them—reek of poverty.

Curiosity staves off his repulsion. He’s drawn to the obviously used cover of his very own book. It’s his research paper from when he was a Ph.D. Student, “Fundamentals of Physics” laid prettily in your room.

He smiles to himself.

Of course, you had good— no, great taste.

He sets the book down.

He can smell your perfume on the sheets, stronger than when he followed you a week prior.

Jeongguk lays down in your bed, his head on your pillow. He turns his face so his nose is pressed against your crumpled sheets and he inhales.

Your scent is layered and complex. Warm notes of vanilla, caramel. A botanical scent—mandarin, or maybe black currant. Then something exotic, spiced—perhaps a jasmine soap. Under that, the light scent of your sweat arouses him far more than any of the others. Jeongguk’s cock swells until it’s no longer comfortable within his trousers.

He enjoys the trespass of laying in your bed. Knowing that you may catch a hint of his cologne lingering there tonight. It may confuse or frighten you. Or arouse you, if his chemical composition calls to you as yours does to him.

The idea of your heart beating fast, of you startling awake, searching your room for evidence that someone else was here, amuses him.

Deliberately, he rearranges the order of the books next to the bed making sure to put his on the very top.

Then he looks through your clothes.

You wear cheap nylon underwear, thin and transparent, in shades of black, gray, and purple. How colorful.

Most of your clothes are dirty, stuffed in a drawstring bag to be hauled down to the laundromat.

A single pair of black briefs lies abandoned next to the bed. Jeongguk assumes this is the underwear you shucked off this morning.

Lifting it to his face, Jeongguk inhales the scent of your warm morning pussy.

It’s similar to the smell of your sheets but musky.

His cock is raging now. Jeongguk unzips his pants, allowing his thick dick to spring free. He strokes it gently while he breathes in the scent of your cunt. He even puts out his tongue and tastes the cotton strip that is nestled between your pussy lips.

He remembers the picture of you laying on the ground from two weeks ago, tightly bound, arms behind your back and breasts thrust forward. Your knees pulled back, your bare pussy exposed. He could have shoved his cock in you.

If he had smelled this scent, he would have done it.

Jeongguk’s never experienced anything like it. It’s addicting. The longer he spent in your room with your sheets, your half-empty shitty perfume bottle, your dirty laundry, the more it fills his lungs, surges through his blood.

The more he wants it. Fresh from the source.

Jeongguk’s jerking his cock harder, taking deep breaths.

He imagines you tied down, this time on your back with your legs pulled apart. He imagines burying his face in you, thrusting his tongue all the way inside you while you thrash against the ropes.

His balls are boiling, his cock throbbing with every heartbeat.

Jeongguk wraps the panties around the head of his cock and he thrusts into them, right against the crotch. His cock erupts, pouring cum into your underwear.

He uses your panties to catch every last drop, squeezing them around the head.

That skimpy black fabric feels better around Jeongguk’s cock than any actual pussy he’s ever fucked. Maybe it’s the novelty, or maybe it’s the way your scent still clings to his fingers, lingering in his lungs.

It’s not enough. The orgasm was rapid, powerful as a rifle shot. Jeongguk’s not satisfied.

He wants to watch you in this space. Want to see how you walk around your room, how you undress, how you behave when you think you’re alone.

Jeongguk looks out your window.

The adjoining row houses offer no line of sight into your room. But the house behind hers—the tall Georgian with the black shutters—offers a perfect view from its own attic space.

You have no curtains on your windows. You’re so high up, you feel as safe as a crow in its nest.

Crows forget about hawks.

Jeongguk drops the panties back on the floor where he found them.

Then he leaves the way he came, already planning to call his estate agent.

You

By the time you get from your night shift, you’re already late for your meeting with Minho.

He’s good-looking, decent at sex, and better at conversation, though he has a tendency to get preachy. He’s judgmental as fuck about you bartending at Hybe because he says half the regulars are alcoholics and you’re fueling their addiction. Never mind that you met him at Hybe, and he’s hardly a teetotaler.

You hurry into the house, knowing Minho will be annoyed if you’re late again.

Seokjin passes you on the stairs, likewise hurrying to a date with his long-term boyfriend Taehyung, as you jog up the three flights to your attic room.

“You look gorgeous!” You tell him.

“You too!” he lies.

You laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m about to change.”

You strip off your clothes, sweaty from skating around the park with the dogs. Even though you’re well into October and the sky was cloudy, it was close to eighty degrees, muggy and humid.

You consider rinsing off in the shower, but you don’t really have time. Instead, you pull a black mini dress out of the closet, along with pair of thigh-high boots.

Shimmying into the dress, you look around for some clean underwear. It’s been two weeks since you hauled your clothes down to the laundromat, and you’re in short supply.

Desperate and late, you snatch up the panties off the floor, pulling them on.

“What the fuck,” you mutter, as wetness presses against your pussy lips.

Hooking your thumbs on either side of the briefs, you lower them to knee level.

You examine the crotch of the underwear, trying to figure out if you got your period without noticing. It’s hard to tell on the black material.

Stepping out of the panties, you rub your thumb across the strip of cotton sewn into the crotch. It feels distinctly slippery. Raising your fingers to your face, you smell a faint bleachy scent.

You drop the panties on the floor, heart racing.

You know what cum smells like.

Don’t be ridiculous, you tell yourself. You’ve lived in this house for two years. Nobody comes up here.

Three of your roommates are male, and all three of them are gay.

It’s possible some asshole could have come up here and poked around your stuff. You sweep the room, wondering if you would notice if anything had been moved.

Your copy of “Fundamentals of Physics” by Jeongguk is still right next to the bed, open to the same spot as before.

Other than that . . . how the fuck would you know if someone had been in here?

Your heart hammers against your sternum, your hands trembling as you set down the theory once more.

You’re being paranoid. So your underwear was wet. It’s probably just . . . you know, discharge or some shit.

You don’t want to be this person. Jumping at shadows and thinking everybody is out to get you.

You can’t live like this, terrified and paranoid.

You take several deep breaths, trying to slow your racing heart. You look at your new phone, bought with a credit card.

10:14.

You’re really fucking late.

Snatching up your purse once more, you leave the underwear on the floor and hurry out of the room commando. No underwear is probably better than dirty underwear anyway.

Jeongguk

Jeongguk had a dinner for the Theoretical Physicist Embassy he was supposed to attend, but he skipped it in favor of further reconnaissance.

He found the house directly behind yours listed on Airbnb for eight hundred dollars a night. After messaging the owner, Jeongguk convinced him to cancel his next three bookings so he could take the place for a month, starting immediately.

So intense was his desire to spy on you that he probably would have bought the damn thing.

Jeongguk drove over to the townhouse early in the evening, parking his Tesla at the curb.

The three-story Georgian wasn’t nearly as nice as his own house, but it’s ten times more habitable than yours. The pale oak floors look freshly polished, and the host left a bowl of foil-wrapped chocolates on the kitchen island, as well as stocking the fridge with bottled water.

As long as the house is clean, Jeongguk doesn’t give a fuck about anything else. Strike that—it’s the view he cares about.

He climbs the creaking stairs to the third floor, which includes an office, a small library, and a sitting room.

The library window is the one that looks across the back garden to your house. The beveled glass offers a watery view into the protected alcove of your balcony.

You could be forgiven for thinking that you have complete privacy in that space. The library window is small, set high up on the wall, divided into a dozen diamond panes.

Jeongguk cuts out the entire window with his glass cutters. Then he covers the space with black paper, leaving only a hole for his telescope.

From a distance, it will look like nothing more than a dark window into an empty room.

His efforts are rewarded when you rush into your bedroom only twenty minutes later before he’s completed his preparations.

You rush everywhere you go, running from job to job, always late.

He respects the hustle, but your existence is tawdry and depressing. The thought of waiting tables, taking people’s orders, and serving their food is offensive to Jeongguk.

Jeongguk’s interest in this hectic, desperate girl baffles him.

His desires have never been mysterious to him. In fact, they’ve always felt rational and natural.

Jardin—his mentor— irritated him, so Jeongguk removed him from his sphere. He put his bones inside the sculpture in his apartment as his own private joke.

This is the first time in Jeongguk’s life that he’s desired something without understanding why.

Out of all the thousands of women, he’s encountered, how did you catch his attention like a hook through the gills of a fish?

Jeongguk noticed you the very first moment he saw you when you spilled wine on your dress. You hardly even flinched—just marched into the bathroom, emerging with that makeshift tie-dye that was creative and beautiful.

You had Jeongguk wondering what it would take to break you. To shatter you into so many pieces that you could never put them together again.

The view through the telescope is so clear that he could almost be standing in the room with you.

He watches you strip off your clothes, revealing a lean, taut body with average breasts and wide hips. He’s intrigued to see that you haven’t removed the piercings from your nipples—the twin silver rings remain in place.

As you hunt for clothes, a cold bead of excitement runs down Jeongguk’s spine. He already knows you have no clean underwear.

Sure enough, you spot the discarded panties on the floor. Jeongguk’s heart stops and he can hardly breathe, riveted in place, eye to the telescope, watching . . .

You pick up the underwear and step into it.

Blood rushes to Jeongguk’s cock so fast that he’s lightheaded.

You’re wearing panties soaked in his cum without knowing it. The most intimate part of him pressed up against the most intimate part of you.

You hesitate, standing still in the center of the room.

You’re feeling the wetness of his cum against your cunt.

Jeongguk’s cock is so hard it tents out the front of his trousers.

He loves the thought of his cum on your bare flesh. How long does sperm survive? He wonders if those desperate, minuscule swimmers are trying to wriggle inside you right now.

You yank down the underwear, examining the material.

Jeongguk watches the panic and confusion on your face, his cock harder than it’s ever been.

You touch his cum. Smell it. Then rips off the underwear and flings it away from you.

His whole body is warm and throbbing. Jeongguk can’t remember when he last felt this level of excitement. He’s been so fucking bored lately. Nothing impresses him. Nothing interested him. Until now . . .

Tormenting you without even touching you is so stimulating that Jeongguk can hardly imagine what it would be like to put his hands directly on your flesh . . . to circle them around your throat . . .

You shift your weight back and forth, trying to decide what to do.

You’re wondering if you felt what you think you felt.

You don’t trust yourself.

Finally, you snatch up your purse and exit the room.

Jeongguk’s already heading down the stairs. You’re not dressed for work—he wants to see where you’re going.

A date, he suspects.

At the thought, Jeongguk’s pupils contract, his throat tightens, his heart slows. He’s cold and focused.

Who do you date? Who do you fuck?

He wants to know.

He exits the townhouse, not bothering to lock the door behind him. He cut across 96th Street, catching sight of you walking ahead in your tight black dress and thigh-high boots. You don’t wear heels often. Jeongguk like how it hobbles you, slowing your pace.

It’s easy for him to track you, walking along the opposite side of the street like a disconnected shadow. Jeongguk follows you to a trendy little restaurant a few blocks away, where you meet some scruffy-faced hipster in a too-tight t-shirt.

Unlike you and your date, Jeongguk doesn’t have a reservation. A hundred-dollar bill pressed into the hostess’s palm solves that problem. He probably could have convinced her just by holding her gaze and letting his fingers trail across her wrist. The hostess giggles and blushes as she heads him to a table he requested, tucked away in a corner.

Jeongguk has no problem attracting women. In fact, it’s too easy. The wealth, the fame, and the looks suck them in before he says a word. There’s no challenge.

He wonders if you will fall at his feet as easily as that hostess.

You don’t seem particularly enthralled with your date. In fact, you twitch irritably as he rests his arm across the back of your chair.

Your date yammers on about something, oblivious to your expression of boredom. He doesn’t seem to notice how you angle your body away from him, only rarely meeting his eye. When he tries to tidy your hair, you jolt away from him.

Jeongguk feels a strange sense of satisfaction in your rejection of this buffoon. It would have lessened you in his eyes if you were besotted with someone so . . . pedestrian.

His pleasure evaporates as your date reaches under the table to fondle your pussy.

In its place: a sharp spike of fury.

Jeongguk wants to rip that hand off his arm, leaving a ragged stump with a bare glint of bone.

Even in Jeongguk’s most extreme moments, when he’s slit the throat of someone he hated and watched their blood run down his arm, his heart rate barely rose.

The feeling of that lump of muscle pounding in Jeongguk’s chest is something new to him—something that makes him sit back in his chair, breathing hard, hands clenched into fists on his lap.

What the fuck is happening.

He almost feels. . . jealous.

He’s never been jealous before. Why would he? No one on this planet has anything he envies.

Yet he’s already decided, with absolute certainty, that no one should be touching that sweet little cunt except him.

He’s smelled your scent on his fingers.

He wants it fresh from the source.

As if obeying his command, you jump up from the table, shoving back your chair. Jeongguk hears your hasty apologies as you throw cash by your plate. Then you leave, abandoning your disgruntled date before you’ve even ordered your entrées.

Lucky for him—Jeongguk was already planning how he’d cut off his balls with a box cutter.

Luckily for hipster boy, he's saved by the expedient of Jeongguk's urge to follow you instead. He's left his own folded bills tucked under his unused fork.

The sky is fully dark, thick with clouds. The wind is colder than before.

He walks back to 96th Street, feeling a curious elation at the prospect of watching you alone in your room.

Jeongguk likes you best in your private space. It’s a look inside your mind—your comforts and preferences.

Settling himself behind the telescope once more, he sees you pacing your room. You are a skittish horse. When you’re calm, you move with grace. But when you’re frustrated or uncomfortable—and you were certainly both in the company of your incompetent date—you become stiff and withdrawn, hypersensitive to irritants.

You haul your mattress out on the small deck attached to your room.

This is all the better for him. He can see you as clearly as a figure in a diorama.

You lay down on the futon, a pair of headphones over your ears. It takes a long time for your breathing to slow, for you to settle deeply into the mattress. Your lips move in time with the lyrics of the song.

You’re so still now that Jeongguk wonders if you fell asleep. Your chest rises and falls with metronome regularity.

The breeze whispers through the hedges in the garden between him and you. It slides across your skin, making you shiver. Your nipples are hard, visible even through the black dress.

Jeongguk hears the soft rumble of thunder.

A few scattered raindrops hit the black paper covering the library window.

You stir, feeling the rain on your skin.

He expects you to rise, to pull your mattress back inside.

But you seem determined to surprise him at every turn.

You sit up. Lift your palm. Feels the rain pattering down.

Then you pull your dress over your head and toss it aside.

You lay down on the mattress once more, fully nude.

Jeongguk lets out a soft sigh, his eye pressed against the telescope.

Thunder rolls and the rain falls harder. It shatters all across your naked skin: on your thighs, your stomach, your bare breasts, your upturned palms, your closed eyelids. It falls in your partly opened mouth.

You’re soaking it in. Feeling the delicious coolness and the tiny impact of each droplet breaking on your skin.

Your expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure. Fully relaxed for the first time since Jeongguk has been watching you.

Again he feels that strange, squirming feeling in his guts.

Jealousy.

The rain falls harder, soaking your hair, drenching the mattress, chilling your skin.

You don’t give a fuck.

You reach between your thighs. You begin to stroke your fingers back and forth across your pussy lips. Touching yourself lightly, delicately.

Your lips part wider, allowing more rain into your mouth.

The rain beats against the side of the house. A bolt of lightning sizzles across the sky, illuminating your shining body like a camera flash. Every detail stands out in sharp relief: the long column of your throat, the divot of your collarbone, the points of your nipples, the long, flat expanse of your abdomen, the delicate bones of your hands, the slender fingers slipping inside of yourself.

Jeongguk’s never seen anything so beautiful.

Your bronze as a statue in the purplish light. If he could sculpt you exactly like this, it would be his greatest work.

He wants to pour molten metal over your, freezing you in time forever.

Jeongguk puts his own hand down the front of his pants, feeling the thick rod of his cock, painfully hard.

His skin feels feverish.

He wants to be out where you are, drenched in rain, touching that cold flesh . . .

Jeongguk pumps his cock in time with the motion of your hand.

Your pace quickens, back-arching, head thrown back.

He fucks his hand harder and harder, imagining he’s about to explode over your body, hot cum raining down on you harder than the storm.

Your eyes squeeze tightly shut, your cries drowned out by the rain. Your thighs clamp around your hand, your body shaking.

Jeongguk’s cumming for the second time today, a hot flood that pours over the back of his hand, dripping down onto the floorboards.

He can’t tear his eyes from the telescope.

He can’t stop looking at you for a single second.

The Devil Wears a Suit? Masterlist

Summary: When you land a job that was deemed unattainable, the shock is bewildering. The nightmare that ensues, however, is unimaginable. Follow as you try to keep up with the grueling and demanding job of being Jeon Jeongguk’s, the world’s most powerful magazine editor, personal assistant.

Pairing: Jeongguk x Reader, Editorial!Jeongguk, PersonalAssistant!Reader

Notes: Smut will be in future chapters, this will be an agonizing SLOW BURN. P.S. Also writing a Taekook version of this on ao3!

Summary: Good-luck, bitch.

wc: 3.2k

Read here.

Summary: First week at Jeon Publication’s: who knew someone halfway across the globe could continuously ruin your day?

wc: 3.9k

Read here.

Summary: Jeongguk goes out of his way to deliberately make your life your own personal hell.

wc: 5.7k

Read here.

Summary: You finally drop the Book off, and things don't go as swimmingly as you had imagined them to.

wc: 4.4k

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Taglist: @rjsmochii @hopeworldd-2 @haniiii @gcfsjimin @jungjoonie @eschatonenigma @just-another-keysmash @effielumiere @softforpj @kokoandkookie @sweetcheeksdna @mageprincess7 @muqs-amer @phasedkth @ggukkieland @dimcorner @taechvita @yourwonderbelle