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Chapter Text

Birds are singing outside the window. Afternoon sunlight falls into the room, shimmering through red crowns of maple trees. The office smells like herbal tea, books and fall air.

Jungkook sits in a cozy, huge armchair swallowing him whole. On the coffee table in front of him, two china cups are waiting to be filled with hot water from a steaming pot next by. Across from Jungkook a second, empty armchair promises company. Jungkook's eyes wander over the expensive looking mahogany furniture. The tidy desk in a corner, the massive bookshelves lining the walls.

It's all very deceiving, in his opinion. This isn't a place you want to end up at. Like prison, or a war zone. Probably not quite as bad, but Jungkook can't be sure yet. It could be, for all he knows. It very well could be. If he had a choice, he sure as hell wouldn't be here. He'd grab his tattered duffle bag, swing it over his shoulder and bolt. Get a taxi to take the bumpy road out of this creepy forest and drive home.

Home, where his parents and brother would send him right back. Even if he had a choice, his family would expect him to partake in the program. They think it helps. Everyone seems to think it helps, but Jungkook heard one too many horror stories about facilities like this. Stories about sexual assault, violence and locked doors. About mobile phones being taken away and brutal punishments for every attempt to leave. He's seen the pictures online with his own eyes – pictures of bruised faces, wrists, knees.

His eyes flicker to the closed door behind him. If he got up and walked over, would he be able to open it? Maybe they locked it. He's already trapped, he just doesn't know yet. For all he's heard, it's possible. Realistic, even.

His knee starts to twitch. Jungkook hugs his bag close to his chest and buries his fingers in the rough fabric. The room feels too small around him. The heavy, dark furniture edges closer, swallowing the light falling through the windows, and Jungkook has to fight the urge to jump to his feet. He wants to bang against the door with his fists, shouting. He wouldn't do that, of course not, but – he should check if the door is still unlocked. To make sure it is.

Before Jungkook works up the courage to leave the safety of his armchair, however, the door opens on its own, making him flinch. Muffled chatter, laughter and steps of people walking past the office pour into the room. One voice is closer than the rest and Jungkook almost understands what it's saying. It's a male voice, the matching laughter deep and warm.

A moment later, Jungkook is introduced to the person it belongs to. First, his head appears, then the rest of his body as he walks through the door, smiling.

Tall. He's tall with long arms and legs. That's the first thing Jungkook notices. He's wearing an expensive-looking, steel gray suit, tie included. It flatters him, hugging his torso and strong thighs. There's no doubt that he belongs here. It's easy for Jungkook to picture him sitting behind the big, opulent desk.

The next thing Jungkook learns is that it's impossible for him to meet this man's eyes. They're intelligent, open and spear right through Jungkook, pinning him to the armchair. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't stand up. And god, does he want to. Jungkook's eyes dart to the door, his hammering heart leaving him dizzy. This is the last chance. In a few moments, he'll shut the door and Jungkook will be trapped. Trapped in this gloomy office, in this European mansion, in a den full of hungry wolves who'll tear him to shreds. He's sitting tight like an arrow on the bowstring, ready to fly.

The man halts, his long fingers still wrapped around the door handle, and Jungkook stares. He stares and waits for him to shut it, to turn a key in the keyhole, locking them in. The moment until the guy lets go feels longer than a century. His fingers lift off the handle and he walks over to the empty armchair, the door ... remaining open.

Jungkook realizes he's holding his breath only when he lets go of it, exhaling jittery. More sunlight falls from the hallway into the office, the walls don't feel as close anymore. Hesitant, Jungkook turns from the door to his new company and is met with a smile, light and inviting.

While Jungkook obsessed over the exit, he sat down across from him, pouring hot water into their cups. Now, he puts the pot back and sits up, legs crossed, interlaced hands resting above his belt, the way he moves careful and deliberate. Slow, like he's dealing with a wild animal. He's comfortable, the polar opposite of Jungkook. It's easy for him, though. They're in his house. A home match and another way in which Jungkook is at a disadvantage.

"Jeon Jungkook, right?", he says, his deep voice zapping Jungkook, making him nauseous.

Steeling himself, Jungkook nods.

The smile becomes warmer and he extends a hand Jungkook doesn't want to shake. Looking over the guy's shoulder to avoid his eyes, Jungkook takes it and squeezes quickly before he lets go, pressing his own hand back into his duffle bag. The man's smile never wavers.

"I'm Kim Namjoon, head dominant of the Shinamu Academy. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Namjoon pauses to give Jungkook time to return the courtesy. He does not.

"Did you have a long drive up here, Jungkook-ssi?", Namjoon continues unfazed, lifting his teacup to his lips. "I know it's a little far off."

No, he didn't. In fact, he lives in the nearest city and it took only half an hour for his parents to deport him to Shinamu. It was painfully easy to get rid of him. But Kim Namjoon doesn't have to know that, so Jungkook keeps quiet. He shifts and turns his head, staring out of the window. Red maple leaves dance in the fall breeze, dying.

Jungkook hears Namjoon putting his cup back down, the soft noise of porcelain meeting porcelain ringing through the room. Namjoon hums. "I see", he murmurs. "I take it you're not interested in having a conversation, then."

A wave of nausea washes through Jungkook's body, his head too light. His heart stutters and it's almost impossible to keep his face neutral. No, he doesn't want to talk with the head dom of a brainwashing facility, not at all. But maybe – maybe he should. He's going to spend some time here, and he's already making things worse for himself. It won't be good if Namjoon hates him. He'll talk to the other dominants about Jungkook and they will be wary of him from the start. Displeasing a dominant ... Pictures of bruises and black eyes pop up in Jungkook's mind.

Sick to his stomach, he swallows. No. That won't happen to him. Not as long as he can avoid it. Slowly, he looks at Namjoon again. Jungkook doesn't know what Namjoon sees in his careful gaze, but his eyes soften.

"I don't blame you", Namjoon says offhandedly, "I'm not the biggest fan of small talk either. So let's skip that and get down to business, ah?"

Down to business. If his hands weren't shaking, Jungkook would grab his tea to wash the sour taste of bile back down his throat. He's seen videos of dominants 'breaking in' new subs arriving at educational institutions. They used wooden staffs to beat them, or whips. The sound of bullwhips slicing through the air and hitting skin still rings in Jungkook's ears. Namjoon seems nice, harmless, but Jungkook won't let himself be fooled. The smiling ones are the worst, because they believe what they're doing is the right thing. Moral. They lack a guilty conscience.

He glances towards the open door again. How far away is the entrance? He could make it. It's a short sprint. He'd use his bag to buy time, throw it at Namjoon if he follows him. Jungkook is strong, and if he puts enough weight behind the swing, it –

"Jungkook-ssi."

Flinching, he looks at Namjoon. This time, his eyes are serious, piercing through Jungkook's head as if he can read his thoughts. Jungkook almost bolts for real, bag pressed to his chest.

"I know you are scared, I know you feel trapped", Namjoon says. "And I know, if I tell you that the horrible videos and photos you saw were propaganda of the most disgusting nature, you wouldn't believe me – if I told you it's people's way to keep submissive men naive and uneducated. So I'll say only this one thing I hope you will learn to be true", he pauses, looking at Jungkook so openly it makes him uncomfortable, "lies are not tolerated in this house."

Namjoon is right. Jungkook doesn't believe him. The feeling of anger simmering inside of him is dangerous, but he can't swallow it down.

It's unfair. No, it's insulting, to think he'd be that easy to catch. As if he was stupid enough to eat up everything Namjoon says, just because he says it convincingly. Doms are born to convince subs to do shit, and Jungkook can't shake the suspicion that that's exactly what's happening right now. He's stronger than that. He has to be, no matter how easy it would be to believe Namjoon. How right it would feel.

Clenching his teeth, Jungkook inhales sharply. "I don't want to be here", he says, swallowing when his voice comes out quiet and rough.

Namjoon hums affirmatively, a calming sound that has Jungkook's tense shoulders melting, and he wants to throw his bag at him even if he doesn't run.

"It's not my fault that both my parents are subs. It's not my fault I have no doms in my family", Jungkook continues, blinking to ease the pressure behind his eyes. No crying. He won't cry.

Again, Namjoon hums. "No, it's not."

"Then why do I have to go to prison for it?", he glares at Namjoon through wet lashes.

On the inside, he acknowledges that he's being dramatic, but he decides that he'll allow himself to be. He usually isn't, and he has a good reason to be upset today, so fuck it. Fuck his parents. Fuck this place. Fuck Namjoon.

"This isn't –

"I thought you weren't gonna lie", Jungkook interrupts quietly. "So why are you saying this isn't like a prison when I'm not allowed to leave?"

The teacup he's staring at blurs before his eyes. It has stopped steaming a while ago, all that is left a clear, green miniature sea, bitter and cold. In the hallway, steps are coming and going, a pair of talking men passing the office.

After a while, Namjoon speaks up, his answer calm and thoughtful. "Why do people go to prison, Jungkook-ssi?"

Jungkook closes his eyes, wiping his cheek with one hand. "Because they are being punished", he whispers.

"Yes, exactly." Namjoon's suit crinkles as he shifts. "But you aren't. You are not here to undergo punishment, not at all."

He sounds like he really buys that and for a moment, Jungkook wants to laugh. When he opens his eyes, Namjoon sits leaning towards him, worry written all over his face. As if he knew how Jungkook is feeling. As if he knew how it is to be born a sub.

"I will be beaten and ordered and fucked no matter what I say – no matter if I want it." A big lump is forming in his throat, and he has to push the words around it with force. "If it's not punishment, it's torture."

Shadows cloud Namjoon's face, the compassion melting into an expression Jungkook can't interpret. His lips are pressed to a thin line when he sits back, tenser than he's been during their whole conversation. "There are times when we will push you", Namjoon says, frowning, "But you'll always have a safe word. Always, Jungkook-ssi, do you understand? Say stop, and the scene ends. Write something on your red list, and you won't come across it. That's it. There's no rape in my house, no torture."

Huffing, Jungkook looks away, the lump in his throat growing bigger. He doesn't want to talk about it anymore, he's sick of Namjoon's lies. Apparently, the brainwashing has started. 'Pushing him', sure. What's that even supposed to mean?

"You're here because you need to get used to the presence of dominants. Because you have to learn how you react to their orders. It's a safe environment to learn about yourself, about what you like", Namjoon adds, voice soft.

In the corner of his eye, Jungkook sees a man stepping through the open door inside. He's dressed in the same outfit Jungkook has seen around the house when he arrived. Gray shorts ending above the knees; a loose, white shirt and – a collar. A wide, black collar, multi-layered and thick with a dangling metal ring at the front. Perfect to attach something. A leash, or a chain.

A cold shiver runs down Jungkook's spine, his stomach twisting. He presses himself deeper into the soft armchair and focuses on his hands, avoiding Namjoon's eye or the stranger's smile. His ears are hot, he knows his face is turning red.

"I'm sorry, Namjoon-nim, I didn't mean to interrupt", the man apologises. "Jimin-nim said you needed me. If I'm too early I'll wait outside –"

"No need." There's a smile in Namjoon's voice and Jungkook knows the gloomy expression disappears from his face. "You came right in time to show Jungkook to his room. Jungkook-ssi, this is Lee Jihoon."

Clutching his hands, Jungkook forces himself to look up and meet Jihoon's gaze. If he ignores the thing around his throat, it's bearable. Jihoon isn't half as intimidating as Namjoon, which makes sense. The outfit has Jungkook guessing that he's a sub, so he doesn't pose a threat. He's in the same miserable position as Jungkook.

Jungkook gives a curt nod in greeting and Jihoon returns it, smiling.

All this smiling ties Jungkook's guts into thick knots. It's so strange. Like the subs are actually comfortable around Namjoon, comfortable in this prison. Jungkook can't relate. The manipulation tactics have to be incredible here.

"Jihoon is going to be your companion", Namjoon says. "Every new submissive gets an older, more experienced sub as a mentor. He'll provide guidance during your stay, help you to learn our rules and answer questions you don't want to discuss with the dominants."

Now, Jihoon's smile sends chills down his back. So he's another person who's going to try and brainwash Jungkook into a good little plaything. A spy, great.

Jungkook grabs his duffle bag around its handle. At least going with Jihoon means he'll get away from Namjoon, for now. If he had to hear one more lie about consent and the purpose of this facility, he'd throw up. He's been feeling sick since he stepped foot into this house and with every word Namjoon speaks to him, it gets worse. He wants to be alone, unpack his stuff and forget that he isn't home for a while. With his duffle bag over his shoulder, Jungkook get's up and walks over to Jihoon.

He doesn't want to be rude, but it's still hard to look at him and his little outfit. His uniform. Fuck, they aren't even allowed to wear their own clothing. Jungkook's fingers tighten around the strap of his bag. One thing is clear, he won't wear a collar. He won't. He isn't – he isn't a dog and they can't force him. Jungkook makes the decision right at that moment, his heart on fire, bile in his mouth. Never.

"Goodnight, sir", Jihoon says next to him, bowing.

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, sharp tingles shooting down his spine like electricity. Sir. Is that how Namjoon likes to be called by his subs? It sounds foreign to Jungkook's ears.

He's never seen a dom and a sub interacting with each other so openly before. Standing here, it feels like Jungkook is intruding. It's kind of funny, with him not wanting to be here in the first place.

"Goodnight, Jihoon-ah. Thank you."

With that, Jihoon turns to leave and Jungkook follows, eager to go. He doesn't want to be in the same room as Namjoon and one of his subs. It makes his hands sweaty and tugs at his heart to see them together. It's wrong, inappropriate.

Before they're out of the door, Namjoon speaks up again, making Jihoon stop and thus, Jungkook too. "Goodnight, Jungkook-ssi", he says, his voice a solid brick wall for Jungkook to run into. "Sleep well."

Oh, right. He didn't say goodbye. With warm cheeks and his heart beating against his ribcage, Jungkook turns his head to look at Namjoon.

Seeing him sit in his armchair like this – upright, legs crossed, piercing Jungkook with his eyes – there's no doubt that he's head of the house. The confidence and control surrounding him make Jungkook want to look down. To go down. It's hard to hold his gaze, like Jungkook is ten years old again, sitting in the principal's office because he got caught cheating during a test. Namjoon's presence is so much bigger than him. Overwhelming.

Namjoon raises his eyebrows, a small, quiet smile on his lips, and Jungkook's knees threaten to buckle. He holds the strap of his bag like it's the only thing keeping him on his feet.

"Goodnight, um. Goodnight, Namjoon-ssi", Jungkook stutters, Namjoon's name clumsy on his tongue, a traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispering that it would've been easier to call him sir. But that won't happen. Turning with a racing heart and a bad taste in his mouth, Jungkook walks out of Namjoon's office.

•••••••••••••••

"Are you okay, Jungkook-ssi?"

The house is gigantic, even bigger than it looks from the outside. It could pass as a small school building and Jungkook asks himself how long it'll take him to find his way around, Jihoon leading him past doors, doors and more doors. Admittedly, it's a lot cozier than his old high school. It doesn't look like a school at all. Everything is undoubtedly expensive and he doesn't come across a speck of dust. It's impressive. Jungkook hopes they tip their cleaners well.

"Jungkook-ssi?"

Blinking, Jungkook focuses on Jihoon. He smiles a weak smile, still feeling sick.

"Sorry", he murmurs, his gaze bouncing from the big windows to the small chandeliers hanging from the ceiling to Jihoon's face. "It's, um ..."

"A lot", he says softly, nodding. "I get it."

Curious, Jungkook eyes Jihoon while they're walking. He may be a spy for the doms, but he's also the first sub at Shinamu he gets to talk to. Even if Jihoon tells Namjoon the things they discuss, what has Jungkook to lose? He told the head dom everything he thought about his institution minutes ago. There's not much left to hide.

Sizing Jihoon up, Jungkook is on the hunt for marks, bruises, signs of abuse or distress. It's fruitless. The sub is well-nourished and healthy to the tips of his brown hair. Jungkook has to admit that he's practically gleaming, warm contentment radiating from him. It feels like meeting an overworked friend who just returned from a spa weekend, now well rested and glowing with it. Strange and comforting at the same time. Eery. Who knew good brainwashing could be so refreshing, huh?

Jungkook switches the hand carrying his bag. Shinamu has to be one of the academies that are very good at leaving no trails behind. There's only so much of Jihoon's body Jungkook can inspect while he's dressed, it's possible that his ass is black and blue right this moment. His thighs covered in welts, his back scarred, or, god, his throat –

When they reach the stairs, Jihoon stops and turns, Jungkook barely avoiding crashing into him. Standing on the first step, one hand on the railing, he looks down on Jungkook with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

Heat rushes into Jungkook's face. Maybe he isn't as sneaky as he thinks he is.

"Tomorrow I'll come pick you up at 7:30 and walk you to the doctor's office. You'll have a physical examination, it's the rule for new subs. After, we'll have breakfast and you'll meet the other doms. When you're finished and up to it, Namjoon will explain the details of the program", Jihoon explains. "Oh, there's a pamphlet with basic rules in your room. If I were you, I'd read it."

Jungkook nods with warm ears, surprised by the sudden gush of words pouring over him. He thought Jihoon was introverted, maybe a little shy, but now he comes across as anything but.

Jihoon hesitates before he continues, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. "I know you don't trust me", he says, and Jungkook doesn't disagree, "but we all had a first day. For all it's worth, I promise you'll be okay, Jungkook-ssi."

•••••••••••••

His duffle bag lands on the bed with a muffled thump, bouncing on the mattress. Jungkook closes the door behind him and leans against it, taking a second to shut his eyes. He inhales, holds it, then lets it out as a sigh.

Outside, the sky is still blue. Now that he's alone, however, Jungkook feels like sleeping. The range of emotions he's been haunted by sucked all energy out of him. He's ready to forget this day, forget where he is. Unfortunately, it's not that easy. The lump in his throat is making a strong comeback. Jungkook swallows and opens his eyes. He has a room to inspect.

It could've been worse, he decides. Way worse. At first glance, it's a nice, small room and Jungkook's shoulders slump down in relief. It really is small, though. A bed under the window, a wardrobe, a desk with a chair and two doors, one of them leading to the hallway. There's a thick rug on the floor, so Jungkook kneels to take his shoes off. The color scheme is inviting, everything made out of light wood; the walls painted white, the floorboards a contrasting chocolate brown. Could be chestnut planks, he isn't sure.

Jungkook takes a step forward and opens the second door, switches the light on. To his delight, it's his own tiny bathroom, shower included. More tension leaves his back. This means he'll have privacy to lick his wounds, at least.

The one thing, the only thing, that makes him squeezy are the missing keys to both doors. There's no way to lock them, anybody could wander inside, watch him sleep, touch him. Jungkook forces himself to let it go, just for now. Thinking about the keys will make him panic, and he has to stay calm. If he'll panic, he won't be able to stop.

Reluctantly, he turns to the bed. Sticking out under his bag is the pamphlet Jihoon mentioned. Jungkook grabs it and pulls it out, flipping it open. He skips the lying 'welcome at Shinamu academy' text and heads straight to the rules.

Submissives at Shinamu Academy are expected to adhere to the following rules. Obedience is essential for harmonious relationships and personal growth.

1. Subs have to wear the house uniform

2. Honesty is expected, lying during conversations between doms and subs is prohibited

3. Rooms are not to be locked, for safety reasons

4. Doms are to be treated with respect and according to the given circumstances, e.g. usage of titles

5. Masturbating and orgasm without permission are prohibited

6. Leaving the academy grounds without permission is prohibited

Breaking the basic rules will result in a rebuke and/or punishment. The rules can be overriden by a direct, opposing comand, rule number 2 excluded.

Number one and two make Jungkook angry, his brows drawn together. They are disgusting and hypocritical. No lying, really? A weak tactic to get him to trust the doms. Besides, he's not allowed to lie either, and who tells the truth every time they speak? Seems like made up crap to have a cheap reason to punish subs.

Jungkook has an idea how punishments might look like. His guts recoil when he thinks about it. He's going to avoid that for as long as possible – if it's not too late and Namjoon already hates him. His knees weak, Jungkook sits down on the bed, soft and inviting underneath him.

The remaining rules three to six make him nauseous, every single one a punch to his stomach. Number five has his face warming and he barely manages to continue reading. He's going to touch himself whenever he feels like it, thank you very much. Not that it's going to be often, in a place like this. Existential dread is a turn-off in Jungkook's book.

Sighing, he tips over to the side, burying his face in the sheets. They smell good; clean, fresh, slightly like lavender. When he closes his eyes, it's easy to imagine that he's staying in a hotel. Maybe his parents are one room away from him, unpacking their suitcases right this moment, laughing. Crying, Jungkook curls around his duffle bag and falls asleep in his hoodie and jeans.

Chapter Text

The sharp noise of latex snapping against skin flashes through the silence, punching Jungkook right into the pit of his stomach. It's a wake-up call, a bucket filled with ice water emptied over his head. For the first time today, Jungkook is awake and pulled out of his lingering drowsiness.

When Jihoon picked him up and escorted him to the doctor's office, it was still gloomy and blue outside, the golden fall sun slow to rise. Now, the first rays of light glint through the treetops into the room.

Even though he slept surprisingly long and deep, Jungkook is tired. He had weird dreams. Twisted nightmares of arguments with his parents, of a collar melting into his neck, staying on no matter how hard he tried to pry it off.

A cold shiver tickles down his back. That's right – the collar, the uniform.

After he woke up, he opened the wardrobe next to his bed. He discovered what he expected to find: Neatly folded, white shirts and gray shorts. White socks, too, but no underwear. Seems like he's allowed to wear his own boxers, how gracious. What he didn't find, no matter how hard he looked for it, was a collar. There was none in his room. Not in the wardrobe, not under the bed, not in the desk drawer. On one hand, Jungkook is relieved. If the collar is missing, he can't wear it and won't have to argue. It's the perfect excuse. On the other hand ...

Absently, Jungkook touches the side of his bare neck. Everyone he saw on the way to the doctor's office wore one. Thick, black leather, three fingers wide, wrapped around their throats. With every sub he came across, he felt more naked, and a cold clump has settled in Jungkook's belly. It's still there, heavy as a stone. He can't deny that he sticks out like a sore thumb, exposed and in the open.

Anyway, one thing is for sure – he isn't safe until he explicitly states he won't wear a collar. Maybe they forgot to put one in his room. Maybe they want to give him a false sense of security, and that's also why they haven't taken his phone yet. Just because they let him be on day one, doesn't mean he's off the hook. He's not going to let his guard down.

The doctor flexes his gloved hands, turning towards Jungkook and sending a smile his way. He's about as tall as Jungkook, tan with dark hair and eyes. He looks a little young for a doctor and Jungkook swallows, suppressing the urge to shuffle back on the gurney he's sitting on. A show of weakness is the last thing he's going to give this man.

"Jeon Jungkook, 20 years old -- international age -- and born in Busan. 179 cm tall, sub. Blood type A", he says, a voice even warmer than his chocolate eyes pouring out of his mouth, if that's possible. "That's you, I hope?"

Oh, this is dangerous. Way more dangerous than Jungkook's encounter with Kim Namjoon. The doctor's smile and bass voice wrap around him like a soft blanket, melting the layer of anxiety under his skin, the layer of wariness that will keep him alive. Defensively, Jungkook pulls up his shoulders. He can't let that happen. He can't.

Jungkook gives a curt nod in response, his hands vices around the edge of the gurney.

The smile grows into a grin. He has a big mouth, Jungkook thinks, and he's way too handsome for a doctor. Doctors are ahjussis, that's how it goes.

"I thought so, you look like a Jeon Jungkook. Ah, please take that as a compliment", he adds sheepishly. "I'm Kim Taehyung. I'd shake your hand but –", he wiggles his long, gloved fingers, "– hands are germy."

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, swallows a smile and looks down, staring at his knee. That grin is more infectious than the germs on human skin, for sure. If he keeps looking, he'll end up forgetting where he is.

"We'll only take a few samples and check in on your dynamical stability today. No scary things like prostate exams or whatever you might've heard."

Jungkook's head shoots up, his eyes big and cheeks flushed.

Taehyung laughs, shaking his head. "I just said no prostate exam, Jungkook-ssi. Relax, you'll be fine." He rummages through a few small, white drawers stacked on his desk, plastic wrappers crinkling inside. "I'll collect some saliva, draw a little blood and send you away with a cup for a urine sample. If you do well, you might even get candy. Who knows."

When Taehyung closes the last drawer and walks over to Jungkook, his ears and face are still burning. So much for appearing tough and unbothered. Well, it's not his fault that he assumes the worst at a place like this. Besides – who trusts doctors, anyway?

"Here", Taehyung holds a plastic tube under his nose. It's around the size of his ring finger and equally as wide. "Have you ever collected a saliva sample before?"

Shaking his head, Jungkook takes the tube. "No."

Taehyung's eyes light up. "Oh, so you do speak! Great, because I have to ask you a few questions, later."

Another wave of hot embarrassment washes through Jungkook, his palms sweaty. The awkward atmosphere doesn't bother Taehyung in the slightest, it seems. He talks like this is the most normal day of his life. It probably is. Jungkook begs to differ – this is anything but normal to him.

Taehyung is so blunt about everything, it would be easy to trust him. It is easy to trust him. Besides, he's only the doctor anyway, not a professional dominant. He has no reason to control Jungkook; to hurt him or punish him. Jungkook has to ration his strength, and Taehyung is harmless enough for him to relax a bit, he decides. A tiny bit.

"First, the samples. It's easy", Taehyung explains, pointing at the tube Jungkook holds between one finger and his thumb. "You screw the cap off, collect enough saliva in your mouth to fill the tube up to the red marker, and then spit inside. That's it." He shrugs, mischief gleaming in his eyes. "Just think about those candies you'll get as a reward. Are you more a sour drops kind of guy, or do you have a sweet tooth, Jungkook-ssi?"

Jungkook shifts on the gurney, his heartbeat quick and powerful. He takes his time screwing off the cap, sorting through the restless feeling Taehyung's words caused in him. Suddenly, he's determined to do this right, the nervous tremor in his hands gone, and it's not about the candy. Jungkook couldn't care less about bonbons, he prefers salty snacks over sweets. Of course, he won't tell Taehyung. Imagining his disappointed face has Jungkook cringing.

"Sour", he murmurs, leaning over the tube and letting spit drip inside. He pushes it out with his tongue until the container is filled up right to the red marker. Inhaling deeply, Jungkook screws the cap back on and holds the tube out for Taehyung, lifting his head to watch him.

After he takes it from Jungkook, he holds it up to inspect it under the ceiling light. Jungkook is frozen until Taehyung gives him a warm, satisfied look.

"No bubbles at all", he says, putting the sample away. "Perfect."

Biting his lip, Jungkook breaks eye contact. His whole body warms, tingles rushing from his scalp down his spine. He shivers, frowning. Noticing the goosebumps on his skin, Jungkook rubs his arms. Weird. Maybe a cold gust of wind that came through a crack in the window frame behind him.

"Are you sexually active?"

Blinking, Jungkook turns his head to look at Taehyung. "Uh, what?"

Getting different equipment from a drawer, Taehyung throws him an amused glance. "I asked if you are sexually active. You know, like the birds and the –"

"I know what that means", Jungkook interrupts before he's being embarrassed further. "No. I never, uh. I never ... was."

The words leave his mouth before he thinks about what he's saying. When he realizes, he bites his tongue. Damn. He didn't want them to have that information. The doms at an institution like Shinamu probably love inexperienced subs. Inexperience makes manipulation way easier. Jungkook swallows a groan. What is wrong with him?

"Why do you ask?", Jungkook says, hesitating.

"This examination is mostly to make sure you don't have any STIs", Taehyung answers, putting on a fresh pair of gloves. "The saliva, blood, and urine go to the lab for testing. Asking this question is standard protocol, that's all."

Gulping, Jungkook stares at the needle Taehyung unpacks. "Do we even have to test my blood, then? When I'm ... When I never had sex?"

Taehyung looks up from his hands, his eyes soft. "It's better to be safe than sorry, even virgins can have HIV or herpes, Jungkook-ssi. Sorry. Stretch out your arm and make a tight fist."

Jungkook listens and Taehyung steps right in front of him to inspect the crook of his arm. He skims over the skin with one finger, barely touching. A violent shudder goes through Jungkook. He digs his free hand into the side of his thigh until it hurts, his pulse quickening.

Taehyung hums, giving Jungkook a reassuring smile. "Great veins, just like I thought. I won't have any trouble at all." He pauses, leaning in like he wants to tell a secret. "You trust me, right?"

It's scary how fast Jungkook nods, his stomach fluttering at the question. It's scary how true his answer is. He does trust Taehyung and thinks that he's a good doctor, even though Jungkook has no idea why he'd want to work at a fucked-up place like this. We all have our reasons, he guesses.

"Very good", Taehyung's deep voice praises close to Jungkook's ear, wiping all worries about needles from his mind. Wiping everything from his mind, really. "I want you to look at my face. In case you start to feel dizzy, tell me immediately, please."

So Jungkook does just that, looking at Taehyung's handsome face while the doctor is working. There's a tiny mole under the tip of his nose, Jungkook notices. Another one close to his bottom lip. Distantly, Jungkook is aware of a tight band snapping around his upper arm. For a moment, a cold, wet sensation wipes over his skin, leaving it tingling. None of it is as interesting as the pattern of Taehyung's smooth features or the little frown between his brows when he concentrates.

The prick comes so suddenly that Jungkook flinches, a shocked gasp escaping him. When his free hand shoots forward and grabs Taehyung by the hip, his eyes flicker to Jungkook's face for the fraction of a second. They look darker than before, and Jungkook's fingers twitch against Taehyung's white coat.

"You're doing so well, Jungkook-ssi", Taehyung murmurs and Jungkook melts, threatening to turn into a human puddle. Well, he's doing well. He's being good. Before all tension leaves him, Taehyung slaps his thigh. It's more of a tap, but enough to get his full attention. "No, keep sitting straight for me. Yes, exactly like that. Good."

A while later – Jungkook couldn't say how much time passed if he wanted to – Taehyung removes the tourniquet, pulls out the needle and presses a cotton pad on the tiny wound left behind. He sighs, patting Jungkook's leg, and the smile is back on his face.

"That wasn't too bad, was it?", he asks, making eye contact. When Jungkook only nods, his gaze disoriented and unfocused, he snaps his fingers in front of Jungkook's face. "Jungkook-ssi."

Startling, Jungkook shakes his head, taking a deep breath. He blinks, his eyes clearing. As soon as he notices his hand on Taehyung's hip, he pulls it back like he burned himself, blushing. "Uh, yeah. Not bad at all."

Taehyung chuckles, guiding Jungkook's right hand to hold the cotton-wool pad in place before he lets go and steps back. "I lost you there for a second, huh?"

"Lost me?"

"Yeah." Taehyung gets a plaster from one of the drawers. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, I promise. Physical examinations are positive triggers for a lot of subs", he says, as if that would clear up anything.

Lost him? Positive triggers? Jungkook's frown deepens. Maybe the blood loss is severe enough to slow his brain, or maybe Taehyung isn't making sense. He's pretty sure it's option two.

Noticing Jungkook's confused expression, Taehyung slows his movements, watching his face as he disinfects the wound and covers it with the plaster. "This question is on my list anyway, but ... how long has it been since you were under the last time?"

Unease creeps up within Jungkook, breathing down his neck. He doesn't like how Taehyung is seizing him up, concerned and attentive. There's something Jungkook should get, something obvious, but all he can do is mirror Taehyung's questioning look.

Taehyung lets go of Jungkook's arm. "I mean, how long has it been since you were in subspace?", he rephrases.

The words start to make sense, but the question doesn't, and Jungkook feels like he's still missing an important detail. He swallows, scratching his arm above the bandaid. Like he said ... "I never had sex before, Taehyung-ssi. I – I'm a virgin."

Taehyung's brows draw together. "Yes, I know, I didn't forget. That's not what I –", he interrupts himself, sighing. "I don't think we're talking about the same thing, here. I asked about subspace, not sex."

"Um." Jungkook blinks up at Taehyung, his scratching fingers halting on his skin. "Isn't – I mean. Isn't that the same?"

For a moment, they stare at each other, frozen. Taehyung's face draws blank, the smile dropping from his lips, his eyes widening. He swallows, trying to contain his shock. Unfortunately, it's obvious, and the calm mask that follows is unsettling. It's almost a comical sight, but Jungkook doesn't feel like laughing. He shifts, throat dry, anxiety rising in his chest. Taehyung is looking at him like he claimed cancer can be cured with vitamins, and Jungkook wants to take everything back he said, even if he has no clue why it was wrong.

"You think ... subspace is a sex thing?", Taehyung asks, his voice quiet and careful.

Jungkook gives an insecure nod, holding his breath. He's starting to feel like an idiot, face hot. What else would it be?

Taehyung makes a pained noise in the back of his throat. "Jungkook-ssi, please tell me someone has taken you under before. A friend, a professional. Any dom at all."

There's no reassurance Jungkook is able to give, so he looks down, pressing his lips together. He was glad that Taehyung didn't laugh at him for being a virgin, and now he does shame him after all. But no, not for being a virgin. For never having experienced subspace before – because that's different, apparently.

How is Jungkook supposed to know if nobody tells him? Irritation spikes up in him. He's not stupid, it's not his fault.

"Going down, being taken under, it's – well, it's fundamental to a submissive's health. It's not exclusively a sex thing. Far from it. That's like saying you eat food just for the taste, not the nutrition", Taehyung explains, pulling off his latex gloves and throwing them away. "I know education about dynamics is lackluster at best, but didn't they mention this in school? Never?"

"No", Jungkook mumbles, glaring at his knee. If he's honest, he's still confused. Yeah, he never was in subspace before, so what. It's not a big deal. He feels fine, he's not sick or anything. Taehyung wouldn't lie to manipulate him, right? That's not ... He wouldn't do that. Jungkook closes his eyes, exhaustion crashing over him. Why can't he go home, curl up in his bed and sleep?

"What about your parents? They're both subs. Have they never explained this stuff to you?"

Not really. Dynamics are a sensitive subject in their family, a sore spot for both of his parents. It's unusual for two subs or doms to get married, and most people wait for their relationships to crash and burn. Jungkook's parents taught him that dynamics don't matter, what matters is who you are and what you want to be. That's why he doesn't get how his parents support him going to Shinamu. They were never on society's side before, but now that Jungkook needs them on his team, they betray him.

Jungkook gives a small shake of his head, the irritation in his guts clumping up and climbing into his throat. He swallows and blinks against the pressure behind his eyes. "But I'm fine", he whispers, not sure if he's talking to Taehyung.

He is fine. If subspace was that vital to his health, even his conservative, religious, all-sub school would've taught him about it. His parents would've told him. His friends would've mentioned it. Hell, he would've felt weird, right? Sick? But he's okay, so this has to be a twisted scheme. It has to be.

"I'm not so sure you are", Taehyung says, sinking into a chair by his desk.

His voice is so serious that Jungkook looks up, and the concern in Taehyung's eyes punches the air out of his lungs. This is real worry. Raw, unfiltered, and honest. If it's not, Taehyung deserves an oscar and Jungkook doesn't blame himself for being convinced. Everybody would be.

Jungkook breaks out in a cold sweat, faint dizziness overcoming him. Maybe – Maybe there really is something wrong with him. Maybe it's true.

"There has to be some sort of coping mechanism you subconsciously built up, a way to push yourself just under the surface of subspace. Most neglected subs get addicted to certain triggers without realizing it. Praise, humiliation, pain", Taehyung lists, not taking his eyes off Jungkook. "Self-harm is often --"

Memories flash through Jungkook's mind; hours and hours spent at the gym, training until every muscle in his body hurts, training until the world drifts away and his head is empty. And the next morning – him pressing into his soar thighs, flinching away but digging in harder, harder still, the word blurring before his eyes. The few instances in his life where he was truly relaxed. Blissful, muscles burning under his fingertips.

He jumps up from the gurney like he was stung by a bee, pale and sweaty. Taehyung shuts his mouth, sitting up.

"I'm hungry now", Jungkook mumbles, voice flat. "I think – I think I'll go eat breakfast now. Yeah."

He walks to the door, his legs moving mechanically. When he raises his hand and grabs the handle, Taehyung gets up.

"Wait, Jungkook-ssi."

Jungkook inhales sharply through his nose, freezing. "Please, I can't – I need to be alone right now. Please."

The sound of a drawer being opened fills the silence, then Taehyung's steps do. Two and he's right next to Jungkook, standing behind him. A gentle hand grabs Jungkook's shoulder, his body tensing up while Taehyung turns him around.

There's Taehyung's face, lit up by a warm smile, the worry gone or at least very well hidden. And there's his big hand, a lemon drop between his fingers, packaged in clear plastic wrapper. Taehyung lets go of Jungkook and unwraps it, stuffing the crinkly foil into a pocket of his coat. He holds it up in front of Jungkook's blank face. "Open up."

For a moment, Jungkook is so stunned he isn't afraid anymore. His eyes flicker from the drop to Taehyung's smile, heart throbbing.

"Open up", Taehyung repeats. "I can't let you leave without your reward, can I?"

Jungkook swallows, the urge to run so strong his legs tremble. Blood rushes to his face, everything too much, his own body too small. He's going to combust, he's sure of it. "Taehyung-ssi –"

"Trust me", Taehyung murmurs, his voice vibrating in Jungkook's chest. "Open up, please."

It should be silly. Jungkook should shake his head, snort, and walk out the door, laughing about Taehyung's strange antics. He should be embarrassed that he's being treated like a toddler, and he is, but he doesn't leave. He's frozen and stares at the candy between Taehyung's long, pretty fingers; at Taehyung's piercing eyes, at his smiling lips.

Slowly, Jungkook opens his mouth, leaning against the door, his sweaty hand almost slipping from the handle. He wants to close his eyes, shame burning through his veins, but he can't. He has to watch Taehyung as he moves his hand, placing the lemon drop on Jungkook's tongue.

The moment his lips are pressing together, pride drips from Taehyung's face, flowing from his eyes. "Good boy, Jungkook-ssi. Perfect. Thank you."

Breathless, Jungkook storms out of the room, his face flushed, legs weak and the sour taste of lemon stinging in his mouth.

Chapter Text

The dining hall is a bright, open room located at the back of the house. Two of the four walls are glassed and provide a beautiful view over green meadows into the surrounding forest. The red maple trees around the house filter the sunlight, a gentle play of light and shadow filling the room. Three round tables with six chairs each are spread in the hall and Jungkook pauses, unsure where to sit. A few seats are taken, most are free.

The subs chatter and laugh, sit back to enjoy the warm sunrays on their backs, nap with their arms and heads on the tables. Everybody is unconcerned, the atmosphere light and pleasant, but Jungkook is sweating. The taste of lemon haunts him, his heart racing. Thoughts are bubbling in his head like boiling water, Taehyung's words echoing. The talk of sickness, neglect, and most of all –

Good boy. Good boy, Jungkook-ssi.

He swallows, shaking his head to get rid of the tingling, drunk feeling. He has to concentrate. There's a room full of strangers in front of him, and he needs to figure out how to disappear among them. Maybe the doms will forget about him if he maintains a low profile. It's worth a shot. Besides, that way the subs won't bother him either. Jungkook is not sure if he could make small talk for the life of him right now.

Scanning the people, Jungkook tries to decide who's the most harmless. Maybe he'll sit next to someone who's sleeping, but that's a risk. He can't assess how they'll act awake. Jungkook clenches and unclenches his sweaty palms, breathing against the anxiety. He doesn't know where to go.

This is like high school. No, worse than high school and everybody is wearing a stupid dog collar. He's the only guy without one. His stomach drops and he lifts his hand, touching his neck. Fuck. How is he supposed to blend in if there isn't a collar around his throat? He's going to be noticed no matter what. Everybody will get that he's the new kid. The innocent, stupid little sub, and –

"How was the check up?"

Startled, Jungkook turns and is face to face with Jihoon, a careful smile on his lips. He's taller than Jungkook and thin, soft brown hair falling into his forehead. His presence is quiet, calm confidence surrounding him, and Jungkook is more than glad to see him. The relief lifts pounds off of Jungkook's back, his shoulders sagging down. His fingers fly away from his neck, hand dropping.

"Uh", Jungkook stutters, scratching above the band-aid on his arm. "It was – okay, I guess."

It wasn't okay. It still isn't. A part of him regrets running away from Taehyung. He wants to know details, needs to know more about what's wrong with his health. Since he left the doctor's office, his heart has been throbbing in his chest. It's scary to be clueless. He's a stranger in his own body, half expecting to grow a second head every moment now.

Jungkook curses this breakfast. He's not hungry at all, and he'd rather sprint up to his room to google everything about subspace. The internet will probably tell him that he'll die and have him panicking, but the risk is worth it. He trusts Wikipedia more than people who work at a dynamic education facility.

"You can sit with me if you want to", Jihoon says next to him, nodding towards the tables.

He keeps his eyes glued to Jungkook, scanning him. It makes Jungkook nervous, and he tugs his hands into the pockets of his shorts. He wishes he could hide everything that goes on inside of him, but it's too much. He's boiling over, unable to stop it. It's painfully obvious that he's going through an internal crisis.

Jihoon crosses the room and Jungkook tags along, walking behind him. He stares at Jihoons slender back and ignores the strangers around him, shoulders drawn in. Luckily, nobody gives him a second glance anyways – despite his bare neck.

Jihoon leads him to the table closest to the windows, tugged into a corner of the dining hall. They sit down. From his seat, Jungkook can overlook the whole room, nothing but windows and trees behind him. It's comforting to have his back against the wall and he sinks into his chair, breathing a little easier.

There are three subs sitting with them at the table; a short red-head with tattooed arms reading a book, a soft-faced man with a wild, brown mane, and someone sleeping on the table, his black hair all Jungkook can make out of him. The soft-faced man sends Jungkook a shy smile he returns equally as carefully.

"What are we waiting for?", Jungkook murmurs, leaning towards Jihoon. He doesn't want the other subs thinking he's talking to them. He isn't.

Humming, Jihoon grabs a bottle of water from the table's center and fills their glasses. "For the doms. They always arrive last and open the buffet. It's 7:58 am, so they should be here soon."

Swallowing, Jungkook nods. The dominants, right. Of course. "How ... I mean, how many doms work at Shinamu, exactly?"

"Six", Jihoon explains, putting the bottle back. "All of them have different titles and styles. But don't worry, nobody expects you to follow any of that. It's your first day, and titles have to be earned." Smiling, Jihoon takes a sip from his glass. "Are you nervous?"

Outside, a bird sits in the maple tree closest to them, cleaning its brown feathering. Jungkook watches until the bird stops and looks up, twitching. It stares right through him before it takes off, flying away.

If Jungkook thinks about meeting the doms, he'll panic. He isn't nervous, he's terrified. This day has already been too much without having to face his new teachers. They'll probably lie just as much as Namjoon. Or not. Maybe the time of sweet lies comes to an end.

"Yes", Jungkook answers, crossing his ankles underneath the chair and gripping his knees. The empty maple branch blurs before his eyes.

Before Jihoon has the chance to reassure him, six men enter the dining hall and close the door behind them. Jungkook's eyes dart at them, he blinks to see clearly. His chest is motionless and heavy as a stone.

They're wearing black from head to toe. A simple outfit; tight t-shirts, a black belt, black jeans, black boots. Simple, but a harsh contrast to the light, baggy clothes the submissives have to wear. A little less comfortable, a little more authoritarian. Great.

The first one entering is a face Jungkook knows – Kim Namjoon. Gone is the suit, replaced by the doms' uniform. He has an additional, black cardigan thrown over his shirt, though. Together with his bed head, it makes him look soft. Young. A weird sight and Jungkook frowns. The Namjoon wearing a posh suit is more to his liking. It fits – the big bad dom, thinking he's better than everybody else. Soft Namjoon feels ... wrong.

Four strangers follow Namjoon, one of them with a riding crop attached to the side of his belt, and Jungkook prays he won't come to his table. The last dom who walks inside, pulling the door shut behind them, laughing about something being said, is ... Kim Taehyung. Taehyung without the white coat, Taehyung smiling, the same Taehyung who had Jungkook letting his guard down.

Besides, he's only the doctor anyway, not a professional dominant. He has no reason to control Jungkook; to hurt him or punish him. Jungkook has to ration his strength, and Taehyung is harmless enough for him to relax a bit, he decides.

Jungkook is a fucking idiot, that's what he is. His whole body is tense as he watches Taehyung sit down at a different table, his heart plunging to the ground. The last of his breath leaves him with a sharp noise. Idiot. Idiot! Clenching his teeth, Jungkook swallows the bitter taste of betrayal. Why did nobody tell him? Oh, yeah. Because Taehyung tricked him into opening up. Apparently, that was his plan from the beginning. Their plan. Now Jungkook knows why he works at a fucked up place like Shinamu, he's fucked up himself. Acting like he's the doctor, nothing more. Not a dom. No, not him. Never.

The hot disappointment and anger – the sadness – cracking his bones is as much of a red flag as possible. It means he's attached to Taehyung after just half an hour in his office. It means he has to keep himself in check and be more careful. Way more careful.

Jungkook looks down, staring at the empty plate in front of him. The thought of breakfast makes him sick, his stomach twisting. He's too full of emotions to eat. He needs time to process. The escape from Taehyung's office was like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire – to say that he regrets it is an understatement. He should've gone up to his room right after leaving.

Well, there's a simple way to fix this. He has to run away again.

Jungkook tenses his muscles, uncrossing his ankles and pressing the soles of his shoes into the ground. His eyes lock onto the exit, the urge to flee overwhelming him. The door is shut, not locked. There's no key. He's ready to go.

With a harsh screeching noise, a chair at his table is being pulled away. It's the seat right across from him, and a man steps between him and the door.

Blinking, Jungkook focuses on the black silhouette. As soon as he sees him clearly, the new company has him glued to his chair, even though the desire to run is stronger than ever. A rush of nausea goes through his body, concentrating in his stomach. He can't move, his heart throbbing.

It's the dom with the riding crop.

Destiny is fucking cruel to Jungkook today. It's unbelievable, and for an insane second, he wants to laugh. This has to be a joke. Some kind of sick, sick joke.

The dom slides into his chair. Red-head closes the book with a muffled thump, putting it away. Soft-face tenses. The sleeping man sits up, straightening his back, very much awake. Everybody bows their heads, looking down, hands folded in their laps. It's quiet.

Paling, Jungkook slumps down, drawing his shoulders in and trying his best to be invisible. This is some sort of ritual he has no idea how to follow. The air is so thick he can't breathe.

He's still frozen when their eyes meet. His are dark and sleek. Pretty, if the circumstances were different. His whole face is. The dom is handsome, but Jungkook can't concentrate on that, not when there's a tiny frown building between his eyebrows, telling Jungkook that he fucked up.

Jungkook's palms sweat through the soft fabric of his shorts, his fingers in a death grip around his knees. His toes curl and he's tense enough for his arms to tremble. Finally breaking eye contact, Jungkook stares at his plate again. He waits for the chair to screech over the ground, for heavy steps to round the table, for the riding crop to enter his field of view. How many will he get for not following along? For being slow like an idiot? Maybe less than usual, because it's his first day.

The tremble is spreading through his whole body, Jungkook feels like he's going to be sick. All he can do is stare and wait, stare and wait.

The screeching noise and steps never come. Instead, a steady body shifts close to Jungkook, making him flinch. It's Jihoon, pressing his side to Jungkook's side, their shoulders and thighs touching. His hand moves towards Jungkook's, holding and squeezing it gently, the skin warm and dry.

"Nobody expects you to follow along", he whispers, repeating his words from before, his breath hitting Jungkook's ear and making him shiver. "You're okay. Breathe."

"Yah, look at him shitting himself. Jesus."

The whole table looks up, staring at the sleepy black-haired sub. He yawns, stretching his arms.

"What d'you think Yoongi-yah is going to do? Beat you at the breakfast table?" He snorts, putting his elbow on the table and supporting his head, grinning in Jungkook's direction. "You have to chill, he's a softie deep down. Promise."

Jungkook's jaw drops without his consent. His eyes flicker from the grinning sub to the riding crop dom, a morbid curiosity fueling him. There's no way he's going to survive this. In the videos Jungkook saw, doms beat subs half-dead for less.

Yoongi has his head tipped back, sighing. When he looks at them again, his expression is tired and pained.

"It's way too early for your shit, Wontae", he groans, his raspy voice breaking. "Come get what you want already."

He knocks against the side of his wooden chair, and Wontae gets up, beaming.

"Yes, sir", he sings, walking over.

Jungkook holds his breath, but Wontae only drops to his knees elegantly next to Yoongi, legs spread, hands behind his lower back. Yoongi ruffles his hair, shaking his head, and Wontae's grin shrinks down to a satisfied smirk. He winks at Jungkook before he looks down, eyes on the ground.

Hoping that nobody notices, Jungkook pinches the skin above his knee, and he pinches it firmly. Sharp pain shoots up his leg, but other than that, nothing changes. He's awake, this is reality. Maybe ... Maybe the doms are nicer during meals, so the subs don't starve? That wouldn't be good for their image. Or this is another scheme and they're acting, both of them, Wontae and Yoongi. That sounds like a reach, even to Jungkook's ears, but – Taehyung fucked him over too, and he trusted him. So who knows. He has to be careful.

"Talking without permission during breakfast?"

Jungkook glances at Yoongi, understanding that he's addressing Jihoon. Instinctively, Jungkook presses closer to him. Jihoon squeezes his hand.

"I expect it from this brat", Yoongi nudges Wontae with his boot, the sub snorting quietly, "but not from you."

Jihoon radiates heat and when Jungkook looks at him, he's blushing, the tips of his ears red. He lets go of Jungkook and folds his hands in his lap, lowering his gaze and straightening his back.

"I'm sorry, sir", he says, shifting in his seat. "I didn't explain that you expected high protocol during meals, because... I didn't think you'd sit with us during Jungkook's first time, sir. He's nervous, I had to say something."

"Nervous", Yoongi clicks his tongue, and Jungkook knows he's looking at him. "Yeah, I can see that. Wontae's a brat but he's right, you're shitting yourself."

Pressing his lips together, Jungkook interlaces his cold fingers and stares into his lap. Better be good, like Jihoon. Better not say anything at all.

"I chose to sit with you today to get the worst part over with", Yoongi hums. "If I didn't, you would've been afraid I'd sit with you every meal. Isn't that right, Jungkook-ah?"

Pulse throbbing in his ears, Jungkook gives a tiny nod. His fingers are bloodless and white. Oh, god.

Another hum. "Is it because of this? Look at me."

When Jungkook lifts his head, the riding crop is in Yoongi's hand. It's long, sleek, made of black leather and terrifying when Yoongi is holding it. Shivering, Jungkook gives another weak jerk of his head.

Yoongi nods, looking at Jungkook. Then, he flips the riding crop, holding it just above the leather tongue, the handle pointing towards Jungkook. He extends his arm over the table. "Take it."

Looking from the crop to Yoongi and back, Jungkook swallows. Is this – Is this some sort of test? Will he lose if he obeys, or if he doesn't? What is the right decision? Cold sweat breaks out of Jungkook's pores.

"Easy, now", Yoongi murmurs. "I mean it. If it scares you when I have it, I want you to take it."

He means it. At least he says he does. If he's serious, Jungkook should probably – yeah, he should follow along. It's not like the riding crop is the only way Yoongi could hurt him, but it would feel better to take it from him. Jungkook has to admit that. He can't see how this is a way to fuck him over, either.

So he untangles his numb fingers and slowly lifts a hand, reaching for the crop. He keeps looking at Yoongi, prepared to retreat at the slightest sign of him changing his mind, but Yoongi's eyes remain serious and inviting. Heat rushing up his body to his head, Jungkook closes his fingers around the handle and pulls the riding crop into his lap, both hands closing around it. The leather is soft and firm in his grip. Warm.

Sighing, Yoongi leans back in his chair. "Great. Now I need a fucking coffee." Again, he nudges Wontae with the tip of his boot. "You listening, punk? Stand up and get me breakfast." He pauses, thinking. Then, a dirty smirk appears on his face. "Actually, get everyone at the table breakfast. Wontae will be servicing us this beautiful morning, guys."

Groaning, Wontae gets up, rubbing his knees and glaring at Yoongi. "What, why? What kind of shitty punishment is this? I thought you'd use the paddle, maybe, or –"

"A punishment you get excited about is not a punishment", Yoongi says, rolling his eyes. "Move it. Jihoon will help you, maybe the food will actually get to us then. And the coffee."

Yoongi sounds almost like he's whining and when Jungkook looks around, he sees the red-head smirking into himself. "Our Yoongi-nim is so cute this morning, sir."

"Okay, you get up and help too. What is wrong with all of you today?", Yoongi shakes his head, frowning.

His mood betters when Wontae places a big, steaming cup of black coffee before him, a plate full with delicious-looking food following. It's not Korean food, and Jungkook realizes they're being served English breakfast. Scrambles eggs, sizzling bacon, buttered toast, roasted tomatoes and mushrooms, sausages. Everything is still steaming, the bread golden and brown. Even though he thought he wasn't hungry, Jungkook can't help but dig in. It tastes so good, he forgets all about doms, subs and the crop in his lap.

They eat in comfortable silence, everybody busy with their food. If the meals are always this delicious, Jungkook might miss something about this place after he'll leave in a few months. When he asks for seconds and Jihoon has to stand up to serve him, he only feels a tiny bit bad.

While Wontae, Jihoon, and the red-head clear the table, soft-face reverts to the head-bowed-back-straight-hands-in-lap-position. Jungkook follows along, not caring with his stomach full and cheeks blushed. The warmth returned to his hands and with it, the belief that he'll get through this in one piece. He's strong, he'll be fine.

"Are we all finished?", Yoongi asks after emptying his cup, looking them over. The subs answer with a collective "Yes, sir", and Yoongi smiles, satisfied. "Good. You are dismissed, I see you later."

When he gets ready to stand up and leave, a rush of panic goes through Jungkook. "Wait!"

Yoongi freezes, turning back and eyeing Jungkook, questioning. The frown between his brows is back and Jungkook's face flushes red. He gulps, grabbing the riding crop.

"Your – um. The", Jungkook clears his throat, shrinking into himself. "I still have your ... I still have it."

With that, he lifts the crop, eager for Yoongi to take it. For a long, long moment, Yoongi just looks at the riding crop, then at Jungkook.

"Keep it", he says eventually, getting up from his chair. "Keep the crop until you can stand it hanging from my belt."

He walks away, chatting with another dom he meets at the exit, leaving Jungkook dumbfounded.

••••••••••

On the way back to his room, Jungkook gives his best to carry the riding crop without anyone noticing, Wontae laughing at him the whole time.

"Shit, you look so embarrassed", he snickers, nudging him with his shoulder. "A real blushing maiden."

"You're the worst", Jihoon says, rolling his eyes. Still, he bites his lip, the corners of his mouth twitching. Traitor.

"I don't even know where to keep this", Jungkook sighs, pressing the crop to his side. "It won't fit into the desk drawer ..."

"Just put it in your closet", Jihoon shrugs, prompting Wontae to wiggle his eyebrows.

"A riding crop in your closet? Naughty, Jungkook-ah."

Jungkook groans, tempted to put the crop to good use and slap Wontae around himself. God. Jihoon is right, he really is the worst.

While Jungkook tries to come up with a witty comeback, they round the corner and stop abruptly. There's someone waiting for them, outside of Jungkook's door. Waiting for Jungkook.

Kim Taehyung spots them, smiling, holding up an empty plastic cup. "Don't think I'm letting you off the hook on that urine sample, Jungkook-ssi!"

Jungkook's mind blanks, the blush evaporating into thin air. His grip around the crop tightens, his shoulders tensing. He blinks. Hot anger wells up inside him, squeezing through his too-small body like lava shooting up a volcano. He's shaking, knuckles white, unable to speak. Clenching his jaw so hard and sudden his teeth collide audibly, Jungkook turns, marching away back down the hall.

Well, there's a simple way to fix this. He has to run away again.

Behind him, Jihoon and Wontae exchange a single look and rush after him. Taehyung drops his hand with the cup, the smile fading from his lips.

Chapter Text

Red is Jungkook’s new favorite color.

At Shinamu academy, red means safety. It means ‘stop’. Behind red doors, scenes are prohibited. Dominants aren’t even allowed to enter – red rooms are for subs, a safe space to connect and relax. It’s perfect and Jungkook doesn’t question it. When he isn’t in his bedroom to sleep or use the attached bathroom, he’s in one of the two red rooms. They’re equipped with TVs, big sofas and minibars stocked with cool drinks. One of the rooms has a PlayStation and Overwatch. It’s the best place around and Jungkook practically lives there.

He couldn’t be happier. When he’s curled up under a blanket, a controller in his hands, staring at a screen, it’s like he’s home again. For a while, he forgets where he is; forgets all about dynamics, dominants, rules, titles, punishments. There’s him and the game, that’s it. Absolutely perfect.

Until it’s not. Because no game lasts forever and when it ends, reality comes crashing down on him. When Jungkook takes the short trip from the red room to his bedroom and back, his palms are wet with cold sweat. He looks around every corner, heart in his throat. If he runs into a dom, it’s over. They can’t be happy that he’s misusing the safe spaces to get around the program. They’re angry, they have to be. Half of them haven’t met him yet, just because Jungkook is hiding. Taehyung must be wondering why Jungkook is avoiding him, wanting answers. About Namjoon Jungkook can’t think without panicking, so he doesn’t.

It’s his third day in a red room and with every passing hour, the fear gets worse, which in turn stops Jungkook from leaving. Then, he panics even more and decides to stick it out until his time at the academy ends. He’s trapped in a never-ending cycle of gaming and anxiety. He realizes that.

He also knows that he has to leave, eventually. Jihoon and Wontae bring him food, but he hasn’t had a warm, proper meal since his first breakfast at Shinamu. Chips and cookies are no substitute for dinner, not in the long run. Jungkook misses dinner; he misses his mom’s cooking. Bulgogi, sizzling in soy sauce. Spicy stews that warm him from the inside. Steamed dumplings.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Jungkook pulls his blanket tight around his shoulders and squeezes himself into the corner of the sofa. He wants to go home. That’s all.

The sofa dips underneath him and he looks up, blinking back to reality.

Jihoon is sitting down next to him, a tired smile on his face and a fresh pack of chilli chips in his hand. Jungkook grimaces when he puts it in his lap, and Jihoon huffs out a quiet laugh. His eyes turn soft when he looks at Jungkook.

No wonder, it’s obvious that he’s miserable. There are dark circles under his eyes, his hair isn’t brushed, his skin is breaking out from all the junk food and stress. Besides, Jihoon always notices when he’s upset. He has a scary amount of empathy. It makes Jungkook a little uncomfortable because lying to an empath is a pain in the ass. Part of him still doesn’t trust Jihoon as his assigned mentor. Spy. Who knows?

“We’ll have dinner outside today, you know”, Jihoon says, avoiding Jungkook’s eyes, the smile fading. “It’s the last warm day of the year. Seokjin-nim and the others make chicken skewers, and his sauce is the best. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Tensing, Jungkook grabs the bag of chips and tears it open. He hopes it’s answer enough for Jihoon – it has been for the past attempts to get him out of the red room. But seriously, bribing a starving man with food? How low can someone sink? Frowning, Jungkook stuffs his mouth with chips. It’s not like he doesn’t want chicken skewers. He loves meat, he loves chilli sauce. His stomach agrees, and Jungkook is one second away from burning the damn potato chips.

But no. No, he can’t do it. If he thinks about leaving – if he thinks about eating with the doms, about meeting them – his stomach twists and he starts to bite his nails, a habit he overcame when he was fourteen. He’d rather jump out of a window, at this point. There’s no way he’ll leave as long as he isn’t forced to.

“Wontae and I won’t bring you food anymore.”

A clean, simple statement. At the same time: Everything Jungkook feared. Jihoon’s quiet voice hits him harder than a punch to the sternum. He freezes, dizzy and numb. Cold, all of a sudden.

“It’s something we decided. We alone.” Jihoon shifts on the edge of the sofa, eyes on Jungkook. “The only one you’re upsetting by hiding in here is yourself, and we won’t keep helping you. Wontae doesn’t want to. I just … can’t, I’m sorry.”

No. He’s not being serious. If Jungkook pushes a little, he’ll backtrack. It’s okay. It’s fine. Gulping, Jungkook tries to hide the red-hot panic under his skin. He squeezes the bag of chips in his hands and turns, slowly.

Their eyes meet for the fraction of a moment and all desperate pleading dies on Jungkook’s tongue. Jihoon means it. Jihoon will really – they’ll leave him hanging. No, worse, they’re throwing him to the sharks. Coldblooded.

Jungkook is too afraid to be angry.

“You can’t do this.” Jungkook shakes his head. Short, erratic movements. “Jihoon. Hyung. No.”

As soon as the word ‘hyung’ leaves his lips, Jihoon’s face turns into stone and Jungkook knows he’s done for. This is the end. No more red rooms. No more safety. He’ll have to face the doms or he’ll starve. He’ll have to face Taehyung, who is probably the angriest out of them. Jungkook ran away from him and now he’ll pay for it. For everything.

“I’m sorry”, Jihoon says, looking up. “But you’ll have to get it over with. You’ll be –“

“I can’t!”, Jungkook gasps, folding over and holding his stomach, the mushed chips threatening to come back up. “I can’t, I can’t. Please, don’t make me. I can’t.”

“Oh, no. No, Kook-ah.”

A warm hand rubs Jungkook’s back and he chokes, eyes wet. His mind is running, telling him the same thing over and over again: He can’t do this. Which is stupid because he knows that. He knows.

“They’ll punish me. They hate me”, he sputters, still shaking his head. His brain sends him the mental picture of Yoongi’s riding crop in his closet – and thanks brain, that makes things better right now. Fuck you, too.

“Oh, Jesus, no. Nobody hates you, Jungkook. Do you think you’re the first sub to move into a red room?”, Jihoon shifts closer, his strong hand stroking down Jungkook’s shaking, tense back. “It happens all the time, of course it would. It's fine, you're fine.”

He ran away from Taehyung. He skipped all meals. There’s not a single thing they had the chance to teach Jungkook over the past days. How can things be fine? He wasted so much time – the dominants’ time. Jungkook made them wait for him like he has the right to. All he’s been is trouble. As if they’re not upset. No way.

“You give them so much power over yourself”, Jihoon murmurs, so quietly Jungkook barely catches it.

Then his palm lifts from Jungkook’s back and he stands up, stepping in front of him. Wide-eyed and breathless, Jungkook looks up to him. Jihoon offers his hand.

“Come on, get up. It’s okay. We’ll help Seokjin with the dinner preparations now.” He ignores Jungkook’s frantic headshaking and just grabs his wrists, pulling him onto his feet. “You’ll see that they aren’t angry; you’ll make yourself useful and you’ll get something to eat. Let’s go.”

Jungkook doesn’t resist when Jihoon drags him out of the door. He knows he must leave eventually, and there’s no way he can do it alone. Anxiety settles over him. He feels numb while they climb down the stairs.

••••••••••••

The kitchen next to the dining hall is bigger than anticipated. It’s white, clean, and busy. There are three men hurrying from kitchen aisle to kitchen aisle: cutting vegetables, seasoning meat, cooking sauce. Two of them are wearing the same uniform as Jungkook, plus chokers and white aprons. The third man Jungkook recognizes from breakfast. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans underneath his apron, ordering the subs around the kitchen. A dom.

It smells like garlic and chilli, and Jungkook’s stomach rumbles. Still, he’d throw up if he tried to eat, no matter how delicious the food is. His guts are in tight knots, his legs are weak. His brain is screaming at him to run before the dom notices him.

At the door, Jungkook halts, his hand sliding out of Jihoon’s grip as he enters the kitchen. Jungkook can’t follow him, it already takes everything out of him to stand still instead of leaving. Jihoon might as well lead him into a lion’s den. There’s just no way.

“Seokjin-nim”, Jihoon speaks up over the sizzling sauce, bowing when Seokjin glances at him. “Jungkook-ssi and I are here to help.”

Jungkook holds his breath, freezing like a deer in the headlights. For a moment, Seokjin freezes too, his cooking spoon halting in the sauce. Then he turns and looks at the open door, right at Jungkook, his surprise obvious on his face.

God, he’s handsome. There’s no denying it. Broad shoulders, plush lips, and bright, intelligent eyes. The only thing Jungkook can do is stare back at him, blood draining from his face. He buries his fingers in the sides of his shorts and squeezes the fabric, hands shaking. He’s fucking this up too, right? He shouldn’t return the look but lower his gaze. Bow, smile, do something to cushion the blow. Anything to make Seokjin less angry.

Jungkook’s body is tense from top to bottom. He’s ready to run. If Seokjin reaction will be unbearable, he’ll hurry back to the red room. If he starves to death in there, who cares. At least he’ll die with pride and an unscathed ass.

A careful smile spreads on Seokjin’s face. He turns towards the stove again and turns it off, putting the sauce to the side. The cooking spoon lands in a sink, clattering, and Jungkook flinches. What is going on?

“Thank you, Jihoon-ah, we’re almost ready. You can help with skewering the chicken and onions, I’m sure the boys won’t mind a helping hand.” A crooked grin in Jungkook’s direction. “With that many subs around, there’s a lot of impaling to do, you know?”

The cooking subs groan and Jungkook swallows, resisting the urge to take a step back. Is that – Is that a threat? He looks around the room, unable to read the atmosphere. There’s no anger. No obvious anger, at least. He doesn't understand.

“Jungkook-ssi, do you mind tasting the sauce for me?”

Jungkook’s eyes find Seokjin again. Seokjin, who’s facing Jungkook, leaning against the kitchen isle with his ankles crossed. The way he looks at Jungkook is careful, hesitant, but not upset. There’s still a small, quiet smile on his lips.

It’s strange. So strange, Jungkook starts to move, walking towards him. He’d do anything to feel less confused.

Seokjin pulls open a drawer and grabs a fresh metal spoon, dipping it into the pot of red sauce. “I hope you like spice.”

Maybe that’s Seokjin’s intention. Maybe the sauce is so spicy, it’ll burn Jungkook’s mouth. A creative punishment for missing the meals. But Seokjin was definitely surprised to see Jungkook and didn’t know he was coming. There’s no second pot of sauce, either.

Perhaps … He really does want to hear Jungkook’s opinion of the sauce? But that’s a laughable thought. He should be hurting Jungkook, lecturing him, not giving him sauce to taste. Jungkook is not even forced to kneel yet. A quiet voice in the back of his head is taunting him. Disappointed, Jungkookie?

“Open up”, Seokjin says, guiding the spoon towards Jungkook’s mouth, his palm catching the falling drops. With his stomach churning, Jungkook closes his lips around the spoon.

Flavor explodes on his tongue. At first, it’s sweet and garlicky. Seokjin puts more honey into the sauce than Jungkook’s mother. It’s a lot, but it’s good, really good – and then the spice hits, spreading through his mouth cavity. A long, even burn, dancing with honey and sugar. Delicious. Jungkook can’t help but close his eyes for a moment, a satisfied moan escaping him. His stomach rumbling is audible, and Seokjin laughs next to him, throwing the spoon into the sink.

“Good?”, he asks, eyebrows raised. “Of course it is, but I like hearing it.”

Swallowing, Jungkook gives a curt nod. His mouth is watering. When Seokjin sees him swallowing again, his face lights up.

“We are finished here, then”, Seokjin says, clapping and turning, eager to direct his kitchen staff. “Jihoon, please take the skewers outside, I’ll be right there. The others can help – you too, Jungkook-ssi.”

Everyone starts moving. Blinking, Jungkook rushes to follow, not wanting to stay behind alone with Seokjin. He almost drops his platter of chicken skewers when a man rushes past him, answering Seokjin’s order with a firm “yes, daddy”.

His face heats up so quickly, he’s dizzy for a moment, stumbling and then rushing to the door as fast as he can. Oh, hell no. Not in a million years.

Before Jungkook is out of the door, Seokjin calls his name, forcing him to stop. Hesitating, Jungkook looks over his shoulder, trying his best to appear neutral and hide his second-hand embarrassment. It’s quite obvious that he’s failing. He only has to look at Seokjin’s soft eyes and crooked smile.

“'Sir' is title enough for me, so don’t worry about that”, Seokjin says off-handedly, tossing a kitchen towel over his shoulder and grabbing the pot of sauce. “That’s all I wanted to say. Let’s head outside.”

••••••••••

The weather is fantastic, Jihoon didn’t lie. The autumn sun is burning down on them; white, soft clouds sprinkled across the sky making it bearable. It’s a perfect mixture of sunshine and cooling shadow.

Under the bright blue sky, red maple trees sway in a gentle breeze. The lush, green meadow behind the house invites him to bathe in the sun or play sports. A few guys are kicking a ball around. The sound of the bouncing ball and their laughter is so normal, so reminiscent of Jungkook’s childhood, that he has to pause for a moment, freezing with the platter in his hands. Staring.

Snug against the wall of the house, tables and chairs are arranged on a tiled patio. Subs and doms are sitting together, talking and sipping lemonade. Next to Jungkook, Seokjin prepares the barbecue, flames hissing. Without a word, Jungkook puts the platter on the table next to the barbecue, barely registering Seokjin’s chanted “thank you”.

This is, by far, the weirdest thing that has happened today. Not the fact that Jungkook isn’t being punished. Not the fact that one of Seokjin’s titles as a dominant is “daddy”, out of all things. No. This, right here. This perfect picture of contentment. It feels like a bizarre dream. A dream you suspect will turn into a nightmare. It’s uncomfortable, creepy, and Jungkook doesn’t know what to do with himself. Like he crashed a birthday party and now he has to blend in with a bunch of celebrating strangers.

So, naturally, he turns to the two familiar faces in the crowd. But before he has the chance to walk over to Jihoon’s and Wontae’s table, his name is being called again. This time, it’s Namjoon’s voice. A cold shiver runs down Jungkook’s back, his stomach twisting. This is it. The nightmare is coming, waiting for him. There’s no escape.

With a dry mouth, Jungkook drags himself to Namjoon’s table, shoulders tense. He doesn’t look him in the eyes, but he sees six torsos clothed in black, and he realizes that the doms sit by themselves today, separate from the other men. Which means he’s facing all of them. All six. Well, five. Seokjin is roasting delicious chicken skewers Jungkook won’t be able to keep down. If he even gets to eat. Maybe his punishment will start now, after all. Who says he deserves to have dinner after skipping it for days?

“Jungkook-ssi, I’m glad to see that you’re well”, Namjoon says, and Jungkook can’t interpret the tone of voice he’s using. Is he mad? He has to be. Shit, he’s mad. Shit. “Come, sit with us.”

Jungkook shouldn’t hesitate, shouldn’t show that he’s alarmed and anxious, but he can’t help it. He steps forward and sits on the very edge of the chair, arms crossed over his stomach, gaze still lowered. Every muscle in his body is turned to stone, his mind racing with images. Bruised, bleeding skin. Marks of strangulation. Tears and eyes full of terror.

“You took a liking to our concept of red rooms, it seems.”

Before Jungkook can empty the contents of his stomach on the floor, Yoongi speaks up, clicking his tongue. “Ah, don’t talk like this, Joon-ah. The kid already thinks you'll murder him. Just look at him.”

Jungkook wants to duck his head, pull his shoulders up, vanish into thin air. Five pairs of eyes pierce into him, he can feel it. One of them belongs to Namjoon. Worse – one of them belongs to Taehyung. Again, Jungkook is too scared to be angry with him. He should’ve kept his stupid mouth shut. He should’ve stayed instead of running away.

“Oh. Oh, no, no punishment”, Namjoon continues, surprised. “It’s good that you took your time to settle in, nobody blames you. We don’t punish submissives for using red rooms.”

“That would be like punishing someone for safewording”, a new voice adds, light and at ease.

Jungkook glances up through his bangs, curious despite his anxiety. He doesn’t believe a thing Namjoon says. This is probably a test, to see if he is stupid enough to think he doesn’t deserve a punishment.

Soft, brown eyes catch Jungkook’s shy glance. A wide smile sends rays as bright as sunlight his way and he swallows, head bowed again. His heart throws itself against his chest.

This is creepy. This backyard, the smile, the forgiveness. Nothing is how it should be, and Jungkook waits for the bubble to burst. It always does, in the end. Most likely when he least expects it.

“Let’s finally introduce you to the others”, Namjoon hums. “You already met Taehyung, Yoongi-ssi and Seokjin-ssi, is that right?”

Jungkook forces himself to respond with a curt nod. He’s not sure if he could talk if he wanted to.

“Hoseok-ssi and Jimin-ah are left, then.”

“Hello, Jungkook-ssi”, the same bright voice as before speaks up. “I’m Jung Hoseok, but Hobi-hyung is fine. I’m not big on titles, it’s all good.”

Once more, Jungkook glances up. He can’t help himself. Something about Hoseok draws him in, makes it difficult to look away. There’s a warmth and a calmness surrounding him that clashes with the general vibe of the academy. Jungkook feels just as comfortable as he did when he met Taehyung. He shifts on his chair, a spark of anger flickering in his chest.

“I am, though.”

Naturally, Jungkook’s eyes shift towards the new voice, matching it with a face. When their looks meet, an icy shiver runs down his back, nausea spreading through his stomach.

The man stares him down like he is prey. There is no other way to describe it. His eyes are dark and hungry, the smile on his lips toxic. He’s beautiful but dangerous. A poisonous flower. Jungkook dislikes him immediately, deciding to stay as far away from him as possible.

“Sir, if you’re boring. Master if you want me to like you”, he says, beaming. “Jimin-ah if you want to be punished.”

It takes everything out of Jungkook to not glare. What a stuck-up asshole. Still, his little speech makes Jungkook’s heart race and palms sweaty. Fear, probably. Has to be fear. Jungkook clenches his teeth.

“So, now you are familiar with your dominants – very good”, Namjoon says, nodding. “As a first lesson, let’s do a practice round on titles, shall we? You can start with me and go around the table.”

Jungkook flushes hot and cold, clenching and unclenching his damp hands. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, his breathing flat. He’s been avoiding it until now, and he’d come up with an excuse if he were not up for punishment already. He’s stubborn, but not suicidal. If he complies now, the pain won’t be as bad later on. At least he hopes so. God, please. Please let this make things alright.

Carefully, Jungkook looks up at Namjoon, looking at his face the first time today. He looks calm, a quiet smile on his lips. That means nothing, though. In his line of business, wearing a mask comes with the job. Jungkook swallows.

“Sir”, Jungkook says. His voice is small and rough. He sounds weak. What he’s saying is weak, too. He shivers, the tremble shaking him down to the bones. His skin tingles and he takes a deep breath, trying to get rid of the helpless feeling. The submission.

“Take your time”, Namjoon murmurs. “You’re doing good.”

Flushing red, Jungkook turns to the next person. Taehyung. His heart skips a beat.

The expression on Taehyung’s face is neutral, distant. Like it’s the first time he’s seeing Jungkook, and he’s not particularly pleased with what he sees.

Jungkook wants to get it over with as quickly as possible, his mouth already open when he realizes that he has no idea about Taehyung’s titles. Because he’s been lied to. With a loud clack, his mouth snaps shut, teeth meeting teeth.

“Just hyung”, Taehyung says, voice flat. His eyes bore into Jungkook like hot iron. “That’s enough.”

“… Hyung”, Jungkook mumbles, shame curling in his chest. With a lump in his throat, he continues, looking away. “Sir”, he addresses Yoongi. Then “hyung”, towards Hoseok. Another “sir” in Jimin’s direction. His lips twitch in response, a mocking grin on his face. Yeah, fuck him.

“And what about Seokjin-ssi?”, Namjoon asks.

“Sir”, Jungkook responds, sure of himself. It’s easier to say after just a few times, rolling off his tongue like it’s supposed to. Jungkook swallows a grimace.

Namjoon raises his eyebrows, still smiling. “What else?”

All blood shoots into Jungkook’s face. He freezes before he lowers his gaze, unable to withstand Namjoon’s look. No. No, he won’t say it. Not in a million years. Not ever. There’s some pride left within him, deep down at his core.

For a minute, it’s painfully silent. Jungkook says nothing, feeling them staring at him. No.

After a while, Yoongi huffs. “Sir is enough as it is.”

Before Jungkook can be relieved, a chair scratches over the ground and Taehyung stands up, clearing his throat. He’s tense, a live wire. His dark eyes focus on Jungkook. “We’re finished then, and I’ll take Jungkook for a walk around the house. Come.”

Jungkook sinks down into his chair, gulping.

Chapter Text

The setting sun is burning Jungkook's back as they walk, heating up the thin cotton of his shirt. His palms are sweaty, but it's not because of the heat. It's cold sweat.

Even though Taehyung said they'd walk around the house, they're really strolling along a path leading around the backyard. Jungkook is glad. The yard is huge, a big meadow stretching to the forest edge, but they're still within sight. If Jungkook were to scream, he would be heard. It's a small reassurance he hopes he won't have to take advantage of. Besides, it's questionable if someone would come to rescue him. Screaming for help is the usual here, Jungkook imagines.

His pulse is racing, heart throbbing in his chest. He breathes slowly, in and out. Again, then again. Maybe he can influence Taehyung's mood if he's calm himself, somehow get him to mirror his feelings.

It's a fruitless endeavor and a desperate attempt. Taehyung is nothing but tense, charging the air around him, his shoulders and the line of his lips tight.

Jungkook glances back to the patio. He should run. He has no idea why he doesn't. All he can do is keep walking, waiting for Taehyung to start. Start punishing him, start talking, start yelling – anything.

Taehyung throws a look in his direction for the first time since they started walking and Jungkook's knees shake. He's never felt so weak before. So alone.

"I...", Taehyung begins, then sighs, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to stop a flood of pleadings pouring out of his mouth. Pride. He'll take it with pride. His trembling hands clench into fists.

"I told myself I'd let you eat before we talk", Taehyung eventually says, his voice calm, face blank. "I forbid myself to approach you before dinner. But ... I just. I just have to know, I'm sorry."

He halts, turning to Jungkook. The fire in his eyes is so furious that it takes away Jungkook's breath and ability to move. He freezes, waiting for the pain to come.

"Please tell me what I did to fuck up this badly. Please, I ..." Again, he stops with a sigh, frowning at the beautiful, blue sky above them. "This never happened to me before. I'm not used to being the scary dom, Jungkook-ssi. I never meant to upset you, and I'm so, so sorry." Taehyung chuckles, shaking his head.

Jungkook takes a step back. Then another one. His mouth opens, but he doesn't speak. There's no sound. He has no idea what to say. He doesn't even know what to think. Is this – Is this a trick? Some sort of test? Is Taehyung fucking with him again?

"No", Jungkook hears himself say. He shakes his head, numb all over. "No, I. Not your fault. I'm the one – I'm bad. I was bad."

Fuck. What is he doing? Jungkook inhales sharply, unclenching and clenching his hands. This won't be enough to convince Taehyung of anything.

Now, Taehyung is frowning at him. "You were angry, you probably still are", he says, slowly. "Please, tell me why. Give me a chance to fix this, the opportunity to avoid this mistake in the future. If trust can't be re-established, I'll step back from your educational program. I just want ... need to know what happened."

Jungkook says nothing, staring at him. What, does he really expect Jungkook to accuse him of doing something wrong? Him, a dominant? Yeah, sure. Jungkook isn't suicidal. He wants to get out of this as unscathed as possible.

"I'm angry at all of you", Jungkook mumbles, evading, trying to dodge the question. "Angry at the program. Fuck the system. I don't wanna be here. Not your fault."

"Look at me."

Hesitant, Jungkook meets Taehyung's eyes. They cooled down a little, at least.

"Don't lie to me", Taehyung says, voice harder than before. "The way you looked at me was not like you looked at Namjoon or Yoongi. I know the difference between fear and anger."

Because Jungkook can't keep the frown off his face, he looks away again. The lawn is more interesting anyway. So green and perfectly cut, like a piece of art. And would you look at that sky – what a beautiful day. Just not quite beautiful enough to distract Jungkook from the current situation. It's silent, Taehyung staring at him, waiting for Jungkook to speak. Meanwhile, Jungkook is waiting for Taehyung to give up. It's a matter of endurance, and Jungkook has more to lose here.

"You're still afraid that you'll be punished", Taehyung declares.

Jungkook almost snorts. No shit, Sherlock. What a wild theory.

"We don't punish for telling the truth. Never. Namjoon-ssi must've told you, right?"

Lies are not tolerated in this house, he said. It's one of the rules, too. Yes, Jungkook remembers. He didn't believe it then, and he doesn't believe it now. What a farce.

"Jungkook-ssi, I remember a time where you trusted me. Have I ever lied to you before? Have I ever –"

"What?", Jungkook flares up, glaring at Taehyung's stupid, oblivious face. "Of course you fucking have! Are you –", breaking off, Jungkook takes in a deep breath.

His heart wants to jump out of his chest, it's beating so hard. Okay. Okay, he's done it now. He went there, crossed the line. There's no turning back now. No way he can swallow the words down again.

"I thought – I thought you were the doctor. Just the doctor. Nobody told me that you're also a – that you have another job here. You didn't tell me. I thought..."

Jungkook shakes his head. I thought I could trust you. I thought you wouldn't hurt me. I liked you.

Fuck.

Tears spring to his eyes. He lowers his gaze, wiping them away as casually as possible. He's just so – angry. Disappointed. Which is stupid in the first place, and kind of his fault. Trusting anyone here is a mistake. He thought he could resist the brainwashing longer, but Taehyung got him good.

"You feel betrayed", Taehyung says.

Jungkook allows himself to nod. Because yes, he does. He's been betrayed, lied to, tricked. It's not a good feeling, doesn't matter if it's expected at a place like this.

"I see now." Taehyung mirrors Jungkook's nodding. "Thank you. I didn't know that, well, you didn't know. It was a misunderstanding – still, our fault. My fault."

He's stepping closer to Jungkook, stopping at an arm's reach from him. Far away enough to be tolerated by Jungkook. He tenses up but doesn't put more space between them. As long as Taehyung isn't close enough to touch him, there's nothing to worry about. All is good.

Then, Taehyung sinks down and kneels.

It's a smooth, elegant movement, like he's done it a million times before. It doesn't make a sound when his knees sink into the grass, but maybe that's because Jungkook's ears are ringing. He doesn't breathe.

Taehyung lowers his gaze, casually crossing his wrists behind his back. "I'm sorry for not communicating my dynamic and my position at the academy clear enough to you. I should've thought about the fact that you mistrust us and should've avoided miscommunication at all costs. This was my mistake. I apologize sincerely, and I hope you can accept that eventually, Jeon Jungkook-ssi."

For a few seconds, Jungkook's head is empty. There's only air between his ears. He's staring at Taehyung, his eyes climbing up and down his body again and again. His brain can't progress what he's seeing. Taehyung is... Taehyung is kneeling. Kneeling in front of him. For him? But that wouldn't make sense. Not at all.

He takes a step back. Then another one.

The first clear thought to enter his head is "Taehyung-ssi really shouldn't do that here, his pants will get stained", and he has to swallow a hysterical laugh. This has to be a nightmare. This isn't real. Jungkook starts to shake his head, still staring. His heart speeds up; he feels nauseous. As if someone turned the world upside down.

Doms never kneel. Subs get on their knees, not dominants. That doesn't happen. It's not a thing. So why would Taehyung do that? Why would he –

Jungkook freezes.

Ah, yes. Of course. He gets it now. This is his punishment. A useless sub with a big mouth, knowing everything better than the dominants around him. Might as well take on the job, right? He's lucky he hasn't eaten anything yet. Jungkook's stomach contracts and he gags, breaking out into a cold sweat. This is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

He should be in Taehyung's place. He should be allowed to kneel. To rest.

Fuck. He's just so, so tired.

"Jungkook-ssi?"

This is cruel. To show him what he can't have, what he never had. It's ... Jungkook wants. He wants this. He wants to kneel for Taehyung, for anyone. He wants the ground under his knees and fingers tangled in his hair, petting him. Maybe – Maybe even pulling a little bit. Fuck.

"Jungkook-ssi, are you okay?"

Jungkook blinks, the world blurred before his eyes. He's still shaking his head, a mechanical movement he can't stop.

"Please. Please, don't. Don't do that", Jungkook stammers. He stumbles forward and grabs Taehyung's shoulders, pulling. There's no strength in his arms. He's weak. "Please."

Slowly, Taehyung gets up, and Jungkook never felt more relieved in his life. His knees shake and want to give away underneath him. He doesn't fight it. He slides down, staring at the green grass and Taehyung's shoes right in front of him. The afternoon sun covers everything with golden light. The leather of Taehyung's shoes must be warm, and Jungkook wants to touch.

He closes his eyes and presses his forehead to Taehyung's thigh, glad that he doesn't have to stand any longer. The world is in order. Everything is as it should be, again. When Taehyung's fingers slide into his hair, his thumb stroking the soft skin behind Jungkook's ear, tears spring into his eyes. He knows he doesn't deserve this, but it feels good. So good.

"Jungkook-ssi."

The grip in Jungkook's hair tightens, and Taehyung pulls his head back. Slowly, gently, hard enough to give him security. Their eyes meet.

"Did that scare you?", Taehyung asks.

Swallowing, Jungkook nods.

Taehyung's eyes soften and turn sad, just a little bit. "Sometimes, dominants kneel when they apologize. We do it to break with our dynamic because apologies have nothing to do with that. Apologies are human decency. Subs shouldn't have to worry about who has the power when they're receiving an apology." He pauses, playing with Jungkook's hair. "You don't know these traditions, and you're so deprived of subspace, you react to courtesy with panic. We're trained to handle those situations, but regular doms in the regular world? Not so much. Do you understand why you're here, Jungkook-ssi?"

Sighing, Jungkook presses closer to Taehyung's leg. He doesn't want to understand why he's at the academy. He doesn't want to think about how broken he is.

"Oh, Jungkook-ssi. No. You're not broken."

Taehyung's voice is closer than before, and when Jungkook opens his eyes, Taehyung is kneeling in front of him. He cups Jungkook's face with his big, soft hands.

"Not broken at all. Just a little lost, but we can work with that."

Jungkook snorts and is rewarded by one of Taehyung's glowing, bright boxy grins.

"Come one, let's get back to dinner. The others probably think you murdered me if we take any longer."

Taehyung gets up, offering Jungkook a hand and helping him back on his feet.

"The opposite sounds more realistic", Jungkook murmurs, wiping dirt from his pants. His knees are still a little weak, but nothing he can't handle.

"I'm not so sure about that", Taehyung says.

•••••••••••

Jungkook eats like a starving man. Chicken skewer after chicken skewer disappears into his mouth. They taste so delicious, he can't stop. The others hear him moan for the first time this evening, and he doesn't even care. Let Jihoon and Wontae grin all they want. There's only him and the food. Everything else is unimportant.

It's only now that Jungkook realizes how hard the past days were on him. He's good at suppressing fear and acting like nothing is wrong, but you can't fool your subconscious. The lack of appetite, the sleepless night, the constant stress. He notices how bad it truly was. He was in a constant state of anxiety and panic. It feels like a rock has been lifted from his chest. Taehyung doesn't hate him, nobody hurt him, nobody is angry. It's okay.

As soon as the weight on his shoulders disappeared, the hunger came back full force. He's tired, too. Exhausted. He's cold and shivering, ready to curl up in bed and sleep for eighteen hours straight.

When Jungkook returns his empty plate, Seokjin grabs his wrist, holding him back.

"You look better", he smiles, satisfied. "There's color in your cheeks again. It suits you."

On cue, Jungkook's face heats up. "Uh, thank you."

Seokjin raises a single eyebrow, the smile widening. "Ah, Jungkook-ssi. Thank you, who?"

Jungkook's heart skips a beat. Fuck. "Thank you, um. Thank you, sir", he rushes, looking past Seokjin.

He'll never be able to say something like this while holding eye contact. It's way too embarrassing.

"Rest well tonight", Seokjin says, squeezing his hand. "Tomorrow, we'll talk about your education. Every sub has to follow his own path, and it's about time you start walking down yours."

If Jungkook wasn't as exhausted, this statement would've maybe cost him his sleep. But even a dom's threat can't keep him from passing out this night.

Chapter Text

"Strawberry, Kook-ah?"

Tensing, Jungkook stops picking at his breakfast. He looks up, glaring from under his hood. There's a strawberry floating in front of his nose, behind it a face he doesn't want to see.

Jungkook's not in the mood to deal with Jimin, it's far too early for his shit. On top of that, Jungkook feels sick. He woke up with an uncomfortable pressure in his skull, a dry throat and an upset stomach. It's not nausea caused by anxiety this time. No, it's a very physical feeling, like he ate spoiled food. Almost like he's hungover, if he thinks about it. He's cold too, shivering in the hoodie he dared to throw over his usual attire. He probably looks miserable enough to get away with it.

It's not that bad yet, but bad enough to kill his appetite – and bad enough to glare at Jimin. It was hard to drag himself downstairs into the dining hall, and Jungkook had hoped for a little peace and quiet ... his mistake.

After wrinkling his nose at the offered strawberry, Jungkook lowers his gaze to stare at his massacred croissant. It looks grayish on his plate. Dead. His stomach turns and he swallows a sigh. He has to admit, that was a real nice strawberry, plump and fresh. Looked delicious between Jimin's delicate fingers too, his sharp nails almost piercing the thin, red skin...

Jungkook blinks. There must be something wrong with his head. Like, seriously fucked. Wow. He can't think. Thinking hurts. Frowning, he lifts a hand to massage his temple. Maybe he'll ask Taehyung for some pain killers after breakfast.

"Mhh. You sure?", Jimin asks, and Jungkook hears the smirk in his voice. It's infuriating, sending heat down to the firey pit in his stomach. "You look like you need some sugar, poor bun."

Jungkook grits his teeth. He doesn't know what's worse – that he can't tell if Jimin is genuinely feeling for him or mocking him, or that his body is so desperate for attention that it doesn't even care. It's draining, this tug of war between his brain and his guts. The pet name should insult him, it does insult him, but he's melting all the same. His shoulders relax the slightest bit, pleasant warmth tingling under his skin, scaring away the cold.

He hates it. All of it. Let him freeze in his hoodie in peace.

Looking up and eyeing Jimin's smile, Jungkook recognizes what's the worst thing about this situation. It's the fact that Jimin knows exactly what Jungkook is going through. What he's thinking, feeling. It's obvious to him, and Jungkook wants nothing more than to wipe this stupid grin from off his handsome face.

"Who allowed you to call me that?", Jungkook asks, surprised by how steady his voice sounds. His pulse quickens. He's too confident, isn't he? Just because he hasn't been punished yet, doesn't mean it can't happen. Something is telling him that Jimin is the wrong dom to test.

For now, all Jimin does in response is chuckle. His shoulders shake with it, his eyes scrunched up and bright. There's real amusement in them, and Jungkook's heart stutters.

"Ah, you're cute when you're annoyed, Kook-ah", Jimin says.

Please. Please let him wink now. If he winks, Jungkook will kill him. God, what an obnoxious little snake he is. The thick, sugary sirup that keeps dripping from his tongue is oil to the fire under Jungkook's skin. The more Jimin talks, the more he wants him to shut up.

Jimin leans forward, into Jungkook's personal space, and places the strawberry in a nest of torn croissant on Jungkook's plate. Close. Suddenly, he's so close. It takes Jungkook a moment to lean back and keep his distance, distracted by the soft curve of Jimin's neck; the sweep of his smiling lips. He's so ... dynamic. A body made for movement, smooth and strong.

Jimin's eyes glint with knowledge, and Jungkook wants to slap himself in the face. Glaring at the strawberry like it murdered his first born, he tries to get his face to cool down. No reason to blush, he didn't stare or anything. No, he's just slow because he's sick. That's all. There's nothing about Jimin worth swooning over. Yeah, he's pretty, but so what. Everyone here is. It doesn't make him special.

"Eat the strawberry, Jungkookie", Jimin says, still leaning forward. Still too close to Jungkook. If he'd look up, Jimin's face would only be half an arm's length from his own.

"I'm not hungry", he murmurs, pressing his back to his chair. Anything to get away from Jimin's sweet, hushed words. They give him goosebumps and make him want to swallow the fruit whole. Damn siren.

"I'm not hungry, sir", Jimin corrects. It's hardly more than a whisper, yet the air charges up, heavy like the sky right before lightning strikes. Jungkook can smell the electricity. It prickles on his arms. "And I'm afraid that was an order, not a request. Eat up, baby. C'mon."

Jungkook swallows, his throat dry. It's hard to breathe with the air so thick and loaded. "Not your baby. Sir."

Pride. This conversation takes Jungkook's pride, beats it up and tosses it in the trash. Worse than that, actually. It goes against his dignity. Yes, Jimin is older than him, and a dominant. But he's allowing himself too much, right? Talking like this? It's normal to be upset. Jungkook can't be blamed.

It's not normal that Jungkook's still sitting here, though. He should want to leave – he does want to. His legs are shaking with the desire to get up. But for some reason, he can't. It's like Jimin's syrupy words dripped down his body and hardened, glueing him to his chair. Gently, Jimin untangles the chains holding Jungkook together, taking the control away from him. It would be easy to fall apart under his words. So, so easy.

Jungkook clenches his fists, burying them in his lap. Not just his legs are shaking. Jimin's burning eyes tear him apart from inside out. Soon he'll look like his croissant. Well. Maybe that's karma.

"Yes, you are. My clueless baby, not noticing that he's dropping. What am I saying – you probably don't even know what a drop is." Finally, Jimin sits back again. His voice softens, losing some of it's teasing edge. "Eat, Jungkook-ssi, your hyung asks you to. Pretty please?"

Now that Jimin is on the other side of the table again, it's easier to be brave. He's not sure if Jimin would agree that 'brave' is the right word to describe his behaviour, but they're not on the same page on a lot of things. "What if I don't?"

Maybe they do agree that he's sounding like a rebellious toddler, fighting with his dad because he doesn't want to have breakfast. Well, Jimin isn't his father and he isn't a child, and if he doesn't want to eat the strawberry, he won't. Thank you very much. Bodily autonomy and such.

Yes, that's right. Jungkook crosses his arms, frowning at Jimin. They can't make him do shit. There's no game if he refuses to play. "Will you – slap me, or something? Beat me? Punish me?"

Jimin rolls his eyes, his lips twitching. "You would like that, Kookie, wouldn't you? Getting a hard spanking in the dining hall – a nice audience right here to pity you. Poor bunny. Tears in his eyes, ass red and hot. Terrible. I bet you would fight me a little, ah? Just because it feels good, not because you think you'd win."

Jimin chuckles. A quiet, sweet sound, rows of perfect white teeth showing.

If Jungkook could take back what he said, he would. He stares at Jimin, blood rising to his face. All his muscles are tense, as if that would make him invisible. Disappearing would be great right now.

The image won't leave his brain. Him, across Jimin's thick thighs, his shorts and underwear pulled down, revealing his bare ass. Jimin's hand coming down, the rings he's wearing biting into Jungkook's flesh. His other hand tangled in Jungkook's hair, pulling when he squirms. And everybody’s eyes. God, the eyes, all focused on him. Would his face be just as red as it is now? Would the embarrassment be the same as it's now, or a different kind? A deeper kind, reaching through his chest to pull the flesh from his bones, making him light enough to float away. Float under Jimin's warm hands, safe between his palms and his lap.

He gets it, then. The idea alone is a punishment. Jungkook was disrespectful, so Jimin let his dirty mouth run, planting images in his mind. Images that make him feel a lot – feelings he's not ready for. Feelings tied to shame.

It's working, too. Jungkook wishes he could vanish into thin air, his skin thin and tight. For a moment, he's dizzy. God, Jimin is terryfing.

"No, I won't slap you", Jimin chuckles – his voice sweet as ever, as if it was never sharp enough to cut into Jungkook's skull. "But I might go over to Taehyung and tell him your kneeling action yesterday was too much for you to handle... He'll be worried, of course. Coddling you the whole day, feeding you by hand, praising you, having you kneel by his side... Taking care of his dropping sub."

This threat is almost worse than the last one. It feels closer, realistic, like Jimin means it. He doesn't just say it to embarrass Jungkook, he's serious behind all the smiling and teasing.

Jungkook wants to ask what a drop is. The question sits on the tip of his tongue, coming up again and again, but he swallows it down. Jimin would laugh at him, if he knew that Jungkook truly doesn't have a clue. He thought he knew, but his idea of 'dropping' has to be false if that's what he's going through. Dropping happens to subs who are neglected after hard scenes with pain, he thought. Surprisingly, he wasn't hurt yet. So how could he be dropping?

He's not even feeling that horrible. Still a little hungover, but the nausea has gotten better. Strangely, his conversation with Jimin seems to have helped. It's the adrenaline of being humiliated and threatened again and again. Jungkook is sure of it, what else could make him feel better?

Jungkook definitely isn't ill enough to be happy about Taehyung coddling him the whole day. No, thanks. The more distance between the doms and him, the better. And kneeling, here? In the dining hall? Might be normal for other subs, but sure as hell not for Jungkook. Kneeling should be reserved for the bedroom, if even. It's bad enough that he did it yesterday. Outside, out of all places. In public. His parents would be ashamed.

Excepting his fate, Jungkook picks up the strawberry, eyeing it like it'll bite him. Quite the other way around, Jungkook stuffs it into his mouth, chewing without tasting anything. Well, he tries. The sweet, sour flavour spreads on his tongue, strawberry juice flooding his mouth.

He suppresses a moan and glares at Jimin, silently daring him to say something. Yeah, so what if he ate it. If it spares him a worried Taehyung sticking to his side, fuck his bodily autonomy. It's just a strawberry, no big deal. He's not a loser. No.

For the first time this morning, the teasing undertone melts out of Jimin's smile. It's warm and proud, silent praise playing on his lips.

Jungkook can't take it. His insides shake, heart stumbling. The strawberry tastes so much sweeter all of a sudden. He swallows heavily. It's the same kind of look Taehyung gave him before – after the examination, when he ate the stupid candy. His face burns up thinking about it. He kind of suppressed the memory, and he wants it to stay that way.

When doms look at him like this, it feels real. It's not an act, different from all their teasing. They look at Jungkook with honest pride, and it's ... confusing. Too much. Jungkook doesn't want to see it.

"Will we have to fight you on every little thing like this?", Jimin asks, watching Jungkook’s jaws work as he eats. He supports his chin on his interlaced fingers, eyebrows raising.

Jungkook throws him another long glare, wiping his sticky fingers on his trousers. It’s useless. The sweet, sugary juice is there to stay. Jungkook can tell it won’t leave him alone for quite a while.

••••••••••••

Jimin still tells Taehyung, because of course he does. It’s a disgusting, filthy betrayal, but at least Taehyung isn’t as overbearing as Jimin predicted – threatened, rather. It was just a tactical move to scare Jungkook, and the more he thinks about that, the more he's afraid of Jimin.

Taehyung comes over with a huge glass of Seokjin’s home made lemonade. It’s refreshing with a pleasant minty touch, and Jungkook only realizes how thirsty he is when he drinks.

Taehyung stands behind him, sliding his long, warm fingers into Jungkook‘s hair, making him shiver. The coldness melts out of his bones, dripping down his back like summer rain.

It’s scary how okay Jungkook is with Taehyung’s touch. It takes him a moment to realize that he should be protesting, distracted by the gentle pressure of Taehyung’s fingertips massaging his scalp. Sometimes he uses his sharp fingernails to scratch a little, and Jungkook can’t swallow a pleased sigh.

"You’re okay, Jungkook-ssi", Taehyung murmurs, mussing up Jungkook‘s hair before pulling his hands away.

For one delirious second, Jungkook wants to protest. He bites his lip, hard. Enough. What is wrong with him? He isn’t a damn cat. This should be disturbing. He should hate Taehyung’s touch – the touch of a stranger. A dom who plans on breaking him.

"You’re dropping."

Jungkook looks up, frowning. He takes another sip of his lemonade, trying to wash the disappointment of having lost Taehyung's gentle touch away.

Taehyung smiles mildly. "You’re dropping", he repeats. "You’ll be back to normal in no time, don’t worry. It’s a mild drop. A tiny, tiny raindrop disturbing the surface of your mind."

"How can I be dropping?" Jungkook's heart hammers against his chest. At least Taehyung already knows how clueless he his. No reason to be embarrassed, Jungkook supposes. He still is. "We didn’t – we didn’t even do anything."

"Oh, but we did", Taehyung hums, playing with the longer strands of Jungkook’s hair. The nerve cells of his scalp are rejoicing. "You knelt for me. That’s the first time ever that you gave into submission."

The first time he gave into submission. The first time he knelt, for anyone. He lowered himself, got into a position that strips him of power, handing it over to Taehyung. Nobody forced him, either, even Jungkook can't pretend they did. No. No, he did it out of free will.

Jungkook’s stomach drops to his feet. He is a loser. He lost, just yesterday. The moment he was vulnerable with a dom, they won. It’s over. Now he’ll never convince them that he doesn’t need this – that he doesn’t need submission. His body went into autopilot and decided what it craved, more than anything, was Taehyung's dominance. He clenches his jaw and fists, a hard, tight ball sitting in his guts.

"You were so stressed, the kneeling was actually the first symptom of your drop", Taehyung continues. "I don't think you would've kneeled if you, uh ... were in your right mind. Correct me if I'm wrong."

Taehyung says it like it should reassure Jungkook. It doesn't. The fact that he was driven by panic and instinct makes it so much worse. He felt threatened, and this is what he decided to do. This is what brought himself comfort when he was vulnerable – sitting at Taehyung's feet.

"Jungkook-ssi, you know you can safeword, right?"

Blinking, Jungkook tips his head back and glances at Taehyung's face. He's glad to rejoin the conversation, maybe the gaping hole in his stomach will hurt less when he's distracted.

"Red rooms are not the only way to stop things. The word alone is what protects you. Call 'red' and there won't be a punishment."

Huh. Jungkook thought Taehyung was done bullshitting him, but here we are. As much plays out on his face, because Taehyung continues.

"I don't want you to kneel because you're scared out of your mind, dropping, I want you to kneel out of free will." Gently, Taehyung taps his forehead. "Because you think to yourself – yes, that Taehyung-guy is a good man. I trust him, he deserves the privilege to have me at his feet."

Jungkook chooses to ignore the pleasant, small power surges traveling down his body everytime Taehyung's pointer finger collides with his skin. The way his heart flutters and his cheeks redden when Taehyung describes his submission as a privilege is not acknowledged either. "What has that to do with anything?"

"Ah." Taehyung hums, nodding. "Well. I can avoid you getting scared through communication, but we can only communicate if you don't run away." He smiles, squeezing Jungkook's shoulders. "Next time you're pissed, shove me against a wall and scream 'red' into my face. Doesn't even matter if there's no real submisson happening, just use it to signal distress if it's easier that way. I'd rather you safeword out of nowhere than disappear for days."

A tiny spark of guilt lights up in Jungkook's stomach, and it's hard to return Taehyung's look. ... Yeah, it was a stupid move to run away. Jungkook knows, okay? There's a reason he thought he'd get punished. Maybe a small part of him thinks he would've deserved that.

Jungkook swallows. Oh, wow. Not a thought he's ready to dwell on.

"Okay?", Taehyung asks, his eyes piercing Jungkook's head, searching his mind. "Red."

Jungkook sighs. "Like blood", he murmurs, but gives a curt nod.

It's surprising, how logical Taehyung thinks, and how simple everything appears when he explains it. He just doesn't seem like the analytic type. With his dreamy eyes and twisted humor, he has more of a lost artist vibe to him. Well, there has to be a reason why he managed to become a doctor this young. There's more to Taehyung than he lets on.

Actually, there's more to all of them. Namjoon has been scary from the get-go, same with Yoongi. Then the talks Jungkook had with Jimin and Taehyung today ... He has a feeling Seokjin and Hoseok won't dissappoint either. They're all smart, experienced and eager to break Jungkook.

Jungkook might not be able to avoid going down the rabbit hole, after all, but he sure as hell will keep as much control as possible. If he has any left, that is.

Chapter Text

It's strange to sit in Namjoon's office again. The room is all the same – the same desk, armchairs, bookcases, walls, windows. The same red maple trees outside, resisting brisk autumn wind. Yet it feels different to Jungkook.

He shifts in his seat, grip tightening around his cup of tea. His stomach churns. Maybe it's not the office that has changed, but him. The environment of a person has the habit to sink into their skin, influencing the very way they perceive life. Control the environment to control the people. The submissives. The slaves.

Jungkook stares out of the window, watching bright red treetops sway.

Red. Safewording. It's all too good to be true. Jungkook hasn't even consented to being here in the first place. The government forced this "education" upon him just because there aren't any dominants in his close family – his family, who isn't on his side either and supports him being at Shinamu academy. Clearly, his opinion does not matter. Nobody cares.

The most worrying thing is that he's starting to believe them, he can't deny that. There's a spark of doubt sitting hot in his belly, bothering him. In the back of his head, the talk about his health with Taehyung has been replaying non-stop the past days. He tries to ignore it, too scared to even think about it. He tries and tries, but sometimes, a wave of anxiety manages to break the dam. Then it hits him, full force.

What if?

What if it makes too much sense? What if he's sick. What if the burning of his muscles after a hard work-out is a coping mechanism for him, not just a rewarding feeling he craves? what if his parents are wrong and dynamics do matter? Why would they support sending him here if they believed their own words? More importantly, if Taehyung speaks the truth, are they okay? Jungkook's parents are both subs. Are they dealing with the same thing he is? With the same ... neglect, coping-mechanisms, dangers?

Jungkook sighs, his chest quivering. He can't stop frowning. He can't stop wondering. It's dangerous – him, wondering. He doesn't like the conclusion he could end up with. So, what is it, Jungkook? Is it this place, these people? Or is it you? Is it biology?

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Blinking, Jungkook looks at Namjoon. He's leaning against the wall between two windows, ankles crossed, sipping his steaming tea. He's wearing a big, comfortable cardigan over a black turtleneck. His hair his unstyled and soft, his glasses sitting low on his nose. The desire to push them back up makes Jungkook's fingers itch.

Soft. He looks soft, and it's tearing Jungkook apart. It should feel like an act, a way to fool Jungkook into trusting him, but it doesn't. It feels like ... Namjoon. Like truth. Warm, honest, messy. A cozy morning, candid.

Are they that amazing at telling lies, at pretending, or is Jungkook losing his mind? God. He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything anymore. It's confusing.

"I'm confused", Jungkook responds, murmuring. He nods, letting his gaze drift off. Yeah. Yeah, he's confused.

Namjoon hums. "I can imagine."

"I don't – I'm not sure, anymore." The tip of Jungkook's pointer finger taps his porcelain cup in a rhythm. Tap, tap, tap. "Me. My – My parents. This. The academy. Subs, doms, dynamics ... I just. I don't know."

"You're forgetting to breathe, Jungkook-ssi", Namjoon interjects. Not more than an innocent reminder. No order, no pressure.

Namjoon puts his cup down, placing it on his desk, and walks over like he has all the time in the world. Calm. Namjoon is calm, his attentive eyes focused on Jungkook, pulling him in.

Jungkook sucks in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Right, breathing. He should keep doing that. Not bad advice.

When he's standing next to Jungkook, Namjoon starts to lower himself, and Jungkook tenses, alarmed. His mind jumps back to Taehyung, to the horrible feeling when he was kneeling for Jungkook.

He's about to protest, mouth popping open, but before a sound can leave him, Namjoon stops, kneeling on one knee so that he's just below eye level with the sitting Jungkook. Neutral territory, not a gesture submissive enough to be unsettling for Jungkook.

Jungkook closes his mouth, relaxing into the armchair. His heart calms down and he breathes. Still a little wary, however, Jungkook keeps his eyes glued on Namjoon.

"I know the first week here was tough on you. Nothing went as it should have", Namjoon says, his eyes serious, but warm. "We can't always prevent a stay from unfolding this way, unfortunately. The worst thing we could do to a sub who feels threatened is pushing our dominance and guidance onto him.

"We don't approach dynamics with force – not ever – and in some cases, the best we can do is prove that by giving the sub as much space as possible. That is what you needed in the beginning. If guidance is what you need now, we will give it to you. You're not alone in this, Jungkook-ssi. Let us help."

Help. Help how? Is this it – the point where the real program starts? Where they get the whips and chains and collars? Jungkook's mouth dries out, his heart throbbing. He hears the trap snapping shut. The sound echoes in his skull, vibrating through his bones, making him sweat. Once more, the urge to flee Namjoon's office overcomes him. He shakes his head, cramping up. "No, I – I don't know. No."

"Okay, easy", Namjoon murmurs, frowning. Jungkook wishes the worry in his eyes wouldn't feel as sincere as it does. "We will offer answers to your questions. Offer, Jungkook-ssi. You can decide for yourself if you believe what we tell you. We encourage you to do your own research and confront us with facts you deem untrue. The best education springs from dialog."

The office air is stuffy in Jungkook's nose. His mind is on an endless carousel ride. It's hard to pick out individual thoughts. Nothing makes sense anymore.

There's no way Namjoon means that. No way. If you want to brainwash someone, you don't offer them tools to figure out things on their own. How would that work? No sense. It makes no sense.

Namjoon gets up and walks over to his desk. "I think structure would do you good. I know you still don't trust us, but at least you don't think we will murder you the next second. That's progress."

Okay, when he says it like that, it sounds ... bad. Jungkook never thought they would murder him, that's a little much. Maybe. Or maybe not. Yes, there might've been a time where he wouldn't have ruled out the possibility.

Now, Jungkook can't imagine it. If he tries to picture Taehyung hurting him, severely hurting him, it ... no. The same Taehyung who earned his trust on his second day and kneeled for him when he lost it. The same Taehyung who gives him candy and plays with his hair when he feels bad. Namjoon with his oversized cardigans; Yoongi who whines for coffee every morning; Seokjin who makes inappropriate jokes and cooks for them. Hoseok with his warm smile. Even Jimin, who feeds him strawberries and notices that he's dropping before anyone else does.

It's naive and stupid, but Jungkook can't see them torturing him. Not like that. Not on purpose, at least. They believe they're helping Jungkook – even if they don't. If nothing else is, their intentions are good.

Progress, huh? Jungkook wants to laugh. This is insane.

Namjoon slides a document into his field of view. "Our program is split into three parts", Namjoon explains, sitting down in the armchair across from Jungkook. "There's the hands-on part, which surely worries you the most. It consists of scenes and play, active submission and domination, and is more than simply teaching. It’s vital to your health as a sub."

Jungkook glances up, gulping. Yeah, Namjoon can bet he is worried. No, thanks.

"Then there's the theoretical part. We offer a number of courses the submissives can attend. Treat your assigned courses like classes – you have to show up. The rest of the courses are voluntary.”

Jungkook picks up the paper, scanning. Three of the listed courses have a little cross next to them.

Biology Behind Dynamics – Tuesday, 10 am, Kim Taehyung
Power structures within society then and now – Tuesday, 11 am, Kim Namjoon
Safety and etiquette 1O1 – Thursday, 6 pm, Min Yoongi

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jungkook admits to himself that the list is quite reasonable. He's even curious to hear what the doms have to say. Maybe, just maybe, things will make more sense if he learns. If Namjoon told the truth, he can always decide that they're teaching him bullshit, anyway. Though that is a rather big ‘if’. For now, Jungkook will cling to his skepticism.

All the other courses are a big fat NO from Jungkook. History of Japanese rope bondage; the dos and don’ts of impact play; a safety guide to edgeplay; the sadomasochistic hang-out; role reversal ...

Wait. Role reversal by Lee Jihoon? Jungkook frowns. What? Jihoon is conducting a course? Going over the list again, Jungkook spots several names he doesn't know. But that means some courses are led by submissives. Huh. Interesting.

"Another important part of our program is the normal, day-to-day life between submissives and dominants", Namjoon continues and Jungkook looks up again. "Next to the front door hangs a bulletin board. You'll find lists with different responsibilities you can choose from pinned to it. Every week, the lists are cleared, and you can switch your chores if you want to."

Jungkook nods, folding the document in half. That makes sense. He already saw subs helping in the kitchen.

"About the practical part of our program", Namjoon says, and Jungkook freezes. "I'm sure we’ll find a solution we all can live with. Don't you think so, Jungkook-ssi?"

••••••••••

Napping is a dangerous activity at Shinamu academy, Jungkook learns. After his talk with Namjoon, he decides to use his last day without classes, chores or God knows what to squeeze in a couple of hours of rest. His bed may be the most comfortable sleeping place he’s ever had in his life – another addition to the list of things he’ll miss when he’s home again, together with the food. It’s an enormous list of exactly two bullet points. Jungkook doesn’t expect it to grow much longer.

He falls asleep seconds after hitting the mattress, melting into his pillows, drooling a little. Between being away from home for weeks, being told something is wrong with him, and being in a state of constant, mind-numbing anxiety that he’ll get punished for breathing alone, Jungkook is exhausted every minute of the day. Exhausted and sleepless, so every nap is a blessing.

When he startles awake, he thinks that he woke up from his own deafening snoring for one delirious second, but the noise repeats itself now that he’s up, loud and rhythmical. Blinking, Jungkook sits up, trying to remember where he is. Who he is.

There’s the noise again, even louder, and Jungkook feels hot and cold at the same time when he realizes that someone is knocking on his door – that someone has been knocking on his door for quite some time now, probably.

Tensing, he jumps out of bed, the world swaying for a moment. He stumbles over and grabs the door handle, opening up. “Uh, yeah? What’s – is something wrong?”

A fist freezes before Jungkook mid-air and is then being lowered. Hoseok takes a step back, seizing him up. “Sleeping off your drop?”

“Uh.” Jungkook glances down, remembering that he’s wearing an old Overwatch shirt and ancient boxers hanging low on his hips. With his ears heating up, he covers himself with the door, D.Va peeking out behind it, winking at Hoseok. “Uh, yes. I guess.”

Hoseok keeps looking, a quiet smile on his face, his eyebrows climbing their way up his forehead as he takes Jungkook in. “I thought you might be interested in being my running partner for today.”

Rubbing his eyes, Jungkook shakes himself awake. Hoseok. Running partner. Yes, now that Hoseok mentions it, Jungkook notices the trainers he’s wearing. Tight shorts, too, hugging his … impressive thighs. Jungkook swallows, rushing to look up again, ignoring Hoseok’s smirk.

“Get dressed, ah, Jungkook-ssi?”, Hoseok smiles. “I’ll wait, take your time.”

Nodding, Jungkook shuts the door, slamming it closed in front of Hoseok’s nose. He turns, staring into his room. Running, now. Okay?

Shaking his head, he pulls his shirt over his head and grabs a fresh one – loose, white, the usual. The thing he should be wearing, together with the gray shorts he’s stepping into. Jungkook glances at the crumpled-up D.Va on the ground, judging him. He grimaces, combing his hair with his fingers. Well, he’ll see if Hoseok will give him shit for not wearing the uniform. What rule is that, again? Rule one? Great.

Sighing, Jungkook grabs his running shoes and puts them on, his heart throbbing. He’s breathless from one lousy encounter, how is he supposed to do sports with Hoseok? Smoothing out his shirt, Jungkook gets ready to face him for a longer period of time. One deep breath in, then out again. He can do it. They have to deem him “fixed”, or however they want to call it, and for that to happen he has to tolerate their presence. Hoseok just wants to run. Just running.

When Jungkook steps out into the hallway, Hoseok is leaning at the wall across from him, his arms crossed. Again, he takes Jungkook in, a glint in his eyes. “Perfect.”

Jungkook’s stomach twists, his ears flaming up. Running. Just running. He avoids Hoseok’s eyes, absently scratching his upper arm, right where Taehyung took his blood what feels like an eternity ago.

Perfect. Good boy. Thank you. They say this stuff far too often around Jungkook. It’s neither true nor deserved, empty phrases to emphasize the power imbalance between them. Jungkook wishes it wouldn’t bother him as it does – it’s impossible to keep his cool when they … well, praise him. That’s it, isn’t it? Praise. Things doms tell subs to make them feel safe. Lies.

Hoseok claps his hands, making Jungkook flinch out of his thoughts. Fuck.

“Let’s go”, Hoseok says, pushing off the wall and walking down the hallway, looking at Jungkook expectantly.

••••••••••

The icy air burns its way down Jungkook’s windpipe into his lungs, biting and raging like cold fire. It nests in his chest, flaring up with every breath he takes, the oxygen feeding not only his body but also the flames. The fire in his lungs, the fire in his legs.

His feet are getting heavier each time he lifts them and puts them to the ground again, pushing himself off the muddy path leading around the academy building. The path is rough and narrow, leading up and down, through the meadow and between trees. It’s uneven and wet, treating Jungkook like an enemy. An untamed, wild horse that wants to throw him off.

Jungkook furrows his brows, clenches his jaws, and gets his teeth into it. He bites down as hard as he can, refusing to let go. He won’t be thrown to the ground, he will resist, taming the wild horse, overcoming his weaker self. Just one more step. One more. One more.

Hoseok’s back is in front of him at all times, his shoulder blades moving with his arms, his feet moving together with Jungkook’s own, a steady beat. They will beat this path, form it with the rhythm of their running.

“Last round”, Hoseok calls, his breath turning into clouds before his face. “C’mon, Kook-ssi, one more. One.”

He nods, even though he knows Hoseok can’t see it. He has no strength left to speak, using all his energy to keep breathing, keep moving. Stay in the rhythm, Jungkook. Keep the pace.

Tunnel vision takes over Jungkook. The only thing he sees is Hoseok’s back, working under his shirt. His muscles expanding and contracting, twisting, supporting him. Keeping him upright, strong, and relentless. Around them, maple trees turn into grass, gravel turns into mud again. Sweat drips into Jungkook’s eyes, his vision blurry, the taste of metal on his tongue.

“Final spurt!”, Hoseok yells, speeding up. “Let’s go, Kook-ssi, show me what you’ve got!”

Hoseok runs faster, falling out of their rhythm. More, more, more.

Panting, Jungkook thinks about the misunderstanding with Taehyung. The fear that drove him into the red room, the panic that held him hostage there. The way Park Jimin looks at him, disrespecting him with his stupid smirk. He thinks about the collar that is missing around his throat, the praise that burns under his skin, the fact that he’s sick. Unwell. Clueless. Dependent on people he doesn’t trust.

Groaning, he runs. Faster, harder. More, more, more. Then, it’s done.

He slows down and stumbles into breathless pacing, holding his side as his face twists into a grimace. Fuck, Hoseok is brutal. Maybe they want to kill Jungkook, after all.

For a few minutes, all they do is walk around, breathing. In, out, the air turning white around them. The fire in Jungkook’s body dies down. First, heavy exhaustion drags him down, stones tied to his claves. After a while, all that is left is a wonderful sense of lightness. As if he’ll float away if he does so much as jump. He puts his head back, staring into the blue sky, enjoying the cold air on his damp skin. When he looks at Hoseok, he is grinning, and Jungkook can’t help the wild smile that parts his lips, showing his teeth.

“That was great”, Hoseok says, hands on his knees, chest expanding with deep breaths.

Licking his dry lips, Jungkook nods. It’s addicting. The adrenaline, the movement. The bright spark in Hoseok’s eyes and smile.

“C’mon, let’s go inside before we catch a cold.” Hoseok straightens up, nodding towards the back door they stopped at.

They enter, and while Jungkook slides the glass door shut again, standing in the deserted dining hall, Hoseok disappears into the kitchen, returning with two huge bottles of water. Grateful, Jungkook takes one from him, unscrewing the cap and drinking in big gulps. The embers in his guts burn out with a hiss.

“Thank you”, Jungkook says after putting the now half-empty bottle down, wiping his mouth. “That was good.”

Hoseok puts his bottle on one of the tables, leaning against it. “The water or the run?”

The grin blossoms on Jungkook’s lips again. He can’t help it, and he doesn’t even think about fighting it. That’s what a good run does to him – the world seems a whole lot less intimidating.

“Both.” He nods. “Yeah, both. Thanks, Hoseok-ssi.”

“Just hyung”, Hoseok smiles. “I’m glad you joined me today. Ah, it’s my pleasure, Kook, really.”

Smiling to himself, Jungkook rotates the bottle between his fingers, staring at it. Hyung. That’s not so bad, he guesses. All there is to it is that Jungkook has to remember that it’s also Hoseok’s title. Calling him hyung is equally as weak as calling Namjoon Sir. It’s the same situation, the only difference is that ‘hyung’ is familiar. Easy, and therefore dangerous. Jungkook can’t forget where he is and who he is dealing with. Nothing happens without intention.

Nothing. He swallows his smile, shifting on his feet. Hoseok’s eyes on him start to make him uncomfortable, like he’s being more than watched. Examined, maybe.

“Why, um. Why did you choose me as a running partner, hyung?”, Jungkook asks, his throat dry. He grabs the bottle again, unscrewing it with cold fingers, not looking at Hoseok.

“Oh, a few reasons”, Hoseok says, stretching his arms over his head, rolling his shoulders. “You are new, and you don’t trust me. I want to get to know you better. You seem like a man who enjoys going for a run every now and then. I was curious to see how much stamina you got.” He pauses. “And we need to figure out what your coping mechanisms are – taxing sport and stretching are quite popular among subs, and I’m good at guessing. Always have been.”

Jungkook drinks slowly, letting the water stream down his throat. He squeezes the bottle, his stomach fluttering. It’s hard to swallow. His body feels tight and hot, his ears burning. They break through his walls like it is nothing, they see what he didn’t even notice on his own. Is he truly that obvious? That easy to catch him, figure him out?

“Did I guess right?”, Hoseok asks casually, taking a step towards Jungkook.

Jungkook presses against the table, pulling the bottle from his lips. He freezes, face red. “Uh.” Maybe. Probably.

“You just keep running with me, Kook-ah.” Hoseok reaches out, gently bumping Jungkook’s shoulder, ignoring his ever so slight jumping. “You just run with me, and if you sink into subspace, you sink. If not, you don’t. Don’t think, yeah? Just run with me.”

Wide-eyed, Jungkook stares. Running. One more step, that’s all it takes. One more, their feet conquering the path in front of them, together. His heart racing, Jungkook’s head twitches into a nod. Yeah. He’ll run.

“Cool”, Hoseok grins, giving him a cheesy thumbs-up that almost makes Jungkook smile despite his frozen body and sweaty hands. “Let’s stretch, then.”

Chapter Text

With fall comes bad weather. The sky is overcast, hanging low and heavy above the institution, the air humid and freezing. Tiny, frizzling raindrops are falling at all times, giving the ground no chance to dry. The paths surrounding the academy building are muddy, caked in dirt, and although nobody enters the house with their outside-shoes on, the filth finds its way inside.

Jungkook laughs, recalling his first walk through the academy as he spins the cleaning water off his mop. I hope they tip their cleaners well, he thought back then, impressed by the polished wooden floors, spotless windows, dust free chandeliers. Chuckling, he shakes his head. Yeah, he knew nothing back then. Nothing about this place.

He grabs his bucket, carrying it over to the closest bathroom to change out the water. Watching the brown, greyish slush go down the drain is satisfying – proof that his work isn’t for nothing. All that dirt is no longer insulting the house. Beautiful.

Cleaning is nowhere near the worst chore Jungkook could’ve ended up with, and he’s still wondering why it’s one of the few job-lists not overflowing with entries. Helping in the kitchen is most popular, names scribbled sideways on the list, the letters tiny and pressed. Some of the chores Jungkook doesn’t even understand, like “spotting” or “rope-maintenance”, but they’re only for “experienced submissives” anyway and if one thing is clear, it’s that he’s the opposite of that particular requirement.

Good that he doesn’t mind being late to the party, most chores fully assigned. Cleaning is fine. Honest, hard work. Best of all: He’s left alone while doing his job, nobody having to give him extensive instructions. Just “please dust the chandeliers today, Jungkook-ssi” or “we need you to help with the laundry”. Easy. Yes, he’s more than happy to leave the kitchen work to men who are eager to jump at Seokjin’s every command. Boys who are eager, really. Seokjin probably calls them that, right? Boys. Jungkook grimaces, deciding to stop thinking about Seokjin.

Deciding to stop thinking all together, as best as he can. The work is simple enough for him to let his mind wander, aimless thoughts blurring into a pleasant, flowing river. He hums, rinsing the bucket, then filling it with clean, hot water. A few drops of liquid soap and he’s good to go, his arm muscles straining as he lifts the bucket, the mop in his other hand.

He walks slowly out of the bathroom, drags himself down the hall, rounds the corner – and almost drops everything in his hands. Jungkook freezes, water splashing over the edge of the bucket, tickling down its side and onto the wooden floor.

There’s – There’s someone kneeling in front of him, a tiny rag in his hands, a bucket by his side. He’s scrubbing an area that can’t be much bigger than Jungkook’s palm, looking up when Jungkook slams on the breaks. His hands stop, squeezing the damp cloth.

The sub is wearing – well. He’s wearing a maid outfit. Costume. The sub is wearing a full maid costume. Black tights, short dress, apron, frilly headpiece and all. Heels, too. Shiny black heels, stilettos. Jungkook is pretty sure he could poke out an eye with those. Not that he could move fast enough to do that, though, his lower legs tied together with snug, white rope.

They turn red at the same time, and Jungkook carefully lowers his bucket to the ground, heart pounding. He looks around, but they're alone, nobody but them in the hallway. Okay. He breathes against the dizziness that overcomes him, aware that he’s staring. Okay. This is fine, this is … fine.

The sub clears his throat and sits up. His dress rides up, exposing his knees, then the bottom half of his milky thighs and Jungkook – well, perhaps Jungkook is thinking about what he’s wearing underneath that dress, but he doesn’t want to actually know, he doesn’t. Not at all. Nope.

“Uh”, the sub says, wringing his hands. “You’re … Jungkook?”

Jungkook blinks, caught off-guard. He knows his name. Okay. Why does he know Jungkook's name? That means he's sitting in Jungkook's hallway on purpose, and that he's most likely been sent here. To Jungkook.

Jungkook inhales sharply, tensing. He needs an explanation, a reason, something to work with before he turns and walks straight back to his room.

Gulping, he wills himself to calm down. Slow down.

It’s not like he can just shoo the sub away and forget all about this. The boy’s legs are tied, and Jungkook would’ve to touch him to untie the rope. That's not an option. He won’t do that, it would be far too invasive. More invasive than tying him in the first place? Jungkook's head is spinning.

“Yes”, he finally responds, but it sounds like a question. He coughs, cheeks tight and red. Get it together, Jungkook. Goddamn. “I mean, yes. Yeah. I’m Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook ...”

His words fade into nothing, tongue lame in his mouth. Nice to meet you, he thinks, but that doesn't sound like an appropriate thing to say. Nothing sounds appropriate to say, everything that comes to mind too forced and awkward. Way, way too awkward.

Jungkook throws a quick glance over his shoulder, but still, they're alone. Okay. That's good.

“I’m Don Daewon”, Daewon replies, hands folded in his lap. He bows his head, appearing strangely in control despite his red face and … unfortunate situation. He appears eerily calm. “Sorry to bother you like this, Jungkook-ssi.”

He better be. Here Jungkook was, following up on his chores in peace, and now – now it’s destroyed, some random man sitting in his way, barely any help with that small rag of his. If that’s not annoying, Jungkook doesn’t know what is.

He only wishes he’d actually feel as irritated as he should be. All Jungkook can do is stare, head empty, face red and tight.

“No – No problem”, Jungkook stutters, fingers damp around the handle of his mop. “But – ah. Can I ask who … um, why you’re … I mean … yeah.”

Daewon shifts on his knees, red to the tip of his nose, and Jungkook wishes he could take back the question.

“I'm being punished.”

“Why?”, it bursts out of Jungkook, his heart pounding. He squeezes his mop, throat dry, stomach queasy. His guts twist and turn inside of him, curling up at the question.

Why is he asking? It's none of his business, he doesn't care. He shouldn't care, but he does. He has to know what Daewon did to justify this – has to know so he can avoid doing that very thing at all costs.

Jungkook tries to get the picture out of his mind. Himself wearing the dress, sitting in the hallway, legs tied so he can't run, for everybody to see who passes him. He shivers, paling. No. No, he doesn't want that. Please.

Daewon avoids his eyes, glancing to the side and grimacing, then smiling awkwardly. “I lied to Jimin. I – well. I didn’t communicate what I wanted from him, as a sub. I was too … embarrassed.”

If he wanted to walk around like this, he’d be embarrassed too, Jungkook thinks. Of course, he would never say that out loud and to Daewon's face. That would be horrible. Mean. He has no reason to make the situation worse for Daewon by spelling out the obvious, so Jungkook just nods even though he'll never understand. His skin burns up just looking at Daewon, he barely stands his sight.

“Jimin will check on me, so don’t startle if he shows up”, Daewon warns. “He also said you would help me. I can’t really … I can’t really get new water. Like this.” He looks back at his tied legs, then at Jungkook, a silent apology in his brown bambi eyes. "I mean, I guess I could shuffle or crawl, but –".

"No!", Jungkook interrupts, the image of Daewon struggling to drag himself to the bathroom leaving him dizzy. The picture is vivid in his mind; Daewon's strained noises, the bulging of his arms as he moves the weight of his body, pulling the bucket along, desperate to keep the dirty water from spilling. "No, I'll do it for you, I'll bring you fresh water. No – No problem."

Daewon nods, twisting the cloth around his finger. "Thank you."

Mirroring his nod, Jungkook bites his lip. How is this supposed to work? He's much quicker with the mop than Daewon with his tiny cloth. If he's not careful, Daewon will be left with nothing to do, and that would be horrible. He would just … sit there, in his little outfit and shiny heels. The thought makes Jungkook's skin crawl.

Jimin would be mad, too. He intended for Daewon to clean, as much is obvious. Jungkook doesn't get this whole thing, doesn't want to get it, but even he realizes that doing the job on his own would piss Jimin off. Something he's set on avoiding.

Not that he's scared of Jimin, of course not, but … He thinks back to the dining hall, strawberry juice running over Jimin's fingers, and shivers. Yeah, he still wants to avoid him for as long as he can. Bad enough that he'll come to check on Daewon.

Jungkook decides to leave part of the hallway to Daewon entirely, ignoring the narrow lane he's working on, scrubbing the floor with admirable effort. Every time Jungkook glances at him he's busy, a deep frown between his eyebrows.

He's never catching his breath, working as if he gets paid money to save his first born from starvation, and Jungkook doesn't get it. Jimin isn't supervising him, there's nobody here besides Jungkook.

Is he – Does he think Jungkook will tell on him if he's slacking? Jungkook grimaces, tiny needles pricking his heart. Is this why Jimin sent Daewon to him in the first place? He grabs the mop and scrubs harder. As if he'd ever do that, he's no snitch. Daewon is a fellow sub, whatever that means, and Jungkook would never betray someone who shares his unfortunate destiny. Biology. Whatever. Who would ever think that?

There's something off about Daewon, anyway. Well, something besides the dress and shoes and rope. He doesn't fit into Jungkook's perception of a submissive. Something about him is different, and he can't help but glance over at Daewon every now and then.

Maybe it's the missing uniform. Yes, that makes sense, Jungkook has only ever seen subs wearing white and grey in the academy. It's the whole outfit situation. Jungkook can't get over the missing uniform and the missing –

The missing collar. Daewon scratches his neck, his bare neck, rolling his shoulders, and Jungkook freezes, hot and cold at the same time.

His breathing stops, his heartbeat heavy in his chest. It's the first time he meets a sub with no collar in the academy. No collar, just like himself. All bare and unmarked. Unclaimed.

Jungkook's fingers itch. He can't just ask, can he? No. How would he even start, how would he … but he has to. He has to ask Daewon, and he has to do it right now. Answers are near, seconds away, he feels it. He needs them.

Jungkook gulps and clears his throat. Thoughts are racing through his head, his body working on autopilot. His fingers are white around the mop.

"Are you … Are we allowed to talk?", he says, forcing himself to speak slowly, heartbeat echoing in his ears.

Daewon looks up, thinking for a moment.

It's weird that he's kneeling while Jungkook is standing. He's forced to look down on him to meet his eyes. Jungkook stops looking at him all together, focusing on cleaning the floor, throat tight.

"Yeah, I think so. As long as I keep working, we should be fine."

Gulping, Jungkook nods. "I was just. I was just wondering – I mean, you're the first one who's not wearing one and I just wanted to ask, uh, well. I wanted to ask why."

Cringing, Jungkook draws his shoulders in, neck burning up. Great.

Daewon looks up at him, frowning.

Jungkook sighs in defeat. "You're not wearing a collar."

There, he said it. Daewon's eyes light up, the frown evening out. Letting go of the rag, he sits up and cups his neck.

"Oh, yeah. I can't stand having things around my neck, so they gifted me these."

Daewon holds his hands up for Jungkook to see, shaking the long sleeves of his dress down to his elbows, revealing two sturdy, brown leather cuffs around his wrists.

"They're so comfortable I sometimes forget I'm wearing them, and I – ah, are you okay, Jungkook-ssi?"

Oh. So he's the only one. The knots in Jungkook's stomach loosen up, releasing a flood of nausea that washes through his guts, his knees weak. He's the only one who didn't get something. No cuffs, no collar, nothing.

He frowns, squeezing the handle of his mop. Okay, good. Perfect. This is what he wants! He was never going to wear a stupid collar like a dog, ready to fight the doms on it. He should be glad. Relieved. Relieved that he got nothing.

Jungkook scrubs the floor, putting all his strength behind it. His muscles strain, jaw tense. If it could, the hallway would whine, begging him to stop.

No collar, cool. Not even the offer to wear one. They care enough about Daewon to figure out an alternative because he doesn't like tight things around his throat, but with Jungkook they just assume.

Maybe he's not good enough to deserve one. He's only caused the doms problems. Maybe this is a message, a punishment. That, or they don't care about him.

Well, if their intention is punishment, they're failing. Jungkook doesn't want a collar! He'd never wear one anyway. Never. They can't hurt him by leaving him alone, that's exactly what he wants. He's winning here.

Two hands slide around Jungkook's biceps, a pleasant floral scent wafting through the air as he flinches and turns. He knows who's standing behind him before he sees him.

Jimin smiles, soft hands squeezing Jungkook's arms. "What has you thinking so hard, Jungkookie?"

Jungkook flushes, immediately looking at Daewon, hoping he won't tell Jimin about what Jungkook asked. If the doms know he asked about the collar, they think he cares, and Jungkook doesn't want them to win. Not even a little bit.

But Daewon is not even watching them, scrubbing the floor with his head bowed. The scorching heat that overcame Jungkook leaves as quickly as it arose.

Jimin's eyes follow Jungkook's look. He hums, stepping next to Jungkook without letting go of him, pulling him into a side hug.

Jungkook tenses, noticing how Daewon's sleeves are caught on the cuffs. Suddenly, Jimin's hand burns around his arm, his body scorching hot beside him.

"He's pretty, isn't he", Jimin purrs into his ear.

Jungkook's face flinches away. He swallows a grimace, looking at Daewon but ignoring the cuffs. His eyes slip down, and – no. Ignoring the cuffs. They don't matter, he doesn't care.

Jimin lets go of him, his fingertips brushing Jungkook's chest ever so slightly. He walks over to Daewon, kneeling next to him.

"My pretty boy. Has Jungkook-ssi told you how handsome you are, ah?"

Daewon pauses, looking up at Jimin with wide eyes. His look flinches to Jungkook and back, tense. He hesitates. "No, master."

Squeezing the handle of his mop, Jungkook refuses the urge to take a step back. He watches Jimin inspecting the rope around Daewon's legs, pushing two of his fingers underneath.

"How are your legs? Any numbness?"

Daewon shakes his head. "Not at all, master."

Jungkook wishes he would stop calling him that. "Sir" would be better. "Sir", okay, they don't really have a choice. But "master"? That's more. That's voluntary.

"So", Jimin hums, dark eyes focusing on Jungkook. "Our Jungkookie has not complimented you? Not even a little bit?"

Daewon remains silent, sitting up and twisting the rag around his hand. He swallows, glancing at the floor.

This time, Jungkook does take a step back.

"That's not very nice of him, is it?" Jimin's hand slides into Daewon's hair, petting him.

Jungkook's heart picks up speed, a nasty sourness spreading on his tongue and in his chest. How was he supposed to know he should – how – how unfair. He shakes his head defensively, staring at Jimin.

A slow smile spreads on Jimin's face, his eyes softening. "I guess you just made him speechless, baby. That's understandable."

Clearing his throat, Jungkook takes another step back, grabbing the handle of his bucket. "I'm – um. I'm finished, so I'll just, uh, leave. Yeah."

With his heart racing, Jungkook turns and speed walks down the hall, not caring about the water splashing over the bucket's rim and onto the floor. Just before he reaches the corner, Daewon's voice cuts through the charged silence.

"I think he really likes my cuffs, master."

Jungkook stops. His heart stumbles, the handle of the heavy bucket cutting into his palm. He can feel Jimin processing behind him, can hear the gear wheels behind his forehead clicking into place.

He inhales sharply, walking around the corner before Jimin speaks up.

All he wanted was one, measly victory.

Chapter Text

The doms' dress code is clearly more lenient than the subs', because today, Yoongi's wearing a loose, black button-up and linen pants, entering the room in a wave of soft fabrics flowing around him. There's a cup of coffee in his hand, full and steaming. He closes the door, walks over and carefully puts the cup on his desk. Then he turns and leans against the table, his fingers curling around its edge.

He's eyeing them, one by one, his slow gaze wandering from their faces to their feet. Yoongi's eyes catch on Jungkook's fingers nervously twisting a pen – fast, then faster. Jungkook freezes.

Yoongi looks up, their eyes meeting. He lifts the cup to his lips, still eyeing Jungkook. His face is blank, unreadable as always. Jungkook wonders what Yoongi sees playing out on his own face right now, and why he keeps looking. Every answer he comes up with is worrying and the suspicion that Yoongi sees right through him squirms down his back like a cold, slimy snake. He shivers.

After a big sip and a satisfied sigh, the tension breaks. Yoongi's cup hits the table again, the quiet noise of ceramics meeting wood cutting through the charged silence. Yoongi's eyes release Jungkook's, and Jungkook breathes again. His shoulders relax, his fingers continuing to spin the pen.

"Welcome to Safety 1O1. Today's topic is voyeurism", Yoongi says, his casual words slicing through Jungkook like a knife. Instantly, he breaks out in a sweat, squeezing his pen so hard his knuckles turn white.

"Specifically, the etiquette of voyeurism. Which is, of course, a broad and vague topic. Are we talking clubs? Parties? Public play?" Yoongi nods to himself, his long fingers absently toying with the handle of his cup. "Well. Today, we'll discuss voyeurism in the way it applies to our academy – public play and scenes you are invited to watch. Many of the core rules are, of course, applicable to a variety of settings."

Yoongi's serene monolog breaks over Jungkook's head like a waterfall. It roars in his ears and presses down on his shoulders. Yoongi might as well be screaming, yelling the words into Jungkook's face.

Jungkook wishes for some sort of emotion to play out on Yoongi's features. A nervous twitching of his lips, an embarrassed smile, a hint of red in his cheeks. Anything to prove he's remotely as uncomfortable as Jungkook is. That he doesn't want to talk about it, that he minds it, dislikes it. Jungkook wants, needs, anything but this calm indifference.

"I assume everybody knows what voyeurism is?"

Gulping, Jungkook glances at his 'classmates' – three other subs he doesn't know the names of. He's seen them in the dining hall, of course. One has dark skin and usually eats at the table next to Jungkook's. He's quiet and has a shy smile. Namjoon is fond of him, Jungkook can tell. The others Jungkook knows even less about. One is tall and has a constant frown between his brows, one has bleached hair.

Right now, they're hanging on Yoongi's every word. The kid with the terrible bleach job is scribbling in his notepad as if Yoongi is revealing the secret of eternal life. Jungkook imagines what he's writing. Voyeurism, colon. The kid's hand freezes like he's really waiting for the definition, and Jungkook almost throws up.

He looks down at his own blank notepad, hesitantly relaxing his cramped fist to hold his pen properly. Jungkook presses the tip to the paper, a spot of blue ink bleeding onto the white.

"Jungmin-ah, would you please enlighten us, then", Yoongi prompts when everybody stays silent.

To Jungkook's immense relief, Jungmin has the decency to blush. His frown gets even worse as he stutters out an explanation. "Yes, sir. Yeah. Uh, voyeurism is when you watch people do ... stuff."

Yoongi raises his eyebrows, his lips curling into an amused smile.

Jungkook klicks his pen. Watching, he writes, right next to the dark blue spot.

Jungmin clears his throat. "Sexual stuff, I mean. A scene. Something like that. Some people like watching intimacy – they're called voyeurs, and the people who like to be watched are exhibitionists. I think."

Watching intimacy (voyeurism).

Nodding, Yoongi cushions the insecurity bleeding through Jungmin's explanation. “Yes, a voyeur enjoys watching intimacy. Sometimes voyeurism is explicitly defined as gaining pleasure through watching others in secret.”

Stopping mid-sentence, Jungkook frowns. Watching people in secret? He stares down at what he’s written. That sounds – creepy. It gives Jungkook the creeps. He shivers, rolling his shoulders. Ugh. The image of dark alleyways infests his mind, a hidden figure watching a couple make out. Men with binoculars, staring through the windows of strangers, salivating. Jungkook feels the hot breath of perverts down his neck, goosebumps breaking through his skin.

“Jungkook-ssi, would you tell us what’s going through your mind?”

Jungkook looks up, glaring at Yoongi. Yoongi and his stupid, big hands and gentle eyes. How can he be talking about stalking people while looking so serene? Is he okay with this? Does he seriously want to make Jungkook believe that this shit is normal? If this is what voyeurism is, it should be forbidden. Jungkook will never think watching people without their knowledge is okay. Never.

“That’s sick”, Jungkook says, gulping. He feels the others looking at him. Well, he’s going to stand by his opinion.

Yoongi hums. “You’re very emotional right now.”

“Yes, of course.” Jungkook’s frown deepens. “It’s not – It’s not okay to watch people without – without … it’s not okay.”

“Without what?”

“Without permission!”, Jungkook shouts at Yoongi’s infuriatingly calm face, his stomach twisting. “You can’t just disturb people’s intimacy like that without their permission, it’s – you can’t think that’s an okay thing to do, it’s –“

“I don’t think that’s an okay thing to do. You’re right, Jungkook-ssi. Absolutely right. It’s never justifiable to do anything to a person without their permission. Very good.” Grabbing his coffee, Yoongi takes a deep breath, slowly in- and exhaling. He rolls his shoulders and neck, still looking Jungkook in the eyes.

Okay. Jungkook swallows, letting go of his pen to stretch his sweaty hands. Okay. It’s fine. Yoongi … agrees with him. He actually agrees.

Watching Yoongi take another deep breath, Jungkook feels himself following along. He grabs the pen again, suddenly tired. In, out. He props his elbow on the desk, supporting his forehead, scribbling something without really seeing what he’s putting down.

“Who knows what term we usually use to describe what Jungkook-ssi is looking for? Myeong?”

“Consent.”

“Exactly.”

The sound of chalk on a blackboard fills the room. Yoongi writes the definition of consent and Jungkook copies it.

“Alright. Let’s presume we have a person who enjoys watching other people’s intimacy in secret.” Yoongi turns, dusting his hands off. “How do we fulfill this person’s fantasy without violating consent? Is that even possible?”

Namjoon’s favorite raises his hand, and Yoongi nods to indicate he has permission to speak.

“It’s possible to an extent, sir”, he says, his voice quiet and pleasant. “The solution is to create a safe space where consent is not given through direct, verbal communication but indicated through different means. Some clubs use doors as a system. A closed door means that watching is off-limits, while an open door is an invitation to watch. Through this and similar systems, people can consent to be watched without shattering the watcher’s fantasy.”

Jungkook blinks down at his notepad, not sure how to condense and capture the proposed solution. Indirect consent to preserve fantasies, he writes, adding a question mark. It’s the first question mark he’s allowed himself. Otherwise, the whole page would be filled with them. He understands, but he doesn’t. How does someone come up with this? Just to fulfill some fantasy.

Yoongi smiles, nodding. “Very good. I’m sure you will write wonderful scenes someday, Jaesang-ah.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Sighing, Jungkook draws mindless spirals at the edge of his paper. Maybe he should start a vocabulary list. He has a feeling Yoongi isn’t saying Jaesang will be the next Shakespeare, but he has no clue what else he could mean. Writing scenes? Jungkook jots it down. He’ll look it up. No reason to make a fool out of himself – again.

“Now, let’s say you have consent to watch a scene unfold”, Yoongi continues, picking up the chalk again. “There are a few ground rules we established here in the academy. The most important rule is to remember that you have consent to watch. Watching, that’s all. It’s not allowed to interrupt or participate in the scene randomly. That includes verbal remarks and breathing down the necks of whoever is playing. Keep quiet, keep your distance, and be respectful. Getting to watch a scene is a privilege and a great proof of trust.”

Keep quiet, keep your distance, and be respectful.

Yoongi elaborates, talking about how harmful it is to question a dom’s authority while he’s taking care of his sub, and that a deliberate interference in the scene is potentially of such nature. He explains that unshaken trust between dom and sub is the foundation of a successful scene. If the sub starts to question the dom, the scene is in danger to fall apart. Interfering in play without being promted threatens to distract the sub on top of it all.

Jungkook jots it all down and asks himself how he’ll ever have a successful scene if it can’t happen without unshaken trust. He’s going to be at the academy for a few months – if things go badly. But even then, it just won’t be enough time to bond with the doms. Not at this rate, at least. Right now, Jungkook can’t even imagine it. He’ll always fear that they will hurt him when he’s vulnerable, and he doesn't see that changing. It’s too easy for him to come up with dark scenarios.

At the end of it, Jungkook is exhausted. He clicks his pen, leans back, and looks at his notes. One and a half pages of blue ink. Voyeurism, consent, scenes. Knowledge that would’ve greatly disturbed him a week ago. It still does and seeing the product of this lesson in its entirety is almost too much. During the past hour, writing has been easier than solely listening to Yoongi talk. It has been helpful. But now …

Sighing in an attempt to loosen the knots in his stomach, Jungkook shuts his notepad. It flaps close, the pages enveloping a single pale finger pressing down on the page Jungkook has been writing on.

He looks up, realizing that Yoongi is standing right in front of him, the other three subs not insight. The two of them are alone, the silence in the room suddenly a great deal heavier. It’s like they are buried under a heavy blanket. Jungkook heats up and breathing is harder work than it should be.

“How are you?”, Yoongi asks, his deep voice softer now that he’s stepped out of his role as a teacher. Still, it sounds sharp in contrast with the deafening silence. At least to Jungkook’s ears.

He hesitates, contemplating how to answer. The broad question catches him off guard. Unsure, he settles on a vague “tired”. It ends up sounding like a question, the “sir” stuck in Jungkook’s throat. He swallows it down, shifting in his seat, palms damp.

Yoongi hums. “Let’s speak freely with each other. I know you sense that I need to be dominant quite frequently and that I’m, in a sense, less casual about the whole thing than the others. My constant output of dominance intimidates you, probably because you don’t have the tools to deal with it yet. I know, Jungkook-ah. Can I call you that?”

Automatically, Jungkook nods.

“I know”, Yoongi repeats, “and I won’t punish you for not knowing how to deal with me. I won’t punish you at all, not until you understand what you’re doing and why we punish in the first place. There shouldn’t be any pressure to be the perfect sub, and when it helps you to be comfortable around me, you can drop the title for now. Just call me hyung.”

Jungkook tries his best not to gape at Yoongi. Yoongi, the dom who usually has a riding crop attached to his belt. The dom who expects high protocol and scared Jungkook half to death on his first day. This dom now allows him to drop the title.

Yoongi huffs, his lips twitching with a suppressed grin. “Aish, don’t look at me like I’m an imposter. You’re my sub, Kook-ah, your comfort is more important than my petty preferences.”

Jungkook swallows. This is dangerous. Yoongi might be the most terrifying of them all. He’s so – cool and calculating, yet transparent in a distinct way. Until now, he’s made no qualms about what he likes and what he expects. He’s not the type of person to handle anyone with kid gloves. He’s not an actor. It’s easy to believe him. Even for Jungkook, it’s hard to imagine that Yoongi is lying to him. He’s been nothing but sincere, authentic where the others hold back to – well. To protect Jungkook, or to fool him. Who knows?

“Okay”, Jungkook says, rubbing his hands dry on his thighs. “Okay, uh, hyung.”

Yoongi smiles. “Just know that you’re still more than welcome to call me sir when you feel like it.”

Two weeks ago, Jungkook would’ve found the mere idea concerning and laughable. Now, he just remains quiet, clenching and unclenching his hands.

“May I see your notes?”

Surprised, Jungkook looks up. His ears grow warm when he thinks about his embarrassing scribbles and mindless doodles, but at the same time, defensiveness would only make the situation look worse than it is. If Jungkook wants to go home before he reaches old age, he has to cooperate so long as it doesn’t put him in danger. At this point, he can’t afford to interpret mild discomfort as danger, so he nods.

Yoongi pulls the notepad towards himself, flipping it open with his still trapped finger and turning it around so he can read. Jungkook watches his eyes move over the page, his own hands fists in his lap. For a few moments, it’s quiet.

“I’m glad you took away something from today’s lesson”, Yoongi says, the tip of his finger sweeping over the paper. “Very good, Kook-ah. Good job.”

Only now that he has Yoongi’s approval, Jungkook realizes how tense he’s been waiting for his reaction. His breath leaves Jungkook in a silent, relieved sigh, the strings of tension that had him pulled up cut. Yoongi’s words patter down Jungkook’s back like summer rain, the drops sinking into his skin, warming him from the inside. He feels a little drunk, a little lighter.

“It feels good, right?”, Yoongi asks suddenly, his eyes on Jungkook again. “It feels good when we praise you.”

Still bathing in the gentle wave of warmth that overcame him, Jungkook nods without thinking about it. Soon, in moments, it all will crash over his head. He’ll worry then. He has all the time in the world to worry.

“Then let it feel good.” Yoongi slaps the notepad close, the pages clapping together. “Don’t fight it.”

The soft warmth swells up into a burning heat, spreading under Jungkook’s skin, consuming him. It colors Jungkook’s face in a screaming shade of red. Yoongi’s gaze makes it worse, gasoline to the flames, and Jungkook can’t take it. He averts his eyes, staring at the table.

No, no, no. Why did he do that – why did he – goddamned. Jungkook wants the fire to kill him and turn him into ash. Dying sounds great, actually.

Yoongi clears his throat, speaking over Jungkook’s embarrassment. “I’m glad you listened closely to today’s lesson because you’ll need to apply your new knowledge very soon. This evening, in fact.”

God, why did he have to admit that he likes praise, he’s never even thought about if that’s something he enjoys, what if it was a one-time thing and now, they’ll do it constantly –

Wait. Jungkook frowns, looking up. “Uh, what. What do you mean?”

Yoongi looks at him carefully, and Jungkook’s heart picks up speed. He’s overly aware of every single beat. His fingertips are pulsating with it.

“We’re invited to watch a scene today, Jungkook-ah. Together.”

Chapter Text

It’s not called “dungeon” for nothing, Jungkook thinks as Yoongi turns the doorknob.

Who can blame him for expecting dark wood, black and reds, the primal smell of leather? It’s what he’s seen before, in all the videos. In all the porn. Sex dungeons – filthy holes in the basement, old concrete floor, the bed a dirty mattress in a corner. A single light bulb dangling from the ceiling. The stuff nightmares are made of. The stuff Jungkook’s nightmares are made of.

So, Jungkook expects his nightmares to catch up with him, waiting behind that door. The written script Yoongi has given him describes the scene they will watch, not the dungeon.

The script did little to reassure Jungkook anyway. It’s no novel, it’s dry and clinical. Jungkook knows the scene, the real scene he’ll be watching, will be nothing like that. Words on paper don’t capture the sounds, the stench of sweat, the stuffy, charged air. Words on paper are far from reality.

Still, the script is an opportunity for Jungkook to shape reality, that’s how Yoongi and Seokjin explained it to him. Seokjin, who wrote the scene – just for Jungkook.

There's a kindness to Seokjin, but mischief too. Confidence in the way he carries himself; in the way he dresses, sits and talks. Jungkook questions how sincere this confidence is. He isn't sure, can't read Seokjin, can't figure him out. Seokjin is different from Yoongi or Namjoon, there's nothing blunt about him. He's an intricate, delicate mandala, getting more and more complicated the longer you look. The one thing Jungkook does know is this: Seokjin is handsome. With his broad shoulders, narrow waist and pretty hands he looks like a prince out of a soft, kind dream. Jungkook hopes his creation won’t cause him sleepless nights.

Reading it won’t, at least. If it did, he wouldn’t be standing here, holding his breath, preparing for the dungeon. On paper, the scene is non-sexual, kind, harmless, far away. The scene on paper is littered with crossed-out sections, brief comments, requests, all added by Jungkook. Shy annotation, shaping reality. No begging, he wrote. No crying. No struggling. No laughing at the sub.

After going over the updated version of the script, Seokjin looked up and asked Jungkook if he would like to add something, too. If there was anything he wanted to be part of the scene, anything he wanted to watch, perhaps? Jungkook shrugged. He couldn’t think of anything … desirable. He could only think of what he’s seen before and what he couldn’t bear to witness in real life.

Just like he can only think of dark wood, black and reds and the smell of leather now. At least Yoongi hasn’t taken him down to the basement. Yet.

The door opens and Jungkook’s muscles lock. He doesn’t know how he’s about to react. He doesn’t know if facing the dungeon will be too much. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t. His heart is pounding. If he steps inside, will he leave again? This version of Jungkook, the free version, the resisting version, will it withstand?

“Jungkook-ah.”

He focuses on Yoongi, his calm eyes, his extended hand. An offer. No, an invitation, something for Jungkook to take or decline on his own accord. Gulping, Jungkook reaches out. Yoongi’s palm is warm and dry, almost as dry as Jungkook’s throat.

Yoongi enters the dungeon, prompting Jungkook to follow along with a gentle pull of his arm.

Jungkook blinks against natural light, bright, airy colors, huge windows. He stares at the maple trees swaying in the wind, red leaves floating to the ground. White, silky curtains puff up in the breeze coming through the tilted windows. He takes a deep breath. The air is chilly, it smells like fall.

Stunned, he follows Yoongi through the dungeon. There’s a huge St. Andrew’s cross in the middle of the room he only notices at second glance, made of light wood and coated in a rough, white paint job. The star of the show. Jungkook stares, the hand Yoongi’s holding starting to sweat.

“Can I touch you during the scene?”

Again, Jungkook’s eyes shift back to Yoongi. He looks strange here in his black boots and black uniform. A harsh figure, darker than the shadows of this bright place.

“Touch me?”, Jungkook throws back, sounding like a scandalized old lady. He resists the temptation to let go of Yoongi, overly aware of their skin touching now. What is Yoongi talking about? They promised him he would be watching, just watching.

“To ground you”, Yoongi says, looking at Jungkook over his shoulder. “Your hands, arms, shoulders. An arm around your waist, maybe your neck—”

“Not my neck”, Jungkook blushes, shaking his head. He imagines Yoongi’s thumb massaging soothing circles into his neck, imagines him squeezing his neck, making Jungkook melt, discovering how sensitive he is. God, no. He might as well bite Jungkook’s nipples. His ears are red.

“Okay”, Yoongi agrees easily. “Not your neck, then.”

A few meters from the cross stands a two-seater, to its right and left side tables, on them water bottles, wine glasses, small baskets with fruit and tissue boxes, under them folded blankets. Here they will sit together, Yoongi and him. They will be close, their thighs touching, their shoulders too. Jungkook will feel Yoongi’s calm breathing, his lax muscles, his casual, easy posture.

“Do you want to sit?”

Jungkook hesitates. He doesn’t want to be pressed against Yoongi, waiting in silence. He’d much rather move, move until they’re here and he has to sit down, move until they tell him to stop. “How long until – I mean. Will it be long until it starts?”

Yoongi glances at his wristwatch. “They’ll be here any second, Kook-ah. If you’re still up to it then, the scene will start.”

If you’re still up to it.

Jungkook takes in a deep breath, detaching himself from Yoongi. He walks over to the St. Andrew’s cross, looking around the room. There’s more furniture, furniture he’s never seen before. Something similar to a gymnastic vaulting horse, but too short and too low to the ground. Something to fixate someone in a kneeling position, bend forward. A chaise lounge but … wavy?

Maybe it’s because he can’t make anything of the other constructs that Jungkook fears the cross the most. It’s obvious what it’s for. Simple. The four empty, black leather cuffs take care of that.

Jungkook grabs one of the crosses bars. The wood is warm under his touch. Soft, almost moldable. It nestles against his flat palm, sighing as he strokes it, his hand sliding down. The wood doesn't give, his fingers don't touch. Still, it's warm and soft, the edges rounded, kind to his hand. Nothing cuts his skin, no splinters, not a single rough patch. No pain.

Come, it whispers. Lean on me. I will not let you fall. You can shiver, twist and slump, I will hold you. Your body may fail you, but I won't.

Liar, Jungkook wants to whisper back. You only want me at your mercy.

Jungkook lets go of the bar, sighing. The wood doesn't whisper, and Jungkook won't be at its mercy. No, the wood is just a tool. It’s the doms who are in control. They are the ones who choose to be merciful or not.

Yoongi steps next to him. Jungkook watches him from the corner of his eye.

"How are you feeling, Kook-ah?"

Jungkook blinks. They're facing each other fully, now, the cross an ominous entity next to them. Between them? Jungkook can't decide. He hasn’t figured out his place in all this, nor Yoongi’s, nor the place of this cross. Everything is blurry. Truth and lies, yes and no, excitement and fear.

Before he answers, the door opens. His mouth snaps shut and he turns, heart racing. Who will he be watching? He’s about to find out. All he knows is that it won’t be Seokjin, the author of this whole mess. Yoongi told him they want Jungkook to be around people he trusts – well, people he trusts more.

There are not many options, so Jungkook isn’t surprised when Taehyung walks inside the dungeon. He’s in the same outfit as always, black shirt, black pants, black boots, just like Yoongi. Just like Yoongi, he looks misplaced in the bright, open room. He’s carrying a wooden box in his hands. Because Jungkook easily guesses what’s inside based on the script, his face heats up.

Taehyung’s eyes immediately find Jungkook. He’s smiling, walking over to him and putting the box down next to the cross.

A second familiar figure walks through the door. Surprised, Jungkook takes a reflexive step forward.

Jihoon closes the door behind him and quickly makes his way over to Jungkook, pulling him into a hug. “Hello, Kook-ah”, he whispers.

Jungkook’s arms fly around him as Jihoon gives him a tight squeeze, holding him close. Warm, Jihoon is warm and firm against Jungkook, his smell clean and familiar, his hair damp from showering.

Tension melts out of Jungkook’s shoulders, the frown between his brows smoothing out. A pang of guilt hits him. He should not be glad to see Jihoon, should be afraid of seeing him lose his mind, but – he is glad. He didn’t realize how afraid he was to experience this around a stranger until now.

“Hyung”, Jungkook murmurs. He’s sure Jihoon feels his heart pounding.

Jihoon leans back, smiling. “You don’t have to be worried about me.”

Frowning again, Jungkook squirms in Jihoon’s hold. Jihoon doesn’t tell him nothing will happen because this will change him. This – scene. Giving up control, allowing Taehyung to restrain him. To dominate him.

Gulping dryly, Jungkook glances over to Taehyung handling the contents of the box. Their looks meet, blood shooting into Jungkook’s cheeks. He may be worried about the way Jihoon will change, but when it comes to Taehyung – well. Jungkook is scared.

Taehyung smiles brightly, straightening up with a blindfold in his hands. He runs the black fabric between his fingers. “And where’s my hug?”

Jungkook tries his best. He tries to see Taehyung standing in front of him. Taehyung the dork, Taehyung with gentle, big hands, Taehyung who was so afraid to lose Jungkook’s trust. Taehyung who allows Jungkook to talk with him like they’re friends.

They’re not friends. Whatever they are, whatever this is, they aren’t friends. The scene hasn’t started yet, but it already feels different between them. Something shifts, clicking into place.

The truth is, in this room, Taehyung isn’t just Taehyung. He’s a dom. Not even his bright grin is enough to outshine the dynamical shift. Today, it isn’t Taehyung who will kneel. He knows, and Jungkook knows too.

When Jihoon lets Jungkook go, his heart is back to racing again, his back muscles hard as stone. Looking at Taehyung is difficult, his eyes on Jungkook so much more intense than usual. They burn on Jungkook’s skin, make his legs weak, make him want to kneel.

Jihoon walks over to Taehyung and Yoongi. They whisper. A moment later, Taehyung is right there in front of Jungkook, searching for his eyes. “Kook-ah?”

Jungkook is frozen in place, his jaws clenched. His lips might as well be sown shut. He doesn’t know what to say, all that’s in his head the echo of his pounding heart, blood rushing in his ears. He tries to overlap the script he read with Taehyung and it’s easy, terribly easy. The way it’s so easy scares him to death, makes it hard to look at Taehyung. He hears the scraps of prewritten dialog in Taehyung’s deep, calm voice, sees him touching Jihoon, putting him under. Far, far under.

“Jungkook-ssi”, Yoongi says firmly, and Jungkook’s head shoots up. “Tae will not dominate you. C’mon, sit with hyung.”

Right. While Taehyung won’t kneel, Jungkook won’t either. He’ll watch from a distance, watch Taehyung bring the scene to life. Taehyung won’t look at him, won’t talk to him, won’t touch him. Won’t put him under, won’t treat him like a sub. Won’t make him float away.

“You’re safe”, Taehyung says, the honest compassion in his voice enough to finally have Jungkook look at him again. His eyes are warm. He’s not smiling anymore, a concerned frown on his face. “You’re always safe with me, Kook-ah.”

Gulping, Jungkook hugs him, burying his face against Taehyung’s shoulder. It’s just Taehyung, how bad can it be? Jungkook trusts him to not deviate from the script, at least. He knows he won’t risk hurting Jungkook, won’t risk losing his trust. Not again. Some part of Taehyung cares about Jungkook in his own, fucked up way. Jungkook is sure. It’s evident in the soft way Taehyung strokes his back, like butterfly wings gracing his skin, like he’s afraid to break him.

“I won’t hurt Jihoon-ah”, Taehyung murmurs into Jungkook’s hair. “I won’t hurt you either.”

Inhaling shaky, Jungkook nods. “Okay”, he says, heart fluttering.

“Okay”, Taehyung echoes, carefully pulling back.

For now, it’s enough. They both know it’s all they will get. Unstable trust, weak reassurances. There’s no way Jungkook can shake the mistrust and anxiety and no way Taehyung can prove his words without a demonstration.

Jungkook turns, woodenly walking over to the couch where Yoongi sits and pours water from a pitcher into two glasses. Yoongi looks just as calm as Taehyung and Jihoon. No shake in his hands, no tension in his body. As if he’s getting cozy to watch a soccer match, as if this was normal. Almost mundane.

To them, it is. The realization ties Jungkook’s guts into knots. They’ve done this a million times before, all of them. The kind of scene they planned for today has to be boring for them, way too mild. They’re holding back for Jungkook.

Which begs the question – what would they do if he wasn’t here? Would Taehyung hurt Jihoon, then? Would he hit him, torture him, make him bleed? Make him beg, make him want to follow his every word, even if it puts him in harm’s way?

Sweating, Jungkook sits on the sofa’s edge, tense like a drawn bow. He glances at the door. It’s not locked, Jihoon pulled it shut behind him, but he didn’t lock it. He’s ready to dart out of the room as soon as it gets too much. He’ll leave. He can leave at any time.

A glass of water appears in his field of vision. Blinking, Jungkook looks at Yoongi.

“Drink”, Yoongi says. “Please.”

Not an order, but close. Closer than ever before. There’s an expectation in his tone of voice, a demand.

Inhaling sharply, Jungkook takes the glass from him. It’s cold in his hand, the water icy as it flows down his throat. The coldness keeps the burning panic in Jungkook’s stomach in check, slows his heart down. It pulls him back down to earth. He sighs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Good.” Yoongi takes the half-empty glass from him and puts it back on the side table. “Tell me your safeword.”

“Red”, Jungkook murmurs. His new favorite color.

“What happens when you call red?”

“I, um. The scene – I don’t have to watch anymore.”

“The scene ends, Jungkook. We stop and make sure everybody is okay. You can leave if you want to, if you don’t need anything from us”, Yoongi spells it out for him, again.

Jungkook nods, grabbing the edge of the sofa. As if it’s not too late when he uses the safeword, as if he’s not terrified by then. If he’s even able to call it, in the heat of the moment. Maybe he forgets. Maybe – Maybe he won’t get a sound out. It happens, sometimes. He freezes when he’s scared, a deer in the headlights.

“Ready to start?”, Taehyung asks, twisting the blindfold around his hand, Jihoon waiting by the cross.

Jungkook’s heart leaps. He’s sitting on a rollercoaster, right before the drop, clutching at the safety belt, nauseous, light-headed. He’ll be fine, of course he will be, but what if not? What if the rollercoaster tracks give in and he drops into nothing, what if he falls? What if he loses his mind? What if?

When Yoongi carefully pulls him back into the couch, Jungkook goes willingly. The force of the rollercoaster wagon rushing down to earth pins him against the sofa’s back. There’s no way to resist nature. His nature.

Yoongi squeezes his shoulder. “Ready, Jungkook-ah?”

God, if they don’t stop giving him ways out, he will leave after all. Every time he’s tempted to sprint into his room, slam the door shut and delay this for the foreseeable future. But he knows it’ll only get worse and worse. He has to give this thing a chance. He has to see why, has to see that it’s not all terrible, even if it’s a scheme to gain his trust.

“Okay”, Jungkook gets out. “Okay, yes, just – yes.”

Taehyung nods at him with a kind, patient smile. Yoongi sips his water. Jungkook feels like throwing up. He knows what’s about to happen next. He knows, still, he’s watching the scene like a horror movie, waiting for a jump scare, his leg twitching. He clutches his stomach.

Taehyung turns and walks over to Jihoon, whispering something into his ear. He’s standing close, his hand on Jihoon’s upper arm, leaning in. Jihoon looks at him and smiles, then gives a nod. Taehyung’s head mirrors the movement, his lips the smile.

He kisses Jihoon’s cheek, the hand on his arm moving to his back. “Alright. Let’s get you up, love.”

By his back and his hand, Taehyung guides Jihoon the few steps to the St. Andrew’s cross. Jungkook stares at Jihoon’s face. Not that there are many reactions yet, anyway. Jungkook seems to be the only one concerned, nothing but a small smile on Jihoon’s lips. Well, at least he’s still himself. For now. Jungkook gulps.

“It’s not your first time on the cross, right?”

“Yes, sir”, Jihoon answers, Taehyung guiding his back against the wooden cross.

Jungkook presses himself deeper into the cushions. It’s sir now, huh? It never was before. Taehyung told him hyung is enough. He told him. Does – Does he expect Jungkook to call him sir, after all? Does he? Did he lie again?

Jungkook forces himself to breathe. This isn’t his scene, he’s not the one dealing with Taehyung. Maybe it’s a Jihoon thing, maybe Taehyung just tries his best to make Jungkook comfortable on a day-to-day basis. Seokjin doesn’t expect Jungkook to call him daddy either, even though some of the subs do. No reason for Jungkook to freak out. He has to calm down.

He takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders. The important part is that he remembers this isn’t his scene. Nothing Taehyung says is directed at him, he’s a spectator, watching from outside.

Next to him, Yoongi moves, his arm winding around Jungkook’s waist. He squirms, his heart stuttering. Close. Yoongi’s so close.

“Okay?”, Yoongi murmurs into his ear, hot breath surging against Jungkook’s skin, making him shiver.

Quickly, Jungkook nods. He’s not thinking about how warm Yoongi is next to him, or how good he smells. Musky and clean. “Yes, sir”, Jungkook murmurs absently, focused on Taehyung grabbing Jihoon’s wrist. He doesn’t even notice Yoongi tensing next to him.

The cuffs rattle as Taehyung restrains Jihoon’s wrists and ankles, a quiet, metallic sound cutting through the silence. It’s a fitting sound, a sound Jungkook expects. Chains and whips, slaps and screaming. Begging. Harsh sounds.

“Feels alright?”, Taehyung asks, squeezing Jihoon’s wrist, never losing contact.

Jihoon moves around as much as he can, shifting his shoulders and neck. His hands are fists. Suddenly he pulls, the cuffs not giving an inch, rattling.

Jungkook inhales sharply, leaning forward. No struggling, he annotated the script. Is this struggling? Is Jihoon okay, is he uncomfortable? Does he need help? Jungkook would help him. He wouldn’t let anyone harm him, not even Taehyung, no, not as long as he’s watching. He wouldn’t forgive himself. His mouth opens, but nothing but hot air leaves him.

Yoongi’s arm around his waist tightens. “Easy, Kook-ah”, he murmurs.

Taehyung glances at Jungkook. “Give me a color”, he says to Jihoon.

“Green, sir”, Jihoon replies easily. “Feels good.”

Feels good. Okay, it feels good. Jungkook relaxes slightly, slumping back into the cushions. Okay. He doesn’t understand, but Jihoon seems alright. Alright with being restrained.

“Easy”, Yoongi repeats quietly, pressing his knee against Jungkook’s.

“Fantastic.” Taehyung unwinds the blindfold from his hand. It’s a long piece of black fabric, really, but Jungkook knows its purpose. “Tilt your head – yes, just like that. Very good.”

Good. Very good, it echoes in Jungkook’s ears. Breathless, he watches Taehyung winding the fabric around Jihoon’s face, tying it behind his head. When he’s finished, he steps back, Jihoon’s lips parted, his cheeks a healthy red.

Jungkook wonders if Jihoon is embarrassed at all, if he wants to squirm and turn away from the eyes watching him. Jungkook would be like that, he thinks. He wouldn’t like people watching at all, especially if he couldn’t watch back.

He wonders if the blindfold is as soft as it looks, if Taehyung tied it too loose or too tight – or just right. He probably did it just right, snug but not uncomfortable. Secure.

Taehyung grabs the hem of Jihoon’s shirt. Unceremoniously, he yanks it up, up, up, until Jihoon’s chest is exposed. He twists the fabric into a loose coil.

“Open up”, Taehyung says – orders. Taehyung orders. There’s no doubt, no room for interpretation. Not this time. The hairs at the back of Jungkook’s neck rise up. A tremble runs through him. He stares, unable to avert his gaze, fixated, his lips parting.

Jihoon’s mouth falls open wordlessly. It’s an obscene sight; the black fabric running over his face, covering his eyes, his thin lips and soft, pink tongue, his naked chest. It raises and falls with calm breaths.

So much calmer than Jungkook feels. He senses Yoongi’s eyes, checking in on him regularly. His ears burn.

Taehyung cradles Jihoon’s jaw, his thumb slipping into his mouth, slowly rubbing his tongue, and Jihoon’s next exhale is shaky. He sighs, his head dropping forward, his mouth open. Chasing Taehyung’s thumb, his touch.

He wants to suck his thumb, maybe. Close his lips around it, draw it in, show Taehyung what he can do with his tongue. But he doesn’t. Taehyung’s order was to open up, after all, and Jungkook can already tell that Jihoon is a good boy, an obedient boy.

Jungkook licks his lip, salivating, his heart pounding. Heat spreads under his skin and he’s starting to sweat, glad for the cool breeze coming through the tilted windows. In the background, the trees rustle in the breeze. Next to him, Yoongi casually crosses his legs, watching the scene, watching Jungkook.

Taehyung drops his hand from Jihoon’s jaw, pushing his twisted shirt into his mouth instead. “Hold it.”

Jihoon’s teeth close around the bundled-up shirt, securing it, the taut fabric pulling his lower lip down, his upper incisors exposed. Pretty. He’s pretty like this, his mouth is pretty, and Jungkook swallows heavily.

Then, he tenses, a new thought entering his head, screaming at him. A horrifying thought. Shifting, Jungkook turns to Yoongi. “Hyung”, he murmurs urgently, grabbing Yoongi’s thigh, his heart dropping.

Yoongi tenses and sits up, tilting his head so Jungkook can whisper into his ear.

“What if”, Jungkook says, licking his dry lips, “What if Jihoon-ssi wants to stop, what if he wants to – to safeword, he can’t speak, how … how?”

Relaxing, Yoongi whispers back. “He can spit it out, Kook-ah, Taehyung won’t be mad if Jihoon disobeys an order to safeword. It’s okay.”

Spit it out. Yes, of course he can just spit it out, what has Jungkook been thinking? Blushing, he nods, quickly letting go of Yoongi’s thigh. What a stupid question. Stupid, stupid. Why wouldn’t he be able to spit it out? Just because of Taehyung’s order? Is that what had Jungkook scared?

Jungkook knows he’s beet red now, hot all over. He doesn’t think Taehyung’s orders are binding, not like this, and not to him, anyway. Jihoon can do what he wants – and Jungkook, too. Taehyung is not God, the law, or anyone with authority. Jungkook knows that. He knows. Why would he forget just because Taehyung orders something?

Kneeling, Taehyung pulls the next thing he needs from the box. He swirls a big, soft make-up brush against his palm, stepping close to Jihoon.

With his right hand, he grabs the waistband of Jihoon’s grey pants and yanks them low on his hips, to the point Jihoon’s v line is dangerously narrow, the trail of black hair leading down his stomach thick.

Jihoon’s face is flushed, his nipples hard. The pleasant breeze Jungkook feels in his hair and on his naked arms must be cold on Jihoon’s skin, exposed from his collar bones to his pubes. Plenty of room for Taehyung to touch him. Jungkook draws his arms tighter around himself.

Taehyung puts his hand on Jihoon’s left pec, his thumb brushing over his nipple. “Are you cold?”

Shivering, Jihoon shakes his head, mumbling into the fabric in his mouth. No, sir, he attempts to say, the makeshift gag swallowing his words. Still, he tries. He tries for Taehyung, and Jungkook feels hot, then cold. He imagines talking against a gag, slurring his words, struggling to swallow his own spit.

Sighing quietly, Jungkook sinks deeper into the sofa cushions, digging his crossed arms into his tingling stomach. Down, down, he plummets down, Yoongi’s arm the only thing anchoring him.

Taehyung hums, pressing a kiss to Jihoon’s sternum. “Let’s warm you up, ah?”, he whispers against Jihoon’s chest, and Jungkook watches goosebumps erupt on Jihoon’s arms, unable to look away even if he wanted to.

One, two times does Taehyung brush his hard nipple, then he pushes his nails against Jihoon’s skin, racking down his side. Slowly, leisurely, he leaves white lines from his pec down his ribs. They turn a pale shade of pink whilst Taehyung switches sides, scratching down Jihoon’s right, then down the middle, down his breastbone, down Jihoon’s stomach, contracting under Taehyung’s fingernails. Fluttering. Jungkook’s stomach is fluttering.

When his fingers scratch through Jihoon’s pubes, the lines on the left side of his body are already fading.

Jungkook’s eyes follow the path of Taehyung’s hand, observing the marks blooming, decorating Jihoon’s pale skin just to disappear again. He watches Taehyung leaning into the touch, watches him staring at Jihoon’s face, his eyes attentive and so, so soft. Soft enough for his hand racking down Jihoon’s torso to almost appear loving. Good boy, his eyes say, and Jungkook is dizzy.

Jihoon – Jihoon leans into the touch, his back slightly elevated from the cross, his hands open, fingers relaxed. Only his quickening breath and the redness of his skin reveal that he’s affected by Taehyung’s touch at all.

“Did that hurt?”, Taehyung asks, gently stroking Jihoon’s hip bone, his eyes boring into Jihoon as if he could read his face even when it’s covered like this.

Again, Jihoon shakes his head, mumbling something, the muffled words going straight to Jungkook’s stomach. It’s not nausea, but almost. Sweeter, heavier. Pulling him down.

“What was that, love?”, Taehyung says.

“No”, Jihoon pushes through the fabric, “Good. Sir.” He shifts a little on the cross, sighs, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a heavy swallow.

“Let’s give you something soft.” Smiling, Taehyung swirls the brush against Jihoon’s sternum. “Something soft for my good boy.”

A quiet moan bleeds through Jihoon’s gag and Jungkook gasps, his heart contracting. Good boy, his mind repeats until it’s a steady hum in his head, drowning out thought. He closes his eyes, sighing.

Not his scene, he reminds himself, screaming against the comforting hum. Not his scene, Taehyung isn’t talking to him, Jungkook isn’t – he isn’t good. Jihoon is. Jihoon is good, not him. No.

Jungkook tries to swallow the lump in his throat, looking around the room, at his own hands, just not at Taehyung. Taehyung, stroking Jihoon with the soft, soft brush, following the trails his fingernails left behind, making Jihoon groan and sigh with pleasure. He’s gentle, careful, every caress deliberate. The best for his good boy. His good boy Jihoon.

“Jungkook-ah.” Next to him, Yoongi shifts, turning towards Jungkook.

Jungkook blinks at him, glad to have something to concentrate on, something other than Taehyung praising his sub. His perfect, obedient boy.

Yoongi guides Jungkook’s water glass to his lips, whispering. “Drink.”

And, oh. This is different, this is an order. It tingles through Jungkook’s bones, bursts through his ribs and squeezes his heart. His hand raises, grabbing Yoongi’s wrist. Cool water runs down his throat as he drinks, pleasant and grounding. It fills him up and clears his head a little.

“Look at me”, Yoongi says, taking the empty glass from Jungkook. He puts it down, then grasps Jungkook by the back of his head, carefully lining their eyes up. “How are you feeling?”

Yoongi’s fingers tingle in his hair, Jungkook’s scalp strangely sensitive, easily lit on fire.

Jungkook swallows, his throat less dry. The lump is still there. “Sad”, he whispers.

Sighing, Yoongi uses his thumb to massage firm, soothing circles into Jungkook’s scalp. Immediately, goosebumps break out on Jungkook’s arms, his back. He leans into the touch, feeling warm. Yoongi is here. Yoongi cares about him.

“I need you to listen to me”, Yoongi says into his ear, making Jungkook shiver. “Are you listening?”

Jungkook straightens himself, paying attention. Yoongi sounds serious like this is important to him. If it is, it’s important to Jungkook, too. He’s good. “Yes, sir.”

Yoongi gives a satisfied hum, and Jungkook tries to suppress a proud smile. Yes, he’s good, so good, Yoongi is happy with him.

“You’re bordering on subspace”, Yoongi continues calmy, and Jungkook tenses, cold water dumped over his head. He stares at Yoongi, rigid, and something akin to alarm must show in Jungkook’s eyes, because Yoongi squeezes him tightly, shushing him. “Don’t panic, Kook-ah. Breathe.”

The first breath he takes is unsteady and trembling, fear filling his lungs like water. Subspace, he’s near subspace, he’s losing it, he’s going crazy. Just like that, he hands himself over to Yoongi, to them, depending on their opinion and it’s stupid, insane, but still – is he still good? Is he? He tries not to panic, tries to breathe, but it’s difficult.

“Easy, boy”, Yoongi murmurs, combing through Jungkook’s hair with his fingers in even, long strokes. “You’re safe and in control.”

Safe and in control. Okay. Closing his eyes, Jungkook continues to breathe deeply. Safe and in control.

“I can bring you up again, Kook-ah. Do you want that?”, Yoongi asks, still holding Jungkook, stroking his hair. “I can bring you up or put you under. It’s your choice.”

“My choice”, Jungkook murmurs, frowning. That means he has to decide – has to think. Thinking is difficult too, his brain slow and sluggish. He’d much rather have Yoongi decide for him, but something tells him that’s not on the table. Ugh.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jungkook knows his normal self would choose to end this as soon as possible, terrified of following mindlessly, of losing control. But … Coming back up would mean Yoongi would stop touching him, right? Jungkook would be alone and anxious like he always is when all he wants is –

He glances at Taehyung, altering between scratching Jihoon and caressing him with the brush, whispering to him, Jihoon panting and hard in his pants. Blushing, Jungkook stares at his own hands.

Maybe he doesn’t want that, maybe that would be too much. But there are things he does want. Being called – well. Being called good, maybe. Being good. That would be nice. Yoongi would keep touching him, keep being gentle and kind. Jungkook’s heart tightens. Yes. He wants that, he needs that. Please.

Hesitant, Jungkook looks at Yoongi again. Yoongi, who patiently waits for a response, playing with Jungkook’s hair.

“If”, Jungkook starts, gulping. His heart pounds away, his cheeks red. He’s doing this, God, he’s really doing this. “If I wanted you to put me under, would you – would you hurt me?”

Yoongi doesn’t protest, doesn’t act offended, or roll his eyes because he promised Jungkook he wouldn’t be hurt approximately a million times before. He hums and returns Jungkook’s insecure look with sincere, serious eyes.

“No”, he says, and a heavyweight drops from Jungkook’s shoulders.

He doesn’t know why he believes it now, why suddenly, it’s easy to accept. But he does believe Yoongi. Maybe it’s the subspace, maybe he’s already lost every sense of rationality. Maybe it’s the way Taehyung handles Jihoon, the way he keeps his promise. Jungkook doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know if it will last.

He does know that right now, he doesn’t care why he nods, taking Yoongi at his word. “Please.”

“Please what, Jungkook-ah?”

“Please, just … Please take me under.” Again, Jungkook nods, his hands fisting Yoongi’s shirt. Falling, falling, he’s falling. “Please. Sir.”

Chapter Text

The pillow hits the ground with a soft, earth-shattering thump echoing in Jungkook’s chest. His heart picks up the sound and runs with it, one beat at a time, a hammer wrapped in soft cloth punching against his rib cage.

Jungkook sits still. Very still. He feels exposed, and when his eyes flick from Yoongi to Taehyung, their looks meet.

Jungkook’s body runs hot because Taehyung – he knows. Oh, he knows. It’s impossible he’s heard them whispering, impossible he caught what Jungkook asked for, yet he knows, of course he does. It’s written all over Jungkook's face and the pillow at Yoongi's feet.

For a moment, Jungkook can’t breathe, shame rising from his stomach to his head like a tsunami. An overwhelming, crushing wave, making him dizzy in another way. A far less pleasant way.

He can’t – he can’t have someone looking, watching him like this, not even Taehyung.

Taehyung, who notices it all, sees Jungkook vibrating with the need to focus on Yoongi, high-strung and ready to snap. So, so close to snapping. Taehyung, who’s smiling at him, soft and pleased, the hunger awoken in him by Jihoon’s submission draining from his eyes, making way for pure, warm pride, and – oh.

Oh. Just this, this is enough to build a sea wall inside Jungkook, protecting him from the overwhelming storm. The water is rising, the waves deafening in Jungkook’s ears, but they can’t reach him. Taehyung isn’t laughing at him, isn’t mocking Jungkook, no, he’s – proud. Proud of him for giving in, for being weak.

Perfect, Jungkook’s mind provides in Taehyung’s deep voice, the scent of rubbing alcohol in his nose and the taste of lemon drops burning on his wet tongue. He swallows, the past pulling him in a tight hug, almost tight enough to suffocate him.

Taehyung breaks their eye contact and turns back to Jihoon, leaning close to him, whispering in his ear. His smile spreads on Jihoon’s lips now, the same smile. This time, it’s Jungkook who knows without hearing.

He wonders what Taehyung is telling him, what words he’s choosing to explain this. Jungkook couldn’t take it, he couldn’t take watching, he’s so weak, so egoistical, he wants Yoongi to –

Yoongi's hand finds Jungkook's cheek, making Jungkook flinch, ripping him out of his head. It takes a second for the warmth of Yoongi's skin and the softness of his touch to register. With gentle pressure, Yoongi gets Jungkook to turn his head and look at him.

Looking at Yoongi is better, and worse. Overwhelming not because of what’s written on his face, but because of the future, the pillow on the ground, the memory of a riding crop hanging from his belt, the thing about to happen. The things he’ll ask – no. The things he’ll demand from Jungkook.

Yoongi isn’t smiling, no unspoken praise on his lips. No silent commentary on Jungkook’s decision. His eyes glide over Jungkook’s face, watching, assessing. Calculating. All Jungkook reads in his expression is calmness and control.

Under Yoongi’s touch, Jungkook remembers he needs oxygen. Fresh air flows into his lungs and he notices how stiff he is, sitting frozen on the sofa.

Will he even be able to move when Yoongi asks him to? Will he – Will he be able to be good? To listen? What if he can’t, what if his body fails him? He’ll be punished, won’t he? It’s the first time he’s doing this, his first scene, his first and he’ll fail. He won’t – fuck.

Jungkook’s dizzy, his head spinning, Yoongi’s hand anchoring him in reality. His fingers are long and cooler than his palm. It smells like fall and Yoongi’s aftershave. Clean, masculine.

Yoongi's thumb traces Jungkook's jaw, his fingers slipping behind his ear, resting close to his neck, and Jungkook draws in a sharp breath, shuddering. This shouldn’t feel like this, this is nothing – but it is, it’s so much. Electricity flows from Yoongi’s touch, just enough to make the hair on Jungkook’s arms stand.

The sound of metal against wood plays quietly in the background. There's hushed whispering, muffled steps. The door opens, then closes with a clicking noise. Just like the pillow hitting the floor, the quiet sound is enough to punch the air out of Jungkook’s lungs.

He exhales shakily. His heart stops.

Firmly, Yoongi’s hand moves down, resting between his shoulder blades. The weight on Jungkook’s skin reminds him of his body. Flesh, bones, control. Yoongi isn’t acting as if Jungkook was made out of glass, as if he could pop him like a balloon. It’s strangely empowering. Reassuring.

“Jungkook-ah.” Yoongi pushes his hand into Jungkook’s tense back, just hard enough to make him feel, not enough strength behind it to manipulate his posture or move him. The heat of his palm bleeds through Jungkook’s shirt, sinking under his skin. Keeping him warm. “Stand up.”

It’s not like in the videos Jungkook watched when he was younger, buried under blankets, eyes wide, fear so cold in his stomach he was shivering. Yoongi’s voice is the same as always, not changing into a cold sneer, not piercing through Jungkook, through his heart. He’s calm, patiently waiting for Jungkook to comply. The same as always.

Maybe that’s because he doesn’t want to scare Jungkook, or because he doesn't need to change his attitude to convey his dominance. Maybe, though, there’s no change because Yoongi is dominant to his core, every minute of the day.

Jungkook allows himself to take a few breaths, steadying himself. Not like in the videos. It’s not.

Giving into the pressure Yoongi applies between his shoulder blades, Jungkook gets up, moving slowly, not trusting his legs. They feel weak and shaky. God, please don’t let them shake, that would be bad, pathetic – why is he blushing? He’s just standing up, why is his face so hot?

Well, he’s not just standing. Not really. He’s standing because Yoongi tells him to, and even though the command is gentle, it’s still a command. It’s control, control Yoongi has over him, control Jungkook allows Yoongi to have over him. A power imbalance he asked for.

Obeying goes straight to Jungkook’s head, soothing a wound that has been throbbing since – well. A long time. There’s a weight falling from his shoulders that he was never aware of, not consciously.

He’s red, so red. Surely, Yoongi sees it all, noticing how affected Jungkook is. Affected by standing up for him, just from getting on his feet.

Before Jungkook has a chance to be relieved that Yoongi is standing behind him, he walks around Jungkook, never breaking contact, his hand moving over his shoulder, closing around his upper arm. Yoongi only lets go when he stands right in front of Jungkook and they took a few steps away from the sofa, slowly withdrawing his hand.

For a moment, Jungkook thinks he’s floating up, right through the roof. But Yoongi’s eyes are still on him, and that’s enough to ground him. Yoongi’s here. He’s right here. He won’t let him fly away or fall.

“Tell me your safeword”, Yoongi says, always watching Jungkook.

Jungkook’s mouth opens. “Red”, he gets out, his throat dry.

“Louder”, Yoongi’s calm voice cuts through the quiet, going straight to Jungkook’s chest.

He swallows, stomaching Yoongi’s order. It’s different, this time, not quite as neutral. There’s a faint displeasure to it. Faint – but if Jungkook did everything like Yoongi wanted him to, he wouldn’t ask Jungkook to repeat himself.

His heart picks up speed. Jungkook clears his throat, overly aware of the noise coming out of his mouth.

“I’m – I’m sorry. Sorry”, he says, tripping over his words. He inhales sharply, clenching his fists. He won’t shift around like a nervous wreck, he refuses to. It’s fine. It’s fine. “Red.”

“You have two more colors, yellow and green. Call out yellow if you start to feel uncomfortable, if you need a break, anything. Call out green if you’re ready to proceed. Can you remember that?”

Jungkook nods. “Yes.”

“Yes, sir”, Yoongi corrects, another pang of guilt going through Jungkook, like Yoongi flicked a small, burning ember onto his skin.

“Yes, sorry. Sorry. Yes, sir”, he shakes his head, sweating. He’s so warm.

This isn’t going great, he keeps – keeps on failing, forgetting things, he has to do better. He has to concentrate. It’s not hard, of course Yoongi expects him to be respectful, he can’t blame him, Jungkook asked for this. He asked for this.

“Kook-ah.”

At the unexpected softness of Yoongi’s voice, Jungkook’s head shoots up, finding his eyes again. He didn’t even notice that he looked down, frowning, sinking into his thoughts. Fuck. He has to – fuck.

Yoongi smiles at him. A small, gentle smile, his eyes softening. Jungkook’s breath hitches.

“You’re doing good.” He reaches out, taking Jungkook’s hand. “Me correcting you doesn’t mean you’re failing. You’re learning.”

Jungkook’s cheeks grow warm. He notices everything, reading him like an open book. Just how many times did he do this before? How many times has Yoongi been someone’s first?

Jungkook relaxes at Yoongi’s words, tension drawing out his shoulders. So Yoongi doesn’t expect him to just know, somehow. He’s still teaching him. Different than in the classroom, but still teaching.

This is nothing like in the videos. If it was, Jungkook would be bleeding already.

Yoongi squeezes his hand before he lets go again, not minding how clammy Jungkook’s skin is. “Tell me what color you are.”

It’s easier when Yoongi is touching him and smiling at him. It makes Jungkook feel normal. Like they’re having breakfast in the mess hall or going for a walk in the garden.

But it’s also not enough to scratch the itch in the back of Jungkook’s head, demanding more. The itch Jungkook noticed the first time after Taehyung praised him in the doctor’s office, steadily growing stronger with every day, strong enough for him to ask Yoongi to dom him.

He wants that itch to be gone. He wants Yoongi to continue, for now.

“Green”, Jungkook whispers before he clears his throat, repeating himself louder. “Green, sir.”

A part of him, deep down, still can’t believe he’s doing this.

Yoongi’s eyes darken. For a moment, fear rises in Jungkook’s chest. Then he looks, really looks, understanding that Yoongi isn’t angry or unhappy with him, not in the slightest. No, he wants. He wants something. Wants Jungkook?

Jungkook’s feet are rooted in the ground while his head floats from his shoulders, floats up into the clouds, his brain turning into mush. Wants, wants, wants. He wants Jungkook. Jungkook is pleasing him.

“Good boy”, Yoongi says, and Jungkook’s legs threaten to buckle. Blood is rushing to his head; it’s rushing in his ears. He’s so warm. So, so warm. As if Yoongi reached into him, cupping Jungkook’s heart with his hands, holding it.

Jungkook realizes then – Yoongi doesn’t have to touch him.

“Kneel.” Yoongi taps the pillow on the ground with his boot.

It’s a mercy, really. Jungkook follows the pull of gravity, sliding down before he has the chance to overthink. It doesn’t look graceful, or pretty, but that’s fine. That’s okay. All he has to do is get down on his knees. All he has to do is be good and do as Yoongi tells him.

Easy. It’s so easy, Jungkook should be terrified. He should be, but he isn’t. It feels too good to be scared.

“I will go get something from the cabinets across the room. I’m telling you what it is and what I’ll use it for, so you don’t panic when you see it in my hands.” Yoongi talks slowly, his fingers sliding into Jungkook’s hair, making him shiver.

Jungkook is sensitive under his hands, the slightest shift of Yoongi’s fingers sending sparks down his back. He allows himself to close his eyes, focused on listening. On being good.

“I’m getting some rope to tie you with”, Yoongi continues, gently gripping Jungkook’s hair when he tenses up.

Jungkook shifts on his knees. He can’t suppress the images conjured by the idea of being tied, the memories. The things he saw. Boys lying spread eagle on the ground, crying, unable to close their legs, unable to resist. Boys with raw wrists. Boys with –

Yoongi puts his middle and index finger under Jungkook’s chin, tilting his head back. Their eyes meet, the calmness in Yoongi’s gaze pulling Jungkook in.

“Do you remember what you asked me before we started this?”, Yoongi asks, pulling his hair.

A mild sting tingles over Jungkook’s scalp, intoxicating warmth dripping down his head. It takes a moment for him to remember what Yoongi asked, and even longer to come up with an answer. When he does, his heart aches.

“I asked if you would hurt me”, Jungkook whispers, his voice rough.

“And what did I answer?”

Jungkook swallows. “You said that you wouldn’t.”

And he did, didn’t he? That’s what Yoongi said. What he promised, again and again, every time Jungkook asked. Yoongi has never hurt him before, none of them have. He’s been here for weeks, and there hasn’t been any pain. They have never lied to him, either – not consciously. Not with malicious intent.

Until now, maybe? It whispers in the back of Jungkook’s head. He’s at his weakest, here, on his knees. Eager to please, the soothing humming in his skull louder with every passing moment.

His eyebrows twitch. No. He has to listen.

Red. Red, yellow, green. Power and control. His scalp is burning, he feels his hair growing out of his skin. He’s not fragile, he’s not. It’s his decision to be here.

His decision to give Yoongi a chance.

“I want to tie a simple chest harness”, Yoongi says. “It won’t constrict your movements, and you’ll be able to get out of the binding on your own if you choose to leave the dungeon at any point. You will feel the pressure of the rope around your torso when you breathe. It will be a comforting sensation, and it will help you to go under.”

The information rains down on Jungkook. It’s hard for him to keep track, and even harder to come to a conclusion beyond the fact that he trusts Yoongi. Jungkook doesn’t know anything about bondage, can’t picture a form of bondage not constricting his ability to move. He knows Yoongi wouldn’t lie, though.

He just has to see for himself.

“Okay. Sir.” He smiles up at Yoongi, and for a moment, Yoongi’s breath catches.

Chapter Text

The rope is wrapped around Jungkook's chest, climbing over his shoulders, hugging him tight, whispering it's okay, I'm here, let go and I'll hold you.

It's the anchor tying Jungkook to earth, and at the same time the very thing making him float, pushing him up, up, up. With every breath, it presses into his skin, reminding him he's safe, he's secure. He's free.

The tension pours out of Jungkook's muscles, his eyes wet. He presses them together, inhaling shakily, gasping, God. God, the air tastes so sweet, so clean on his tongue, and Jungkook doesn't understand.

How does restraining his body, free his mind? How does thin black rope have this power over him just because it went through Yoongi's hands? Why is his heart bursting, his feelings expanding past his body even though he's tied?

His thoughts are loose in Jungkook's brain, riding the gentle wave of relief, the confusion fleeting and far away. Background noise. For the first time in days, they are a mere whisper.

Maybe this is how it all started, billions of years ago, when the sky was dark and empty, when there was no sky. When the Universum squeezed together tighter and tighter, until it exploded into existence. Maybe, sometimes, you have to make limits tangible to grow beyond them.

This is true vulnerability. If it isn't, Jungkook has no idea what could be. There can't be more. There can't.

Jungkook moans when Yoongi touches him, his skin raw under his cool fingers. The rope is perfect, ecstatic, but this is better. This is everything. The rope is an extension of Yoongi's hands - but it isn't his hands.

He drools, swallowing with great effort. His head tips back and for a moment, he thinks he's falling. But then it stops, and he's being held, Yoongi's calm breath surging against his shoulder.

In, out. Like waves washing ashore, the water steady and peaceful. An empty beach, just Yoongi, Jungkook and the ocean.

The ocean. Jungkook's mind sounds like the ocean. He's floating in a sea of blissfull white noise.

He doesn't even attempt to speak. His tongue lies useless in his mouth, but he's not concerned.

Jungkook is hard in his shorts, zaps of pleasure twitching up his thighs when Yoongi tightens his grip around his shoulders. Still, he's not concerned. Yoongi is here, Yoongi is holding him. He would tell Jungkook if he was bad, but that's not happening. At least Jungkook doesn't think it is.

He frowns. Is Yoongi talking to him? He has to concentrate, has to come back. Just a little. Just far enough so he can be good for Yoongi.

Jungkook sighs, moans when Yoongi squeezes him in response, reassuring pressure all around him. Yoongi's chest rumbles against Jungkook's back as he speaks.

"Good boy." He lifts his hand, gently brushing sweaty strands of hair from Jungkook's forehead. Jungkook flushes. "Relax , you're okay."

Relax. He is relaxing. His muscles are so loose, he's melting. Without Yoongi and his ropes, he'd be a puddle on the ground. Jungkook is sure of it.

But it's nice, it's the best he's ever felt. How will he ever be able to live without this again? Who knew there was a way out all along, a way to forget. A way to just be.

"Five more minutes." Yoongi's hands firmly stroke up and down Jungkook's arms. "Then we'll get you out of the rope."

Jungkook's heart tightens. His muscles twitch, too relaxed to tense with the fear shooting up his spine.

Get him out? Why? He's relaxing, just like Yoongi told him to, just as he said, so why – why? He's good, he hasn't done anything wrong. Or has he? Did Yoongi say something Jungkook didn't hear?

God, is he bad? Yoongi doesn't like bad boys, he has no interest in them. He likes the obedient ones, the hard working subs. Jungkook hasn't been working hard to please him at all. All he's doing is sitting here.

Yoongi's probably sick of him. Why wouldn't he be? It has to be so boring, sitting there, holding him. Where's the fun in that?

Jungkook is no fun. Not at all. He's such an idiot–

"Shh, boy. Easy, Jungkook, it's okay."

Jungkook frowns, whining. "Why?", he asks, his tongue heavy. "Sir."

"You want to be good, don't you?"

"Yoongi ... Yoongi-ssi", Jungkook groans. Yes, yes of course he wants to be good. He wants Yoongi to like him, he needs him to. He needs him.

"I know", Yoongi says. "I know. Your body needs a break, I'm not punishing you. Not at all."

Jungkook gulps. "Mh. Okay – Okay."

He doesn't want to stop; he wants to stay here. Forever, if possible.

It's not. Of course it's impossible, but he's still sad. He squeezes his burning eyes together, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Yoongi starts to gently untie him, unraveling the strong knots nestled against Jungkook’s skin, and Jungkook starts to cry.

He holds his breath, trying his best to suppress the trembling of his chest, trying so hard, but Yoongi notices, moving into Jungkook’s field of view.

Jungkook keeps his eyes shut. He can’t stand Yoongi seeing him like this. He’s a mess, and slowly, he starts to care again. At least if being a mess means Yoongi will think badly of him.

He shifts his weight from his knees to his ass and draws his legs up, hugging them to his body, overly aware of his erection. Only now that he's sitting does he notice how tired his knees are from kneeling. How long have they been here?

“Look at me.”

Jungkook gulps, rubbing his shins. The spit in his mouth tastes salty, but he can't swallow all of his tears. There are just too many. It's too much.

The rope hits the floor and Jungkook is free again. So why are his bones heavy now, why is the air cutting his skin? Reality crashes back with full force, choking him.

And Yoongi. Yoongi will leave.

What is he supposed to do now, how does it end? Should he – Is he expected to go back to his room? He wishes Seokjin would've also written him a script for this.

He should thank Yoongi, at least. Yeah, he really should. Jungkook attempts to get the words out, but all he manages is a shaky sigh between his silent crying.

Suddenly, something ice cold and smooth touches Jungkook's cheek, startling him out of his head. He gasps, opening his eyes, catching his breath. His heart skips a beat.

Yoongi got the glass pitcher, lightly pressing it into Jungkook's skin. Jungkook blinks at him, his head shocked into emptiness for a blissful moment.

Now that Jungkook is finally looking back at him, the line of Yoongi's shoulders relaxes.

"There you are", he murmurs, lowering the pitcher.

Jungkook takes a few slow, deep breaths. "I'm sorry – I'm sorry for crying. Sir."

It's still hard to look at Yoongi, but Jungkook keeps his eyes open. He concentrates on the scent of fresh air and Yoongi's cologne; the slight breeze on his skin, the way he can still feel the ghost of rope wrapped around him.

Yoongi shakes his head. "Crying is good. Don't apologize."

Jungkook relaxes a little, biting back the next "sorry" already on his lips. There's no need to be sorry. Yoongi wouldn't lie, even if Jungkook doesn't quite get it. What's so great about crying? It's weak and ugly.

On the other hand, what's good about pain? What's good about being restrained? What's good about being overpowered, dominated?

There's good in a lot of things Jungkook has always perceived as horrible to begin with. There's good in Yoongi, even though Jungkook was afraid of him. Still is, a little bit.

It is quite cathartic to cry, Jungkook has to admit. It's – relieving, washing the crushing sadness and sudden feeling of loss out of him. Somewhat, at least.

He watches Yoongi curling up the rope and his heart sinks. Jungkook blinks, rubbing his burning eyes. Everything is burning. The rope marks on his skin, his face, his dick.

He doesn't want to move. Moving means it's over – and moving means Yoongi will see the state Jungkook is in. His cheeks get even hotter.

Surely he's already noticed Jungkook's erection when he was kneeling, but it would be different now. Now, Jungkook would notice him noticing, and he very much likes to pretend Yoongi is clueless.

Yoongi's hands slow down, now just holding the rope. Jungkook looks up, blinking at him.

He's thinking, a small frown on Yoongi's face. His eyes bore into Jungkook, searching but absent.

Then he hums, putting the rope down. "Let me give you a gift", he says, nodding, putting his foot forward and reaching down to grab his boot. "A reward."

Yoongi unties one of his black boots and proceeds to pull out the shoelace.

The word "reward" buzzing in Jungkook's head makes it hard to focus on what he's doing or why he's doing it. For all Jungkook cares, Yoongi could present him an empty box or a grain of sand as long as it represents a reward.

It turns out to be much better than that, though. Much, much better.

"Show me your wrist", Yoongi demands, handling the shoelace like a tiny rope, winding it around his pale fingers.

Jungkook does as he's told, holding out his right wrist, and Yoongi starts to tie him again.

Quickly, the black shoelace transforms into an intricate pattern of knots, a bracelet just tight enough for Jungkook to feel it on his skin. Under, above, under, above, Yoongi weaves the string.

"Wear it for as long as you want to, you can take it off any time."

Fascinated, Jungkook watches Yoongi's fingers moving quickly and with utmost precision, turning nothing into a piece of art.

A piece of art warming Jungkook from the inside out, melting the coldness in his chest. It makes up for the loss of the rope, it really does. Because this – Jungkook gets to keep this. There's no time limit, it's just a bracelet.

Of course, to him it's more than that. It's an extension of the scene, an extension of Yoongi's dominance, of his care. It shows how much Yoongi notices and how thoughtful he is. How hard he tries.

Jungkook is too normal again to not be overwhelmed by it all. His face is so hot, and he wants. He wants Yoongi's pretty hands on his skin, to finally grab and pull not only the rope but him. He wants to be close, wants heat, more heat, more Yoongi. Wants him over and under and inside – teeth, spit and sweat.

Suddenly, Jungkook is dizzy with want. As soon as Yoongi is done with his art work, Jungkook pulls his hand away.

His heart is racing, it's pulsing in his hot cheeks. He looks at Yoongi, embarrassed enough to steam.

After, Jungkook pretty much flees out of the room, bowing and murmuring thanks over and over until he shuts the door. He rushes to his room, sweat dripping down his back, and collapses into the shower.

The bathroom tiles are cool under his palm. He tears his shirt off, his shorts, his socks, and turns on the water. The world spinning around him, he fists his throbbing cock, his forehead pressed against the wall, Yoongi's bracelet biting into his skin.

Chapter Text

Now that it's fall, the wind cool and biting, the submissives are allowed to wear white sweater jackets and long pants.

Sitting on Wontae's bed, Jungkook draws the jacket tight around his body. The heater is on and it's quite warm inside the building, but Jungkook is cold. A heavy, icy stone sits deep in his stomach, weighing him down.

He looks around the room, trying to distract himself. There are posters on the walls, pillows on the bed, and a monstera plant on Wontae's desk. Wontae even has his own curtains, green and heavy. His room feels lived-in, homey. The opposite of Jungkook's room, the only thing he's changed with his arrival is the duffle bag shoved in a corner.

Wontae lies on the bed next to him, completely at ease. He's reading a book, minutely flipping the pages. His eyes are glued to the words, quickly moving over the sentences. Sometimes he frowns, sometimes he grimaces. Once or twice, he chuckles quietly.

Jungkook watches the emotions play out on Wontae's face. Absently, he plays with the bracelet around his wrist. Yoongi's bracelet.

His stomach twists. The cold stone in his stomach swells, threatening to burst through his skin. He swallows heavily.

"What are you reading?", Jungkook asks into the silence, his voice rough. He hasn't said a thing since he entered Wontae's room, and Wontae let him be.

Wontae's eyes flicker from the page to Jungkook. He looks him up and down, acknowledging his presence openly for the first time. He smirks. "Marquis de Sade."

Jungkook blinks at him. "Marquis de who?"

Wontae blinks back. He lowers the book, shaking his head. "You know, sometimes I forget to which degree that school of yours fucked you over. I know they basically taught you nothing about dynamics, but Marquis de Sade? Really?"

Frowning, Jungkook glares at him. Though he can't bring himself to be sincerely annoyed. He's too glad that Wontae indulges him with small talk. "Do I have to google him, or are you going to explain already?"

"Little tense, Kook-ah?", Wontae huffs, turning to lie on his back. He looks up at Jungkook, handing him the book.

Jungkook starts scanning the page Wontae left off on. The book is old, the pages are stained and the font is small.

"Donatien Alphonse François, known as Marquis de Sade. Frenchman, pervert and pathological sadist. He wrote some fucked up shit back in the 18th century."

Let me assure you, I act not out of vengeance, or scorn, or any sentiment of hatred or hostility: rather, it is purely and simply a matter of passion; nothing pleases me more than the shedding of blood.

Gulping, Jungkook stares down at the page. He flips through the book, paling. It's filled with violence of the most despicable kind, depictions of torture, rape and blood. There's an obvious fixation on buttocks – slapping them, biting them, marking them.

"Why are you reading this, hyung?", Jungkook whispers, glancing at Wontae. He gulps, his mouth dry.

Crossing his arms behind his head, Wontae shrugs. "He's a good example of what can happen if dominants have no outlets for their sadistic desires. And it's pretty curious to read porn written so long ago."

Jungkook stares at him, the book heavy in his lap. A reminder of what doms do to subs is the last thing he needs right now.

Well. Some doms. Jungkook can't imagine Taehyung making someone bleed. Not– Not like the Marquise writes about it, with no thought about the suffering sub.

He won't vow the same thing for Jimin, though.

Wontae gently takes the book from Jungkook's damp hands. "It's interesting to look at from a masochistic perspective. I borrowed the copy from Hoseok-ssi."

Jungkook keeps staring at Wontae, another wave of shock going through him. Maybe even worse than the first one, when he skimmed the book. The expression on his face makes Wontae chuckle.

"You didn't really think no dom here was a sadist? Right, Kook-ah?", Wontae smirks, raising his eyebrows.

Jungkook slowly shakes his head. "But ... But Hoseok?"

Hoseok has been nothing but kind to Jungkook; running with him, smiling at him, treating him more like a friend than a sub. He doesn't even want to be called sir, and– Jungkook gulps. He can't believe it.

A grin spreads on Wontae's face as he sits up. "Hoseok, Yoongi, Jimin."

For a moment, before his stomach twists into tight knots, Jungkook has to suppress a satisfied shout. He fucking knew Jimin was an asshole! He knew it.

Not that the satisfaction lasts. Looking down at his wrist, Jungkook pales.

Yoongi is– Yoongi wants–

He draws the cuffs of his jacket over his knuckles, squeezing the fabric. Of course Yoongi wants that. Of course. Jungkook just suppressed what he already knew. He has Yoongi's riding crop in his closet. The riding crop Yoongi brought to breakfast.

The riding crop he didn't hit Jungkook with. Instead, he gave it to him. Because he saw that Jungkook was afraid of him having it. Because he knew Jungkok didn't want pain from him. Not then.

Not then? Jungkook frowns, his stomach fluttering. He pales. What is he thinking?

Wontae throws the book away, making Jungkook flinch as it hits the carpet.

"Do you know the difference between pathological sadism and sadism that's normal?", Wontae asks casually.

Of course he doesn't. Slowly, Jungkook shakes his head.

"Pathological sadism is when you want to give pain without consent. When you find joy in making people, animals, or anything alive suffer. Really suffer." Sitting up, Wontae looks at Jungkook. "That's not what Yoongi, Jimin and Hoseok want. They want the masochist to their sadism, someone who asks for it."

The cold stone in Jungkook's gut tightens uncomfortably. He rubs his hands together, carefully eyeing Wontae. Wontae, a sub who asks for it. Who finds pleasure in pain.

A part of Jungkook wants to ask him about it – about how it feels for him, why he likes it. Why he needs it.

When he opens his mouth, something different comes out. "Except for punishment."

Wontae frowns at him. He shifts, sitting down next to Jungkook, leaning against the wall. Their legs are touching.

Wontae is warm, and Jungkook inhales shakily. "When– When they punish. It's not meant to feel good. It's meant to feel bad."

A heavy sigh leaves Wontae. The humor and sarcasm usually twinkling in his eyes leave. For once, he's serious. He shakes his head, pressing the back of his head against the wall. "You always equate punishment with physical pain, Jungkook-ah. But there are other ways to correct a sub."

Jungkook frowns at the bed sheet. That's not an answer. Or is it?

"But they do punish with physical pain, right?", he pushes, his jaw tense. "And when they do, it's not to give pleasure."

Slowly, Wontae shakes his head again, rolling it from side to side against the wall. "It's– complicated, Kook. Punishment may not feel great in the moment, but ... It helps. It's just as much for the sub as it is for the dom. Probably more so, to be honest."

Jungkook looks at him with disbelief, and Wontae chuckles. "You will understand after your first correction."

That makes Jungkook tense even more. The wall against his back is ice cold. He's in the shower again, cumming down the drain.

Rule, rule, he broke a rule. Rule 5. Masturbating and orgasming without permission are prohibited. Prohibited, and he did it. He just did it.

He broke the rule.

God, Jungkook wants to cut his stupid dick off. He wants to rip the rules apart. He wants– he doesn't know what he wants, but he thinks he might throw up.

"I don't want– I don't want them to–", he inhales shakily.

Wontae leans forward, his eyes soft. He presses his knee against Jungkook's. "They won't hurt you, Kook-ah, that's what I mean. You know there are other ways to correct subs, you've seen it."

Seen it. Has he? He would remember if he saw a punishment, it would be jarring enough to remember, he's sure. There would've been discomfort at least, enough to scare Jungkook. Enough to make him ... Wonder.

Looking at Wontae, he remembers.

During breakfast, when Wontae talked back to Yoongi. As a punishment, he had to serve him. Jungkook remembers Wontae groaning, disappointed he wouldn't get hit.

It had Jungkook wondering, and it left him confused. Back then, he didn't see it as a correction. It didn't make sense to him, and it's still hard to grasp.

But it was a correction, they even called it that. What did Yoongi say? A punishment you enjoy isn't a punishment.

Jungkook's head is swimming. He closes his eyes, the image of Daewon in a maid dress with tied legs comes up.

He closes his eyes. I'm being punished. I lied to Jimin.

That was uncomfortable. It was, and Jungkook doesn't want to think about being in Daewon's position, but ... But that was a punishment without pain, too. Jimin clearly doesn't need physical violence to get his point across. Maybe that was what he wanted to show Jungkook.

Jungkook gulps. "How– The rules. How do they know?"

"How do they know what?", Wontae's patient voice drifts over to Jungkook.

He opens his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath. "How do they know when a sub breaks a rule?" Jungkook wills himself not to blush, but fails. His heart races. "There are no cameras, right? Nothing, they don't watch us when we are alone, so how? How do they know?"

For a moment, Wontae's eyes widen. The sparkle is back, his lips slowly stretching into a smile. Warm, and a little bit teasing. "Oh, Kook-ah. You'll tell them, of course."

•••••••••••••••••••••••

Jungkook won't tell them.

Shivering, he slides into his running shoes. He struggles with the laces, his fingers shaking ever so slightly.

Of course Jungkook won't. Why on earth would he ever tell them? He can't even imagine how he would do that.

Would he just walk up to one of them, and ... What? Look into the eyes of a dom and admit to breaking a rule?

Oh, hi, Namjoon-ssi. Just wanted you to know that I unfortunately lost control over myself and violently jerked off in the shower. Does it help that I thought about Yoongi-ssi fucking me deep into submission while I did it?

No, he wouldn't go to Namjoon. Namjoon is scary, with his suits and grand office loaded with more books than a single human could ever read. But knowing Namjoon, he probably did. He doesn't seem like the type of man who keeps his house full of untouched literature to make his visitors feel inferior.

That's what Jungkook guesses, at least. It's not like he really knows Namjoon. Not at all, and that's why he would never go to him. Jungkook has no idea how Namjoon acts when he's angry.

He imagines Yoongi would be calm. His anger would be cold and controlled, bordering on disappointment.

The icy clump in Jungkook's stomach cramps. There's no way he can look Yoongi in the eyes and tell him he went to break a rule right after their scene. How fucking pathetic, how ungrateful. Yoongi would have any right to be furious.

Maybe Taehyung would be the safest bet. Jungkook knows him a little better than the others, feels like he can read him well enough – besides, Taehyung owes him. He's still afraid that Jungkook lost all trust in him, and he's weary to make mistakes. That would be an advantage, right?

Right. Yes. Taehyung is the safest option. Okay. Maybe he could –

Jungkook freezes, staring at his shoes.

He's not contemplating who to tell. He's not, because he won't do it. He won't.

All he has to do is forget he ever did it, suppressing the memory of himself in the shower, numb with want. If he forgets about it, things will be as if nothing ever happened. There's no proof, they will never know. He won't be punished. Problem solved.

Gritting his teeth, Jungkook ties his shoes. The bracelet slides from under the sleeve of his jacket down his wrist, taunting him.

Jungkook wants to rip it off. For a moment, hot anger shoots through him. He doesn't fucking deserve to have it.

Then, the heat in his belly turns into panic. He clutches the bracelet, sitting on his ass. Cold nausea is spreading in his stomach.

He doesn't want to rip it off, he'd never do that. It's a gift, a reminder, Yoongi made it for him. Jungkook will only get rid of it if Yoongi demands it.

Which he might do, if he gets to know what Jungkook did.

Slow breaths. In, out. Rubbing his eyes, Jungkook forces himself to his feet.

He'll go for a run, like he planned. He'll distract himself and forget about what he did, and everything is going to be fine. Just fine.

Determined, Jungkook marches out of his room and down the stairs. His face is hot and tight, his pulse is just a little too fast. The hairs on his neck are standing.

He comes across a couple subs on his way. They greet him, lighthearted and oblivious.

Jungkook ducks his head and walks quicker. It's as if someone wrote it on his forehead, on his back.

Jungkook broke a rule, he's bad, look at him running away.

He squeezes his eyes together, trying to will his cheeks to cool down. There's nothing to be embarrassed about, nobody can tell. How could they? He's fine. Fine.

Sucking in a deep breath, Jungkook reaches for the door handle, so close to stepping outside. So close.

"Jungkook-ssi?"

Jungkook freezes.

He freezes, his hand on the door handle. It would be so easy to just pull and run outside, pretending he didn't hear Seokjin calling out to him.

But he did hear him. Seokjin's voice goes through Jungkook's whole body, shocking him into stillness. He stares at the door.

"What are you doing? It's pouring outside."

Jungkook glances out the window next to the door. He's met with a wall of rain, the trees are assaulted by heavy winds.

His hand cramps around the door handle. Great. Now Seokjin thinks he lost his mind, thinks something's wrong. He'll ask questions, because that's what doms do: trying to figure out what's wrong.

But there is nothing wrong. Right? Right. Jungkook didn't do anything. He's fine.

If only he could really make himself believe that.

"Are you okay?"

Jungkook can hear the frown in Seokjin's voice, the worry. Fuck.

The sound of his heavy heartbeat fills his ears. He has to say something, anything. If he doesn't respond, Seokjin will freak out.

Jungkook opens his mouth, gulping. His throat is dry. Talk, talk, he has to talk. Just say something, Jungkook!

"I'm sure Hoseok will do indoor exercises with you, if you need to work off some stress."

Jungkook flinches, Seokjin's voice is way closer now. The hairs on his neck are rising. Seokjin's offer barely registers.

The next time Seokjin speaks, it's different. He sounds different. Less casual, there's more weight to his words. More dominance.

"Please turn around, Jungkook-ssi."

It goes through Jungkook like a cold wave. He pries his hand from the door handle, his jaw clenched. He has to listen, he can't fuck up again. He can't. Please, don't let him fuck up again.

Why is it so hard to turn around?

Well, he knows why. Seokjin will see his face. He'll look into Jungkook's eyes and he'll see everything Jungkook is trying to hide.

"Okay. I will touch your upper arms now. Remember, you can always say your safe word."

Jungkook's holds his breath, his eyes wide as Seokjin's big hands grab him by the arms. He moves slowly, handling Jungkook with soft touches. Gently, he urges Jungkook to turn around.

Jungkook's damp hand slips from the door handle.

It's a relief that Seokjin manipulates his body to comply because Jungkook wants to. He wants to, but he can't. The ice in his stomach spreads through his entire body, freezing him.

Seokjin smiles at him, and Jungkook's mind goes blank.

"Ah, I'm offended, Jungkook – usually people are quite happy if they get to see my face", Seokjin says casually, a lighthearted glim in his eyes.

Jungkook's mouth falls open. It doesn't matter how kind Seokjin's eyes are, they still seem to bore right through him. Seokjin's look pierces through his chest, his stomach cramping up. His bones are heavy. It's a horrible feeling, this – this guilt.

"I'm sorry", Jungkook blurts out, his heart doing a summersault. It's racing, and he's glad the only thing leaving his mouth are words. He's nauseaus.

Seokjin tilts his head, now really looking at Jungkook. Looking to find something, something that's wrong.

His voice is still calm and nonchalant. "That's okay, sometimes we need help to be good." He smiles, letting go of Jungkook's arms. "Do you need help right now?", he continues carefully.

It's an offer. So innocent and so incredibily dangerous. Now, Jungkook is sure Seokjin knows something is wrong. He knows. There's no way to turn back from this; the opportunity to just forget what happened and move on is gone. That door is closed.

Jungkook swallows, the words bubbling up his throat the moment that lying isn't an option anymore. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry – sir. I didn't want – please. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

Rationally, he's aware he's panicking for no reason at all since he can safeword at any time. Rationally, he has no reason to believe Seokjin or one of the others will beat him half dead for what he's done.

Unfortunately, his body doesn't care. The guilt manifests physically and clouds his mind. The true thing he fears is facing their disappointment, and admitting that to himself is a punch to the stomach.

Why does he even care? He just knows he does. He does a great deal. Jungkook has no mental capacity to dissect his emotions right now.

Seokjin slowly racks his fingers through Jungkook's hair, the gentle scratching grounding. The slightest hint of pain. It's good, and it's deserved. He shivers.

Oh god, Jungkook is gone. What is happening to him?

"Atta boy", Seokjin coos, still smiling. Why is he still smiling when the guilt is so visible on Jungkook's face. "Do you think I'm angry? I'm not, I'm not angry at all."

When Jungkook doesn't answer, Seokjin pulls his hair. He's careful not to hurt him, just giving him a little tension, a little nudge.

It's as if Seokjon is pulling the words out of Jungkook's throat by his hair.

"But you don't know what I did", Jungkook forces out, barely hearing himself over his heartbeat. He can't believe he's saying this; it doesn't feel real.

Seokjin hums, raising his eyebrows. "What did you do, Jungkook-ssi?"

Chapter Text

Jungkook can't tell him. He can't. It doesn't matter if he wants to or not, he simply can not.

His heart is racing, just like his mind. A barrage of thoughts he wishes Seokjin could read on his face – I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I wish I didn't do it, sir, I wish I could turn back time, I'm sorry, please don't be angry, don't be disappointed, don't hurt me, I'm sorry sorry sorry –

None of them pass Jungkook's lips. They're stuck in his head like a loop, racing in circles while he helplessly looks at Seokjin. They pick up speed, faster and faster, they make his heart hammer and stomach cramp up, and Jungkook just wants it to stop.

He needs it to stop. It's too much. It builds up and up and drives him insane. His heart will explode.

Seokjin lets go of his hair, cupping his face instead. The worry in his eyes grows, his frown deepening. "Did you hurt someone?"

Jungkook exhales audibly, a forced noise coming from his stomach as if he was trying not to throw up. "No", he chokes out.

Humming, Seokjin moves his thumbs over Jungkook's cheekbones. Slow, light touches. "Did you break a rule?"

This time, Seokjin's voice is softer. It doesn't help with the impact of the question. Too caught up in his panic to say yes, and at the same time unable to lie, Jungkook squirms on his feet, physically sick.

His reaction and the loud absence of a verbal negative are enough for Seokjin to figure it out. Jungkook knows, and he's glad.

At this point, he doesn't even care about being hurt anymore. If Seokjin has to slap him for this horrible guilt to leave, so be it. Being so close to Seokjin while thinking about the rule he broke feels as if Jungkook's skin was too tight for his body. It's suffocating him.

Seokjin sighs. Then he says, almost sadly: "Oh, Kook-ah. You're such a good boy."

It takes a moment for Jungkook's panicked brain to connect the words with their meaning. Then, for a moment, everything inside him comes to a halt. He freezes. His breathing pauses.

Seokjin threw a gentle, casual statement at Jungkook and it landed on the breaks of his mind. The only, strikingly clear thought in his head is: What?

What? Because this – this is not what he expected. This is not what's supposed to happen, not what Seokjin is supposed to say. It's the exact opposite of everything Jungkook anticipated and feared, and that's enough to quiet the chaos in his head, if only for a second.

Now, he's confused. This is confusing, so confusing.

He can't possibly be good. Breaking a rule is bad, Jungkook isn't dumb. Is Seokjin lying to him, is he somehow attempting to trick him? Why? What is he doing, why would he say this? Why – Why?

Jungkook frowns, searching Seokjin's face. But all he can read in his expression is calm kindness, worry, and sadness. A touch of sadness.

"No", Jungkook stutters out, gulping. "I have – I'm not. I'm not good."

A small, patient smile spreads on Seokjin's lips. "Yes, you are", he says, his voice firm. "You're a very good boy. An obedient boy."

Jungkook wants to protest, wants to explain himself again. Maybe Seokjin misunderstands something? Maybe. But it's more likely Jungkook is the one who's lost. It's always him, here in this house. He's always the stupid one. The weak one.

He won't outright disagree with Seokjin, not right now, so all Jungkook gets out is a desperate: "I don't understand."

At the tone of his voice, something flickers in Seokjin's eyes. Something almost looking like pain.

He quickly and calmly starts to speak again, his hands sliding to Jungkook's shoulders. "If you weren't good, you wouldn't feel bad about what you did. You certainly wouldn't tell me." He squeezes his shoulders. "If you weren't good, you wouldn't be so desperate for our forgiveness."

Jungkook inhales shakily, hearing it out loud giving him whiplash. Hearing it out loud, he can't deny it's true.

That's what he wants. What he needs, with every fiber of his being. His dominants' forgiveness. Someone to tell him it's okay, that he's still welcome, still good enough. Someone who lets him earn their forgiveness, so he can forgive himself.

"Do you want to know what subs like you do to feel better after they broke a rule?", Seokjin asks, giving him another one of his patient smiles.

Gulping, Jungkook nods, his heart squeezing.

"They find their dom and they get on their knees." Seokjin's voice is quiet and calm.

Suddenly, his hands on Jungkook's shoulders seem to get heavier and heavier. They weigh a hundred pounds on his guilty skin, and Jungkook slowly sinks down, until his knees are on the floor. He exhales shakily, Seokjin's boots blurring before his eyes.

"They bow their head and cross their wrists behind their back", he continues, and Jungkook's head tips forward.

He lets his eyes flutter closed as he moves his hands behind his back, curling them into loose fists and crossing his wrists. His heart beats slow and steady in his chest. It makes him wonder why he bothered to keep on his feet while facing Seokjin in his misery when this is so much easier. So much calmer.

"Then they ask to be punished", Seokjin finishes.

Anxiety washes over Jungkook in a slow, almost gentle wave. It stems from his fear of being hurt, no matter how irrational it is. And it is quite irrational, he knows. He knows now.

Still, it's hard to get over.

His mouth opens. He wants to ask, but his breath leaves him in a silent exhale. The barrier in his head is too stubborn, and he needs help to overcome it. He needs something.

A reassurance, so the doubt holding him back is erased – the tiny voice telling him that maybe, just maybe Seokjin will hurt him after all.

Jungkook wishes he could be bad if this is how it feels to be good. If he was bad, he could just ignore what he did. He wouldn't have to deal with the hammering guilt in his skull.

He inhales shakily, at a loss for words, Seokjin waiting for him to speak up. And then, it comes to him and his lips move on their own. "Yellow."

That's one of the three colors Yoongi gave him during their scene. He had red before, a way to stop everything. A way to escape.

But that's not what he needs right now. Now, he just wants a pause. A detail that will help him to continue. Even if this isn't a real scene. Is it a real scene?

Seokjin grabs his chin and tilts his head up with careful pressure, so Jungkook is looking at him. His face is still kind, but his eyes are serious.

"What do you need?", he simply asks, and Jungkook could cry from relief. It's the perfect question.

"If I ask for punishment", Jungkook starts, inhaling sharply, "will you beat me?"

This, he truly couldn't bear. To be not just hurt, but treated with brutality to make up for his mistake would crush the tender sapling of hope and trust planted in his heart.

He doesn't want that. He can't take that. He couldn't. Not even to earn their forgiveness.

Shock bleeds through Seokjin's composed mask. His lips twitch, his eyes shining. He gulps, the grip around Jungkook's chin tightening for a moment. His fingers jump against Jungkook's skin as if he burned himself.

"Beat you?", he says, his voice short of choked up. Jungkook watches his Adam's apple bob with a heavy gulp.

He takes in a deep inhale, regaining his composure. And there it is again, that slight shimmer of sadness in his eyes.

"No, Jungkook-ah." He lets go of Jungkook's chin, the back of his fingers caressing his cheek. Gentle, barely the graze of a butterfly's wing. "I will not beat you, and neither will I hit, slap or punch you. I will punish you without touching you at all."

Jungkook's eyes widen, his shoulders slowly dropping. The knots in his stomach become undone one by one, and it almost hurts, as if his fingers were warming back up after a long day in the snow.

He squeezes his eyes shut and bows his head again, needing to do this properly. At least this he will do with grace, and good enough for Seokjin to be proud of.

"Please, sir", he croaks, his throat dry. "I need a punishment."

The words are still hanging in the air, but Jungkook already can't believe he spoke them out loud. He sighs, a heavy stone dropping from his chest. By asking for punishment, He takes his guilt and puts it in Seokjin's hands. While he's anxious, nervous, and doesn't know what will happen, it's a relief.

He is no longer the one who has to make decisions. Now, he just has to follow along and take whatever Seokjin will throw at him. He will be forgiven. Everything will be alright.

He's suddenly tired to his bones as Seokjin helps him on his feet, and he melts against him, Seokjin pulling him into a warm hug.

"There you go", Seokjin says, his hand firmly stroking down Jungkook's back. "You did so well. Every sub before you who got corrected here was okay, and you'll be okay too. Brave boy."

"What will you have me do?", Jungkook murmurs against Seokjin's shoulder, the praise wrapping him up and sinking into his skin.

Seokjin hums and gently pulls back to look at him. "Let's go upstairs first, ah? C'mon."

While they walk and climb the stairs, Seokjin keeps his long arm around Jugkook's waist. Their hips brush because they're so close to each other. Jungkook smells Seokjin's signature scent with every breath, fresh and woody.

Maybe he should feel trapped, or suffocated. But if he could, he'd crawl right into Seokjin's chest and curl up in his rib cage to sleep for a hundred years. His touch is like a soothing balm on Jungkook's sore mind, and Jungkook is content to be next to him, even though he's walking towards a punishment.

It's okay. He'll take it as long as Seokjin stays by his side and tells him he's good. He'd like to be good for Seokjin, to keep making him proud. He'd like that.

Jungkook recognizes the buzz of submission in the back of his mind, a quiet white noise slightly muffling the world around him – everything except Seokjin. Even his anxiety.

At least until they leave the second floor and start to ascend the stairs to the third floor. When Jungkook notices, he stops in his tracks, forcing Seokjin to halt next to him.

He's never been on the third floor before, because this is where the doms live. They have their quarters there. Six bedrooms, a kitchen, a living area, bathrooms. Like a flat. The third floor is where they sleep, shower and relax. It's where they're human, and the place where most of them probably are right now.

"Jungkook?"

Jungkook looks to the side, at Seokjin's carefully measured face. As if he couldn't guess what has Jungkook stopping. As if they do not always guess what's going on inside his head.

"Please", Jungkook spits out. Wontae didn't list Seokjin as a sadist, but Jungkook isn't too sure about that. "I can't – please. Sir."

Seokjin's eyes soften. "Nobody will be mad at you. Was I mad at you?"

Jungkook swallows. "No, but –", he bites his tongue to surpess a whine. "No, sir."

Seokjin's palm slides against Jungkook's. He squeezes his hand and starts walking again, pulling Jungkook along. His grip is loose, the slow pull almost enough for Jungkook's hand to slip free, and he could free himself without issues. But his legs move along, up the stairs.

"I understand how difficult this is, Kook-ah. I do." He glances back at Jungkook. "But you know my forgiveness alone won't be enough."

Jungkook's palm sweats in Seokjin's grip. His heartbeat gets louder in his chest with every step. "I hate that I am this way", he says, his voice hollow.

He doesn't expect Seokjin to exhale a breathy laugh.

"Oh, sweet boy." He's smiling, but his eyes are sad again. "It's not the first time I heard that. Both submissives and dominants have told me these very words before, and I promise, it gets better. It does."

Jungkook's brows twitch into a frown.

Why would a dominant ever wish to be different? In the end, they're in control. They never have to surrender physically or mentally. They never get restrained. Their brains don't want them to give up their bodily autonomy, itching to serve.

They never have to confess to a room full of people who have a scary amount of power over them, or beg for punishments. They don't have to trust like submissives do.

It's ridiculous for a dom to be dissatisfied with their dynamic. It doesn't make sense at all.

Chewing Seokjin's statement until it's stomached and Jungkook is sure to have proven it to be a lie, he almost doesn't notice Seokjin walking him into their quarters.

But suddenly, the air is warm and heavier. The combined scents of all of them hit Jungkook, making him dizzy. He inhales shakily, and he also smells burning wood.

A gentle crackling noise reaches his ears. There's a fireplace, small flames licking over dry logs. Plush carpets are on the floor, the leather sofas standing around cushioned enough to sink right into them. Tall windows brighten up the living room. It's already getting dark outside.

Jimin is lounging on one of the sofas, lazily scrolling through his phone. He's wearing a big, black hoddie and comfortable sweaters, his feet bare.

Hoseok is kneeling in front of the fireplace, a poker in his hands. The flames hiss as he pushes one of the logs further back.

Jungkook barely resists the urge to hide behind Seokjin's back as they look up, noticing him. While Hoseok looks surprised, Jimin immediately starts to smile, his eyes shining. He sits up and puts his phone down.

"You brought a guest, hyung", he says and reaches out, making grabby hands at Jungkook. "Come sit with me, Kook-ah – I just thought it would be nice to have someone to cuddle."

Jungkook stays frozen, his mind starting to race again. He stares at Jimin's hands and his bright smile, his feet glued to the floor.

What is he supposed to do? Jimin doesn't know why he's up here. He might not want to touch him anymore if he finds out Jungkook broke a rule. Jungkook might not want Jimin close by when he hears why Seokjin took him to their quarters.

Maybe he's overthinking again.

Fuck, he's definitely overthinking.

Seokjin unceremoniously drags him over to the sofas. "You can sit with him", he says quietly, "Jimin-ah won't hurt you." He won't hurt you when he knows, is the implication only Jungkook gets.

Apparently, Seokjin didn't talk quietly enough because now, Jimin is pouting. He grabs Jungkook by the hips and pulls him next to him into the plush sofa, cozying up against his chest.

"If you want me to hurt you, you have to wait for tomorrow", Jimin sighs, his arms around Jungkook's stomach and back. He's holding him like his own personal body pillow. "I'm too tired right now, love."

Jungkook blinks, tense all over. Well. That's reassuring.

He helplessly looks at Seokjin and Hoseok, his arms awkwardly hovering in the air. He lowers his hand onto Jimin's back in slow motion, and Hoseok's lips twitch as he watches them.

Jimin is warm, the fabric of his hoodie soft under Jungkook's palm. His back moves with calm, even breaths.

Part of Jungkook is surprised that Jimin doesn't explode as he touches him. He's sitting next to a ticking time bomb. One moment, Jimin is the sweetest thing, and then again, he drives Jungkook mad.

Jungkook is sure no dom here could faster make him lose his mind. In a bad way, maybe also in a good way. After the scene with Yoongi, Jungkook admits to the possibility of a pleasant temporary insanity existing.

"Jimin-ah had a long scene today", Hoseok explains, sitting down with Seokjin on the sofa across from them.

Jimin hums in agreement, sighing against Jungkook's chest. "My hands probably hurt just as much as Jungmin's ass does", he murmurs into Jungkook's shirt.

Seokjin snorts, Hoseok smiles, and Jungkook is pretty sure the world is tilting upside down.

Is this a dream? What's happening? He came here to earn forgiveness, to endure a punishment, and now he's sitting at a fireplace with Jimin half on his lap while the doms around him are casually chatting.

It feels strange, wrong, and Jungkook shifts under Jimin's weight, sweating. It's warm. Why is it so fucking hot in here?

"Sir-" He stretches the collar of his shirt and chokes out: "Please."

He sounds desperate because he is. He can't take this any longer. If they have to know, let them know.

Seokjin's and Hosoek's eyes are on him in a split second. Jimin's arm tightens around his chest while he looks up to see Jungkook's face.

They're all drilling their eyes right through Jungkook, alarmed, trying to read him. It has him shivering, cold sweat dampening his skin.

"Yes", Seokjin hums, straightening himself. "I'm sure you want to get it over with."

Jimin frowns. His eyes flicker from Jungkook to Seokjin's mild expression, back to Jungkook's pale face. It's enough for Jimin's forehead to smooth out in understanding, a slow smile spreading on his lips. He pushes himself up on the sofa, craning his neck until his mouth is right next to Jungkook's ear. Close, so close.

"Is Jungkook-ah here for a punishment?", he mock whispers, loud enough for everyone to hear, hot breath surging against Jungkook's sensitive ear.

Jungkook shivers, inhaling sharply, his grip tightening around Jimin's waist. The word 'punishment' sounds different coming from Jimin. He doesn't bother to keep the teasing tone out of his voice. It's rolling off his tongue as a sweet purr.

When Jungkook remains silent, Jimin pulls back to see his face again, eyes gleaming. "You are, aren't you?"

Squirming, Jungkook throws Seokjin a desperate look. But the neutral smile on his face tells Jungkook that Jimin is his problem. You got this, Seokjin's eyes say. You're okay. Fantastic.

Jimin's curious eyes burn holes into his skin. Staring at his knee with his heart hammering away, Jungkook gives a short nod, the leather squeaking under the tight grip of his right hand.

The hum Jimin gives in response is way too happy, and he straightens himself even more, smiling up at Jungkook with his head on Jungkook's shoulder.

"Let me guess which rule you broke", he asks in a soft voice. The sparkle in his eyes is dangerous. "If I'm right, I get to feed you tomorrow during breakfast. While you're on your knees. Please, Kook-ah?"

Looking at Jimin's sweet smile, Jungkook's breathing halts. For a moment, he forgets where he is and what's happening. The agreement slips from his tongue without a single thought, as if it were an apple plummeting down because that's the way of gravity, the way it has to go. "O-Okay."

Hoseok sighs, rolling his eyes with a smirk, and Jungkook gets the creeping suspicion this isn't the first time Jimin has played this game. As soon as Jungkook agrees, Jimin's smile turns mischievous. He tilts his head, the movement almost predatory.

"Rules three and six are out of question. You like to act like a little rebel, but I doubt you would run away", Jimin hums. "You're far too desperate to be good for us."

Jungkook's eyes widen, shame burning under his skin like a sweet fire. He can't look away from Jimin's face as he keeps talking, his voice demanding Jungkook's attention.

"I don't think it's rule two, because you're not dumb and you know you can't lie to us", Jimin states casually.

What makes things worse is that it's the truth. Jungkook gulps.

"Breaking rule one or rule four is not something you would confess to, because you already did that and didn't feel guilty about it."

That's a punch to the stomach. Jungkook is hot and cold at the same time, memories of him in his clothing and forgetting about titles raining down on him. So many times he broke rules, and they knew. And nothing happened, because he didn't feel bad about it.

They didn't punish him because he was fine. He was alright, not even thinking about what he did. That was reason enough to let it go.

"Nobody strictly enforces these rules anyway", Jimin hums, cupping Jungkook's face. "Except me, of course."

In his head, Jungkook goes through the rules. Jimin excluded one, two, three, four, and six. Every rule except number five.

Every rule except the one Jungkook broke.

His face turns as red as the flames in the fireplace, and Jimin's eyes are burning. Grinning, he leans forward. This time, his lips are touching Jungkook's ear as he speaks, hot against his skin, sending electricity down his spine.

"Tomorrow morning, you're mine", he whispers happily.

Chapter Text

The pen flicks against the blank paper in front of Jungkook. Clack, clack, clack. It jitters in a fast rhythm.

Jungkook barely notices he's doing it. He stares down at the pristine white he's supposed to fill with words, smearing it with the confession of his failure.

His mind drifts away from his task, his punishment, again and again.

He thinks about how it will feel to have Jimin feed him during breakfast tomorrow, and about how effortlessly Jimin guessed which rule he'd broken. He thinks about how easy it would've been for Jimin to hurt him all along, and how Jimin didn't.

He thinks about the long hug Taehyung gave him when he came upstairs and got to know what Jungkook did.

He thinks about how unsurprised Yoongi was when Jungkook woke him from his nap fifteen minutes ago and confessed that he was about to get punished, how Yoongi sleepily played with the bracelet he tied for Jungkook. How Yoongi didn't take it away from Jungkook.

He thinks about how Yoongi's bedroom smells.

Jungkook inhales sharply, sliding his hand into his hair. He fists the strands, pulling.

Every time his focus shifts back to the paper in front of him, his guts shift and wind like a thick snake trapped in his stomach. He has to stop getting distracted, he has to focus and get this done so he finally feels less... dirty. He just has to get the words out, move his wrist and start writing, but he can't, it's—it’s so hard, so embarrassing, it's like he's frozen.

A dry, warm hand carefully detangles Jungkook's fingers from his hair. "Don't hurt yourself."

Jungkook presses his palm down on the paper, as if he was attempting to hide invisible words from Seokjin standing behind him.

First, you will write down what you did, Seokjin had told him, as if it was that simple. It isn't. It's not easy, not at all. It's so hard. So, so hard for Jungkook.

"I can't do it." Jungkook squeezes the pen. He lets his eyes go out of focus for a moment and presses himself deeper into the soft leather sofa. If he could only make himself smaller, so small Jungkook would disappear together with all his stupid decisions.

Namjoon kneels down in front of him, and Jungkook blinks to see clearly again. He's smiling at Jungkook. They are all so calm, hanging out in the living room or the kitchen, waiting for Jungkook to be done without bothering him too much. As if he had all the time in the world.

"Take your time," Namjoon says, and Jungkook almost snorts.

They are never looking at the paper, Jungkook notices. They aren't trying to see what he has already written, or if he even has begun yet.

"Start with anything." Namjoon looks up at Jungkook. "Anything to get into the motion. Starting is the hardest part."

Starting is the hardest part. Jungkook supposes that's true. The white, empty paper is yawning at him, threatening to swallow Jungkook whole if he gets too close.

Seokjin gives his shoulders a reassuring squeeze before he lets go and leaves Jungkook be. Namjoon slowly blinks at him, smiling. Then he stands up and gives him space, too.

Okay. Anything. Jungkook nods to himself, his heart speeding up as he grabs the pen properly. There's no reason to be anxious or ashamed, because he doesn't have to write about what he did yet. He can write about anything, so it’s fine. Just anything.

He presses the tip of the pen against the paper. Blue ink bleeds into the white. Anything is manageable, anything makes it possible to get going. His wrist moves, and he's doing it. He's started. He's putting down words, and it's okay. Nothing bad happens, nothing makes the guilt worse.

Jungkook writes in a corner of the paper, small, fast—My name is Jungkook, it's dark outside, it's too hot in here because they keep this stupid, pretentious fire burning. I broke a rule. I didn't ask for permission.

His cheeks get warmer. It feels like they are watching him, even though he knows they aren't. Jimin is still scrolling on his phone. Seokjin and Namjoon sit on the sofa across from Jungkook, talking quietly. Yoongi is in the kitchen. Hoseok and Taehyung are hunched over a laptop, working.

Jungkook keeps writing. For a long time, he keeps beating around the bush, being vague about what he did, how he broke the rule. Seokjin told him to be as direct and detailed as possible, but he's ashamed, guilty, and a goddamn virgin, okay? He's never even done anything with anybody, and now he's supposed to... write a novel about how he jerked off in the shower after getting tied down.

That's what he did, though. He ran away after Yoongi got him out of the rope, without even thanking him.

I didn’t even thank him. Not even that. Not even a nod, or a smile, just nothing. No appreciation for what Yoongi did at all, how patient he was, how careful.

Anger starts to simmer inside Jungkook's stomach, his pen moving faster. He's such a coward. He was so afraid of Yoongi noticing he was hard, which Yoongi certainly did anyway. And who cares? Yoongi is a professional dom, he works here, he scenes with subs every day—he has seen a hundred men hard, fucking thousands of them. As if Yoongi would've made fun of him for it, or gotten angry. He probably wouldn't have even mentioned it, and—

Maybe that's the problem. That's the reason why Jungkook ran away, why Jungkook needed to get the arousal out of his body like poison.

If he had stayed, Yoongi wouldn't have made a big deal out of it. But Jungkook would've. He wouldn't have asked for touch, for relief, because he is a damn coward even when his mind is still melted from subspace. But his brain was melted, and he would've said or done something stupid. Like grabbing Yoongi's hand to keep him close, or try to touch his face, or... anything.

Anything that would've let Yoongi know Jungkook wanted him. And then, Yoongi would've rejected him. Surely without being cruel, but he would've turned Jungkook down. Why wouldn't he? Jungkook is just another sub here, nothing special.

So he ran away and jerked off in the shower, with his fist stuffed into his mouth.

Jungkook exhales shakily, putting the pen down. He pulls his hand back, glancing at his writing before leaning back and rubbing his eyes. He doesn't want to re-read what he frantically jotted down. The paper burns on his lap.

But now it's done. He did it, without sugarcoating his actions. He was honest while he wrote, he was honest with himself. It was embarrassing, agonizing, but now...

He feels better.

Strangely, he does. Now he knows why he's been feeling so guilty for what he's done, even though breaking other rules didn't affect him. Jungkook knows why what he did was wrong.

With his heart beating fast but steady, he stands up with the paper in his hand. It's now or never. He needs to act before the motivation he gained through writing fades and he thinks again until he gets too anxious to fix this.

Jimin looks up and smirks as Jungkook crosses the room, but he doesn't stop him or speak to him, like Jimin knows the tiniest acknowledgement of his existence would destroy Jungkook's attempt at redemption.

Jungkook has to make this right. He understands.

Yoongi is standing in the kitchen, staring at the coffee machine blubbering a pathetic stream of americano into his cup. He looks up when Jungkook stops in front of him, and his tired eyes become clearer. He straightens himself, turning toward Jungkook.

"I'm sorry," Jungkook says before Yoongi has the chance to talk. The paper sticks to his sweaty palm.

Yoongi visibly pauses. He leans back against the counter, listening.

Forcing himself to look into Yoongi's eyes, Jungkook continues. "And I wanted to say—thank you. Sir."

It’s okay. Yoongi is just standing there, hearing him out. He doesn't look upset. He's giving Jungkook his undivided attention, taking him seriously, letting him get it off his chest.

Jungkook is fine. He takes a deep breath. This is the right thing to do, there's no reason to be embarrassed. He has to do this, it's what he should've said right after the scene. What Yoongi and Jungkook did is normal to Yoongi, hearing this won't freak him out—not like saying it freaks Jungkook out. His palms are damp.

It’s hard, but writing it all down, having to think about what he did and why he did it, made it easier. It made doing this possible, made it bearable to talk.

"Thank you for the scene. I, um." Jungkook gulps. He has to get it out. "I liked it a lot. I really did, it wasn't—it wasn't like I thought it would be. Which is good!" he quickly adds. His cheeks flush.

A small smile spreads on Yoongi's lips, and if Jungkook wasn't busy stumbling over his words, he would notice how fond it is.

"I just... wanted to thank you, and apologize for running away without saying anything. I was disrespectful. You were patient with me, and you helped me, while I was—I was rude."

Jungkook glances down at the paper in his hand. He doesn't want to let go of it, not wanting anybody to read what he wrote. Ever. The thought alone makes his skin feel too tight and burning hot.

But Yoongi won't judge him for it, none of them will. Well, not for the parts he judges himself for, at least. Not for wanting. Jungkook needs to be better this time. He has to trust them with the parts that hurt, that embarrass him, having faith they know how to handle them.

"I'm finished with this," he mutters, looking up again. It takes a lot out of Jungkook to raise his hand, offering Yoongi the paper. It's heavier than a rock. "I'm sorry."

For a moment longer than eternity, Yoongi simply keeps looking at Jungkook, keeps listening even though there's nothing left to say. He processes what Jungkook said to him, enjoying the relief Jungkook's apology brought to Yoongi himself. But Jungkook is too stressed to notice it, adrenaline making it hard to think, to see.

Yoongi steps forward, closer to Jungkook.

He doesn't take the paper from him. Instead, he reaches out, bringing Jungkook's hands together, guiding them to crumple it up. Jungkook's fingers twitch in surprise. His breath catches. The noise of his confession bending and folding is loud in the silence between them.

Yoongi squeezes his hands, the paper now a tight ball in Jungkook's hand.

"You can let go of that now," Yoongi hums.

Yoongi’s eyes... No, he's not upset. It’s the opposite. It looks like he's glad, maybe even proud. Startled out of his anxiety by Yoongi's response, Jungkook sees it now.

Yoongi won't read it. None of them will.

He doesn't have to feel guilty anymore. Jungkook did what Seokjin told him to do—he wrote it all down. He was forced to face his shame, to reflect on his mistake. He apologized, and he meant it, because he understands.

Jungkook's heartbeat calms down enough for it to no longer be uncomfortable against his ribs. The heat of shame and nerves that has been licking at him eases down to the pleasant warmth of relief, like a comforting bath after a freezing winter day. Jungkook sinks into it, his muscles losing the aching tension they have been holding.

Jungkook thinks back to the scene with Yoongi, how good it felt to have pleased him, to gain his approval and a gift. He didn't have the chance to revel in this satisfaction and peace for long, with all the shame crashing back into him so quickly. Strangely, it is almost as if the feeling of bliss and ease comes back to him now.

"I'm sorry," Jungkook says again, and it's simple now. The words come as easy as exhaling does. "You're really not going to read it?"

"No, he isn't," Seokjin answers before Yoongi can.

Yoongi looks over Jungkook's shoulder. Turning around, Jungkook sees Seokjin standing in the doorway, leaning against it with his arms crossed. He's smiling a little, satisfied. Content.

"What you wrote was never meant for us, Jungkook-ah," he says, glancing at the crumpled-up paper ball in Jungkook's hand. "But I think you understand that now. Don't you?"

Jungkook squeezes the paper ball, enjoying the sensation of it giving into the pressure. He nods. "Yes, I think so."

Seokjin's smile grows. He exchanges a look with Yoongi, then nods for Jungkook to follow him back into the living room.

Now, they all pay attention to Jungkook again, gathered by the sofas. It's a little overwhelming, even though they seem pleased with Jungkook.

Jungkook resists the urge to hide the paper ball behind his back, or stuff it into his pocket. You never know. Seokjin said the confession was not meant for them, but Jungkook bets Jimin is going crazy with curiosity. No reason to tempt him.

"Burn it, if you like." Namjoon nods toward the fireplace, standing next to it.

Jungkook hesitates for a moment. That's a little dramatic, but... he kind of wants to get rid of the paper. He wants to physically let go of his panic, his shame, his guilt.

He walks up to the fireplace. Standing there, Jungkook looks at the paper ball in his hand. Acknowledging it's there is easier now that he's forgiven. There's less weight attached to what he wrote, to what he did.

Jungkook can't promise he won't make more mistakes, he can't even promise he won't do the same mistake again.

The thing is—he doesn't have to. That is not what they are asking of him. Perfection is not the prerequisite to forgiveness, affection, and support. All they ask of him is to be as brave as he can be.

That is what makes it easy to throw his confession into the fire. Jungkook watches it burn, and he feels light.