summary: You bump into Jung Kook in a lingerie store >_<
warnings/tags: sexual innuendos, mentions of sexual intercourse, mentions of lingerie.
genre: light fluff, tiny smut of you squint. (not really).
Three years of marriage to Jeon Jung kook had done absolutely nothing to dull the butterflies in your stomach. If anything, living with him only made you more susceptible to his charms. Your marriage was a beautiful, chaotic blend of loud laughter, late-night kitchen dancing, and quiet, fiercely protective devotion.
Jung kook was the kind of husband who still left notes on your bedside table, who bought you flowers just because, and who looked at you with the exact same wide-eyed awe as the day you walked down the aisle.
For your upcoming third anniversary, you both had planned a quiet, luxurious getaway—a private, secluded cabin nestled in the mountains, complete with a hot tub, a personal chef for one night, and absolute freedom from the outside world.
It was meant to be a weekend of pure relaxation and reconnection, but you had a secret plan to add a little bit of fire to the romance. Which was exactly how you found yourself standing in the middle of ELSE, the city’s most exclusive, upscale lingerie boutique, feeling a mix of thrill and utter embarrassment.
The boutique was a sensory overload of soft jazz, heavy vanilla perfume, and endless racks of silk, satin, and delicate lace. You walked slowly through the aisles, your fingers brushing against fabrics that felt like nothing at all. You were currently hovering by a display of rich, crimson lace, holding up a beautifully structured two-piece set that was equal parts elegant and dangerously sheer.
A flush crept up your neck just imagining Jungkook’s reaction to it. You could already picture the way his dark eyes would blow wide, the heavy, sudden hitch in his breath, and that slow, devastating smirk that always preceded him completely losing his mind over you.
Lost in a deeply vivid, blush-inducing daydream about your husband, you took a blind, distracted step backward to get a better look at the display, entirely unaware of your surroundings.
Your back collided flush against a solid, incredibly warm chest.
The impact caused you to stumble slightly, but before you could lose your balance, a pair of strong, heavily tattooed arms instantly wrapped around your waist, pulling you securely against a very familiar, broad torso. The scent of expensive woodsmoke, mint, and clean laundry washed over you instantly.
You froze, your heart doing a violent flip in your chest. There was only one man in the entire world who smelled like that, and there was only one man whose hands fit so perfectly around your hips.
You spun around quickly in his grip, looking up—and up—straight into the face of your husband.
Jung kook was standing there, a black bucket hat pulled low over his eyes and a mask tucked under his chin, looking like a deer caught in headlights. His doe eyes were wide with absolute, comical shock.
But the real kicker wasn't just finding him there; it was what was clamped tightly in his right hand. He was holding a hanger, from which dangled a scandalous, incredibly sheer, midnight-black lace bodysuit.
For a solid five seconds, the two of you just stared at each other in the middle of the aisle, the soft jazz music filling the sudden, thick silence between you. Then, breaking the spell, a slow, incredibly wicked grin spread across Jung kook’s face, crinkling the corners of his eyes into those familiar, endearing crescent shapes.
"Well, well, well," Jung kook murmured, his voice dropping into a low, raspy purr that sent a thrilling shiver straight down your spine. He didn't let go of your waist; instead, he pulled you a fraction of an inch closer, his eyes scanning your burning face.
"Fancy meeting you here, Mrs. Jeon. Care to explain what you're doing in a place like this?" He voices. "I could ask you the exact same thing!" you squeaked, your voice a little higher than usual as you frantically tried to hide the crimson lace set behind your back.
Jung kook let out a low, vibrating chuckle, the sound rumbling pleasantly against your chest. He didn't let you hide it for long. With a playful glint in his eyes, his large hand gently but firmly coaxed your arms forward, looking down at the fiery red lingerie you had chosen.
His dark eyes darkened almost instantly, a heavy wave of appreciation passing over his features as he took in the delicate design. "Oh, wow," he whispered, leaning down so his warm lips brushed right against the shell of your ear, his breath hitching slightly.
"Crimson. You’re trying to kill me on our anniversary, aren't you? Because if you wear this at the cabin, I can promise you we aren't leaving the bedroom for the entire weekend."
"Jung kook!" you hissed, your face practically setting on fire as you looked around to see if any of the shop assistants had heard him. You swatted his chest playfully, though your heart was hammering against your ribs. "You ruined the surprise! You weren't supposed to be here. How did we even end up at the same store at the exact same time?"
"Great minds think alike, baby," he said proudly, lifting the sheer black bodysuit he was holding and dangling it between you with a shameless, teasing grin.
"I wanted to surprise you, too. I spent twenty minutes looking for the lady working here, trying to describe your size with my hands like a total idiot because I wanted to get you something special for the cabin. I had this whole vision of leaving a box on the bed for you before our anniversary dinner." He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against yours, his eyes locking onto your lips.
"But honestly? Seeing you blush like this in public might actually be better."
"You're shameless," you laughed, the initial shock melting into pure, sweet warmth. It was just so typical of him—so incredibly attentive, loving, and secretly bold.
"Only for my wife," he countered smoothly. He easily took the crimson set from your fingers, adding it to the black bodysuit in his hand. He wrapped his free arm around your shoulders, tucking you securely against his side as he started steering you toward the cash register.
"Now, come on. Let’s go pay for these. And don't even think about reaching for your wallet, because I'm buying both."
As you stood at the counter, Jung kook proudly handed over the pieces, completely unfazed by the amused smile of the cashier. He reached down, intertwining his long, tattooed fingers with yours, squeezing gently. He leaned over and pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to your cheek, his lips tracing down to the corner of your mouth.
"I guess the surprise is technically spoiled," he whispered against your skin, a deeply flirtatious, anticipation-heavy promise in his voice. "But now I have to spend the next week thinking about how beautiful you're going to look in both of these. You're torturing me, Y/N. This anniversary can't come fast enough."
Swinging your joined hands between you, you walked out of the boutique into the afternoon sun, the heavy shopping bag in his hand a thrilling preview of the unforgettable anniversary weekend waiting for you both.
summary: Jungkook begs you to join him in the shower; and you reluctantly agree.
warnings/tags: flirting, nudity, teasing, begging, cuteness, slight kissing, rather chill
genre: fluff fluff & flirty fluff
this was really simple and boring, i might make an explicit ver? lmk.
The heavy front door of the apartment clicked shut, instantly sealing out the noise of the city and the residual adrenaline of the stadium. It had been an exhausting day; soundcheck had run incredibly long, the technical cues had been grueling, and by the time you both finally collapsed into the car to head home, Jungkook was practically vibrating with a mix of physical fatigue and restless, wired energy.
The moment you stepped into the entryway, Jungkook kicked off his shoes without bothering to untie them. He let out a long, dramatic groan that seemed to come from the very soles of his feet.
"Home," he sighed, the word slipping out like a prayer.
Before you could even take off your own jacket, he moved in behind you. His large, warm hands slid around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. He still smelled faintly of the stadium stage—leather, the ozone of the stage lights, and the distinct, clean scent of his own sweat.
"Jungkook," you laughed softly, leaning back into his solid frame despite yourself. "Let me at least take my coat off."
"No," he mumbled, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, sending a delicate shiver down your spine. "Just stay like this for a minute. My battery is at zero percent. I need to recharge."
"You're a giant puppy," you teased, turning around in his embrace so you could face him.
He didn't deny it. He just looked down at you with heavy lids, his dark eyes fixed onto yours with a soft, intensely fond expression. His messy, dark hair was parted down the middle, a few damp strands sticking to his forehead from the intense rehearsals. He looked soft, beautiful, and utterly exhausted—but there was a familiar, wicked little spark dancing in his eyes that told you he wasn't quite ready to sleep just yet. He gave your lips a quick, sweet peck, then reluctantly let his hands drop from your waist. "I'm going to wash the day off. Don't go anywhere."
You wandered into the bedroom, changing into a pair of comfortable, oversized shorts and a soft t-shirt, fully planning to melt into the bed with your phone. From the adjacent master bathroom, the deep, rhythmic hum of the pipes signaled that Jungkook had turned the shower on.
A few minutes passed. The bedroom air began to grow faint with the scent of his favorite eucalyptus and sandalwood body wash, filtering out from under the bathroom door.
Suddenly, the door clicked open. You looked up from the bed. Jungkook was standing in the doorway, completely bare from the waist up. He had a white towel slung loosely around his hips, and his skin was already flushed pink from the heat of the bathroom. Drops of water from his wet hair were tracing slow paths down his collarbones and across the heavy ink of his sleeve tattoo.
He didn't say anything at first. He just leaned his broad shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, and stared at you with a lazy, devastatingly handsome smirk."What?" you asked, your heart doing a foolish little flip at the sight of him. "Did you forget a towel?" "No," he said, his voice dropping into that deep, raspy register he only used when he was being deliberately playful. "I forgot something much more important."
You raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?" Jungkook pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the bed, his bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. He crawled onto the mattress on all fours, hovering over you like a big cat, his eyes locked onto yours. The heat radiating off his bare skin was almost dizzying.
"You," he murmured, leaning down until his lips were just inches from yours. "The shower is perfectly hot. The steam is amazing. But it's really lonely in there, Y/N."
"Jungkook, I just got changed into clean clothes," you whined playfully, though your hands automatically found their way to his bare shoulders, feeling the smooth, damp muscles beneath your palms.
"So take them off," he whispered against your mouth, a low, teasing chuckle vibrating in his chest. He pressed a warm, lingering kiss to the corner of your lips, then another to your jaw, making your breath hitch. "Come on. Jagiya. Please? Wash with me."
"I'm perfectly clean," you protested weakly, even as your fingers tangled into the damp hair at the nape of his neck.
"But I'm not," he countered, tilting his head to look up at you with those big, round bunny eyes that he knew you could never resist. He pouted, his lower lip sticking out just a fraction. "My back hurts from choreography. My shoulders are tight. Don't you want to help me relax? Don't you love me?"
"That is foul play," you laughed, completely defenseless against the onslaught of his sweetness. "Using the 'don't you love me' card is cheating."
"It's only cheating if it doesn't work," he smirked, his eyes darkening as he saw your resolve crumbling. He leaned down and captured your lips in a proper kiss this time—slow, deep, and heavy with a simmering affection that quickly turned sweet and needy. His tongue swept against yours, tasting like the mint he’d been chewing on the drive home, pulling a quiet gasp from your throat.
When he pulled back, he was breathing a little heavier, his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone. "Come with me," he begged softly, his voice full of genuine, tender longing. "Just you and me. No schedules, no cameras. Just us."
You looked at his beautiful, hopeful face and let out a defeated sigh, a bright smile breaking across your face. "Fine. But you're washing my hair."
Jungkook’s entire face lit up with a brilliant, bunny-toothed grin. "Deal."
He didn't waste a single second. He stood up, pulling you off the bed by your hands and practically floating you into the bathroom. The room was a complete sanctuary of thick, white steam, the mirror entirely fogged over, creating a warm, hazy world meant just for the two of you.
Jungkook helped you slide out of your oversized t-shirt and shorts, his touch suddenly becoming incredibly reverent, his hands lingering on your skin with a sweet, possessive warmth. When you were both completely bare, he slid the glass shower door open and guided you inside.
The cascading sheet of hot water hit you, immediately making you relax against him. Jungkook stepped right into the stream with you, closing the distance until there wasn't a single inch of space between your bodies. He wrapped his long arms securely around your waist, lifting you slightly so he could bury his face in the crook of your neck as the water poured over both of your heads.
"Ah, this is perfect," he mumbled, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours.
The water slicked his dark hair back, accentuating the sharp, striking angles of his jawline and the intense gaze he fixed on you when he pulled back. He reached for the shampoo, pouring a dollop into his hands and rubbing them together until a rich lather formed.
True to his word, he began to gently work the soap into your hair. His large fingers massaged your scalp with a perfect, relaxing pressure that made you close your eyes and let out a soft groan of pure bliss.
"Good?" he asked, his voice incredibly soft, right next to your ear. "Mmh. So good," you whispered, leaning back against his chest. Jungkook smiled, his lips pressing a soft, wet kiss to your temple. He took his time, completely thorough, his hands occasionally sliding down to cup your face or trace the line of your neck, just enjoying the simple, domestic intimacy of taking care of you.
Once your hair was rinsed, you turned around to face him, the water pooling in the collar of his collarbones. You grabbed the bottle of body wash, determined to return the favor.
"My turn," you murmured, pouring the soap into your hands.
You stepped closer, pressing your hands flat against his chest. Jungkook let out a low, shaky breath, his eyes instantly fluttering shut as your soapy hands began to glide over his skin. You massaged his shoulders, working out the knots from hours of dancing, before tracing the defined lines of his chest and abdomen.
Jungkook’s hands came up to rest firmly on your hips, his grip tightening slightly as your hands moved lower. A low rumble of a groan escaped his throat, a sound that felt incredibly heavy and intoxicating in the small, enclosed space of the shower.
"Y/N," he warned softly, opening his eyes. They were dilated, dark, and filled with a burning, sweet intensity. "You're playing with fire." "Am I?" you teased, looking up at him through wet eyelashes, your hands pausing on his hips.
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he pulled you forward, pinning you gently but firmly against the smooth, wet tile wall of the shower. The cool tile against your back was a stark contrast to the searing, radiating heat of Jungkook’s body pressing into yours.
He leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss that completely stole the air from your lungs. It wasn't the sweet, hesitant kiss from the bedroom; this was deep, hungry, and full of a desperate adoration. His tongue parted your lips instantly, demanding everything you had to give, while his hands slid up from your hips to cup your face, holding you steady as he drank you in.
You whimpered into the kiss, your arms flying up to wrap around his neck, pulling him as close as physically possible. The sound of the rushing water around you faded into a dull roar, replaced entirely by the sound of your combined breathing and the wet, heavy friction of the kiss.
Jungkook’s lips slid down to your jaw, then down the sensitive skin of your neck. He nipped gently at the juncture where your neck met your shoulder, making you gasp and arch into his touch. His hands wandered down your sides, tracing every curve with a slow, worshipful reverence, his thumbs digging gently into your waist.
"You're so beautiful," he breathed against your skin, his voice thick and uneven. "I swear, I think about this all day when I'm working. Just getting back to you. Having you right here."
"Jungkook," you gasped out, your fingers tightening in his wet hair as he kissed his way back up to your lips, his body heavy and warm against yours, leaving you completely breathless.
He kissed you again, slow and deep, a sweet assurance of how much he loved you. It was passionate, steamy, and undeniably flirty, but grounded in a deep, comforting safety that belonged only to the two of you in your shared home. He held you tightly, just swaying slightly under the water, letting the heat wash over both of your tired bodies until the restless, horny tension slowly melted into a peaceful, loving afterglow.
Eventually, the water began to run a little cooler, forcing Jungkook to reluctantly turn off the faucet. The sudden quiet of the bathroom was filled only with the sound of your soft, synchronized breathing. Jungkook stepped out of the shower first, immediately grabbing the largest, softest towel from the rack. He turned back to you, a warm, incredibly gentle smile replacing the intense passion from moments before. He wrapped the towel completely around you, bundling you up like a prize, and began to gently pat you dry.
"I can do it, Jungkookie," you laughed, shivering slightly in the cooler air of the room.
"No, let me," he insisted, his eyes soft and entirely devoted. He used a smaller towel to gently dry your hair, taking his time to ensure you were completely warm and taken care of.
Once he quickly dried himself off and threw on a pair of loose sweatpants, he didn't even bother with a shirt. He scooped you up in his arms, towel and all, making you squeal in surprise as he carried you out of the humid bathroom and into the cool, dark bedroom.
He deposited you gently onto the center of the bed, immediately crawling in right after you and pulling the heavy, plush duvet over both of your bodies.
Jungkook wrapped his long arms around you, pulling your back against his bare chest, intertwining his legs with yours. He buried his face in your freshly washed hair, inhaling the clean, familiar scent deeply. "Best shower of my life," he murmured into your neck, his voice drowsy and completely content.
You smiled, turning your head slightly to press a kiss to his cheek. "You say that every time."
"Because it's true every time," he whispered, his grip tightening around your waist in a warm, protective embrace. "I love you, Y/N."
"I love you too, Jungkook."
Within minutes, the exhaustion of the day finally caught up to him, his breathing slowing into a deep, steady rhythm against your back, completely safe and at peace in the quiet of your apartment.
Black boots hit the pavement first, heavy and deliberate, followed by long legs wrapped in faded denim and a leather jacket worn soft at the edges from years of road and trouble. He smells like gasoline, cold air, and something dangerously addictive.
Your biker boyfriend is the kind of man people move out of the way for without realizing they’ve done it. Broad shoulders, rough hands, a jaw shadowed with stubble, and eyes that always look like he knows more than he says.
There’s a scar near his brow he never explains, tattoos slipping beneath his sleeves like secrets half-hidden. He doesn’t smile often—but when he does, it’s crooked, lazy, and enough to make your pulse trip over itself.
He’s quiet in public, watching everything, speaking only when it matters. But with you? He’s different. Softer in ways nobody else gets to see. A hand resting on the small of your back.
His thumb brushing your knuckles under the table. The rare murmur of “You good?” in that gravel-deep voice after noticing you went quiet for half a second. He rides too fast, fights too hard, and loves like it could ruin him, and everyone else knows him as trouble on two wheels.
But you know him as the man who tucks your legs over his lap when you’re tired, kisses your forehead when he thinks you’re asleep, and would burn the whole damn world down if it meant keeping you safe.
As he walks closer, you catch a whiff of leather, sweat, and a faint hint of grease. The air around him still holds the scent of the night sky, where he'd just been leaning against his bike, smoking a cigarette.
He doesn't say anything for a moment, just looks at you with those black eyes, the small silver ring in his eyebrow glinting in the streetlight. His gaze is intense, but there's a softness in it that only you get to see. Your heart flutters in response.
Finally, a slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. It's a smirk that says he knows he affects you. He crosses the distance between you in long strides, the gravel beneath his boots crunching slightly.
When he's close enough to touch you, he stops, hooking a finger into the waistband of your jeans and tugging you firmly against him. He leans down, lips near your ear. You almost gasp before letting out a giggle, “hello to you too, handsome.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, that smirk still playing on his lips. His free hand comes up to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear—rough fingers surprisingly gentle against your skin. "Handsome, huh?" he murmurs in that low voice of his, tilting his head slightly as if considering the word. "Guess I'm feelin' extra pretty tonight."
There's a teasing lilt in his tone now—the kind that means trouble for someone else later but sweetness for you. He leans back in just enough to press a slow kiss below your earlobe before muttering, "You keep talkin' like that and we ain't makin' it home till sunrise."
You’re wearing a leather jacket—his leather jacket that you stole—with a black tank-top beneath it and pear of black jeans along black boots, your hair hangs loose on your shoulders, “you really think I care about going home right now?”
Oh, and he knows you're wearing that jacket, and the sight of you in it, mixed with that little tank top, has him shifting his hips a fraction closer. His gaze roams over you, slowly, a smirk tugging a little wider.
He lets out a soft scoff that borders on a laugh. "Course you don't, you always want to cause trouble." One eyebrow quirks almost accusingly. His other hand slips beneath the jacket, sliding along the slope of your hip. "That why you stole my jacket?"
“Maybe” you tilt your head, eyeing him. He smirks, that hand on your hip squeezing lightly, drawing your body even closer to his. He's got you pinned there against the side of his bike, the warmth of him pressing in around you.
"Maybe, huh?" he murmurs, tone dropping an octave. His gaze roams your face, lingering on your lips for a breath.
Then, without warning, he dips his head to brush his lips over that sensitive spot at the crook of your neck. That smirk against your skin now definitely borders on teasing. Your voice vibrates in his neck, your arms around his large form, “Not gonna take me for a drive tonight?”
He lets out a low, appreciative hum, his hand on your hip shifting to grasp the back of your thigh, long fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your jeans for a moment just to feel the warmth of your skin. "You're awfully eager for that ride," he murmurs in that low voice of his, his breath tickling your ear. "You gonna be a good girl for me tonight?"
The words are as much a challenge as a promise. He knows exactly what effect his possessive hold on your body is having on you. “That ride can mean many things.” You smirk.
A rough, startled laugh escapes him—deep and rich—before he nips at your earlobe in retaliation. "Oh, you really? wanna play that game with me?"
His grip tightens just enough to make his point as the other hand drags up your spine beneath the stolen jacket. The bike’s seat digs into your back when he crowds closer, voice dropping to a growl,
"Careful what you wish for."
You giggle at his undoing. His jaw clenches for half a second before he exhales hard through his nose, the grip on your thigh turning borderline punishing. "Giggle all you want," he mutters against your throat, teeth grazing where your pulse jumps. "Still got keys to my bike and zero patience left."
“Okay, okay, but seriously… I want a ride, on the bike and you—but first the bike. Let’s go somewhere?”
If any more blood suddenly rushed south, there would be serious consequences. His grip on you is almost fierce for a moment, that gruff composure he was trying to keep slipping. When he finally replies, the words are a little strained, betraying how much just hearing you put it that way affected him.
"...Alright," he growls. "But I'm choosing the place." He moves away just enough to let you climb on behind him, the bike purring between you, waiting. “Sure.” You smile, you always get your way with him anyways.
He waits until you're settled behind him, your hands around his waist, before revving the engine once more. The bike lurches forward with that familiar surge of power as he navigates the road with an effortless, practiced grace.
It's an entirely different kind of rush, being tucked against his back as the world whips by at blurring speeds, the wind catching your hair and clothes. Every bump in the road sends a jolt through both of you, the heat between your bodies undeniable.
And yet, despite the adrenaline, he's completely in control. Soon, the bike slows, pulling off a gravel road and onto a familiar dirt path. The dense trees close in around you, creating an intimate sort of seclusion.
He parks near a wide clearing, cutting the engine. It's dark here, save for the occasional slice of moonlight cutting through the leaves and the sound of distant nocturnal birds along with the crickets.
When he turns to look back at you, that earlier restraint is slowly fading into something darker, more intense. He says nothing, just waits for you to get off the bike first.
You climb off the bike, the soil beneath your boots soft and slightly damp. The cool night air wraps around you, carrying the scent of wildflowers and pine.
When you look back at him, he's watching you, those dark eyes roaming over you in the moonlight. Despite the earlier playfulness, his expression is serious now, the usual teasing glint replaced with something more primal.
He gets off the bike, the gravel beneath his boots echoing in the quiet. "Come here." His jaw tenses, the muscle flickering under stubble as he drags a rough hand down his face.
"Fuck—" The word is more breath than sound, but the way his fingers curl into your hip betrays how close to snapping he is. For a second, he just stares at you, eyes black and hungry in the dark, before growling, "You got no idea what that does to me." Then suddenly you're lifted clean off your feet, hauled against him as if weightless.
“Jeon, we’re in public you fucker.” A sharp, incredulous laugh bursts out of him—his name in your voice like a match to gasoline.
"Public?" he repeats, voice dropping to something dangerous as he adjusts his grip on you. "Sweetheart, the only thing 'public' about this is the damn sky." He walks you both backward until your spine meets rough bark, then leans in close enough for you to feel his heartbeat where it hammers against yours. "And right now? I don't give a single fuck who sees."
“Mhm…” That tone, like you're testing him, like you know exactly where his patience ends. His grip on your thigh tightens hard enough to bruise as he leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Mhm?" he mocks lowly. "That all I get? After stealing my jacket and asking for a ride?"
Jung Kook’s teeth drag over the spot below your jaw that always makes you shiver before muttering, "Or do I gotta remind you how this works out here?" He leans back just enough for his eyes to meet yours, the moonlight illuminating the hard gleam within. His chest is rising and falling a little faster now, betraying how much he's restraining himself.
"I asked you a question, baby," he murmurs, that rough touch now skimming up your side to grip your chin, tilting your head just enough to expose more of your throat. "You gonna ignore me now that you got what you wanted?" You giggle before wrapping your arms around him, teasing him with a peck.
God damn it, that giggle is his undoing, the sound driving straight to his marrow. He lets out a growl, half protest, half arousal, that hand on your chin shifting to your hip instead. Your kiss against his lips is light—too light for his taste and far too brief for his liking. He's got a point to prove. With one swift move, he spins you both so your back's against the tree, pinning you in place.
His face is still maddeningly close to yours as his gaze roams over your face, that dark hunger visible in the shadows. He's pressed flush against you now, one leg hooked between yours as if to keep you from escaping.
"Don't go playing games with me, sweetheart," he mutters, voice dropping to that rough, rumbling register that never fails to make your pulse skip. "You know damn well this isn't what I got you out here for."
“Then take me right here and right now.” You mutter into his skin. Jung Kook’s breath hitches, just once before his control shatters. A rough sound tears from his throat as he hauls you up against the tree, one hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head back.
"Fuck," he growls, lips crashing into yours with zero restraint now, teeth and tongue claiming what's been teased for too damn long. His other hand is already working at the button of those black jeans like a man possessed. "Right here," he agrees darkly between kisses that taste like sin and smoke, "exactly where I want you."
He kisses you like he can't get enough as deep and possessive, a silent demand that you give as good as you get. It's a fierce, impatient battle of teeth and tongue that makes the world spin beneath you. His fingers, calloused and still cold from the ride-slide under the hem of your t-shirt like a brand as he hooks your legs around his waist, hitching you up higher against the tree.
That little gasp you let out when he rolls his hips into yours only fuels the inferno inside him. Every sound you make, every move you make, only feeds into the fierce, possessive need driving his actions. He kisses down your neck, teeth sinking into the sensitive skin of your shoulder, as his lips murmur against your ear, "All you had to do was say please, sweetheart."
“Please.” You whine and you for knowing exactly what to say when you speak like that desperate, pleading edge in your voice that makes his blood turn to flame. It's all it takes for the last of his restraint to snap completely. His fingers dig into your thigh in response.
"Oh you're asking for it," he growls, voice a ragged rasp against your skin as he bites down again. "Say it. Louder."
“Please, baby.” You tease, without a warning, he hikes you up higher against the tree, pressing your bodies so close there's not an inch of space between you. His knee jerks up between your legs, grinding into you in a way that has you letting out another gasp, "Like that, sweetheart?" he husks against your throat. "Yeah. Just like that."
Your gasp turns into a moan when he nips at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, his words vibrating against your skin in a way that sends heat pooling straight through you.
His hands are everywhere, rough and impatient as they slide under your shirt, roaming the expanse of your back, your chest, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He has no intention of letting you touch the ground again any time soon.
His hips keep rolling into yours in a slow, teasing rhythm that has your heart slamming against your ribcage. He's lost in the feel of you, in the taste, the scent, the way you cry out when he presses just right. Eventually, he leans back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes a storm of raw desire that makes your breath catch. He's barely recognizable like this, all rough edges and dark hunger, yet he has never been sexier.
“Fuck me.” You gasp. In one brutal motion, he yanks your jeans down just enough and lifts you back against the tree, his free hand already working open his belt buckle with rough impatience. "You want it?" His voice is gravel and fire as he palms himself through denim once hard before shoving fabric out of the way entirely. "Then take it." You don’t have to tell him twice.
His groan is pure filth as you sink onto him, the stretch burning in the best way possible—his grip on your hips near bruising as he holds you there for a second, letting you feel every inch. His jaw clenches so tight it’s a miracle his teeth don’t crack under the pressure of holding back even one thrust right then and there.
"Fuck," he rasps against your throat when he finally moves, slow rolls of his hips that make stars burst behind your eyelids with each drag deeper inside than before, "this is what my good girl needed?"
“Omg, Jung Kook…” You cry out and the second he feels you clench around him, his self-control evaporates. A ragged "Fuck,” is torn from his throat as he slams up into you to the hilt, one hand flying to your hair and yanking just hard enough to arch your back against the tree.
His other arm bands like steel across your waist, keeping you impaled on him as he starts a punishing rhythm that has no business being this rough in public—no business making either of you feel this good so fast.
"You wanna come?" He bites out between thrusts that leave no room for thought beyond sensation "Then fucking earn it."
He's a man possessed with one thing on his mind. He's always been protective, possessive, intense, but like this he's almost feral. He growls when you clutch at his back, nails digging into his shoulders and leaving marks that burn in the best way.
He uses his strength against you, holding you up like you weigh nothing as he forces sounds out of you that would make lesser men fall to their knees.
Your body ripples beneath him, shivers crawl down your back as his voice vibrates in your chest, a moN rips from his chest as he watches you unravel beneath him, your body tightening around his, your back arching like a bowstring.
"That's it," he snarls, slamming into you harder with each desperate roll of your hips against his. His free hand snakes between you to press two rough fingers right where you need them most, circling in time with the brutal snap of his pelvis against yours. "You wanna come on my c*ck? Then fucking take it."
His eyes darken at your command, his body responding like a well-trained dog. He growls and pulls you further into the room, kicking the door shut behind you with enough force to make it rattle in its frame.
The second the lock slides into place he pounces, lips crushed against yours in a hungry, brutal kiss. Teeth bite down on your bottom lip, a sharp sting that makes your skin sing. "Yeah? Gonna make a mess all over me, angel?"
He doesn't even wait for an answer, his grip tightens on your hips, lifting you with almost feral ease. A low noise rumbles deep in his throat as he pins you against the wall with no effort at all, just raw strength and sheer desire. The hard, solid muscle of him pressed against every inch of you makes your head spin.
You moan at each time he speaks. His lips ghost across your collarbone in a trail of hot, lingering kisses, each one leaving goosebumps in its wake.
"That feel good?" he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough and gravelly. His mouth wanders to the sensitive spot below your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Each nip against the delicate skin there is a silent claim, a reminder of who you belong to, both of you on edge.
The second he hears his name, his real name, not the teasing nicknames you usually use—his entire body locks up. A ragged, punched-out groan tears from his throat as he spills into you, hips jerking erratically.
His forehead drops against your shoulder hard enough to bruise; teeth sinking into flesh just above your collarbone in a sharp mark of ownership. "Fuck," he rasps against sweat-slick skin when the aftershocks finally ease, "fuck, baby." The rough edge of awe in that gravel-deep voice says everything, you wrecked him.
When the world finally stops spinning and your head somewhat clears, you find yourself still pinned against the wall. He's still gripping your hips, breathing ragged and uneven as he slowly lifts his head to look at you.
Those dark eyes are still molten, his face flushed with exertion and a fierce hunger that hasn't faded a bit. "You good, angel?" he murmurs, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair out of your face—a tender gesture that belies the possessive grip still pinning you in place.
“Yeah, of course.” You mutter out of breath. A rough, strained laugh leaves him at the confidence in your voice. It's sexy, that cocky attitude you get after he's had you this wrecked—and he knows. it, if the way his lips curve up in a slow, crooked smirk is any clue. "Yeah? Think you'd be able to walk right now if I let you down?" He asks in a voice that's pure temptation, one eyebrow quirked in challenge.
