Why Is This So Damn Cute?!

why is this so damn cute?! 😩💖

Here’s a uquiz I made! No unkind or shady results <3 

Omfg me too

ha?

every single person who reblogs this

every

single

person

will get “doot doot” in their ask box

Ok first off, I QOULD LIKE TO SINCERELY APOLOGIZE FOR BEING THIS LATE!! ALSO- theres some dots connecting to TNF so imma pretend it is cus I just cant let go of it 🥺🥲

Amazing as always, whats there more to say about THE @matchstick6812?!!? I love u sm ×10000000 💖💗💖💗💖💗

BRO I LOVE HOW U WROTE KOOK HERE HES SO CUTE ♡♡

I was gonna say smth... but I forgot..... ANYWAH- IM EXCITED FOR THIS AND IMMA SUPPORT U ALL THE WAY, FOREVER ;))))

Undone Business | Chapter 1

Summary: When Jungkook gets caught in the crossfires of a humiliating PR crisis, his team is desperate to rehabilitate his image—by hiring an escort to keep him in line and restore his “good boy” persona. Well, tough tiddies if they think he’s agreeing to that stupid idea. Jungkook doesn’t want a babysitter, and he certainly doesn’t want you…

Pairing: idol!Jungkook x Reader Genre: reluctant-sugardaddy!au (yes, this is a thing now; no, i am not accepting questions at this time), escort!au, idol!au, humor, smut, some hurt/comfort... Word Count: ~7.3k Rating: 18+ Warnings: Please check the end notes for additional content warnings for this chapter—they contain spoilers, but better safe than sorry if you're unsure! Links: AO3, Masterlist, Ko-Fi 🖤 Please note: Undone Business does not have a tag list 🖤

A/N: *Busts out from my cave of depravity* GUESS WHO'S BACK, BACK, BACK—BACK AGAIN, BABY! This one goes out to all my fellow JK sloots. Strap in, besties—it's gonna be another hornt-up, chaotic ride.

Where did UDB get its name? From this poem by Charles Olson. What’s on the UDB:1 playlist? Bad Reputation by Joan Jett & The Blackhearts; Save Me by BTS; Tired of California by Nessa Barrett 💜

CALLING ALL TRIP HEADS: Undone Business takes place in the Trip No Further universe—but rest assured, you do not have to have read TNF to dive into the story, as UDB stands 100 percent on its own. For those who have read TNF, however: UDB technically picks up about three weeks after that story's final scene.

P.S.: Please check the end notes for additional content warnings for this chapter, and for an important post-script from moi, Your Royal Topness!

Chapter One: The Gono-Gong Gang

So it had come to this.

After two months, six flights, fifty-odd missed calls, and one miserable night spent sleeping in a hotel bathtub, Jeon Jungkook—Golden Maknae; Nochu; Justin Seagull; Muscle Bunny; Baby Star Candy; Jay Kayyyyy—was officially fucked, in every sense of the word but the fun one.

Two months. BTS had been on “hiatus” for two fucking months, and somehow, he alone out of all the members had managed to not only set fire to his reputation, but also to get dumped by his girlfriend in one fell swoop. It was bogus. It was insanity. And it was going to cost him 150,000 won if the bet he’d made with the members about who was going to blow everything up for himself first was still on.

Which, okay. Granted, the bet had started off as an innocent joke between pals. Only Jungkook hadn’t fully been kidding when he’d placed his money on Taehyung being the first to go down. Not that he didn’t trust the guy, or anything—just, come on. The kid played it fast and loose on Instagram, these days—it was a recipe for a PR disaster! Right? Yeah. Right.

It was just… the fact that neither Taehyung nor Jimin had texted Jungkook to pay up kind of concerned him. Because if no one was teasing him about the news, then—well, then he was right to fear the worst.

Jungkook was in deep fucking shit.

Two weeks ago, the weather in Korea had still been unseasonably warm for the end of January. Now, the air outside had a sharp, bitter bite to it, as if even the elements were conspiring to make sure Jungkook didn’t get too comfortable today. Well, tough tiddies, Weather Gods—right now, Jungkook actually appreciated the frigidity, thank you! He welcomed the excuse to bundle up in a puffer jacket and gloves, his armor against the world, as he made the short walk from the dorms to Hybe.

And about those dorms: nobody else was living in them at the moment—there was no reason to, considering BTS’s last world tour for the time being had concluded last April. After getting dumped, however, Jungkook found that he didn’t want to go back to his empty apartment in Seoul, which he’d more-or-less been sharing with his girlfriend. Instead, the familiarity of the dorms had come as a reprieve. Back in the day, the dorms had provided a sense of continuity to Jungkook in an otherwise hectic life; a sense of safety.

Not anymore. Waking up today, the entire building had felt fucking foreign to him. Haunted. Like that feeling he got when he’d had that photoshoot in an elementary school gymnasium a few months ago. Jungkook hadn’t stepped foot in an elementary school for years—there was no reason to—but walking down those halls had given him the strangest sense of cognitive dissonance, like he’d just discovered he was a giant masquerading as a man all along. It was like he no longer understood how to fit inside his own narrative.

It was like he no longer belonged.

The gym, especially, had felt so small to him. Standing there, facing the cameras, he’d had this sudden flashback of playing jegichagi during P.E. as a child. How big the gym had seemed back then; how shiny the wooden floors! That was strange, wasn’t it? How for a good portion of his life, Jungkook had believed the gym was gigantic? It wasn’t, though! Not really. It was tiny, nothing compared to the size of a sold-out stadium.

Yeah. That scared him, thinking about how he’d been so wrong for so long; about how someone could be so blinded by their own perspective. Because what else was Jungkook wrong about? What other obvious truths had he missed?

Christ. What was he doing? These maudlin thoughts were no good for him right now; he couldn’t afford to get all introspective and sad until later. It was February—Valentine’s Day, to be exact—and without the members around, the only thing keeping Jungkook from locking himself in his room and going ham on a jumbo-sized tray of tteokbokki (with extra cheese, thank you) was the fact that he was currently on his way to discover whether or not he’d flushed his entire career down the toilet.

So, that was all fucking awesome. Just how he’d wanted to spend the day. Depending on how the next hour went, he might add a carton of ice cream to that grocery list, because—who cared! Not his ex-girlfriend, that was for fucking sure.

“Jungkook-nim.” Hybe’s receptionist inclined her head politely when he stomped into the building. “You’re here for your ten o’clock meeting, correct?”

Jungkook shot her a wan smile, wincing around his lip piercing: it felt fragile today, like it was made out of spun glass instead of precious metal.

“Right,” he confirmed, fidgeting under her professional stare. There was nothing judgmental about it, he knew, but he was feeling a little raw—a little shatterable—and wished she’d just, like… cover her eyes while she was talking to him. Like they were playing peek-a-boo, or something! Not that he’d thought his gloves and coat would, like, shield him from getting recognized, or anything. Of course not. Jungkook got recognized everywhere he went, and Hybe was his fucking company. He was known here.

It was just… he hadn’t felt this exposed—this on edge—since he’d been a trainee.

It fucking sucked.

If the members were here with him, it would be different. He could face this, he thought, if only one of them were by his side. Namjoon would ground him with his calm, reassuring platitudes; Seokjin would crack a stupid joke to distract him; even Yoongi and his grumpy silence would at least be a familiar sort of unease, far more welcome than the uncertainty with which he was now forced to contend.

Yeah. Fuck this. As much as Jungkook hemmed and hawed about wanting more responsibility—more autonomy—the truth was, he was ill-equipped to handle these kinds of situations solo. So, with extreme reluctance, as of Bam not wanting to take medicine and Jungkook having to hide it in the most foul of dog treats to trick him into wolfing it down, Jungkook dragged his feet into the lift and rode it up to the ninth floor—the legal floor—before slumping into the conference room Sejin had confirmed to him via e-mail. Neither Sejin nor Kitae had arrived yet—though Jungkook could see Sejin’s laptop further down the table, already hooked up to the projector—so Jungkook settled into a chair, one man alone at a long, oval table large enough for twenty, and waited.

It was going to be a long day. Not that Jungkook was unused to long days, or anything. He was still an idol, even if the group had announced its hiatus in order to focus on solo projects for the next two years or so.

And the thing was, Jungkook thought bitterly, everything had been going pretty smooth sailing until now! RM had released his album to overwhelming acclaim; Jimin had danced in both a Cardi B and a Megan Thee Stallion music video; Hobi had partnered with Balenciaga to release a special line of bags; Jin and Taehyung had both accepted lead roles in K-Dramas; and not only was Yoongi gearing up to release his first album, but he’d gotten engaged, so he was probably going to be playing house with his fiancée for a while. Maybe they’d adopt, like, a cat. And Jungkook had…

Well, he’d been chumming it up with the Westerners, just like the label had wanted him to! Over the past two years, Jungkook’s English had seen a steep improvement—largely in thanks to Yoongi’s fiancée, who was multilingual and a trained tutor—and so when Charlie Puth and Benny Blanco had invited him to get in on a new song with them six months ago, he hadn’t hesitated.

To be honest, that was an understatement—Jungkook had basically blown his load at the chance. Sure, Benny didn’t pass Tae’s vibe check for shit, and Charlie’s TikToks were kind of cringe, but nevertheless, Jungkook had always admired the two men—perhaps to an unhealthy degree. As such, he’d made a concerted effort to keep in touch with both of them after attending a Halloween party with them in Seoul seventeen months prior.

God, that Halloween party. If he could rewind time, would he take it all back? Would things be different now—better now—if he’d only stayed home?

It had been a big night. Charlie had given Jungkook cocaine that night for the very first time. C o c a i n e. A big boy drug. And guess what? Jungkook had held his own! Okay, fine. Maybe he’d gotten a little more chatty than usual, but it’s not like Charlie or Benny had understood what the fuck he was talking about at nine-hundred kilometers a minute—which had been, according to Jimin (who’d stuck to whiskey), the innumerable wonders of banana milk.

So, yeah. No harm done. Far from it, actually. In truth, that evening stuck out in Jungkook’s mind as an auspicious turning point for him. Benny, who was nearly ten years his senior—and who Jungkook had been pretty sure hated him—had dubbed Jungkook “down to hang” at the end of the night. That had felt fucking cool. Look, not everyone got complimented by the man behind such undeniable classics as Moves Like Jagger. Say what you want about Benny, but that was a fucking song! No denying it!

Anyway. After that night, Jungkook had made it a point to keep in touch with the two of them—as much touch as he could while being in Korea and not speaking their language, anyway. But clearly, he’d done a good job, because they’d approached him with a new song around six months ago. The timing couldn’t have been better. To be honest, it felt like fate. Not only were Charlie and Benny both able to fly over to Korea to record it, but Jungkook’s schedule had really cleared up in the last four months before the hiatus announcement, so he’d been able to follow Charlie and Benny around on a mini promotional tour, and the three of them had sort of—well, they’d become, like, a thing. A real trio.

It made Jungkook feel sort of foolish, admitting to himself just how much he’d liked that. Taehyung had the Wooga Squad, and Jimin had the Parka Squad, and Yoongi had his fiancée, and now Kook—well, he, Benny, and Charlie had yet to come up with a squad name. Westerners didn’t really do that sort of thing—not that he’d have been opposed to it if they’d floated the idea, or anything; far from it, actually—but still! He’d felt grown and capable, being able to establish his own group dynamic outside of the members like that.

What’s more, the fans had loved it. The paparazzi laws in Korea were far stricter than in the States, but Jungkook’s blossoming social life had been well-documented regardless, thanks to Charlie and Benny’s shared penchant for social media. They posted loads of photos of the three of them out at exclusive clubs in Gangnam, and eating at swanky restaurants in Hongdae. When Jungkook had taken them to his hometown, Charlie had let TikTok know they had gone to find out what was “tasty in Busan.”

It was fucking badass.

Three years ago, Hybe would have banned Jungkook from sharing that he even knew what a club was, let alone that he’d stepped foot inside of one. But times were changing. BTS was growing up, and Hybe had allowed—nay, encouraged—Jungkook’s networking efforts, provided none of the photos posted featured any women. Benny and Charlie were both well-loved in Korea, and the public enjoyed seeing Jungkook living his best maknae life with another group. Their song was a hit, and the more the three were pictured out together, the more staying-power it had on the charts.

So, yeah. The past few months had been like something out of a fucking dream. BTS had been trying to age up its image for years; the collective hope was that by the time they made their comeback after their hiatus, they’d be welcomed back, not as idols, but as artists. As adults. For the past two months, a world in which that dream could be realized had seemed possible.

So how had it all gone so wrong?

After all, if Jungkook had never met Charlie and Benny, he wouldn’t have a number one single on the Billboard Charts right now.

And if he hadn’t gone out with them to that club in Gangnam five months ago, he’d never have met his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend, he reminded himself bitterly—Choi Eunha.

And if he hadn’t been newly free of BTS’s group commitments, he’d never have jetted off to Los Angeles two weeks ago to perform the song live with Benny and Charlie at Staples Center.

And then he’d never have brought said girlfriend along—his roll-with-the-punches girlfriend, who’d enthusiastically agreed to Benny and Charlie’s suggestion that they all go out—to a club after the show. A strip club.

And then he’d never have been caught up in a mortifying PR nightmare—the likes of which a Bangtan member had never known—as he was now.

“Jungkook.”

Kim Sejin’s familiar—albeit rather strained—voice wrenched Jungkook from his dark spiral as he entered the conference room. Hybe’s lawyer on retainer, Nam Kitae, hurried in after him, shutting the door with a decisive thud.

“I’ll level with you,” Kitae said, forgoing salutations—he dropped heavily into the seat next to Jungkook with a sigh. “It’s not great.”

“I know that,” Jungkook said quickly, eyes widening a fraction—he didn’t want Kitae to think he wasn’t taking this seriously. He was; he definitely was. All at once, the room felt hot. Stiflingly so. Should he take off his jacket? Or his gloves? No—those were his shields. He’d feel naked without them. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, to die of heat stroke right now. At least then he wouldn’t have to face this disaster…

As Kitae busied himself with his briefcase, Sejin—shooting Jungkook a look somewhere between an apologetic smile and a wince—strode over to the laptop Jungkook had noticed on the table earlier. With a few clicks, the device lit up—and so, too, did the projector screen on the far wall.

Heat flooded Jungkook’s face; if he hadn’t been burning up before, he certainly was now. He couldn’t bring himself to read the words glaring out at him from yesterday morning’s headline. He knew them by heart, anyway.

“I can explain,” Jungkook said, suddenly terribly invested in staring at a loose thread in his gloves. The thing was, there was no way to sugar coat it. Three days ago—the same day a heartbroken Jungkook returned from Los Angeles—Charlie had gone live on Instagram. At one point, he had turned his phone screen toward the camera to show his viewers a picture. Harmless, right? Wrong! Because at that exact moment, Charlie received a text from some girl named Trixie informing him that he had given her an STI.

It didn’t end there. Not thirty seconds later, Charlie’s girlfriend—who had been watching the live behind the camera—burst into the frame and confronted Charlie about cheating on her in front of nearly two-million viewers.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Hours later, another girl Charlie had slept with—allegedly—made a TikTok about how she also had an STI she suspected she’d contracted from him; and that TikTok inspired someone Benny had slept with to come out of the woodworks and accuse him of giving the same STI to her, too.

Before Jungkook knew it, what felt like the entire internet had erupted into a very public, very heated flame war in which twelve different women from six different continents—some of whom had been in Los Angeles last week; but also some who’d been in Gangnam when they had, and other countries, too—began blasting Charlie and Benny over Twitter. It was messy. It was a fast-motion train wreck. Charlie and Benny tried to play it down by tweeting out some truly regrettable things about the women, and had made it worse.

It was a shit show—and, as to be expected, the entire thing spurred on a veritable media frenzy, which eventually culminated in TMZ publishing an article with the terribly catchy article: The Gono-Gong Heard Around The World.

Gono. As in gonorrhea.

Yeah.

But that wasn’t all! Oh, no. It got worse—much worse. What happened next was that the bane of Jungkook’s existence—a group of dedicated high school internet sleuths—once again proved they knew how to mobilize better than any political party. They set their sights on collecting the names of people who had been out with Benny and Charlie the night of the infamous gonorrhea orgy—the gonorgy, if you will—like infinity stones.

Their combined efforts made the hashtag #GONO-GANG! ASSEMBLE! trend on Twitter. After that, it was only a matter of time before a photo of Jungkook, Charlie, and Benny—sitting with six of the twelve women who’d accused Charlie and Benny of giving them STIs—at that stupid strip club leaked online.

So.

Yeahhhhh.

And, okay, sure, Jungkook had been at the strip club that night—but only because his girlfriend had wanted to go! The same girlfriend he’d brought along on the trip with him and who was no longer his girlfriend due to: she broke up with him!

It wasn’t fair. It’s not like Jungkook had even done anything at the club beyond sit there with his hands shoved in his pockets and blink. He hadn’t even really looked at any of the boobies because he’d been so busy worrying that his girlfriend thought he was looking at the boobies, and then would turn to look at him and see the reflection of the boobies bouncing in his big brown irises and get sad or something. Well, joke was on him, because it turned out his girlfriend had been the one looking at the boobies the whole time! Traitor! Because the next night, she broke up with him for an American dancer she’d met at the club named Gigi—Gigi, whose entire shoulder was covered with a tattoo of a dragon eating a plain Korean corn dog and was apparently really fucking cool!

Yeah. Eunha had even taken care to specify that bit about the corndog when she’d stomped all over Jungkook’s heart—that the dragon on Gigi’s shoulder was eating a Korean corn dog, as opposed to an American one. Not that you could even tell the difference between a plain Korean corn dog and an American corn dog from the outside, but apparently they were all just supposed to take Gigi’s word for it? Sure, Jan. What the hell?

Anyway, all of that was to say: Benny and Charlie both got gonorrhea, which wasn’t the end of the world—except then they’d turned it into a media circus where infidelity and sexist tweets and unfair power dynamics had come into play, which kind of was the end of the world. It was the death knell on whatever good faith they’d managed to curry with the public over the past decade or so, anyway.

God. Then that fucking photo of Jungkook had leaked, and so naturally, everyone had begun speculating that Jungkook might have contracted and passed around The Gonorrhea, too. Which—not great. It wasn’t even that contracting a curable STI was the worst thing on the planet or made you a bad person or anything—shit happened! Jungkook knew that!—but he actually took sexual health and safety very seriously. He’d always made it a point to be transparent with new partners and have that conversation before proceeding with The Deed of Darkness.

So, yeah. That sucked on a personal level. None of the gonorgy participants had breached the conversation of sexual health before batter dippin’ their old (Korean) corn dogs—that much was clear. But, see, if Jungkook had only been allowed to talk about sex—which, as an idol, he wasn’t—he would have used his platform to educate his fans about how to have it safely by now. That’s what he stood for! That’s what he practiced!

But that was the thing. He didn’t get to promote that message. Sure, he could oil up his abs and flash his nipples and grab his cock on stage until the cows came home, but to so much as mouth the word “sex” was tantamount to a crime in his industry—and so now his fans (who days before had been proud of him for networking and making friends across the world) were pissed at Jungkook for having his name attached to the whole Western-celebrity-STI-ring instead of being pissed at, oh, he didn’t know… the actual celebrities passing around all of those curable and preventable STIs!

Welp. That was idol life for you. He and the members had hoped to break out of that mold with this hiatus, but perhaps that was too lofty a goal.

Only—was it? All Jungkook had wanted was to build his solo career up, and maybe—with Eunha’s blessing, of course—to gradually introduce the idea of him being a Person Who Dated to the public. He’d wanted to shed his baby bunny image; he hadn’t wanted to market himself as a fuckboy! Not that he was a fuckboy. He was just a boy who fucked! Well, fucked one girl, anyway. His girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Whose name had been Eunha. Still was, it’s not like she’d died! Except for all Jungkook knew, she’d changed her name over the past few days to something futuristic and gender neutral and cool, like Megatronexxi. They weren’t talking anymore. It was possible!

Damn, he missed her. Sure, she’d been kind of mean to him most of the time, and had made fun of his style (especially that ill-advised mullet) a lot—and yeah, he couldn’t talk with her about his interests for more than two minutes before she zoned out and changed the subject back to herself. 

But! She was talented, and a tattoo artist, and really, really pretty. Her fingers were soft and had looked so delicate and small when she’d wrapped them around his erect—

No. NOPE. He wasn’t thinking about that. About her. He was in the middle of a crisis!

Only it was hard not to think about her when he was forced to stare at a photo of himself sitting in the very strip club where he’d lost her to another dancer. Gigi. For all he knew, Gigi had leaked the picture! Jungkook narrowed his eyes at the image on the projector. The Jungkook-of-that-photo had it all, he thought bitterly. He was cheesing, flanked by Charlie and Benny—both of whom were visibly hammered—and probably thinking of something innocent, like… soup. The poor kid didn’t know the shit-storm waiting on the other side of that night for him.

“So, we got your results back from the doctor,” Kitae began brusquely. “You tested negative for all possible STIs. Congra—ahh…”

He trailed off awkwardly, seemingly unable to bring himself to congratulate Jungkook for failing to contract an STI.

“Told you so,” Jungkook grumbled, unable to keep the slight edge from his voice. The moment the news had broke, he’d gone on a conference call with both Kitae and Sejin, and had sworn on Bam’s life—Bam’s!—that he hadn’t participated in the gonorgy. Yeah, all right, so there had been a small part of him that had worried that maybe Eunha hadn’t been faithful—that maybe she had contracted something and unknowingly passed it on to him. If that was the case, he’d have nothing which which to defend himself, even though he’d done everything right.

Now that that had been debunked, though, he could go back to:

feeling righteously indignant that Kitae hadn’t believed him, and 

moping because his technically-faithful-albeit-fickle ex had dumped him in a foreign country for someone else.

“What’s our next step, then?” Jungkook said, anxious to hurry along to the next part—the part where Kitae told him he had a solution to this whole quandary, so Jungkook could go back to his lonely, haunted dorm, bury his face in a pillow, and scream. “Do we post the results online and call it a day?”

Jungkook didn’t miss the furtive look exchanged between Kitae and Sejin. He just didn’t know what to make of it.

“The results will be made public soon, yes,” Sejin said, clearing his throat. “Hybe is preparing a statement on your behalf that confirms you have a clean bill of health.”

“Great,” Jungkook said with real enthusiasm. Like, not great that he had been forced to publicly release his sexual health records in order to distance himself from the Gono-Gong Gang—not the squad name he would have personally selected, if given the choice—but it was what it was. If Hybe was preparing a statement in his defense, it meant all was not lost. When he got home, Jungkook made a note to send Hybe’s hard-working publicists flowers. “And I’m sure we have our team responding to the media outlets that reached out for comments and letting them know as much?”

“We do…” Sejin conceded.

Jungkook hadn’t realized he was hunched over in his seat until the wave of relief washing through him allowed him to sit upright again.

“Good,” he said; suddenly, the room didn’t feel so hot anymore. “What timeline are we looking at here? I don’t want to rush anyone, but I think we should aim for no later than tomorrow. Better to quash the rumors ASAP, right?”

Again, Sejin glanced at Kitae. Jungkook tracked the movement, the nape of his neck prickling.

“Actually, Jungkook,” Sejin said, “before we give the publicists the green light to respond, we wanted to discuss your future plans with you—particularly, the work commitments you’ve signed up for over the upcoming weeks.”

Jungkook didn’t love where this conversation appeared to be headed. Before he could ask for clarification—for reassurance, really—Sejin continued.

“As you know, you’re scheduled to fly back to America next week for two months.”

“Right,” Jungkook said. Following the success of his single with Benny and Charlie, Jungkook had received a slew of collaboration requests, but the offer that excited him most had been an invitation to appear in a documentary. Rolling Stone was taking its Musicians on Musicians series and turning it into a film—and they’d asked Jungkook, along with some absolute musical juggernauts, to participate. Big names like Bad Bunny, The Weeknd, Drake, Taylor Swift, Dua Lipa, and Harry Styles were all confirmed. Jungkook was set to fly back to Los Angeles in six days, presuming he hadn’t been let go from the project. Once filming concluded, Rolling Stone was even putting on its own mini-festival, and they’d given him a headlining spot, at the end of April.

“Did they fire me?” he asked in a low voice.

“Er… no. Not… yet.”

Yet. Jungkook felt something calcify in his heart, then; dread churned in his stomach.

“The producers called,” Kitae said. “And even though you haven’t participated in any of the Twitter discourse—thank you for that, by the way—they did voice some hesitations.”

“Hesitations,” Jungkook intoned. Surely Rolling Stone wouldn’t be so antediluvian to demonize something so incredibly common as a rumored STI? That would be insane. His sexual health was none of their business. That would be illegal!

“The problem here is that over the past few months, you’ve been photographed out and about with two men who are swiftly becoming the most notorious people in show business at the moment,” Sejin explained. “Not because they contracted gonorrhea, but because of how they’re handling that revelation.”

“Not only are they publicly denigrating the woman they slept with on Twitter,” Kitae said, “but Charlie has also humiliated his girlfriend, and is seemingly unrepentant for his infidelity.”

“This is like if that Ned Folger guy had started tweeting horrendous things about his wife and mistress,” Sejin said, “and also had been on crack.”

“Fulmer,” Jungkook corrected morosely. He was still sour over that particular scandal.

“Charlie and Benny are feeding into the drama, and airing their dirty laundry for the world to see,” Sejin said. “In short, they’re making you look like a liability.”

“But I’m not the one doing any of that!” Jungkook protested.

“No, you’re not,” Sejin said. “But the court of public opinion believes in guilt-by-association, and the execs behind the Musicians on Musicians project have worked with enough temperamental stars to be wary. They want this project to run smoothly and to be a success. It’ll be a huge blow to the studio if one of the people they’ve chosen to highlight ends up in a scandal. They don’t want another Armie Hammer on their hands.”

“I have more than a decades worth of professionalism and success behind my name,” Jungkook said, voice tight. “And I have not once expressed a desire to eat any of my partners!”

“No, BTS has more than a decade worth of professionalism and success behind its name,” Kitae corrected bluntly, choosing to ignore the latter half of Jungkook’s defense. “And the other six members continue to have a spotless record. You are the only one who finds himself embroiled in controversy.”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“I wish that’s what mattered,” Sejin said, far more kindly. “But the optics aren’t on your side, and so not only do we have to act fast to fix this, we need an iron-clad defense.”

“But—”

“Look, Jungkook,” Sejin interrupted. “Cancel culture in this day and age is punitive, and the Western market especially loves a fall from grace. If we don’t act swiftly, and give these people every reason—an irrefutable reason!—to believe you have nothing in common with Charlie and Benny beyond your collaboration, than your reputation will take a hit. It’s not fair, but it’s the reality.”

Jungkook deflated, staring sightlessly at the two men who’d been with him, silent pillars of support by his side, since he was fifteen years old. Kitae and Sejin had always acted in the band’s best interest—and not only that, but in the best interests of the people who ended up sucked into BTS’s orbit. He had no reason to doubt that they were giving it to him straight.

“Okay.” He clasped his hands under the table, trying to prevent them from shaking. He could do this. He could have this conversation without breaking down. “What are you proposing?” Jungkook swallowed, his throat feeling very dry as a new panic set in. “Wait.” His voice cracked. “You… you are proposing something, aren’t you? You have a plan?”

“We do,” Kitae confirmed, finally meeting Jungkook’s eyes. Kitae had always been a no-nonsense sort of guy, and right now, Jungkook found himself appreciating that candor. He could sense by the way Kitae had pressed his lips into a thin line that he was about to say something Jungkook didn’t like—something that was gonna feel like a sucker-punch right to the gut. Jungkook steeled himself for the blow. It was going to hurt. He might fucking reel. But then it’d be over, and Jungkook would have all the facts in his arsenal, and that was better than being stuck in this purgatorial limbo.

“Hit me,” he said.

“Jungkook,” Kitae said. “Hybe would like to hire you an escort.”

Whatever Jungkook had expected to come out of Kitae’s mouth… that was not it.

“Uh.” Jungkook’s brain short-circuited. It felt like a bunny was stuck in his cerebrum, prancing around from hemisphere to hemisphere. He had no thoughts, just a distant awareness of something thump-thump-thump-ing around up there, rearranging all his grey matter.

“Jungkook?”

“Elucidate,” he grunted. Then, remembering his manners: “Please.”

“We know this is probably a lot to take in,” Sejin said calmly, returning once again to his laptop. “But after much discussion—”

Discussion between WHOMST? Jungkook wondered.

“—We have come to the consensus that debuting a long-term relationship to the public will serve as both your best offense and defense in this scenario.”

Jungkook merely blinked.

“If it comes out that you’ve been in a private, monogamous relationship this whole time—with a partner who’s willing to attest to such—we believe your ‘good boy’ persona can be salvaged,” Kitae tried.

Jungkook buried his face in his sweaty, gloved hands. He still wasn’t processing.

“The story we’d like to present to the press is that in light of recent events, you’ve made the decision to release your sexual health records and publicly debut your girlfriend of six months,” Kitae said.

“Or boyfriend,” Sejin cut in smoothly. “If you’d prefer…?”

“Girlfriend,” Jungkook grunted.

“Right,” Kitae said. “We predict that there will be some backlash from fans who—let’s face it—were never going to support you getting into a relationship, but our analysts are confident that the fallout from them will be marginal compared to what would happen if your name continued to be associated with Charlie’s and Benny’s.”

“Furthermore,” Sejin interjected, pressing a button on his laptop. The mortifying headline and photo dissolved, replaced with a powerpoint slide that showed a slew of graphs and metrics that Jungkook had no hope of following. “Our analysts predict that this could ultimately end up being beneficial to your career, believe it or not.”

“Uh, not,” Jungkook said.

“It would age up both your and BTS’s image, for one thing,” Kitae said with a curt nod, “and if we really wanted to strategize for the long run, we could arrange for your contract with your assigned escort to expire right before BTS announces its comeback. By the time your next album promotions launch and tour dates go live, you could plan to undergo a public—”

“—And respectful,” Sejin emphasized.

“Yes,” Kitae nodded, “and respectful ‘break up.’ You’d then present as a single man again right before tour. Your fans would be thrilled.”

“I…” Jungkook didn’t know where to begin. An escort? This had to be a joke. A prank gone awry. “Can’t we just hire some actress to pose with me, and call it a day? Why go through the trouble of hiring a long-term escort?”

“These escorts come highly recommended, for one thing,” Kitae said. “The club we’ve been working with is incredibly exclusive and discreet. Each of their escorts is media-trained, and they all have readily Google-able, vetted backgrounds.”

“Come again?” Jungkook said, feeling lost.

“Curated online presences,” Kitae explained. “Your fans are going to do a deep dive into the past of whoever you end up with, and all the escorts working at this club are solid. When Army conducts their investigation into your new girlfriend, even the most targeted of internet searches will only yield wholesome, impressive results. It’s part of the club’s guarantee. They’re selling an image.”

“Plus…” For the first time, a slight flush stained Sejin’s normally tanned beige skin. His professionalism, however, did not waver. “You’re going to be alone in the States without either me or Kitae there to look after you, Kook.”

Jungkook resented how he melted a bit at the pet name. Now was not the time to go soft.

“It is our hope that hiring an escort would help to keep you out of the Gono-Gong Gang indefinitely,” Kitae added.

“I was never going to sleep with any of those people,” Jungkook said, glowering at Kitae’s use of the triple-G epithet.

“Of course not,” Sejin said smoothly. “However, you were spending a lot of time out at clubs and social events with Charlie and Benny, correct?”

“That’s not a crime,” Jungkook said, feeling petulant. “Hybe permitted it.”

“I’ve been with you for over a decade, Jungkook. I know you have a good head on your shoulders,” Sejin said, keeping his voice level. “But you’re going to be in Los Angeles on your own, and Hybe doesn’t have any professional connections to the musicians you’re going to be filming with. We can’t protect you from any unsavory influences or temptations.”

Yup. There it was. They were infantilizing him again—treating him like a kid who needed overseeing. But what they failed to understand was that Jungkook wasn’t some stupid, impressionable baby who had no control over his baser impulses! He was a man.

“What are you saying?” Jungkook said carefully.

“We’re saying that we think there’s a good chance you can emerge relatively unscathed from this scandal,” Kitae said. “However, if the public catches so much as a whiff of any other foul play attached to your name, there won’t be any saving you. This is your one shot at redemption. There can’t be any slip ups.”

“And why would there be?” It was taking everything in Jungkook not to snap. “I practice safe sex. I’ve been an idol for a decade. I understand discretion. I’m clean.”

“And an escort would ensure you remain so,” Kitae said perfunctorily, “considering they’ve all…” He trailed off, his composure briefly cracking as he searched for the right words. “Well, they’ve all been tested.”

Jungkook could barely concentrate over the sudden roaring in his ears. Surely, Kitae wasn’t implying…?

“Hold on.” Breathe, Kookie. “You… are you telling me you’re conspiring to hire me a prostitute?”

“No,” Kitae and Sejin said as one, with force. Jungkook was gratified to see the horror in their eyes.

“That’s illegal,” Kitae said firmly. “We are hiring you an escort—someone we are paying for their time.”

“And what happens between two consenting adults outside of that contract is no ones business but their own,” Sejin said.

“Riiiiiight,” Jungkook said. He could read between the fucking lines. He wasn’t an idiot! “So, let me get this straight. You don’t trust that I’m gonna be able to keep it in my pants or make sound, responsible decisions while I’m in the States, so your solution is to… what? Put a leash on my dick?”

“No, not a leash.” Sejin put his hands up in a soothing gesture. “We just want to give you a safe and publicly-approved option for socialization. That’s all.”

“Socialization?” Jungkook quirked an eyebrow.

“For example, let’s say you get bored in LA and want to go out to eat, or to a club,” Sejin said. “That’s fine—just bring your escort. You want to go socialize with Bad Bunny and Harry Styles out at a bar? Great! Bring your escort. For one thing, she speaks English, so that’s a plus. For another, the club she’s with restricts its escorts to two drinks a night when they make public appearances, so you’re free to indulge and have fun, and you can rely on her to make sure to get you home safe at the end of the night!”

“You know what that sounds like?” Jungkook said through gritted teeth. “That sounds like a babysitter.”

“Jungkook—”

“Please—”

“Fuck no. This is ridiculous. I’m not a kid, you know! None of the others members would ever agree to this!”

“Taehyung thinks it’s a good idea,” Sejin offered.

Jungkook scoffed. “Yeah, of course he does.” He’d never felt so betrayed.

“Yoongi, too.”

That made Jungkook pause. He looked between Sejin and Kitae suspiciously.

“Wait… seriously?”

Yoongi was the only member in a relationship, and Jungkook had watched him struggle with trying to protect his fiancée’s identity first-hand for months. But Jungkook had also seen how relieved Yoongi had been, when he’d been able to take her with him to public events, under the guise of her being a translator. It had made Yoongi more relaxed. He’d become more sociable. He’d even started letting loose more often, which had been nice to see…

However:

“I’m sure Yoongi-hyung just wants me to hard-launch my fake relationship so that he has an easier time soft-launching his in the future,” Jungkook grumbled. That must be it. Right?

“That may be part of his reasoning,” Sejin allowed. “But really, all of us just want to see you go have a good time filming and then return home safe with your reputation unmarred. Rolling Stone has presented you with a huge honor, Jungkook. You should be able to enjoy this milestone in your career without any black clouds hovering over you, holding you back.”

Okay, that was kind of sweet. Except it didn’t take away from the fact that, once again, everyone was treating Jungkook like an incompetent, ticking time-bomb. Granted, he hadn’t demonstrated the best judgement when he’d yoked himself to Charlie and Benny’s sides over the past few months but—so what?! One mistake didn’t necessitate a fucking escort, did it? 

“Jungkook?”

They didn’t get it. He’d just gone through a break-up, for fuck’s sake. No girl—no girl he was interested in dating, anyway—was going to come within a ten-foot radius of him while he was publicizing a six-month relationship to the world.

Jungkook wanted to move on. He wanted Eunha to see him thriving in a real relationship—not some carefully constructed fallacy put together by his team. He wanted her jealous; if she was jealous, she might try to win him back! Didn't they see? That was the way forward. That would be fucking great!

Yeah. No. This was madness. There had to be another way.

“You guys seriously don’t trust that I wouldn’t just go around fucking everything that moves once I’m left on my own?” he asked.

“No,” Kitae said flatly. Which—kinda fucked up, Jungkook thought! “But that’s not the main issue, and you know it. Without your usual team and your members around to keep an eye on you, you’re vulnerable, Jungkook. And you can no longer afford any public stumbles.”

“We’re telling you this as your advisors and as your friends, Kook,” Sejin said. “This is your best shot, and it’s the only plan we have for you. Do you understand?”

It was bullshit, but… yeah. Yeah, he did. Sort of. Jungkook made a sound between a grunt and sniffle.

“All right, then,” Kitae said, clapping his hands together as Sejin looked down at his phone. “In that case, Jungkook, would you be amenable to meeting the escort we’ve selected for you?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“What?” He was still wearing his fucking gloves, so it felt weird when he ran an irritated hand through his hair. “I don’t even get a say in my new girlfriend?”

“Well, according to the front desk, she finished checking in about a minute ago,” Sejin said pleasantly. “So she should be arriving any moment, now—”

There was a knock at the door. Jungkook blanched, his heart dropping down to his balls.

“Hold on—” he stuttered. What the fuck? “Are you serious? We’re doing this now?”

He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t agreed to this! This was all happening far too fast!

“No time like the present, right?” Sejin said. “We want to figure this out ASAP, just like you said.”

Before Jungkook could form a response, Kitae was already speaking.

“Come in!” he called authoritatively and, gulping, Jeon Jungkook—tattoo haver; empty apartment owner; scandal dodger; and now, apparent future escort hirer—directed his attention to the slowly opening door.

A/N: Despite all evidence to the contrary, I really don’t have anything against Charlie or Benny LMFAO. (Also, did ya'll catch how TNF had its Triple B and now UDB has its Triple G? 💀😂)

A/N II: Besties: I would be so appreciative if you'd leave a comment/reblog with feedback/slip into my ask box (anonymously or on your account) letting me know what you thought of this chapter!

CHAPTER ONE WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of drinking/partying/drugs (cocaine), discussions regarding STIs (gonorrhea)/unsafe sex/celebrity vs. civilian power dynamics (particularly regarding sex), everyone kvetches on and on about cancel culture (yawn), but also there's discussion about stigma re: STIs that could be triggering, discussion of infidelity, discussion of breakups/being left for someone else romantically.

PLEASE READ: I put in my best faith effort to make it clear that the problem with Charlie and Benny in this piece isn't that they have STIs, but that they're being public menaces by acting out, disrespecting their partners and regular civilians, and generally just using their platforms in harmful ways—I hope that came across!

CDC estimates 1 in 5 people in the U.S. have an STI on any given day. They are incredibly prevalent, and having an STI doesn't make someone immoral, or dirty, or "slutty" or anything else! It's literally just an infection that is often asymptomatic, and just like any other infection, they can infect people regardless of race, gender, religion, or sexual orientation—it only takes one partner to end up with an STI. The best way to prevent contracting one is to practice safe sex. Please get screened regularly and make a point of communicating transparently with any and all sexual partners, and remember that all STIs are treatable, and most are completely curable, too! 🥰💜

🥲🥲

you know that expression, "dance like no one is watching you?"

try writing like no one is going to read it

it's easier to let yourself go and just enjoy the process of creation when you aren't also playing 6 dimensional chess with your insecurities and anxieties

write because you have fun writing and if you never post it anywhere that's totally fine because you enjoyed your time with the process

JIN WILL APPEAR ON LEE YOUNGJIS SHOW OMGGGGG THIS WILL BE ICONIC

save the sharks pleek