Summary - in where at the rooftop bar a certain someone gets too close beyond liking to your boyfriend and you get a little possessive.
Warnings - jealousy, possessiveness, suggestive, kissing, Jungkook being a simp for his girl.
Pairings - idol!jk x idol!fem reader
( I do not own any of these characters and this is purely just fanfic)
You weren’t even supposed to come here, both your friends practically begged you two to come to the new rooftop bar in gangnam and now we are here.
The first time Jungkook noticed it he thought it was funny.
But the second time he wast so sure about that.
And by the third look from you he was so certain that you were jealous. Not in some toxic or dramatic way. You didn’t throw any drinks, you didn’t start an argument, you didn’t make any scenes.
It really wasn’t your thing to do.
But instead simply became very,very possessive after all he was your man and you made sure she knew that.
“No seriously get your hands off my man”
It didn’t come out my mouth directly but it played in my head over and over again.
He was there standing at the bar talking with his friends when she walked up to him.
It was winter. Of course it was winter always wanted something to do with Jungkook even if he was with me she made it very clear from the start and she would do anything to have him but then I came into the picture and started dating.
Of course theres backstory between why me and winter don’t like each other it was never about jungkook until recent.
I was the main vocalist and leader of the group aespa. There were four other members Karina, Giselle, ningning and of course winter. Winter never liked me from the start it was obvious to everyone I had everything the visuals, the voice and the public loved me and she didn’t like that.
and ever since me and Jungkook started dating she hated that more.
Across the room, my eyes narrowed
Just slightly
But fortunately for Jungkook he caught it.
And Jungkook being Jungkook he had to bite back a grin.
And there it was she looked up at him with those eyes those “I want to fuck you” eyes she giggled at something he said she even had the audacity to touch his arm.
My jaw tightened.
And I swear she looked over to me and leaned in closer to him
That’s what pissed me off the most she knew what she was doing she knows.
My hands gripped my cocktail glass harder my eyes glued to the interaction
She was doing this on purpose to mess with me
He looked at me across the rooftop it was just one look and he knew. He knew that look that look of “im about to commit a crime if she touches you one more time” and before he could come over to me I walk over to him instead.
Almost instantly jungkooks hand settled on my waist
Warm
Protective
Reassurance
“Hi baby” he says looking down at me I don’t say anything but instead look at the girl infront of me my eyes showed the irritation and possessiveness.
“Hi winter” I say with a tight smile my tone dripping with fake sweetness and she caught it
“hi” she says back looking between me and Jungkook as she takes a step back
“I was just congratulating Jungkook on the new bts album” she says almost quietly not so confident now
“Yeah sure you were, listen I don’t know what your problem is with me but don’t try to mess with my relationship with my man” I say voice laced with irritation
I grab jungkooks hand and lead him away from her
He looks down at me and smiles his hand still on my waist
“You’re so fucking sexy when you’re possessive baby” he says his breath tickling my ear
“I’m not possessive”
“Mhm you definitely are”
His thumb brushed my against my side a tiny movement but still there.
And yet somehow it was enough to send heat rushing through your entire body. “You were ready to fight her” he said smirking, that damn smirk.
“No I wasn’t”
“You were”
“I wasn’t”
“Mhm okay”
I pout and he laughs.
That laugh could make any woman melt it was warm and unfairly attractive.
“You know” he said lowering his voice “I kinda like it” and that sentence alone made my heart beat faster. I look up at him my voice barely audible “what…?” His finger tucks my hair behind my ear “the jealousy”
His gaze dropped to my lips then back to my eyes I caught it
It was deliberate and slow like he wanted me to see it he was tryna fuck with me and god it was working.
“You do?”
He lets out a small “mhm”
His fingers tightened slightly around my waist “it means you want me” and I swear when he said that his voice went huskier and that tone made my knees feel weak. Jeon Jungkook knew what he was doing
Of course he did.
His hands firmly sat on my waist and he slowly backed me up into the corner of the rooftop bar. It was dark only the moon lit up the corner.
It was obvious from earlier he only wanted me not winter not some other girl it was me that he wanted he made that absolutely clear to any girl who tried approaching him but it didint stop me from being jealous I mean he was the biggest kpop idol what woman wouldn’t want him right?
But when his eyes found me those godamn big dark doe eyes the jealousy in me faded and instead my heart beater faster.
It made our surroundings disappear
The crowd
The music
The people
It was all gone.
I just felt like it was only me and him in this world.
His hand goes to my check holding my face to look up at him. The height difference between me and Jungkook was obvious he was tall and muscular with those tattoos that made him just look so much more sexier. Something that people don’t know my name is tatted on him.
His body pressed close to mine enough to blur any thoughts in my mind. “You know what” me murmured. “What…?” I say almost out of breath he wets his bottom lip and says in a low voice “if you wanted my attention you could’ve just asked”
My cheeks tint a slight pink
“I always have you’re attention kookie” it was that nickname that made him sigh
Almost immediately he let out a “yeah”
“Yeah you do”
And for a good 30 seconds silence overtakes us his hand still on my cheek until he speaks
“You know nobody compares to you right?”
Fuck.
“Jungkook-“
That’s when he really looks into my eyes
“I’m serious” his voice dropped lower the recent teasing tone gone “I only look for you in the room” the confession settled between between us.
And suddenly I couldn’t remember why I was annoyed or jealous in the first place when this man just proved his point and made it clear that there’s no one else for him and fuck that made me feel weak.
His eyes lingered on my lips again
The tension was undeniable
Neither of us moved
Neither of us said a word until i did
“You keep looking at me like you want to kiss me”
“Maybe I do”
That’s all it took for me to crash my lips onto his, he kissed back immediately his tounge finding mine his hand on the back of my neck whilst the other firm on my waist.
In 20 minutes we were back in his penthouse his hands all over me
We stumble into the room my back hitting the mattress. He looks at me with blown out pupils his hair messy from my fingers running through them his lips swollen from kissing
He undoes his belt with one hand
Fuck that was hot
He gets on the bed and crashes his lips onto mine again this time it was messy like he was hungry for me and I was the same he pulled back and looked at me “fuck your so pretty princess” I sighed at that name
He wastes no time undoing my dress and throwing it across the room
I was left in nothing but a matching dark blue lace. His pupils dilated he wanted me he was hungry.
And all night he made sure I knew I was the only one I wanted.
“ I love you miss possessive”
———————————————————————————
Okay guys how do we feel about this fic?!
This is my first post so I know it won’t be the best but I hope you loved it as much as I loved writing it!! Jungkook is definitely a simp for reader!
TROPES/WARNINGS -> biker!jungkook, blue collar!jungkook, ex criminal!jungkook, shy reader, age gap, unprotected sex, oral (male recieving), implied abusive relationship, reader is smol, street crime, implied violence, praise kink, size kink, nicknames (angel, doll, sweetheart)
WORDS -> 10.2k (so fcking long, i took a long time on this)
now playing: touchin' me - chandler leighton ⋆｡𖦹°‧
MAIN MASTERLIST
"Sweetheart, you lost?"
The voice came from somewhere behind the cigarette haze and neon glare—rough around the edges like gravel under boots, but with a warmth that didn't match the leather-and-knuckles crowd packed into the bar. You turned, slow, half-expecting some grizzled biker with a beer gut and bad intentions. Instead, you found yourself looking up—way up—into the sharpest brown eyes you’d ever seen.
He wasn’t smiling, but his posture was relaxed, one elbow propped on the sticky countertop like he owned the place. Which, judging by the way the other patrons gave him a wide berth, he might as well have. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing ink that coiled around his forearms like a warning in a language you didn’t know how to read.
"You don’t look like you belong here," he said, tipping his chin toward the door. "Place like this eats angels for breakfast."
Your fingers curled tighter around your drink—some watered-down whiskey you’d ordered just to look less out of place—but the condensation on the glass betrayed your nerves. "I'm fine," you lied, voice smaller than you’d intended. His eyebrow arched, and you swore his mouth twitched, like he’d caught you in something far more interesting than a bad poker face.
"Uh-huh." He leaned in just enough that the scent of motor oil and something faintly sweet—vanilla?—drifted over. Close enough that you could see the way his tattoo disappeared under the rolled cuff of his sleeve, the tail end of a snake or maybe a dragon. "Tell you what," he said, thumb brushing the rim of your glass, "you finish that, and I’ll walk you out. Sun’s been down an hour. Streets ain’t kind after dark."
You opened your mouth to argue, but the bartender—a gnarled man with a scar through his eyebrow—snorted and slid a fresh beer toward the stranger without being asked. "Listen to Jungkook, kid. Only idiot out here’s the one who don’t know when to fold."
Jungkook. The name suited him, all hard consonants and edges. You watched him take a slow drag from the bottle, the line of his throat working, and suddenly the room felt ten degrees hotter.
Your fingers twitched against the glass, the ice inside clinking like a nervous heartbeat. Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver, steady as a sniper’s, and you realized with a jolt that he wasn’t just offering—he was waiting. Like he’d already decided how this would go, and the only variable left was how long you’d pretend otherwise. The bartender wiped down the counter with a rag that had seen better decades, his one good eye flicking between you two like this was the most entertainment he’d had all week.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” you muttered, but the words lacked bite, dissolving into the thrum of bass from the jukebox. Jungkook’s chuckle was low, a rumble you felt more than heard, and he set his beer down with a decisive clink.
“Didn’t offer to babysit.” His thumb tapped the glass near yours, a silent countdown. “Offered to walk. Big difference.” The dragon on his forearm flexed as he shifted, ink rippling under the bar’s sickly yellow light. You wondered absently if it hurt when he got them—if he’d bitten his lip like you did during flu shots, or if he’d laughed in the needle’s face.
The whiskey was terrible, but you downed the last of it anyway, if only to give your hands something to do. Jungkook’s mouth curled at the corner, approving, and he nodded toward the door. “C’mon, angel. Let’s get some air.” The nickname shouldn’t have sent a shiver down your spine. It definitely shouldn’t have made your stomach flip.
The night air hit you like a slap—cold and sharp, chasing away the bar’s stale heat. Jungkook stepped out behind you, his presence at your back both unsettling and inexplicably reassuring. The door swung shut with a thud, muffling the bar’s raucous noise into a distant hum. Streetlights flickered overhead, casting uneven pools of yellow onto the cracked pavement. Somewhere down the block, a motorcycle engine growled to life, then faded into the darkness.
“Where’s your ride?” Jungkook asked, nodding toward the mostly empty parking lot. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, shoulders broad enough to block the wind. You hesitated, suddenly aware of how exposed you were out here—no car, no plan, just the lingering burn of cheap whiskey in your throat and a stranger who smelled like trouble and vanilla.
“Didn’t drive,” you admitted. “Walked.”
Jungkook’s expression darkened, just for a second. “From where?”
"Couple blocks over," you said, jerking your chin toward the dimly lit street beyond the parking lot. "Cheap motel with a flickering sign." The admission tasted like defeat, and you hated how small your voice sounded—like some lost kid instead of the grown woman who’d sworn she could handle herself.
Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound almost a laugh but not quite. "That shithole by the old laundromat?" He shook his head, leather creaking as he shifted his weight. "Christ, angel. Place’s got more roaches than the city dump." The way he said it—like he knew exactly which peeling wallpaper you’d been staring at for the past three nights—made your cheeks burn.
You crossed your arms, suddenly defensive. "It’s temporary."
"Yeah? How temporary?" His gaze dropped to your shoes—scuffed sneakers that had seen better days—then back up to your face, slow, deliberate. Like he was adding up numbers in his head and didn’t like the sum. "You got someone waiting for you there?"
The question hung between you like a dare, and for a second, you considered lying. But Jungkook’s eyes—sharp as broken glass—seemed to see right through you. "No," you admitted, the word barely louder than the distant hum of traffic. "Just me."
Something flickered in his expression—too fast to name—before he sighed and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. The stubble there made a rough sound against his palm. "Motel’s a bad idea," he said, like it was a fact, not an opinion. "Landlord’s got a habit of ‘forgetting’ to lock doors. Especially for pretty girls traveling light."
Your stomach lurched. You’d known that. Had shoved a chair under the doorknob every night and slept with your keys between your knuckles like some DIY weapon. But hearing it out loud, in that gravel-cut voice, made it real in a way you hadn’t let it be before. "I can handle myself," you muttered, but the protest sounded hollow even to you.
Jungkook’s mouth twitched. "Yeah? That why you’re shaking?" You hadn’t even noticed, but your hands were trembling—slightly, just at the fingertips—and the realization burned like shame. Before you could snap back, he reached out, slow, giving you every chance to duck away. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, just once, warm and calloused. "Cold," he said, like he was offering you an out. "Let’s get you somewhere that ain’t got bedbugs."
His fingers closed around yours, not tight enough to trap, but firm enough that you couldn’t pretend you hadn’t felt it. The callouses on his palm rasped against your skin—rough in a way that sent an unexpected spark up your wrist. "You're not taking me home," you said, more to remind yourself than him. The words came out breathier than you’d intended, like your lungs had forgotten how air worked.
Jungkook snorted, steering you toward a parked motorcycle at the edge of the lot. "Didn’t offer that either, doll." The bike was all matte black and chrome, gleaming under the flickering streetlight like something half-tamed. He grabbed a spare helmet off the back—scuffed red, with a peeling sticker you couldn’t read—and held it out. "Got a couch at the shop. Springs’ll fuck your back worse than that motel mattress, but at least the locks work."
You hesitated, fingers hovering over the helmet. Common sense screamed that this was how people ended up in ditches, but the way Jungkook watched you—patient, like he had all night—made it hard to believe he’d bother luring you somewhere just to hurt you. Hurt took effort, and this man moved like every action was calculated to waste as little energy as possible. "What shop?" you asked, stalling.
"Auto repair. Two blocks north." He tilted his head, studying you. "You can call someone if you want. Or I can drop you at a bus stop." The offer was casual, but his fingers tapped once against the helmet—impatient, maybe, or just restless.
The helmet felt heavier than it should have, the weight of the decision settling into your palms. Jungkook didn’t rush you, just leaned against the bike, one boot propped on the kickstand like he had all the time in the world. His patience was almost worse than pressure—it made you feel like you were the one holding things up, like the night was waiting on you to stop being stupid.
"Bus stop’s fine," you said finally, because it was the sensible thing, the thing you’d tell a friend to do. But the words tasted like ash, and Jungkook’s smirk said he knew it.
"Uh-huh." He pushed off the bike, plucking the helmet from your grip before you could change your mind. "Bus left twenty minutes ago, angel. Next one’s at dawn." His fingers brushed yours as he strapped the helmet onto your head, adjusting the fit with a precision that suggested he’d done this before. The padding smelled like leather and something faintly citrus—clean, unlike the bar’s sticky air. "You wanna stand out here all night pretending you got options, be my guest. But that motel’s gonna smell worse the longer you wait."
The buckle clicked under your chin, snug enough to pinch. You opened your mouth to argue, but Jungkook was already swinging a leg over the bike, the engine growling to life beneath him like a living thing. He jerked his head toward the space behind him. "Up, doll. Unless you’re scared."
The helmet muffled your scoff, but Jungkook’s smirk widened like he’d heard it anyway. Scared. The word prickled under your skin—too close to the truth, too easy a taunt. You hesitated a second longer, just to prove you could, then swung your leg over the bike with more bravado than grace. The seat was warm where his body had been, the leather creaking under your weight. Jungkook glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow arched. “Hold on tight, angel. I don’t do slow.”
You barely had time to grip his waist before the bike lurched forward, the sudden acceleration pressing you flush against his back. The heat of him seeped through his jacket, solid and unyielding, and you caught another whiff of that vanilla-and-motor-oil scent as the wind whipped past your ears. The streets blurred into streaks of neon and shadow, the bike weaving through traffic with a recklessness that should’ve terrified you—but Jungkook’s hands were steady on the handlebars, his movements precise, like every turn was mapped behind his eyelids.
The shop appeared sooner than expected, a squat brick building wedged between a pawnshop and a boarded-up diner. A flickering sign above the roll-up door read Golden Hands Auto in peeling gold letters. Jungkook killed the engine with a twist of his wrist, and the sudden silence rang in your ears. You peeled yourself off his back, your thighs trembling—whether from adrenaline or the vibration of the bike, you couldn’t tell.
Jungkook dismounted in one smooth motion, plucking the helmet off your head before you could fumble with the strap. “C’mon,” he said, jerking his chin toward a side door. The key scraped in the lock, loud in the quiet street. Inside, the shop smelled like grease and old coffee, the air thick with the kind of warmth that clung to places where engines ran for hours. A workbench littered with tools ran along one wall, a sagging couch shoved against the other.
The couch groaned when you sat down, springs digging into your thighs through the thin upholstery. Jungkook flicked on a desk lamp—its orange glow cutting through the dimness—and tossed a folded blanket at you without looking. It smelled faintly of detergent and something earthy, like the forest after rain. “Make yourself at home,” he said, already shrugging out of his jacket. The motion pulled his shirt tight across his shoulders, the fabric straining over muscles that hadn’t come from gym reps.
You watched him move—efficient, unhurried—as he filled a dented kettle at a sink in the corner. The water sputtered from the faucet, loud in the quiet. “You live here?” you asked, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. The question sounded absurd the moment it left your mouth. Of course he didn’t. The place was half workshop, half storage closet.
Jungkook snorted, setting the kettle on a hotplate. “Nah. Got an apartment upstairs.” He nodded toward a door you hadn’t noticed, half-hidden behind a tool rack. “Shop’s mine, though.” The pride in his voice was subtle but unmistakable, like the gleam on the bike’s chrome.
The kettle whistled, sharp and sudden. Jungkook poured steaming water into two mugs—one chipped, the other with a faded superhero logo—and handed you the intact one. The tea inside was dark, bitter when you sipped, but warmth spread through your chest anyway. “So,” he said, leaning against the workbench with his own mug, “you gonna tell me why you were drinking alone in a biker bar, or am I supposed to guess?”
The mug burned your fingertips, but you clung to it anyway—something solid to ground you while Jungkook’s question hung in the air like a dare. You could lie. Invent some rebellious phase, a bad breakup, a dare from a friend. But his gaze was steady, patient in a way that made fabrications wither before they reached your tongue. "Needed to be somewhere loud," you admitted, tracing the rim of the mug with your thumb. "Somewhere that didn’t feel like four peeling walls and a broken AC unit."
Jungkook hummed, sipping his tea like he’d expected that answer. The steam curled around his lips before he spoke again. "And the whiskey?"
"Liquid courage," you muttered, the words bitter as the tea. "Thought if I looked like I belonged, I wouldn’t feel so…" You trailed off, suddenly aware of how pathetic it sounded—playing dress-up in someone else’s life.
Jungkook’s chuckle was low, more vibration than sound. "Sweetheart, you could’ve worn head-to-toe leather and still stuck out like a virgin at a gangbang." The crudeness should’ve made you bristle, but the way he said it—fond, almost teasing—took the sting out. He set his mug down with a clink, elbows propped on the workbench behind him. The pose stretched his shirt across his chest, the fabric pulling taut over the swell of his pecs. "So who’s got you running to motels and biker bars?"
The question landed like a punch to the solar plexus—direct, unexpected, forcing air from your lungs in a rush. Your fingers tightened around the mug, the ceramic almost too hot now, but the pain grounded you. Jungkook waited, his gaze unwavering, like he already knew the answer and just wanted to see if you’d lie.
"Ex," you said finally, the word sharp and small. "Not—not recent." A half-truth. The breakup was months ago, but the bruises—the ones that didn’t fade—still ached under your skin. You glanced at Jungkook’s hands, the knuckles scarred and calloused, and wondered if he’d ever hit someone who didn’t hit back first.
Jungkook’s expression darkened, a storm passing behind his eyes. He pushed off the workbench, the movement deliberate, and crouched in front of you, close enough that his knees brushed yours. The proximity should’ve set off alarm bells, but his hands—resting loosely on his thighs—were palms-up, open. "He know you’re here?"
The question was soft, but the implication wasn’t. Your throat tightened. "No. Left town." Another lie. You’d taken the first bus out with nothing but a duffel bag and the cash you’d scraped together, but you’d checked over your shoulder every block.
Jungkook’s jaw tightened, the muscle flexing under the scruff of his stubble. He didn’t call you out on the lie, just nodded once, slow, like he was filing the information away somewhere dark and dangerous. “Good,” he said, voice rough. His thumb brushed the edge of your knee—just a graze, but the contact sent a jolt up your thigh. “Means he’s smart.”
The couch creaked as you shifted, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was—close enough that you could count the faint scars along his collarbone where his shirt gaped open. The shop’s dim lighting painted shadows under his eyes, sharpening the angles of his face until he looked more like a warning than a man.
“You hungry?” he asked abruptly, pushing to his feet before you could answer. The sudden distance left you oddly unmoored, like you’d been leaning into a wind that vanished. Jungkook rummaged in a mini-fridge by the workbench, the hum of it drowning out the silence. “Got leftovers,” he said, tossing a plastic-wrapped container onto the counter. “Diner down the street makes decent pancakes.”
The mention of food twisted your stomach—you hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s gas station sandwich—but you hesitated. “You don’t have to—”
“—feed me,” you finished lamely, watching as Jungkook pried the lid off the container with a practiced flick of his wrist. The pancakes inside were slightly congealed, the syrup crystallized at the edges, but your stomach growled treacherously.
Jungkook shot you a look that said he’d heard it. “Yeah, well,” he said, shoving the container into a microwave that looked like it had survived a war. “You’re skin and bones, doll. Can’t have you passing out on my couch.” The microwave whirred to life, its dim light casting his profile in a sickly yellow glow. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and you caught the way his gaze flicked to your wrists—too thin, the veins too prominent—before darting away.
The microwave beeped, startlingly loud in the quiet shop. Jungkook tossed a fork at you without warning; you caught it by sheer reflex, the metal cold against your palm. “Eat,” he ordered, nudging the reheated pancakes toward you. They smelled like butter and cheap maple syrup, and suddenly you were ravenous.
You took a bite, the sweetness overwhelming after days of gas station pretzels and vending machine crackers. Jungkook watched, silent, as you devoured half the stack before coming up for air. His expression was unreadable—somewhere between amused and pissed off—but his voice was softer than you expected when he spoke. “How long since you ate a real meal?”
The fork scraped against the plastic container louder than you meant it to. You stalled, chewing slowly just to avoid answering. Jungkook didn’t rush you, just watched with that unnerving patience, like he’d wait all night if he had to.
"Couple days," you muttered finally, syrup sticking to your lips. The admission tasted worse than the lie.
Jungkook’s jaw tightened. He pushed off the counter abruptly, snagging a rag from the workbench to wipe grease off his hands—though they looked clean enough. The motion was too sharp, like he needed to do something with the tension coiling in his shoulders. "Motel have a fridge?"
You shook your head, staring at the half-eaten pancakes suddenly gone leaden in your stomach. The silence stretched, thick with everything you weren’t saying—the dwindling cash, the way you’d started skipping meals to stretch it further.
The rag hit the workbench with a dull thwack. Jungkook exhaled through his nose—slow, controlled—like he was counting backward from ten. “Right,” he said, and that single word carried more exhaustion than anger. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, the stubble rasping against his palm. “Finish eating.”
The command brooked no argument, but his tone lacked its usual edge. You picked at the remaining pancakes, syrup congealing at the edges of the container. Jungkook moved to a cluttered desk in the corner, yanking open a drawer with more force than necessary. The sound of rummaging—metal clinking, papers rustling—filled the shop’s heavy silence. When he straightened, he held a key pinched between his fingers, its teeth glinting under the lamplight.
“Upstairs,” he said, tossing it toward you. You fumbled the catch; the key landed in your lap with a cold weight. “Door’s second on the left. Shower works. Towels in the closet.” He paused, jaw working like he was chewing over his next words. “Fridge is stocked.”
You stared at the key, its grooves biting into your palm. The offer hovered between you, unspoken but unmistakable: Stay. Your throat tightened. “I can’t—”
"—afford rent," you finished, the words scraping your throat raw. The key burned in your palm like a guilty secret. Jungkook snorted, kicking the drawer shut with his boot.
"Didn't ask for rent, angel." He leaned back against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. The movement pulled his shirt tight across his biceps, the fabric straining at the seams. "Place is paid for. You'd be doing me a favor—keeps the squatters out."
The lie was so transparent it almost hurt. You turned the key over in your fingers, the metal warmed by your grip. "Why?"
Jungkook stilled. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the hum of the fridge and the distant groan of pipes overhead. Then he pushed off the desk, crossing the space between you in three strides. His hand closed over yours, callouses catching on your knuckles as he folded your fingers around the key.
The warmth of his hand lingered even after he let go, the metal key pressed between your fingers like a promise you weren't sure you deserved. Jungkook didn’t step back, his boots planted wide enough that his knees bracketed yours. Close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow.
"Because I don’t like the way you flinch," he said finally, voice low, like the words were dragged out of him. His thumb brushed your wrist—just above the bruise you’d tried to hide under your sleeve—and the touch burned hotter than shame. "And because I’ve slept on that couch. Springs’ll fuck you up worse than whatever you’re running from."
You swallowed hard, the key’s teeth digging into your palm. The honesty in his voice hurt more than pity ever could. "I don’t—" Your voice cracked. You tried again. "I don’t know how to pay you back."
Jungkook’s mouth curled, something dark and amused flashing in his eyes. "Who said anything about paying?" He reached past you, snagging the half-empty mug of tea off the couch arm. His forearm brushed your shoulder, the contact fleeting but electric. "Consider it a favor between strays."
The key felt heavier in your palm than it should have. Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver, steady as the hum of the fridge in the corner. You opened your mouth—to protest, to thank him, to ask what the hell he meant by strays—but he was already turning away, tossing the empty mug into the sink with a clatter.
“Shop opens at seven,” he said, shrugging his jacket back on with a single practiced motion. The leather creaked as he adjusted the collar, the sound oddly intimate in the quiet. “Don’t sleep through the noise.” He nodded toward the side door, the one he’d unlocked minutes ago. “Upstairs’s through there. Lock’s stiff—jiggle the handle.”
You stared at the key, then at his back as he moved toward the roll-up door. “Wait—you’re leaving?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, too raw at the edges.
Jungkook paused, half-turned, his profile sharp under the flickering shop light. “Got a bike to rebuild,” he said, like that explained everything. His boot scuffed the concrete as he shifted his weight. “You want a bedtime story too, angel?”
The helmet hit the couch with a dull thud when you chucked it at him. Jungkook caught it one-handed without looking, his smirk widening as the foam padding bounced against his palm. "Cute," he drawled, tossing it onto the workbench. The metal clattered against wrenches, the sound echoing in the shop's cavernous silence.
You stood too fast—the couch springs protesting—and instantly regretted it when the room tilted. Jungkook's hand shot out, steadying you by the elbow before you could faceplant into the tool rack. His grip was firm, calloused fingers pressing just above the bruise your ex had left three weeks ago. You froze.
Jungkook didn't. He let go like you'd burned him, stepping back with a roughness that didn't match the careful way he'd touched you. "Watch your step, doll." His voice was gruff, but his gaze dropped to your wrist—to the yellowing fingerprint-sized marks peeking from under your sleeve—before flicking away.
The side door groaned when you shoved it open, the rusted hinges screaming like a dying animal. The stairwell beyond was narrow, the steps uneven underfoot, the air thick with the scent of motor oil and something faintly herbal—like the tea he'd made you. Jungkook's shadow stretched long behind you, his presence at your back both unsettling and inexplicably steadying.
The key turned with a stubborn grind, the lock protesting until you jiggled the handle exactly as Jungkook had instructed. The apartment smelled like cedar and engine grease—lived-in, masculine. A single lamp cast amber light over a threadbare couch and a coffee table littered with motorcycle magazines. The fridge hummed in the corner, its door plastered with takeout menus and a yellowed photo of a younger Jungkook standing beside an older man, both grinning in front of a car with its hood propped open.
You toed off your shoes by the door, the floorboards creaking underfoot. The shower ran hot, thank god, and you stood under the spray until your skin pruned, washing away the bar’s sticky residue. His soap was unscented, utilitarian, but the towel you wrapped yourself in carried his faint vanilla-and-leather scent. It shouldn’t have made your stomach flutter.
The bedroom was sparse—just a dresser and a mattress without a frame, its sheets pulled tight as a drum. You hesitated before sliding under the covers, hyperaware of the way the fabric smelled like him. Sleep came in fitful bursts, punctuated by the distant rumble of engines and the occasional clang from the shop below.
At dawn, the roar of a hydraulic lift jerked you awake. Sunlight sliced through gaps in the blinds, painting stripes across the floor. You found a note taped to the fridge in messy block letters: EAT. DON’T TOUCH THE TOOLS. The fridge was indeed stocked—eggs, fruit, a six-pack of beer. You fried two eggs, the yolks bright as danger signs.
The eggs tasted like heaven and guilt in equal measure. You scraped the last of the yolk with your fork when the shop door buzzed open below—a deep mechanical groan followed by the familiar rumble of Jungkook’s voice, too muffled to make out words. The floor vibrated faintly under your bare feet, the rhythm of tools clinking and occasional laughter threading up through the boards. You washed your plate slowly, deliberately, listening to the cadence of his movements like it was a language you were trying to learn.
A sudden burst of laughter—deeper than Jungkook’s—made you jump. The sponge slipped from your fingers, hitting the sink with a wet slap. You hadn’t realized the shop had other employees. The thought of strangers down there, joking with Jungkook like this was any other Tuesday, made your skin prickle. You wiped your hands on the towel—his towel—and eyed the stairwell door. It stood slightly ajar, just as you’d left it.
The decision to go downstairs wasn’t a decision at all; your feet carried you before your brain could object. The steps creaked under your weight, each groan louder than the last, announcing your descent like a herald. The shop’s fluorescent lights glared brighter than you remembered, bleaching the concrete floor and the two figures bent over a motorcycle in the center bay.
Jungkook straightened first, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. His sleeves were rolled past his elbows, tattoos flexing as he motioned to the older man beside him—gray at the temples, built like a retired boxer. “Jimin, this is—” He paused, just for a heartbeat, and you realized he didn’t know your name.
"Y/N," you supplied quickly, stepping off the last stair. The concrete was cold under your bare feet, sending a shiver up your legs. Jungkook’s gaze dropped to your toes, then flicked back up with an unreadable expression—somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
Jimin whistled low, wiping his hands on an already-grimy rag. "Didn’t know you were keeping strays upstairs, Kook." His grin was sharp, but his eyes were kind as they flicked between you and Jungkook. "Cute ones, at that."
Jungkook chucked a wrench at him without looking. Jimin caught it with a laugh, the metal clanging against his palm. "Don’t scare her off," Jungkook muttered, tossing the rag onto the workbench. "She’s skittish enough as it is."
You bristled, crossing your arms. "I’m not skittish."
Jimin grinned, tossing the wrench back to Jungkook with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Sure you're not, sweetheart." The nickname rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, but his gaze—sharp beneath the casual charm—lingered on your crossed arms, the way your fingers dug into your sleeves. Jungkook caught the wrench one-handed, his knuckles whitening around the handle for half a second before he set it down with deliberate calm.
The shop’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting stark shadows under the bike’s raised chassis. Jungkook wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving dark streaks across the denim. "Jimin’s the reason the shop doesn’t burn down," he said, jerking his chin toward the older man. "Also why we’ve got a swear jar."
Jimin snorted, leaning against the workbench. "Like you’ve ever paid into it." His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the lines there deeper than they should’ve been for a man his age. You caught the way his gaze flicked to Jungkook—brief, assessing—before settling back on you. "So, Y/N. You sticking around, or just passing through?"
The question hung in the air like exhaust fumes. You opened your mouth—to say what, you weren’t sure—but Jungkook cut in before you could answer. "She’s staying." The words were flat, final, leaving no room for argument. Jimin’s eyebrows lifted a fraction, but he didn’t comment, just nodded and reached for a coffee mug perched precariously on a stack of invoices.
The coffee mug hit the workbench with a sharp clack, breaking the silence that had settled between the three of you. Jimin’s smirk was knowing as he took a slow sip, his eyes flicking between you and Jungkook like he was watching a game of chess unfold. "Staying, huh?" he mused, setting the mug down with deliberate care. "That so, Y/N?"
You swallowed, suddenly aware of how thin your borrowed t-shirt felt against your skin—how Jungkook’s gaze lingered on the way the fabric dipped at your collarbone before he looked away, jaw tight. "Yeah," you said, quieter than you meant to. "If that’s okay."
Jimin chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, it’s more than okay, sweetheart." He nudged Jungkook’s shoulder with his own, grinning when Jungkook didn’t react beyond a faint twitch of his brow. "Our boy here doesn’t bring just anyone upstairs."
Jungkook’s knuckles went white around the wrench he’d picked up again. "Shut up, Jimin."
The wrench clattered onto the workbench with a sound like a gunshot. Jungkook’s shoulders were taut under his grease-streaked shirt, the fabric clinging to the sweat at the small of his back. Jimin’s grin widened—sharp as a blade—as he leaned in to whisper something that made Jungkook’s ears flush crimson. You pretended not to notice, focusing instead on the way your toes curled against the cold concrete.
"Need help with the Kawasaki," Jungkook muttered, jerking his chin toward a bike in the corner—its engine exposed like an open wound. Jimin saluted, winking at you over his coffee mug before sauntering off. The shop’s fluorescent lights buzzed louder in the sudden silence, casting Jungkook’s shadow long across the floor between you.
He didn’t look at you when he spoke. "You sleep okay?" The question was gruff, like he’d practiced it in his head too many times.
You nodded, suddenly hyperaware of his scent on the borrowed t-shirt—motor oil and something faintly sweet, like vanilla sunk deep into his skin. "Better than the motel."
The silence stretched between you—thick with unsaid things—until Jungkook cleared his throat and jerked his chin toward the bike. "Hand me that torque wrench." His voice was rougher than usual, like he'd been chewing on gravel. You blinked, glancing at the tool rack behind you where a dozen identical-looking wrenches hung in neat rows.
Jungkook snorted when your fingers hovered uncertainly over the tools. "Silver one," he said, not looking up from the engine he was elbow-deep in. "Twelve millimeter." You grabbed it by the handle, the metal cool against your palm, and crossed the shop floor. The concrete was gritty under your bare feet, tiny shards of metal catching the light like discarded scales.
When you held the wrench out, Jungkook didn't take it. Instead, he straightened—slowly, deliberately—until you were close enough to see the sweat beading along his hairline, the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. "Closer," he murmured, voice dropping to something low and rough that skated down your spine.
You took a half-step forward, the wrench between you like an offering. Jungkook's calloused fingers closed over yours—not taking the tool, just holding your hand there, his thumb brushing your knuckles in a way that felt anything but accidental. The shop's overhead lights buzzed like angry hornets, casting his face in sharp relief—the stubborn set of his jaw, the way his bottom lip caught between his teeth when he concentrated.
The wrench slipped from your fingers with a clatter, metal ringing against concrete as Jungkook’s grip tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to make your pulse stutter. His thumb traced the delicate bones of your wrist, rough skin catching on yours, and you realized he wasn’t looking at the tool at all. His gaze burned a path from your parted lips to the rapid flutter of your pulse, lingering where the borrowed t-shirt gaped at your collarbone.
“Jungkook—” His name came out breathless, barely audible over the hum of the shop’s fluorescent lights.
He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, before releasing your hand. The sudden absence of his touch left you oddly unmoored. “You’re in my light, doll,” he said, voice rougher than the engine grease staining his knuckles.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The air between you crackled with something unsaid, something taut as a wire about to snap. Jungkook’s jaw flexed, his nostrils flaring as he dragged his gaze back up to yours. The wrench lay forgotten at your feet.
The wrench lay forgotten at your feet, but neither of you moved to pick it up. Jungkook’s gaze was heavy, dark with something unreadable—something that made your breath hitch when he stepped closer, the toe of his boot nudging the tool aside with a careless scrape. The shop’s fluorescent lights buzzed louder overhead, or maybe that was just the blood rushing in your ears.
"You’re still in my light," he murmured, but his hands were already lifting, calloused fingers brushing your hips like he was testing the weight of you. His touch burned through the thin fabric of the borrowed shirt, branding your skin even as you swayed into him.
Jimin’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Kawasaki’s leaking oil, boss."
Jungkook didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. His thumbs dug into the hollows of your hips, holding you steady as he glanced over his shoulder. "Fix it," he said, voice rough as gravel.
Jimin lingered by the Kawasaki, wiping his hands on a rag with exaggerated slowness, his smirk widening when Jungkook’s grip tightened on your hips. "Might need your expertise," he drawled, tossing the rag onto a workbench. The fluorescent lights caught the mischief in his eyes as he nodded toward the oil spill. "Unless you’re busy."
Jungkook’s exhale was sharp, his breath warm against your temple. For a heartbeat, his fingers flexed—like he was debating whether to let go or pull you closer—before he stepped back, the space between you suddenly cold. "Stay," he muttered, the word rough as his knuckles brushed your wrist. Then he was striding toward Jimin, his shoulders taut under his grease-streaked shirt.
You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath until it left you in a rush, your fingers trembling where they clutched the hem of Jungkook’s shirt. The shop smelled like motor oil and sweat, the scent clinging to the fabric as you inhaled shakily. Across the bay, Jungkook crouched beside the bike, his biceps straining as he tightened a bolt with quick, efficient twists. Jimin said something low and teasing—you caught the tail end of it, something about distractions—and Jungkook’s response was a grunt and a middle finger.
The wrench lay where it had fallen, glinting under the shop lights. You bent to pick it up, the metal cool against your palm, and hesitated. Jungkook’s gaze flicked to you—brief, searing—before returning to the bike. His jaw was set, the muscle there jumping as he worked. You traced the wrench’s grooves with your thumb, the ridges biting into your skin, and wondered how his callouses would feel dragging over your thighs.
The wrench clattered onto the workbench with a sharp metallic ring when Jungkook tossed it aside. His hands—grease-streaked and scarred—hovered over the bike’s engine like he was contemplating violence, but his gaze when it flicked to you was anything but angry. It was hungry. The kind of look that made your toes curl against the cold concrete, your borrowed shirt suddenly too thin against your skin.
Jimin whistled low from across the shop, tossing a rag at Jungkook’s head with practiced aim. “Quit eye-fucking the strays and help me with this gasket,” he drawled, wiping his hands on his jeans. The smirk he shot you was all teeth. “Unless you’re busy.”
Jungkook caught the rag without looking, his fingers curling tight around the fabric before he chucked it back. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it—just a rough edge that sent a shiver down your spine. His boots scuffed against the concrete as he turned, his broad shoulders blocking out the fluorescent lights overhead. “Go upstairs,” he said, voice dropping to something low and private. “I’ll be there when I’m done.”
It wasn’t a request. The command curled around you like smoke, thick and heady, and you found yourself nodding before your brain caught up. Jungkook’s mouth quirked at the corner—just a hint of a smile—before he turned back to the bike, his hands already busy with the engine. You hesitated, your fingers twitching at your sides, before Jimin’s chuckle snapped you out of it.
The stairs groaned under your feet, each creak louder than the last as you climbed back to Jungkook’s apartment. The air smelled like him—oil and something faintly sweet clinging to the wooden banister. You hesitated at the top step, your fingers brushing the doorframe where the paint had chipped away from years of careless shoulders bumping against it.
Inside, the apartment hummed with quiet. The fridge’s motor kicked on with a familiar rattle as you padded across the floorboards, still barefoot. Jungkook’s bedroom door stood ajar, the sheets rumpled from your restless sleep. You hesitated before stepping inside, your fingers trailing over the dresser where a spare set of keys and a half-empty bottle of cologne sat. The scent of it—spice and leather—made your stomach twist.
Downstairs, the shop’s hydraulic lift whined, followed by the distant thud of a toolbox hitting concrete. You could picture Jungkook’s hands—grease-streaked and sure—twisting a wrench with that same focused intensity he’d turned on you. The memory of his thumbs pressing into your hips sent a shiver down your spine.
You turned toward the shower instead, twisting the faucet until the water ran scalding. Steam fogged the mirror within seconds, obscuring your reflection as you peeled off Jungkook’s borrowed shirt. The fabric clung to your skin, damp with sweat and something else—something that smelled unmistakably like him. You pressed it to your face, inhaling deeply before letting it fall to the tile with a wet slap.
The water was still running when the bathroom door creaked open. Steam billowed out in thick curls, obscuring everything except the silhouette of Jungkook's broad shoulders filling the doorway. His boots were off—bare feet silent on the tile—but his shirt was still streaked with grease, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows like he'd come straight from the shop floor.
You didn't turn around. Couldn't. His reflection in the fogged-up mirror was hazy, distorted by condensation, but you felt his gaze like a physical touch trailing down the curve of your spine. The shower's spray drowned out everything except the hammering of your pulse.
"You left the door unlocked," Jungkook said, voice rough as gravel. He didn't move closer, but his fingers flexed at his sides like he was resisting the urge to reach out. The damp air clung to his forearms, highlighting every vein and scar.
You swallowed, watching his reflection blur further as more steam rose between you. "Didn't think you'd be up so soon."
The steam curled between you in slow, heavy tendrils, thickening the air until Jungkook’s reflection dissolved into nothing but a dark silhouette against the bathroom door. His voice, when it came again, was closer—low and rough, barely audible over the shower’s spray. "Told you I’d be here when I was done."
You didn’t turn. Couldn’t. The heat of the water pricked your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze tracing the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips. The mirror wept condensation, erasing you both in slow, wet streaks.
A calloused hand touched the small of your back—just the barest brush of fingertips—and you jerked like you’d been shocked. Jungkook didn’t pull away. His palm settled fully against your spine, the roughness of his skin a stark contrast to the slick heat of the shower. "Still skittish," he murmured, more to himself than to you. His thumb swept a slow arc over the knobs of your vertebrae, pressing just hard enough to make your breath hitch.
The shower curtain rasped aside, the rings screeching against the rod. Jungkook stepped into the tub behind you, his boots—no, bare feet, you realized—planted on either side of yours. The water hit his chest with a dull slap, soaking through his shirt in seconds. The fabric went translucent, clinging to the hard planes of his stomach, the flex of his pecs as he reached past you to adjust the faucet.
The water scalded your shoulders when Jungkook nudged the faucet hotter—deliberate, testing—his knuckles brushing your hip as he adjusted the spray. Steam curled between your bodies like smoke, thick enough to choke on. His shirt clung transparent to his chest, the fabric straining over his pecs as he reached past you to brace a palm against the tile. Water sluiced down his arms, carrying streaks of grease from the shop into the drain between your feet.
"You're still dirty," you murmured, watching the oil swirl in the water. His laugh was a rough exhale against the nape of your neck, the sound vibrating through your damp skin.
"Not for long." His fingers hooked in the waistband of your borrowed sweatpants—his sweatpants—the elastic snapping against your hips before he peeled them down with a single tug. The fabric hit the tub with a wet slap, forgotten as his palm slid up your thigh. Callouses caught on sensitive skin, his grip firm enough to leave marks. "Turn around."
The command sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t move—just tipped your head back against his shoulder, your hair sticking to his wet shirt. Jungkook’s breath hitched, his free hand splaying across your stomach to pull you flush against him. The hard line of his cock pressed against the small of your back, separated only by soaked denim.
The water hit your skin like a brand—too hot, almost scalding—but Jungkook didn’t ease the faucet back. His fingers flexed against your stomach, pressing you harder into the heat of his body as his other hand slid higher up your thigh. "I said," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear, "turn around."
You shivered despite the steam, your pulse thrumming where his thumb pressed into the soft flesh below your navel. The command curled around you, thick as the humidity clinging to your skin. When you didn’t move fast enough, Jungkook’s grip tightened—not painful, just insistent—and he spun you himself, your back hitting the tile with a damp thud.
The shower spray hit your collarbones now, water sluicing down your chest in rivulets. Jungkook crowded closer, one hand braced beside your head, the other still tracing possessive lines across your hip. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower—lingering where the water darkened the patch of hair between your thighs. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. His shirt clung transparent to his shoulders, the fabric stretched taut over his biceps.
You reached for the hem—hesitant—but Jungkook caught your wrist, pinning it to the tile beside your head. "Don’t," he said, voice rougher than the engine grease staining his knuckles. His hips canted forward, the denim of his jeans rasping against your bare thighs. "Not yet."
Jungkook's fingers tightened around your wrist, the rough pads of his callouses scraping against your pulse point. The shower's spray pounded against your shoulders, hot enough to redden your skin, but the heat radiating off his body was worse—thick and suffocating where he crowded you against the slick tile. His other hand slid down your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh there as he ground his denim-clad erection against your thigh.
"You gonna be good for me?" His voice was a rough whisper against your temple, the words half-drowned by the water cascading around you. His breath smelled like mint and nicotine, sharp against the steam.
You nodded—too fast, too eager—and Jungkook's lips curled into a smirk. His grip on your hip shifted, fingers spreading you open with a single, firm stroke that made your knees buckle. "Words, doll."
"Yes." The admission came out breathless, barely audible over the shower's roar.
The shower's steam curled around Jungkook's shoulders like smoke as he pinned you against the tile, his breath hot against your temple. His fingers—rough from years of wrenching bolts and handling exhaust pipes—traced a slow, torturous path down your inner thigh, pausing just shy of where you needed him most. "Tell me what you want," he murmured, his voice rougher than the denim grinding against your hip.
You swallowed, your nails scraping against the slick tile as his thumb brushed your clit—once, twice, just enough to make your legs tremble. "You," you breathed, arching into his touch. "Just you."
Jungkook's smirk was dark as he hooked a finger under your chin, forcing your gaze up to his. "That all?" His free hand slid higher, callouses catching on sensitive skin as he teased your entrance. "You can do better than that, angel."
The pet name sent a shiver down your spine, your hips bucking against his hand. "Fuck me," you gasped, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Please—"
Jungkook’s breath stuttered against your temple—hot and uneven—before he crushed his mouth to yours. The kiss was rough, all teeth and desperation, his fingers tightening around your wrist as he pinned you harder against the tile. The shower spray hit your shoulders in scalding waves, but you barely felt it, not when his tongue was dragging against yours like he was trying to taste every inch of you.
"Say it again," he growled against your lips, his free hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hiking it up over his hip. Denim rasped against your skin, the damp fabric clinging to his legs as he ground against you. "Say it like you mean it."
"Fuck me," you gasped, arching into him, your nails digging into his shoulders through the soaked fabric of his shirt. "Please, Jungkook—"
The sound of his name punched out of him in a rough groan, his hips jerking forward like he couldn’t help it. His fingers flexed around your thigh, the blunt tips digging into your flesh as he dragged you closer, until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you. Steam curled around your bodies, thick enough to choke on, but you could still see the way his pupils blew wide—black swallowing brown—as his gaze dropped to your mouth.
The shower spray hit Jungkook’s shoulders in scalding sheets as he crowded you against the tile, his fingers tightening around your thigh hard enough to leave bruises. Steam fogged the glass until his reflection blurred into nothing but heat and muscle, his breath ragged against your lips. "Say it again," he demanded, voice rough as the denim rasping against your hips.
You gasped when his thumb brushed your clit—rough and fleeting—your back arching off the slick tile. "Fuck me," you begged, the words dripping like the water sluicing down his chest. "Right here—"
Jungkook’s growl vibrated through your sternum as he hooked his fingers in his waistband, shoving the soaked jeans down just enough to free his cock. The head brushed your inner thigh, hot as a brand even through the steam. "Look at you," he muttered, dragging his palm up your stomach to squeeze your breast through the drenched fabric of his shirt. "So fucking pretty when you beg."
The first thrust punched the air from your lungs. Jungkook didn’t ease in—just buried himself to the hilt with a single snap of his hips, his groan lost in the shower’s roar. Your nails scraped down his back, catching on the wet cotton clinging to his shoulders. He didn’t seem to notice, too busy mouthing at your pulse point as he set a punishing pace, the tile biting into your spine with every snap of his hips.
The water sluiced down Jungkook’s back in rivulets, tracing the ridges of his spine as he pinned you harder against the tile. His thrusts were relentless—deep enough to steal your breath, rough enough to make your toes curl against the porcelain. Steam fogged the shower walls until all you could see was the flex of his shoulders, the way his biceps strained with every snap of his hips.
"You take me so good," he rasped against your throat, his teeth scraping your pulse point. His hands slid down to grip your thighs, hiking them higher around his waist. The new angle dragged a broken noise from your lips, your nails biting into his shoulders through the soaked fabric of his shirt. Jungkook growled—low and approving—as he felt you clench around him. "Fuck, just like that. Squeeze me tighter, angel."
The pet name unraveled something in your chest, your hips canting up to meet his thrusts with a desperation that made him chuckle darkly. His fingers dug into your flesh, blunt and possessive, as he fucked into you with a rhythm that sent water sloshing over the tub’s edge. The shower spray hit your collarbones like a brand, but you barely felt it—not when Jungkook’s mouth was on your neck, sucking bruises into your skin like he was marking his territory.
One of his hands slid between your bodies, calloused fingers finding your clit with unerring precision. The rough pad of his thumb circled the sensitive bundle of nerves, his strokes deliberate and firm, perfectly synced with the roll of his hips. Your back arched off the tile, a broken cry tearing from your throat as pleasure coiled tight in your gut. Jungkook’s breath hitched, his thrusts turning uneven as he felt you flutter around him.
The water turned lukewarm before Jungkook’s pace faltered. His hips stuttered against yours, the tile biting into your shoulders as he pressed you deeper into the wall, his breath coming in ragged bursts against your throat. His fingers—still slick from your cunt—dug into your hip hard enough to leave crescent marks as he muttered, "Gonna come," like it was a warning, not a plea.
You arched into him, the shower spray hitting your closed eyelids as you gasped, "Inside—" just as his rhythm fractured completely. Jungkook’s groan was guttural, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he emptied himself into you with three sharp, uneven thrusts that made your toes curl against the porcelain.
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the shower’s spray and your mingled panting. Then Jungkook’s hands slid up your sides—slow now, almost reverent—his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the soaked fabric of his shirt. "Fuck," he muttered, lips brushing your collarbone. The word was rough, but his touch was oddly gentle as he traced the red marks his teeth had left on your throat.
Outside the shower, the shop’s hydraulic lift whined—a distant, mechanical groan—and Jungkook’s head snapped up. His gaze flicked to the fogged bathroom door, then back to you, his pupils still blown wide. "Jimin’s downstairs," he said, like you might’ve forgotten. His voice was hoarse, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watched water sluice down your chest.
The shower spray cooled against your flushed skin, but Jungkook’s body heat kept you anchored—his chest rising and falling against yours, his breath uneven where it ghosted over your parted lips. His fingers lingered at your waist, tracing idle patterns through the water beading on your skin, as if memorizing the topography of your hips.
"You’re shaking," he murmured, his voice rougher than usual—wrecked in a way that made your stomach flip.
You weren’t sure if it was from the cold or the aftershocks still rippling through you, but you didn’t get a chance to answer. Jungkook’s palm slid up your spine, pressing you closer until your forehead bumped against his collarbone. His shirt clung to him like a second skin, the fabric translucent where it stretched over his pecs, and you could see the rapid flutter of his pulse beneath the damp material.
Downstairs, the shop’s hydraulic lift groaned again, followed by Jimin’s muffled curse. Jungkook’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move—just exhaled sharply through his nose before tilting your chin up with two fingers. "You good?"
The bathroom door swung open with a groan, letting in a rush of cooler air that cut through the steam. Jungkook didn’t move—just kept you pinned against the tile, his thumb absently tracing the bruise forming on your hip. Jimin’s voice carried up from the shop floor, sharp with impatience. "Kook! Customer’s here for the Ducati."
Jungkook’s exhale was a warm gust against your temple. "Fuck," he muttered, his fingers flexing against your damp skin like he was debating whether to stay or go. The shower’s spray had cooled to a lukewarm trickle, but his body heat kept you anchored, the scent of his sweat and the shop’s motor oil clinging to his skin despite the water.
"You should go," you murmured, though your fingers curled into the soaked fabric of his shirt, holding him there.
His chuckle was dark, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "That’s not what you said five minutes ago."
The water ran cold before Jungkook finally stepped back, his fingers lingering at your waist like he was reluctant to let go. Steam curled around his shoulders as he reached past you to shut off the faucet, the sudden silence ringing in your ears. His shirt clung to every ridge of muscle, the fabric gone nearly transparent under the spray, and you caught yourself staring at the way it stretched across his pecs when he turned to grab a towel.
"Eyes up here, doll," he murmured, tossing the towel at your chest with a smirk. His voice was still rough, but there was something softer in it now—something that made your stomach flip.
You barely had time to catch the towel before Jungkook was crowding you again, his hands framing your face as he kissed you slow and deep, like he was savoring the taste of you. His thumbs brushed your cheekbones, gentle in a way that contrasted sharply with the bruising grip he’d had on your hips moments ago. When he pulled back, his lips were swollen, his pupils still blown wide. "Stay put," he muttered, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before stepping out of the shower.
The towel smelled like motor oil and Jungkook—that sharp, metallic bite mixed with something warmer, earthier. You pressed it to your face for a second longer than necessary, breathing him in as water dripped from your hair onto the bathroom tiles. Outside, the shop noises filtered through the steam-fogged door: Jimin’s laugh, the clank of tools, the rumble of an engine coughing to life. Normal sounds. Mundane. Like what had just happened in this shower hadn’t rearranged your entire nervous system.
Jungkook’s abandoned jeans lay in a soggy heap by the sink. You nudged them with your toe, your stomach swooping at the memory of how he’d shoved them down just enough to free himself—how the denim had scraped your thighs raw when he pinned you against the tile. The fabric was still warm from his body heat.
The bathroom mirror was fogged over, but you caught a glimpse of yourself in the sliver of clear glass near the sink. Your lips were swollen, your neck littered with bruises that stood out stark against your skin. Jungkook’s shirt clung to you like a second skin, the white fabric gone sheer under the shower spray. You looked wrecked. Owned.
A sharp rap on the door made you jump. "You alive in there?" Jimin’s voice was muffled but unmistakably amused.
You cleared your throat. "Yeah. Just—finishing up."
Jimin’s laugh was bright, cutting through the steam still clinging to the bathroom. "Take your time. Kook’s downstairs growling at customers like a feral dog. It’s hilarious."
You pressed the towel to your face, inhaling the scent of detergent and Jungkook’s sweat. The shop noises filtered through the door—the clang of a wrench against concrete, Jimin’s teasing drawl, the low rumble of Jungkook’s voice threading through it all like a bassline.
The floor was cold underfoot when you stepped out of the shower. Jungkook had left his hoodie hanging on the back of the door—black, frayed at the cuffs, smelling like motor oil and that same warm, earthy scent that clung to his skin. You pulled it on without thinking, the fabric swallowing you whole.
Downstairs, the Ducati’s engine roared to life. You peered through the bathroom window, the glass streaked with condensation, and caught a glimpse of Jungkook straddling the bike, his bare arms flexing as he revved the throttle. Sunlight caught the ink winding down his forearm—a serpent coiled around a dagger—and for a second, he looked every bit the outlaw his cut claimed him to be.
Then he turned his head, as if sensing your gaze, and smirked.
The customer—a middle-aged man in a too-clean leather jacket—flinched when Jungkook stood, tossing the keys at Jimin instead. "Take it for a spin," he said, already striding toward the shop’s backstairs. "Needs new rear shocks."
Jimin’s grin was wicked. "Sure that’s all that needs testing?"
Jungkook flipped him off without breaking stride. The stairs groaned under his boots, still damp from the shower, his shirt clinging to the ridges of his abs where he hadn’t bothered to dry off properly. Steam curled off his skin as he shouldered the bathroom door open, his gaze zeroing in on you drowning in his hoodie, your hair dripping onto the frayed cuffs.
His thumb brushed a water droplet trailing down your neck. "You’re still here."
It wasn’t a question. His voice had that rough undercurrent again, the one that made your knees weak.
You shrugged, acutely aware of Jimin’s laughter drifting up from the shop floor. "Didn’t say where to stay put."
The corner of Jungkook’s mouth twitched. He stepped closer, his bare feet silent on the tile. His shirt—your shirt now—slid off one shoulder when he reached past you to grab his jeans, his fingers lingering at the dip of your waist. "Smartass."
The word should’ve sounded harsh. It didn’t.
The hoodie sleeves swallowed your hands whole as you tugged them over your fingers, the fabric still warm from Jungkook’s body heat. He watched you with that same unreadable expression—half amused, half something darker—as he yanked on his jeans, the denim clinging to his damp thighs.
"You’re stealing my clothes now?" he murmured, stepping close enough that his bare chest brushed the soaked front of his hoodie where it hung off your frame.
You shrugged, suddenly aware of how ridiculous you must look—dripping wet, drowning in his clothes, smelling like his soap and the shop’s grease. "You told me to stay put. Didn’t specify naked."
Jungkook’s laugh was low, his fingers hooking in the hoodie’s drawstrings to tug you closer. "Keep it," he said, his breath warm against your forehead. "Looks better on you anyway."
a/n: this bar/biker idea is inspired by E85 - by gguksprincess | but its different i swear
requests will be irregular because i sleep like a normal person (unlike him.)
do not copy, repost, or translate without permission.
Tags/Warnings: smut, fluff, thigh grinding, switch!JK, switch!reader, established relationship, titty sucking (m/f receiving) IT'S OKAY, oral (f/m), blowjob, mutual obsession, back shots, smoking, LOTS OF LOVEEEE, they are just freaked out. slice of life, cute couple 🥹🥹
Enjoy!
There was always something so intimate about 1 a.m movie nights with your signifigant other. Your legs drappe over theirs, or even your head on their lap as you lean into their touch. A bag of chips laying on the coffee table opened and half-eaten.
Especially with Jungkook's busy schedule, getting nights like this wasn't often, he'd normally come home around this time and just want to go to bed. Jungkook always found way to still spend time together, that's what you loved about him.
You've always supported his dreams no matter what. His busy schedule never infuriated you. That's what Jungkook adored about you, you saw him as him, not "Jungkook of BTS."
Your both trying to spend as much time together as possible since Jungkook's leaving for tour soon. He's become extra clingy lately knowing he wont be able to see you for a couple months.
This is how it always is with his tours and schedule. I mean, he's in the biggest boyband worldwide, his company milks him and his members dry.
You'll do what you always do, stay at his place, wearing his t-shirts everyday, try to find a new hobby to keep yourself busy, binge kdramas and eat Buldak ramen everyday. The usual.
The clock hit's 2 a.m as Your both eating whats left of the potato chips. The movie is dying out, you've both watched this movie 5 times with each other. You had to fight him because of it. It's his favorite and he pulls out the, "Your gonna miss watching this with me when i'm gone." So of course he guilt-tripped you into watching it.
"Jungkook.."
"hm."
"Why are the chips being eaten so quickly."
"I don't know, we've been eating them." He says, carelessly. "Kook, I never trust my food around you, it's always gone by the time I get to my third bite." You sit up and grab the chip bag from him. He looks at the TV, playing it cool as you look inside the bag.
"Kook! There was only half left and I only got like 5 chips!" He puts his hands up, surrendering. "Baby you know not to trust me with food unsupervised." You roll your eyes playfully. The movie long forgotten as the credit start to roll. You get up to throw away the chips.
Jungkook playfully slaps your butt as you jump a little, swatting his shoulder.
When you come back, Jungkook stands up. "Wanna go lay in bed?" You nod as your exhausted yourself. You turn off the rest of the lights in the house as you follow him. He takes the decorative pillows off the bed and slides right in. You do the same.
He smoothly slides right behind you, placing his face in the crook of your neck as he places soft kisses. His hand drapped around your waist.
"Kook."
"hm?" he responds as he continues to place soft kisses on your neck and jawline. "What're you doing?"
"I'm going to miss you so much baby.." He admits, saying in between kisses. "I'll miss you to," You squeeze his hand thats on his waist. His lips start to gently suck on your neck causing you to softly whimper. "Kook..." you breath out.
You turn to face him, grabbing his face to land a kiss on his mouth, he deepens it. You can taste the smoke from his earlier smoke session with one of his members. You don't mind, your to lost in love to mind.
Jungkook slides his tongue into your mouth with ease causing you to whimper. Your hands go down to his biceps squeezing slightly as you sit up, guiding him with you. Your breath hitches as his hands snake around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Your arms wrap around his neck as he smiles into the kiss.
You can feel his growing erection touching your clothed pussy. You start to soflty grind against his bonder, Jungkook lets out a shuttered gasp, interupting the kiss.
Everytime Jungkook reacts to you pleasing him, it makes you want to do it even more. It makes you unstoppable. As you grind Jungkook helps steady the pace by guiding you with his hands on your waist.
It starts to feel so good you keep whimpering into the kiss, becoming a needy mess. "Mmm fuck I love you kook." You openly admit.
"Mm, I love you to baby." There it is. That nickname that he knows drives you crazy. But he doesn't stop doing it.
Your body let's in a uncomfortable warmth as your orgasm builds up, your stomach tying into a bunch of knots. Jungkooks boner gets so hard you know it hurts. You pick up the pace, chasing your orgasm as you let out a soft moan. You break up the kiss to lay your head on his shoulder, your body starting to feel overstimulated.
"There you go." Jungkook praises, it only Worsenes your situation.
You let out one more shattered gasp as you cum in your underwear, Jungkook thigh is soaked with your juices. You lay there on his chest catching your breath as you sit up.
You motion for him to lean back against the head board as you lay on your side next to him. You pull his boxers down letting his hard cock spring free. You spit in your hand and start to lightly stroke it, playing with the tip as your tongue latches onto his nipple.
Jungkooks hips buck up due to the sensations he softly whimpers as you keep sucking on his nipple.
You softly hum, quickening the pace as you stroke him, his red tip glistening with precum as you spread your saliva on his shaft. He leans his head back, his eyes closing as he groans.
His hips buck up again, you know he's close. He spreads his legs wider as you latch off of his nipple and lean down towards his cock, putting just the tip in your mouth as you swirl around it. Your hand giving him soft strokes as you continue to suck on the tip before taking him whole in your mouth.
Jungkook groans, you love those sounds he makes it only makes you wetter.
You can feel him about to cum, you always know because he will slightly squirm. You look up at him with batted eyes. He lets out one loud groan as he shoots spurts of white cum down your throat. You take him out of your mouth before you lick up the left overs on your mouth and his shaft.
Jungkook sits up and rolls you over, you land on your back and jungkook is quick to pull your thighs apart. He leans down and starts to plant soft kisses on your clothed folds before he takes your panties off and throws them somewhere in the room.
He gives you a couple licks before diving in, he starts to eat you out and giving you no mercy. Your hands instantly pull at his hair as your hips buck. Jungkook wraps his arms around your thighs to hold you down.
Your eyes closed and brows furrowed as your cheeks start to blush. Your stomach knotting up from the sensations.
"Gonna cum already sweetheart?" He grins, his nose rubbing on your slick folds.
You nod frantically as you let out soft whimpers.
You feel your releasing coming so quickly, only Jungkook has this affect on you.
You let out one more shattered breath as you cum, your juices all over his mouth as he licks them all up. He wipes his mouth before leaning over you and kissing you deeply.
You can taste yourself on his tongue, you moan into the kiss. Jungkook places his knee on the bed to get closer as he aligns himself at your entrance.
He pushes in slowly while kissing you, one hand on his cock, the other next to your head. You moan into the kiss as you feel him take up all the space in your walls.
Jungkook curses under his breath. He starts to slowly move, giving you time to adjust. He breaks the kiss and grabs your thighs, putting them together and pushing them towards your chest.
He starts to speed up, your hands cover your face due to the pleasure Jungkook gives you. The sound of skin slapping fills the silent room, and the occasional groans that leave Jungkook's mouth. Your walls clench around his cock, making him loose all sense of control.
Jungkook releases your thighs as you push them to your chest to give him more room. He leans down and starts nibbling on your nipple. Your back arches as he grabs your right boob, kneading it softly.
He knows all of your senstive spots, your weaknesses, every way to make you fall apart.
"Kook...I'm gonn-"
"I know, I know baby."
You let out a whimpered cry as you chase your release. Jungkook quickens his pace, hitting the perfect spot to make you see stars.
Your release catches up to you as you clench around him. You back arched and brows furrowed as you release on his shaft. His release comes seconds and later as he spills your seed inside of you. You let out a broken sob as you lay there, spent. Jungkook gently pulls out and rubs your entrance.
Jungkook reaches for his boxers as he slips them on. He crawls on the bed and reaches for you as he leans against the headboard and pulls you against his chest, his arms drapped around you, tracing soft circles on your chest.
He grabs the controller and turns on the TV, the room only lit by his skylight and bedside lamp. The glow of the TV reflecting as he puts on your favorite show.
He leans over and grabs his cigeratte pack and lighter. He hands you one and waits for you to put it in your mouth before lighting it for you. You exhale the smoke and give him the next hit. Jungkook looks up as he makes a smoke ring.
"I still don't know how you can do that. Who taught you.?
He laughs as he hands you the cigeratte. He places soft kisses on your neck and shoulder as he traps you into his touch. You lean your head back on his shoulder as you exhale the smoke.
"I love you." Jungkook whispers softly in your ear as you reach to scratch his jaw lightly.
life was supposed to go forward the way you had always been told.
find someone, fall in love, get married, have kids.
that was the formula - the routine of every day life that you, yourself, had agreed to. it was supposed to be easy and carefree, the type of love that felt natural and yet definite. it was supposed to be certain.
jeon jungkook.
the love of your life. no one, nothing, could compare to him; the one constant in your life since you were no older than five. two years older than you, he had been the object of your infatuations even then, and though you both harboured a crush on one another as you grew up, it was only when you were 14 that you both actually pursued something.
you both came from broken homes, with your parents entangled in the world of drugs and abuse, his absent more times than present. you had each other though, and that was all either of you had ever really needed - that much had been true for years. it didn’t take long to fall in love with him, not when he treated you like blooming flowers in the first touch of spring; you were more than just his girl. you were his y/n.
no one blinked when he proposed, everyone half expecting it, and neither of you had wanted to wait to plan a lavish wedding when you were both the only constants in each other’s lives. and so, with cheap rings, a random dress you had found at the bottom of your wardrobe and his scuffed shoes - you had become husband and wife.
jungkook was the best partner you could have ever asked for. money was tight in the beginning as he threw himself into his job, making sure he had enough to spoil you rotten even if that meant coming home exhausted. it killed you to see him working so hard, but he never complained, not even once. it was done in the pursuit of his sweet wife, and therefore just.
he quickly began climbing the ranks, his intelligence unmatched, his speed and efficiency making him a force to be reckoned with. in a mere seven years, he had managed to go from the lowest ranking worker in the company right to head office, before formally being announced as ceo.
it was unheard of. people like him, people like you, they didn’t live like this. it felt like over night your entire life had changed, as the tiny, one bed apartment transformed into a penthouse suite in your city’s most reputable area, your beaten down car now more lavish than you could ever dream of. your clothes - silks, linens and luxurious patterns. you were a changed woman, all at the hands of your husband.
that was when the cracks had began to form.
the late nights began, jungkook holed up in his office for far longer than anyone else at the company, stacks of paper all around as he tried to crack numbers before the next day could bring its own workload. you didn’t mind at first, more so worried over anything else.
you packed late dinners, going up to his office and eating them with him just to keep him company, to ground him which he needed more than you could ever realise. he would sit you on his lap as he worked, all whilst you napped peacefully on his shoulder as though this was perfectly normal.
the first few months, it worked. after that, it could no longer hide the gaping hole that had begun to appear.
missed dinners. missed dates. jungkook showing up at two in the morning despite everyone else going home at five in the afternoon - this wasn’t normal. wasn’t healthy. the amount of arguments that were being caused due to his workaholic nature was alarming, especially considering neither of you had ever even raised your voices to one another prior to this.
your heart was getting heavier and heavier.
not because you doubted his love for you - that wasn’t even a question in your mind, that much was certain. if anything, jungkook loved you too much, entirely and wholly, with every single decision made in his life somehow tracing back to you in one way or another. whether it was purchasing things, buying them with the intent of impressing you, making you happy or smile. every opportunity, every signed contract, every bastard fucking meeting that he could feel so deeply in his bones was done with the intention of giving you a life so soft you would never experience hardship again.
that was where the problem lay.
jungkook didn’t know how to love in a way that could nurture your relationship through this, and so, he did the only thing he could. he sacrificed.
slowly, painfully, the realisation that somewhere between the neglect, the late nights and unanswered phone calls, your husband had stopped being your husband at all. he had become a mere ghost in your shared home.
the night you had made your decision was one that felt imprinted in your memory.
it was past midnight, the harsh light of your phone reminding you with each passing moment. the rain was harsh too, with it being the middle of autumn, causing you to curl deeper into the covers on your bed but it did nothing to chase the cold away. dinner had long gone cold downstairs, with your housekeeper giving you a long, sad look before leaving to her own home, patting you on the shoulder in comfort.
your heart hurt so fucking much.
your phone was untouched, with messages sent hours prior despite the lack of response.
‘where are you?’
‘are you coming home tonight?’
‘jungkook, you promised.’
‘i miss you.’
you felt pathetic. humiliation ran up and down your veins at the thought of having to beg for a morsel of attention from your husband, but what else were you supposed to do? what else could you do? loneliness had a tendency to do that to people.
the sound of the front door finally opening had your eyes looking up, no longer staring into space, thinking. overthinking.
jungkook finally stumbled in, hours and hours late, shoulders tense and black coat half wet due to the rain outside. his phone had died hours ago, and his brain was a jumble of numbers and stakeholders, still muttering under his breath over something one of his colleagues had said. he was exhaustion personified.
“baby.” he exhaled deeply upon the sight of you still up.
1:47am.
you stared at him, unable to focus on anything in particular as your reddened eyes somehow glinted in the moonlit essence of the room. his heart ached.
“you missed it again.” you whispered, barely audible.
another dinner sat cold. jungkook had noticed it on his way up, muttering a small fuck under his breath, but seeing you now? something had changed, something was different and the sight scared him to death.
“i know, i..”
“you said you’d be home for six.”
“i know baby, i’m so sorry, we had an emergency shareholders meeting and it was just..fuck.”
“it’s always an emergency.” you muttered bitterly.
the silence that followed felt suffocating to you both.
he carefully placed his things at the door before approaching you slowly, as though you were a wounded fawn struck by an arrow from his own back - it was his fault. he knew that, he could see it.
“i’m trying.” he whispered softly, as he crouched to meet your eyes.
that was the worst thing of all - of course he was trying. you knew he was, you could see it in every single thing he did but that was the part that made it so much more painful. it was unbearable.
tears burned harshly behind your eyes, lip openly trembling as you stared at the only man to have ever felt your affection, the love of your life. the same man that would set himself on fire just to keep you warm, who had done this all for you - even you knew that but, the pain. you weren’t sure when loving him had started to hurt this badly.
“i don’t need..i don’t want any of this, jungkook.” you corrected as your voice cracked, hands gesturing to the too large room. “don’t care about penthouses or cars, or money..”
“it’s not about that.”
“then what is it about?” you cried, months and months of neglect finally collapsing all at once. “because i’m losing you anyway.”
the devastation that appeared on his face would have floored you on any other occasion, but the horrible feeling that had taken over was consuming you from the inside out. you couldn’t rid yourself of your thoughts, the looming decision that had grown and grown and grown, so much so that it felt bigger than you in both mind and body. you couldn’t stop the tears even if you wanted to.
“i feel so lonely.” you admitted honestly, a broken sob leaving your lips. “you’re all i have..all i’ve ever had and i feel lonely.”
the words physically wounded him as he felt his own tears begin to form, a horrible realisation fluttering through his body - this wasn’t fixable. he could see it now, the utter pain in your eyes, the way your body shook as you cried, and though he was crouched in front of you, arms wrapping around you; it wasn’t enough.
“i’ll fix this. i’ll fix this, fuck. y/n..” he shook, holding you so tightly, his heart beating out of his chest. “give me time. give me a chance. give me something, give me anything.”
you only cried harder at his words, collapsing entirely as the sobs racked through your body violently. you knew he meant it, knew he meant every single word, and you genuinely believed it too but you were tired.
so, so tired.
you knew that the love between you, no matter how deep, could not survive on patched up apologies and promises no longer.
the separation happened three weeks later.
perhaps that was too cruel of you - you should have given him more time, more chances, another opportunity to prove himself to you so he could actually begin repairing something that had already long collapsed before he had ever realised the damage. staying felt too painful, as though you were prodding delicate skin with a million sharpened blades. for once in your entire existence, you chose yourself.
you hated yourself for it.
you could no longer survive off of the memories of who your husband had once been, the once sweet teenage boy who slept on the streets with you just so you’d feel safe from the grasps of your parents. the man who had ran home to tell you about his promotion, who then sobbed in your arms at the mere prospect of getting to give you the life you deserved. oh, how each and every fibre of your being yearned for him, how it knew him by breath alone and yet it wasn’t enough. nothing could possibly hurt more.
packing your things nearly killed him. you remembered it vividly.
jungkook stood silently in the doorway of your shared bedroom, watching numbly, as though his soul had left his entire body as you packed up remnants of a life once shared with him. cardboard boxes were filled with your books, your makeup, your silly trinkets you had acquired together - the sight of you crying as you packed your wedding album so delicately was enough to have him bite back his own sob, shaking his head at the reality of the situation.
he hadn’t stopped you. it was the worst part.
jungkook was intimidating to most; hardened by his life experiences and the struggle he had been raised in, his only priority for the past decade being you. you didn’t like to go into his work, knowing he was quite literally a different person there - efficient, yes, but also ruthless. and yet, he stood, watching you as though his eyes couldn’t comprehend the scene in front of him, tears wiped harshly from his face in fear that it would only upset you more.
even in moments like this, he put you first.
his hands sat caged on either side of him, as you sobbed, and sobbed and sobbed. he wanted nothing more than to pick you up, cradle you, cherish you the way he so desperately wanted but in his love for you came your happiness. he was a man devoted to you, and he couldn’t cage you somewhere you no longer felt happy staying - he loved you too much to ever do that.
the divorce proceedings were somehow so much worse.
the media frenzy surrounding jeon jungkook, the elusive ceo who was known for his mysterious persona and dark eyes, was quite literally unbearable. the sudden separation exploded all over the tabloids and the internet, with headlines appearing faster than either of you could keep up with. the hate was too much, to which jungkook stepped in to silence everyone behind the scenes, throwing an insane amount of money at journalists to keep your name out of their filthy mouths. wife or not, you were one half of him and he’d be damned if you were spoken of in anyway that wasn’t praiseworthy.
you couldn’t even look at him during the hearings.
god, you tried. you wanted to, managing to sneak little glances where you caught him already staring at you, despair all over his face, but you couldn’t handle it, tears streaming out of your eyes almost immediately. he knew you loved him. he could see it, clear as day.
he looked sick, as though he hadn’t eaten for weeks, the mere sight of you enough to sustain him until the next meeting, where your feet lightly brushed against one another underneath the table in a subconscious way.
he barely spoke, only choosing to actually speak when he was asked a question, but other than that, he spent his time in the meetings staring at you longingly. he’d whisper a soft “don’t cry” whenever he’d see you tear up, your lip quivering each time you snuck a glance over, despite knowing it was breaking you.
he signed everything over to you immediately. his lawyers had practically choked, eyes wide as he silenced them almost harshly for even suggesting anything otherwise, your own eyebrows pulling together as you tried to reject. you didn’t want his money, you didn’t want what he had worked so hard for.
the penthouse, the cars, the accounts. every. fucking. thing.
“jungkook..” you had whispered through tears at the table, addressing him for the first time in so long. “i don’t want any of this, it’s yours. you’ve worked so hard.”
hearing you was enough to provide the energy he had been lacking, the very blood in his bloodstream pumping harder as he shook his head at you, offended.
“i got those things for you. it never belonged to me..was always yours.” he whispered back, causing you to look down with another choked sob.
it was the final hearing that truly cemented the empty hole inside of you.
your hands shook violently, so much so that you were unable to pick up your pen and sign away your marriage, the one thing you needed to do to finally let him go. everyone in the room frowned as they watched you, face flooded with tears as your digits simply refused, as though your body rejected the notion as being entirely unnatural. they all felt pity for you, for both of you - you both were clearly in love, and they couldn’t understand the gravity of the situation between you.
jungkook had stood from his side of the table, walking over to you until his hand had softly encapsulated your own, your quiet sobs only growing harsher at the feel of the one person you had been craving for so long. he held it, guiding you to your own, helping you write your name on the dotted line despite every part of his body aching.
ex-husband.
the thought should have killed you.
once it was signed, he held onto your hand, too scared to let go as the documents were taken, your lawyers and his slowly leaving the room, leaving you be. you should have let go, should have pushed him away as he no longer had any tie to you - you weren’t married, you weren’t together. alas, the thought felt sacrilegious.
instead, he knelt, knees hitting the hardened floor below you as your red eyes met his properly. entirely.
“i’ll fix this.” he promised you, voice no longer shaking, as you could hear the depth of his promise to you. “i don’t care how long it takes, baby, but you’ll come back to me. i’ll come back to you better, i’ll be worthy. i promise you, y/n.” he whispered.
another sob climbed up your throat, mean and harsh, as your body collapsed against the chair you were sat in, your emotion taking a complete hold over you.
because even then, after everything, you knew his words to be true. you knew home would be waiting.
—
eight months had passed now, and soon came the first touch of summer. the bleak sky had become brighter, clouds hibernating and birds chirping as the world became warmer, accommodating for the transition into what most would describe as a joyous time. unfortunately for you, your body was still recovering from what could only be described as the most traumatic stage of your life thus far.
everything felt unnatural and wrong - you were trying to keep up despite it moving a million miles around you.
even after all this time, your stomach still dropped whenever you’d see anything that referred to him as your ex husband, as though your mind and heart needed a moment to catch up. how could jungkook ever simply become an ex anything to you?
he had existed in your life for so long that removing him felt akin to ripping a vital organ out of your body, all whilst expected to function entirely normally. how could you? you suppose you were failing, really, with the way you moved through life out of necessity instead of want.
the tabloids loved him now more than ever. it was the paradox of tragedy, you assumed, as you knew how badly the world yearned for a broken hearted lover.
the youngest ceo in the country’s history, a billionaire bachelor - the elusive businessman was on the top of every social hierarchy, whilst people spoke about you in hushed whispers. the only woman to have ever gotten away. who were you? why did you leave? why did he leave you with so much?
he had become so much colder after the divorce, and people picked up on it like rats with forgotten food.
the media had always labelled him as an intimidating man, but now, there was no way of denying it. there was something unsettling about the pictures that were being papped of him, your hungry eyes taking him in top to bottom, nibbling your lip - he looked so different. broad shoulders remained the same, but he seemed bigger, no doubt taking out his pain in the gym. it was the look in his eyes, however, that had your stomach in knots.
he looked dead whilst alive.
jeon jungkook was heartbroken, and the world knew it clear as day.
he had dealt with it the only way he knew how - by burying himself six feet deep into his work, knowing he had nothing to come home to, often times sleeping in his office just so he could ignore the silence of his house.
meanwhile, you had spent the last eight months trying to learn how to exist without him.
the humiliation at first was all you were reminded of, as you realised how deeply you had intertwined into him and vice versa. the silence in your once shared penthouse was so unbearable that you had moved into a tiny two bedroom apartment, using the spare as a storage unit for all of your books. on your nightstand still sat a picture of you both, as you secretly cried over it most nights. you couldn’t even sleep unless you wore one of his hoodies, despite his scent having washed off months ago - it was the comfort of knowing you still had a part of your marriage with you.
you missed him in every small, stupid, awful way imaginable.
the feeling of his hand, heavy and strong, on your thigh as he drove you around. the way he would cage you into any surface he could find just to smother you in kisses, or even the way he would whisper into your ear stupid jokes that had you giggling too loudly for the world to hear.
you missed your husband. you missed jungkook.
everyday you battled with the regret of your choice, especially once you’d see the way his under-eyes had sunken with the lack of sleep and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it out loud. you couldn’t live that way again, not with the neglect - not with your past trauma from your parents.
jungkook knew the gravity of his actions, knew you needed to heal and reason with them before he could come back to you but fuck, it hurt so bad to wait.
sometimes, during your weaker moments, you found yourself searching him into your phone in the dead of night, breathing out an audible sigh of relief at the confirmation he was still openly single. it was pathetic, that much you knew, but it was selfish beyond anything else. so cruel to want the man you left to be alone, simply because he still belonged to you.
you had attempted to rebuild your life slowly, carefully piecing together fragments of yourself that existed before all of this had happened. your days were quieter now, so much lonelier but it was enough to keep your mind from spiralling every second of every waking day.
some habits, however, refused to die.
his contact remained as the only favourited number in your phone, as you spent all of your time rereading old messages, despite it ending in tears. if only you knew he too did the same, with his photo album on his phone his most used app as he stared at you nightly, often falling asleep with your picture shining brightly on his screen.
you still loved him. he loved you even more.
that could never change.
-
the first flowers came on a random tuesday.
you had just experienced one of the worst days you’d had in a while, with a final meeting with one of your clients going to shit after you realised hours of work and designs had somehow corrupted, and then deleted. by the time you had returned home, you were sure the world had seen your teary state, your body heavier than usual.
as you searched your bag for your keys, your eyes peered up, noticing them.
your breath caught.
sitting neatly outside your apartment door. a bouquet, large but elegant - white gardenias. the flowers you had held at not only your wedding, but the ones jungkook would buy you for your anniversary each year.
your flowers.
your chest ached so violently you found yourself gasping for air as your legs gave out below you. you slid down the wall, fingers brushing against the delicate petals as you looked for a note, only to realise there wasn’t one. you didn’t need to see who they were from, only one person knew you well enough and your heart felt like it had been split into two as you took them in.
it wasn’t your anniversary, wasn’t any special kind of occasion, and yet here they were. bright, promising, sweet.
your vision blurred with heavy tears as the painful feeling in your body grew, throat tightening with emotion before reaching out and taking a hold of them, breathing the flowers in openly.
the scent alone was enough to destroy you.
he was everywhere, all of the time - even now. especially now.
the flowers had become a norm, a pattern that was only recognisable to you, and completely deniable to any other person looking in. you were smarter than you looked and you knew what was happening, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to call it out.
your favourite restaurant somehow managing to accommodate you always despite the line or packed out reservations list, or the paparazzi that often bullied you for your attention outside of your home mysteriously disappearing. even your car, that you had dented slightly, appeared in perfect condition as you walked down to go to work one morning, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
your chest bloomed with realisation.
jungkook.
he never appeared himself, no. never. it was unsettling really, the reminder that he was powerful and could have things done with a flick of his wrist - he was sure to never make you privy to it, so you’d always feel like he was the same boy you had met all those years ago. now? he had every intention of showing you the empire he had built for you and you alone. he lingered around you and your life like a floating ghost, invisible but permanent. you truly couldn’t get rid of him even if you tried.
three weeks later is when you felt yourself reaching breaking point.
for the first time in months, you were finally leaving the house to actually do something for fun. your best friend, yejin, who’s husband yoongi was ironically jungkook’s best friend, had forced you to come out for a drink. nothing intense, merely a nice bar where the drinks were smooth and the company was good, with slow jazz playing in the back.
exhaustion was heavy in your bones but you listened, doing your best to make yourself look nice despite how dead you felt inside. a little skirt that felt too short and a top that perhaps plunged too low - yejin had deemed you utterly perfect.
sat at the bar, you sipped your drink, wincing lightly as she yapped away about something her coworker had said. you appreciated how she refused to bring jungkook up, knowing that she couldn’t breach the topic unless you were the one to bring it up yourself. you hated how badly you wanted to, how desperate you were to find out how he was doing.
she filled the air constantly, like she was terrified of what would happen if your mind caught up to the reality of the situation, instead filling it with nonsense to occupy your demanding thoughts.
you let her.
you even found yourself laughing, the feeling and sound so startling that it reduced you to silence for a full minute afterwards as you welcomed the feeling of actual joy for the first time in so long.
you almost didn’t notice the shift in your phone, the slight light radiating from beneath as you had turned it onto its screen earlier in the evening. she, however, paused mid sentence, eyes dropping down to let you know someone was ringing.
nothing could have prepared you for the sight of his name on the screen.
the name, ‘kookie’ with a large, red heart adorned your phone as humiliation rummaged through you at the realisation you had never even bothered to change his name, the concept too painful to come to terms with. however, yejin all but gasped as she turned to you, eyes widened with an almost excitement.
“answer it.” she encouraged, hand on your back. “i’ll watch your drink.”
you weren’t sure what to say, as you nodded, staring down at the screen before shakily sliding off of your seat and heading towards the back entrance, where a smokers area sat empty. your hands shook as you cupped the phone to your chest, taking a seat before looking down at it once more.
he was calling you.
jungkook was fucking calling you.
before you could overthink, you swiped, answering it.
the phone felt hot against your ear, a reminder of what was currently happening as your heart began beating harder than it had in months, your hands shaking. for a second, neither of you spoke.
you could hear faint movement on his end, a shuffling of some sorts before he completely stilled, as though he had pushed everything he was doing to a side at the realisation you had actually answered.
“hi.”
god. your eyes squeezed shut tight almost immediately.
there he was - your jungkook. not the ceo extraordinaire that was plastered on every publication you could find, with dead eyes and a sharp expression. no, this was him. jungkook. your jungkook.
the sound alone nearly brought you to tears. you felt so pathetic.
“hi.” you whispered back, voice cracking.
silence settled again, but not awkwardly. you didn’t think an awkward silence was capable of existing between you, not when your bodies were so intertwined and so aware of one another. the distance between you was unnatural, neither of your minds able to comprehend an eight month hiatus enough to understand that this phone call alone shouldn’t have been happening.
he exhaled slowly, and your shoulders gently relaxed, your eyes closing momentarily as you imagined him. no doubt still at work, in a suit unbuttoned at the shirt, his tie long forgotten. his tattooed hand running through his hair, ruffling it the way you always would.
“you answered.” he broke you out of your thoughts.
your chest tightened painfully at the sheer disbelief in his tone.
“you called.”
a faint huff of amusement left him then, causing you to blink back any emotion that was building in your eyes. it eased you.
“yeah.” he breathed out.
another pause.
you felt so suddenly aware of yourself - your hand reached out to smooth down your hair, adjust your top and skirt, despite knowing he couldn’t see you. it was subconscious, as though the thought of him alone was enough to undo you, but his voice? hearing it after so long, directed at you, for you. yours. it was enough to have you soothed for months.
before you could spiral in your thoughts, he spoke again.
“where are you?”
“out with yejin.”
“mm.” you shivered at his hum. you had no idea he was so undone at the sound of you too. “a bar?”
“yeah.”
“you drinking?”
you rolled your eyes, tongue poking your cheek at his curiosity. some things truly had never changed.
“why?” you asked, and you could almost hear his grin on the other end. “can’t i ask?”
his tone, smooth. familiar. fuck, it did things to you, and you could feel your thighs pressing together just listening to him. secretly, your favourite part of jungkook was how possessive he had always been, and even in moments like this where he hid it under a layer of calmness, you could recognise it instantly.
it reminded you of when he’d ask you whether you had eaten, just before pulling you into his lap, lips attacking the side of your neck hungrily or when he’d tell you to take your medicine, with a slow ‘baby’ and kisses planted to your forehead and cheeks.
“one drink.” you revealed, with a nibble to your lip.
you had no idea that he too was a fucking mess.
jungkook was indeed in his office, with his legs spread, suit jacket and tie somewhere, his shirt unbuttoned a little as he too drank. a cup of whiskey in his hand, his hair a mess as he scoured over your instagram for the millionth time just that day. neither of you were ones to post much, especially considering your accounts were private with only a few people, but he stalked you daily in hopes of a glimpse of you. could you blame him? he was utterly, devotedly in love with you.
a measly divorce couldn’t stop that.
seeing yejin’s story, with your low cut top, and your big eyes showing a sign of life for the first time in months made his heart bloom. it had his cock straining, again, just looking at you, eyes hungrily looking over every inch of you and your soft smile. god, how he had missed it.
he had given you your time. respected your wishes, allowed you eight months of this but enough was enough. the flowers were just the beginning, marking his space back in your life through a promise he had every intention of upholding. he had told you directly he was going to fix this, and you, his sweet, sweet girl had believed him.
he would never let you down again.
“you having fun?”
“why do you wanna know every single detail?” you asked, tone a little harsher than intended but you couldn’t help yourself. this was an ambush on your senses.
he huffed once more, the amusement enough to disarm you.
“because i miss you.”
the words left him so easily that the breath in your lungs completely dissipated, leaving you a statued mess. no hesitation, no shame - pure, devastating honesty.
“you can’t say that, jungkook.” you weakly combatted, the intake of breath on his side of the phone at the sound of his name leaving your mouth enough of an answer for you.
“why not? i can’t miss my wife?” he scoffed lightly at you.
you blubbered for a moment. “i-i am not..i’m not your wife!”
“okay.” he hummed once more.
there was a quiet clink on his end, no doubt picking his drink up and taking a big gulp after abandoning it the second you answered. neither of you spoke for a few more moments, silence now becoming a running theme between you on the call, and yet it was still void of the awkwardness you’d find anywhere else. it was awful how familiar it felt. how comfortable and safe.
your fingers played with the hem of your skirt nervously, unsure if you had been too brash - he was hurting too after all.
“is that top new?”
your breath caught.
“..what?”
jungkook stayed quiet for an extra beat. “your top. haven’t seen that one before.”
heat flooded your cheeks, chest and neck before you could even respond, your lips bitten down as you inhaled shakily.
“how do you know that?” you were ignoring the way your pulse was hammering against your body, trying to feign an air of nonchalance.
at that, he couldn’t help the small grin. “saw you on yejin’s story.” he murmured, quieter now. “look so good. love when you wear pink, baby.”
it wasn’t even the words he had chosen, but more so the way he was saying them. so calm, so certain, so casual as if he wasn’t calling his ex wife baby over a bit of cleavage that was never really meant for his eyes - your blush spreading all over you now.
“jungkook..” you breathed out, shakily.
“what?” he asked innocently, and you could really hear the smile in his voice now. “am i wrong?”
you looked down at your top, nibbling away at your lip to hide the small smile that was beginning to form on your own face, something that you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. your fingers brushed against your stomach, feeling the fabric before tucking a strand behind your hair.
“it’s new.” you admitted softly, heels shuffling slightly on the ground.
the sound he made in response was enough to ruin you. not a laugh, not quite a sigh - something pleased.
he hummed. “so pretty.”
your eyes squeezed shut, and jungkook could feel it. could see it as though you were right in front of him. you were never one to handle a compliment, always going pink and shyly looking away and god, he loved it so much. loved complimenting you in hopes that you would react just like that, just to see you get all flustered.
the feeling in your stomach..it felt so strange. the same one that had haunted you for the past eight months, an unbearable warmth that filled you from your toes to your head, something you craved so desperately from him and him alone. to be noticed, looked at, admired by jungkook was one thing but to be loved by him? it was joy in itself.
you could feel it.
no one had ever loved you quite like he had done, as though every single thing you were capable of was worthy of applause. it terrified you.
“you can’t do this.” your voice came out so much smaller than either of you had expected, changing the entire feel of the call instantly.
as a result, his own tone softened, as though he was dealing with something porcelain.
“do what, baby?”
your heart physically ached.
“talk to me..like nothing happened.”
you felt sick to your stomach, hands gripping your phone and stomach as your eyes shut tight. you wished you hadn’t of said anything, not with the way the silence kissed the air in a way that felt anything but familiar - it hurt. painful in every single way.
for the first time since answering the phone, you could see jungkook properly. could hear him breathing sharply as though your words were both a reminder and an understanding that no matter what, things could never go back to what they once were.
the slight twitch in his cheek, the way his fingers would naturally tighten whenever he was overwhelmed with emotion like he didn’t know where to put it, where to place it in his overworking mind. he had always loved so deeply, your jungkook; just didn’t know where to put it, or how to show it.
when he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter. stripped bare for you, so you could feel him.
“i know what i did.” he admitted softly. “i know i fucked up, and that i failed you as a husband.”
your throat tightened.
outside, rainwater still lingered from earlier, a sickly humidity wrapped into every air particle around you. the scent of lingering cigarette smoke was heavy enough to ground you in that moment as you listened to jungkook speak words neither of you could truly handle hearing, despite how necessary they were. it just hurt so, so badly.
inside the bar, you could hear muffled laughter, people egging one another on for drinks as jazz boomed, your heart easing as you could hear yejin’s voice amongst the crowd, no doubt the life of the party there too.
“then why are you acting like this?” you pathetically asked, lip jutting out in a teary pout. he could almost hear it on you. “you’re talking to me like we’re still together.”
“you’re still mine, y/n.”
your breath hitched violently.
“jungkook-“
“no,” he remained calm, a stark difference between you and him. “you asked me a question, baby, so let me answer it properly.”
the nickname rolled off of his lips so naturally, instinctively, and you hated how easily your body curled closer, almost desperate to hear it whilst he stood in front of you. you had always been putty in his hands, so easily undone with a few pretty words but you’d held back for the past few months for the sake of your boundaries. hearing him so open, so honest - it was fucking you up all over again.
“i know we’re divorced,” he continued before you could interrupt him again. “i know..you’re not my wife anymore, and i know this is my fault. you left because of me and i’ll live with that for the rest of my life.”
his voice cracked by the end of his statement.
“but i won’t sit here and pretend like the last eight months have suddenly erased the past fifteen years of loving you.”
the words shattered you. your delicate, pathetic heart broke once more at his words at the confirmation of what you needed to hear so, so badly.
years of abandonment issues stemming from your parents and friends who had only ever toyed with you meant you had put your all into jungkook, who had only ever put every inch of himself back in - you were a partnership, a welcome duo that made sense to the both of you. watching him pull back, forget you, neglect and abandon your relationship no matter the reason was enough to trigger you in ways that no one could reason with.
it was an intimate form of violence that though was never intended, hurt more than anything he could have ever done to you.
he knew that. he was openly telling you he recognised his faults, his wrong doings - you knew that too. god, you knew him better than anyone alive, and you knew that by leaving him it was the only way for him to understand and see.
“you’re making this so much harder, jungkook.” you whispered out through a flood of tears, your mascara and eyeliner smudging immediately under the slaughter of liquid.
“i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry baby but i need you to hear me, okay? just..i need you to know i’m going to fix this. properly.” he breathed out, desperate now. “i’ve been doing things right this time..gave you space, let you breathe, been working on myself and going to therapy. don’t sleep at the office anymore, did at the start cause i didn’t like coming home but i’m better now.”
therapy?
you knew he held so much trauma with his own parents, his own upbringing, too scared to ever even speak about it if it wasn’t with you but to hear he had actually taken the steps to go forwards with something that put him directly out of his comfort zone was insanity to you. especially when his one and only concern had only ever been your own comfort, even at his expense.
his honesty made you burst out into quiet sobs - a noise he swore was harsh enough to kill him. he breathed out, cooing at you lightly as he shook his head despite you unable to see him, so pained.
jungkook recognised your pain immediately.
“yeah,” he muttered. “turns out working yourself to death because you’re afraid of losing everything after you’ve had a shitty upbringing actually isn’t normal behaviour. who knew?”
despite your heartbroken state, you let out a sincere watery laugh.
the sound hit him like a drug.
he went completely silent after hearing it, replaying it in the forefront of his mind. a greedy, gluttonous side of him climbing out of his very throat as he held it close to his soul, cherishing it - he was a starved man finally being fed.
“there she is.” he breathed. “fuck..missed hearing your laugh.”
you hated how easily you were able to slip back into him.
“jungkook..”
“i mean it,” his tone deepened slightly - more certain, more intentional. “i’m not calling you tonight to confuse you, y/n. i’m not calling because i’m lonely..”
your fingers tightened around the phone once more. “then, why?”
“because i’m getting you back.”
there was no hesitation in his voice, no wariness nor anything other than sheer determination. he sounded firm and a part of that thrilled you, whilst the other half sat scared of what this meant - you couldn’t survive this again, losing him. what if you had changed? what if you weren’t who he thought you were anymore?
“hey, stop it.” he shook his head, eyebrows furrowing. “it’s just me, y/n. it’s just me and you, okay?”
“but what if we can’t do it?” you asked through a teary sob, scuffing your heels on the hard ground. “what if i’m different and what if it’s too hard? i can’t..i won’t survive it..”
silence once more.
“then, we do it slowly.” he whispered, assured, soothing you. no hesitation whatsoever. “i’m not asking you to trust me overnight, baby. i know i fucked that up already.”
your lip trembled, tears streaming so fast you could hardly keep up.
“but i’m here now.”
the words settled so deeply inside of you that it almost hurt. that was all you had wanted all along, was it not? a present husband, the same man that loved you without the frills of money and presents - you wanted jungkook. your jungkook.
you swallowed thickly, knowing it had taken so much of him to even say this to you, so confident as he knew you needed a rock at this moment despite also being emotionally devastated.
two whole minutes of silence stretched between you as you caught your breath, your tears still streaming but your sobs subsiding, allowing for sweet hiccups that he thought were the cutest thing he had ever heard. his mind swam, aching, knowing how needy you were after a cry. he wanted to bundle you up and hold you, kiss you until there were no more thoughts left in that pretty little head of yours, right until you were finally asleep and safe in his arms.
“are you still at work?” you asked softly, breaking the silence and pulling him out of his thoughts.
a small pause.
then, almost amused - “technically..”
“jungkook! it’s late..”
he laughed quietly under his breath, the sound warm enough to blanket you in it.
“finished hours ago, i’ve just been sat here.”
“doing what?”
another pause. slightly charged.
“looking at you.” he murmured.
heat rushed to your face immediately, wiping your under eyes. “what?”
“been stalking your instagram. yejin posted you like half an hour ago too, so..” his voice dropped lower, smoother. more intimate. “haven’t really thought about doing anything since.”
your thighs pushed together involuntarily at the confession, cheeks hinted even darker.
god.
“jungkook.” you chastised with a little sniffle.
“pink was a bad choice, baby.” he grunted slightly. “you know that colour drives me fucking insane on you.”
your eyes squeezed shut. there he was.
not the cold, mysterious ceo that had the world intrigued, nor the tall, hefty man that had most people cowering away as he walked past. no, this was your husband - flirty, affectionate and completely and utterly obsessed with you.
“you’re so ridiculous.” you shook your head through a hiccup, biting back the pathetic small smile that was about to form.
“yeah?” he hummed through a small laugh. “still answered the phone.”
the smile in his voice only had yours growing larger, a small laugh muffled by the back of your hand.
you could hear him moving around now, keys jingling lightly before the sound of a car door opening had your ears peaking up.
“wait,” your eyebrows raised. “are you leaving?”
“mhm.”
“where are you going?”
jungkook grinned. it was your turn to be curious.
“home.”
your smile dropped slightly. home.. that used to be a word that was synonymous with you. your chest ached all over again.
“couldn’t go back there without hearing your voice first.” he admitted quietly.
silence swallowed you whole. the vulnerability in his voice felt far more dangerous than any of the tears you had shed tonight, your fingers continuing to shake around the phone at the mere sound of it. before you could think of a response, he spoke again.
“there’s a gala next friday.”
your stomach tightened as you leaned your head against the wall, already understanding the direction of the conversation.
“jungkook..”
“come with me.”
no hesitation. no uncertainty.
firm, assured, confident. like there had never even been another concept, or thought in his brain - you were the first and only option.
“i don’t think that’s a good idea..”
“probably not.”
the honesty startled a laugh out of you - a real one. on the other side of the phone, jungkook sat in his car, eyes closed, breathing deeply at the sweet sound like he was memorising it. treasuring it so he could replay it over and over and over later when he laid in your once shared bed alone.
“fuck,” he breathed. “you have no idea how much i’ve missed that.”
your eyes burned once more.
“baby,” his tone gentled again, using the pet name you loved so much. “just one night. me and you.”
you wanted to scream, wanted to pull at your hair and jump all at the same time. of course you wanted to say yes, what more could you need? your ex husband so openly telling you he wanted to pursue you with every inch of his body, until he was nothing but yours to mould and shape.
“i’ll think about it.” you replied instead, nibbling away at your lip.
the grin in his voice was immediate.
“that’s my girl.”
—
you couldn’t breathe.
both physically and emotionally, you found difficulty in inhaling air as you looked at yourself in the mirror, yejin somewhere in the room finding accessories for you to wear all whilst you blinked rapidly.
the dress, although beautiful, felt too tight.
your hands shook on either side of you as she approached you, holding up a delicate diamond necklace you recognised as an anniversary gift jungkook had gotten you but never quite found the chance to wear. your eyes were unfocused as she clasped it onto your neck, watching the way it fell so softly against soft skin, as though it had been curated for you and you alone.
“you need to breathe, y/n.” she suddenly murmured behind you, resting her chin on your shoulder as you both stared at you in the mirror.
pale pink satin - not bright in anyway, but a sweet kiss of your favourite colour adorned your body in floor length, tight fitting dress. you were the embodiment of elegance as the fabric draped over your curves, all whilst cinching perfectly at your waist, allowing for a pretty silhouette. not only did you look the part for a charity gala, you had exceeded any expectation anyone would ever have for you thanks to your best friend’s styling.
“dress is tight.” you simply whispered back, hardly recognising yourself.
your makeup matched your dress. glowy and pink with soft blush dusted onto your cheeks, glossy lips puckered and sweet. your hair fell in waves and for the first time in a very long time, you felt utterly beautiful.
the problem, however, was in the circumstance itself.
you were about to see jungkook for the first time since you had officially walked away from your marriage and the thought had kept you up all week. you weren’t sure what you were thinking actually saying yes to his invitation, calling him to tell you would come only for him to audibly huff out of joy. he was like a child in a candy shop but you couldn’t help but wonder if he harboured the same anxiety.
it was heavy in your stomach as you stared at yourself. pink was your favourite colour, and he loved it on you. did you look pretty enough? all eyes would be on you both tonight, given the nature of your relationship and the almost celebrity like status that had been awarded to the two of you.
all in all, it was his face that had you nibbling your bottom lip in thought. there wasn’t a night where you left his name unsearched in your internet browser, desperate to see what he looked like in that current moment but seeing him in purpose was a whole different playing field.
you loved him in suits - a fitting joy that was awarded to you constantly given his occupation. the way his shoulders would fill out the material so nicely, the way his shirt would stretch over his chest and the way darker colours only brought out the darkness in his eyes - it was your personal kryptonite. you weren’t sure how you were supposed to think, behave even, once you caught got sight of him.
“hey, y/n, look at me.” yejin pulled you out of your thoughts, soft hands pulling at your jaw. “it’s just jungkook. you know him better than anyone, okay? you’re all good.”
you nodded, though you continued to blink at her rapidly. “s’just been so long and..i don’t know..i’m scared. is that weird?”
she offered a sad smile. “it’s been eight months of healing, babe. that love doesn’t just go away and from what you told me, this is a step in the right direction. just gotta let him in.”
before you could respond, the sound of the doorbell blared through the apartment, making you look up to where the door sat on the other side. if you thought your heart had been beating fast before, you were sure you were on the edge of passing out now as yejin mumbled a quick ‘that’ll be him’ beside you.
oh god. oh god. oh god.
the dress felt too tight around your ribs.
your hands smoothed down the satin again despite having done it what felt like a million times already, fingers tips trembling over expensive fabric as your breathing came out shallow. you hated this - hated the fear of it all when it was jungkook on the other side of the door. your jungkook.
eight months. eight whole months and your body still knew him better than your mind was ready to let on.
“y/n.” yejin practically cooed at you, assuring you with a hand on your back. “breathe.”
you nodded quickly, though it went in one ear and out the other.
the intercom buzzed again, impatient time.
ironically, it was this that had your shoulders slumping softly, your shortness of breath slowly soothing as you realised the familiarity of the situation. of course jungkook would buzz twice - it was a telltale sign of his own anxiety, something you could recognise from a mile away. knocking twice, calling your name twice, checking the front door before bed twice.
it was just jungkook.
“okay.” you whispered to yourself.
you turned, more determined now you knew he was in the same state as you, as your heels clicked on the floor of your much smaller apartment, the noise loud enough for him to hear from the outside. each step felt heavier the closer you got, but there sat an anticipation in you that had you almost desperate to see him.
your hand finally wrapped around the handle before you opened the door.
and there he was.
god.
for a moment, your brain completely malfunctioned.
jungkook stood in your hallway beneath the almost dingy apartment lighting, one hand wrapped around a large bouquet of flowers you recognised to be the ones he had been gifting you with continuously for the past few weeks, and every anniversary. white gardenias.
your eyes fell onto them immediately with a strangled gasp, all whilst taking him in, your heart beating out of your chest as you felt almost faint at the sight of him.
a black suit.
the material stretched perfectly across his too broad shoulders and narrow waist, expensive to the eye as you could tell it had been tailored to fit him exactly. the contrast between the white shirt underneath was utterly delicious, and memories of pulling open buttons under heated exchanges flooded your eyes.
his hair was styled almost messily which you immediately recognised as his hands having ran through them, no doubt due to his anxiety - you wanted to pull at his locks, wanted to feel them against your fingers.
it was his face, however, that hurt to look at.
he looked healthier than most of the pictures you had seen over the span of the past few months, with warm in his cheeks, a slight dazed look in his eyes. still tired, with purple underneath his eyes indicating his lack of sleep, still carrying traces of heartbreak you knew you had placed there.
god.
jungkook looked every bit of the man you were in love with.
and here he stood, staring at you like he had just seen heaven open up right in front of him.
neither of you could look away from one another, as his eyes dragged over you slowly, inch by inch. your hair, your neckline that dipped lower than he was used to seeing, your manicure, your beautiful face. jungkook couldn’t fathom that you had once belonged to him, the pain of the past eight months surfacing as it gripped him by the throat like a vice - he had lost you?
you watched his throat bob.
his eyes met yours, the first time in what felt like a lifetime, and neither of you really knew what to do. how was it that the man you had known most of your life, the one constant, felt like a stranger in that moment? it was like you were discovering him again, an opportunity to relearn him presented to you and you took it with both hands.
he let out a shaking breath, one that had your cheeks flushing as he extended his arm, presenting the large bouquet for you.
“you look beautiful.” he whispered, voice struggling almost as you continued to watch his adam’s apple almost entranced.
with a shy thank you, you held them close to your chest, breathing in the familiar scent that brought you so much comfort.
your chest had eased now you were finally looking at him, now that he was actually in your space - the worst was over. you almost felt ridiculous for being worried about seeing him when it was just jungkook. eight months couldn’t erase that familiarity.
the hallway suddenly felt too small. too warm, too intimate; you felt like you were being caved in by his mere presence and for a moment you wondered if you needed breath at all.
you simply stood there, clutching the flowers delicately to your chest as though they meant something so much more than what anyone else could assume all whilst jungkook looked at you like you were the first beautiful thing he had seen in months.
his eyes couldn’t leave your face.
it should have made you uncomfortable, the intensity of his stare, but your body reacted the way it had always done when you were near him. you were inching closer without even realising it, him doing the same until you were looking up, head angled and his downwards, head bent to admire you properly.
“hi.” you whispered again.
the size difference between you had never been more apparent until then, what with all of his strenuous visits to the gym these past few months. he had always towered over you, but it was different now - his already wide chest and broad shoulders engulfed you, his biceps on either side of him enough to have you wanting him in a way that certainly was not becoming of an ex wife.
it’s like he could read your thoughts, with the way he inched closer to you, until your bodies were openly brushing against each other faintly. material on material, fabric kissing fabric. you wished you could feel him on your skin.
the sound of your voice had lulled him gently as he dipped his head down lower so you could properly see him, despite your head back to look at him.
“hi, baby.”
your stomach flipped violently.
there it was again. baby. fuck.
as though the divorce papers were fickle, representing a momentary lapse of judgement instead of a ruling decision. like he still woke up beside you every morning and ruined your cheeks with kisses before falling in between your thighs.
the dazed look on your face didn’t go unnoticed.
before you could even respond, yejin appeared behind you with the biggest smile she could possibly muster.
“oh my god,” she squeaked dramatically. “you both look insane!”
jungkook blinked, momentarily pulled from the emotional spiral you were both taking part in as he straightened slightly, despite still being awfully close to you. your cheeks heated at the sound of her voice, jumping a little in shock, causing you to brush against him faintly.
“hi, yejin.”
“don’t hi yejin me.” she narrowed her eyes dangerously. “if she cries tonight, i’ll kill you.”
“yejin!” you flushed red.
jungkook, however, allowed for a soft smile, nodding once. “fair.”
the sheer sincerity of it made the room go quiet, your eyes meeting his once more. you knew though it was a passing comment, he truly meant it - he’d let her kill him if it meant you’d hurt less.
your chest tightened all over again.
yejin seemed to realise it too, her teasing expression softening at the both of you. idiots in love, both too cautious to know what the correct next step was - thank god she loved to meddle.
“okay! you’re both gonna be late so hurry up.” she hummed, turning you and looking over you for any last minute touch ups. “i’ll take these. i’ll show myself out.”
with a cheeky wink, she all but pushed you backwards towards jungkook where your back gently brushed against his front. she had taken the flowers, shoved your clutch in your hand and shut the door in your face, all after giving you a big grin.
he didn’t move from behind you, despite you turning to properly face him. the two of you stared at one another openly, eyebrows pulling together - you could see it happening in real time, the way his body curled at the mere feel of you. to be so close to you, touching you; it was out of a far away dream.
you felt it too - god, you could feel it in your veins. the horrifying wave of unashamed want that filtered through you so naturally, your body knew him. your body recognised your husband.
your man.
his restraint was palpable. you could see it in the way his fingers flexed on either side of him, almost twitching as muscle memory surfaced from deep inside of him. for years touching you had been second nature, with a hand on your waist, fingers lifting your chin, arms around your figure to hold you up for a kiss.
now he looked almost tortured as he realised he no longer knew what he was allowed to do.
the realisation alone softened you.
“we should go.” you whispered up at him gently, though your voice lacked any real conviction.
jungkook stared at you, offering a small nod almost obediently despite the stark hunger in his eyes.
“yeah.” he cleared his throat. “yeah, okay.”
he stepped back and first; the distance was felt immediately.
you suddenly missed the warmth that radiated off of him, fingers faintly tugging on his suit jacket so gently you weren’t even aware you were doing it. what the fuck was wrong with you? one touch and you were already spiralling into him again like the last eight months had never happened.
jungkook noticed. of course he did.
his chest visibly expanded from beneath the expensive material, eyes darkening so suddenly you felt heat up and down your spine. the way he looked at you had emotion swirling in your stomach, so hungry. so devoted.
you slowly released him, blinking rapidly as though you’d only just realised what you’d done.
“sorry.” you whispered instinctively.
jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed together in offence.
“don’t apologise for touching me.” his voice came out firmer than expected, low. far too intimate given the apartment hallway you were in.
the silence that followed felt thick enough to choke on, neither of you making an effort to move despite knowing you were bordering on being late. the tension was so unbearable now that you were both alone, freely staring at one another after so much time apart - no yejin to soften the edges. just fifteen years worth of tension, want and need all accumulated between you.
his eyes flickered downwards as he watched you sway slightly.
“your heels are insane.” he muttered softly.
you blinked. “hm?”
“you’re already wobbling.”
offended, your mouth gaped. “i am not wobbling!”
jungkook let out a small huff of amusement, loving how easy it was to rile you up. the sound completely disarmed you, seeing a glimpse of the same jungkook you had been with all of your life.
“you almost fell walking out of the door.” he teased, with a tilt to his head downwards at you.
“i did not!” you shook your head with a small swat to his chest. he only let out another laugh. “you literally grabbed onto me.”
“that..doesn’t count, okay?”
“mm.” amusement stretched over his face, as he led you to the staircase, cautious to be slow as he watched you continue to slightly wobble due to the uneven surface of the hallway. “sure.”
before you could even think of a rebuttal, you watched jungkook look down the multiple staircases with a slight frown before turning to you. he suddenly bent at the knees, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion for no longer than two seconds before one arm slid below your knees and the other around your back.
your gasp echoed.
“jungkook!”
he lifted you bridal style effortlessly, as though you weighed truly nothing to him.
your hands immediately flung to the back of his neck, arms wrapping around his shoulders in shock as your body felt more of him than it had done in what felt like eons. jungkook’s hands were so much bigger than yours, and you could feel him everywhere all at once, enough to have you dizzy with a sense of want.
“what are you doing?!” you whispered harshly, eyes blown wide as he sorted you on one single arm, checking his phone for the time with the other. it was beyond easy.
jungkook merely looked down at you calmly, entirely unbothered despite the way you could feel his pulse hammering below your fingertips.
“preventative measures. can’t have you slipping down the stairs.”
you stared at him in disbelief. “you can’t just pick me up!”
he scoffed a little, as though your words were going in one ear and out the other. your comfort came first, that much was ingrained in him and even you couldn’t stop him when it came to that.
he walked down the stairs as though it was the most natural thing in the world, one hand spread wide against your back, claiming whilst the other was hooked under your thighs, making sure you were as comfortable as possible against him. your dress was draped so beautifully over his arm that anyone who would have caught you in that moment would have remarked, ironically, how bridal you looked.
you couldn’t believe how safe he felt.
jungkook noticed the second you relaxed into him. properly.
“missed carrying you.” he admitted quietly as he descended another step.
your entire body burned. “jungkook.” you breathed weakly, though there was no real warning behind your tone.
“what?” he hummed innocently. “s’true.”
you remembered almost fondly - it was the one thing you probably missed more than anything else. he would carry you everywhere - from the bed to your bath, to the couch after you’d woken up, through grocery stores just to hear you squeak in embarrassment. one time he had held you for an hour straight, walking you home after a date just because your feet hurt.
and now, here you were again, tucked into his chest as though it was home. you supposed it was.
your heart ached so violently at the memory that looking up at him through your lashes had your brain whizzing too fast for you to keep up with.
“you’ve gotten so much bigger.” you whispered almost shyly before you could stop yourself, already tucked into him too comfortably.
big mistake.
his heart truly nearly fucking stopped. his head snapped down at you almost instantly, eyes darkening so visibly it had you avoiding any contact, instead focusing your gaze on his clothed pecs.
“yeah?” he asked slowly.
your cheeks were flushed dark, realising how that may have sounded.
“just..got broader.” you clarified through another whisper, wanting nothing more than to hide your face in his neck out of embarrassment.
“been working out a lot more.” he murmured down at you, ducking his head a little so that he could meet your eyes, a small smile forming.
you nibbled your lip with a little nod, fingers brushing against the ends of his hair.
jungkook knew you loved the size difference between you, but it truly didn’t compare to how fucked it made his mind go. it was the first thing he had noticed when you opened the door again - how despite your heels, you were still so much shorter. it drove him insane, especially now that he was bigger. feeling you curled into his chest like this, all safe and protected, it made him feel wanted. to have you notice it, address it even so shyly; fuck. it ruined him.
by the time he had reached the bottom floor, your cheeks were still heated, dreading the fact he would have to let you go when all you wanted was to curl into him even deeper. to think ten minutes ago you had so much anxiety when now, he was actively conversing with you all whilst carrying you, it felt euphoric.
the driver stood outside of the car, the same man who drove you both to events when you were still together. your eyes widened a little as you watched him open the back door for you both, all whilst you were still leisurely held in his arms.
your embarrassment returned instantly.
“put me down!” you hissed quietly.
jungkook looked at you, unaffected. “why?”
“because your driver is literally staring at us, jungkook!”
the poor man looked away with a growing smile. he had missed seeing his boss so carefree, knowing that he was only like this when the situation pertained to you.
he smirked faintly. “he’s driven us around for years, baby. pretty sure he’s seen us do a lot worse.”
your mouth fell open, swatting his chest. “jungkook!”
that finally earned you a proper smile, brief but enough to knock the very air out of your lungs, your too large eyes drinking it in almost desperately. he was so handsome it hurt, and it wasn’t until now you realised how much you had missed his smile.
carefully, he gently lowered you to the ground, making sure you were comfortable on your feet.
his hands lingered. neither of you moved.
your faces were suddenly so close once more as your hands had slid down from his neck, but remained in contact, fingers digging into his chest faintly to feel him. the city noise faded around you and into the background as he looked down at you with an emotion that could only be classed as longing.
“you good?” he asked softly.
you nodded too quickly. “mhm.”
liar.
his eyes dropped to your lips once more, eyeing the gloss almost hungrily - would it taste like the strawberry you always applied? sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he’d remember the flavour.
then, like he had to physically pull himself back, he stepped closer to the car and gestured to it slowly.
“after you.”
you slid into the backseat first, smoothening your dress as it rode up your body, all whilst your pulse hammered harshly.
the interior of the car was sleek, donned in a luxurious black leather whilst it remained dimly lit in the back, with enough enough space to stretch out your legs. the scent of jungkook’s cologne was addicting, and you immediately recognised it to be the one you had bought him on your last anniversary together, your heart fluttering at the thought.
once he climbed in beside you, you realised how intimate the space actually was.
jungkook sat close enough for his thigh to brush against yours, broad shoulders taking up far too much room whilst the driver shut the door quietly behind him.
neither of you acknowledged the contact. it somehow made it worse.
it wasn’t until the divider between the front and the back began slowly sliding upwards, offering a layer of privacy that your breath caught audibly.
jungkook noticed - of course he fucking noticed. he couldn’t stop staring at you, especially now that he had you trapped here, pushed against him like you belonged with a drive ahead of you. god, the things he wanted to do to you in this dress were sinful at best, but he had to practise restraint, no matter how much it took out of him.
he leaned back, one arm sliding over to the top of your seat, where although he wasn’t touching you, you slyly leaned in just to have more of his warmth. it felt so familiar, so nauseatingly natural that anything other would have felt wrong.
he watched as your thighs pressed together.
fuck.
“you nervous?” he asked in his low voice, jaw ticking.
your eyes slowly shifted, finally meeting his gaze. through a shaky laugh, one without humour, you nodded. “obviously.”
he softened at that, sharpness melting away to reveal the tenderness below.
“it’s just me, y/n.”
you felt so hyperaware of everything. the rain that tapped softly against the tinted windows, and the gentle purr of the car engine beneath you. the feel of jungkook’s thigh soothed you, whilst his heavy gaze unnerved you - a cocktail mix that felt so entirely him.
you could feel his eyes on you before you even looked up. once you did, your breath caught at the intensity of his stare - not polite. certainly not subtle. his gaze moved over you, up and down, like he couldn’t help himself, like he he’d been trying to hold back the second you opened up the door to your apartment.
“fuck.” he muttered under his breath.
your cheeks flushed pink, whispering his name.
you watched his eyes flush down your body, eyes stuck on your cleavage and the way the material clung to your hips. “look at you.”
you instinctively looked down, shy at the attention but you couldn’t help but crave it. you knew exactly how obsessive jungkook was when it came to you, knew how deeply infatuated he was with every inch of you but seeing it so closely after so long almost felt soothing. it was a reminder that though everything had changed, somethings stayed the same.
his hand moved before you could think too hard about it, cupping under your chin and tilting your face upwards.
“don’t hide from me.”
your stomach tightened, eyelids hooded.
this thumb brushed against your jaw once, so soft, so unbelieving that you were in his arms despite the fact you technically weren’t his anymore. not that he believed that.
“i can’t stop looking at you.” he admitted, tone rougher now. “been trying since you opened the door, but it’s impossible.”
your thighs pressed together immediately, his gaze dropping to the small action. the reaction was subtle, but there - he noticed everything when it came to you.
you suddenly felt so warm.
“you’re staring so hard.” you murmured nervously, fingers twisting together in your lap.
“because you’re driving me fucking crazy.”
the words came out so plainly your eyes widened.
jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, head tipping backwards against his seat all whilst you watched with heavy breath. the far gone part of your mind wanted to track his neck, trace his adam’s apple with your fingers all so he could continue looking at you the way he had been.
he looked devastating like this - broad thighs spread in the backseat with your body pressed against him, his arm slung heavy on the head of your seat. the both of you were a mess for one another, sick in the head with infatuation.
you weren’t stupid. you knew your effect on him, perhaps not to the full extent, but enough to know that nearly a year’s distance between you was enough to drive a man like him insane. his hand dragged over his face with a quiet groan before adjusting himself slightly over his suit trousers.
your eyes flickered downwards before you could stop yourself.
jungkook smiled at the sound of your quiet giggle as you put a hand over your mouth to muffle it, looking up to meet his gaze after noticing he was half hard. all you had done was exist.
“yeah,” he murmured, the sound of your laugh blooming in his chest. “that’s your fault.”
you slapped his thigh gently, although you couldn’t hold back on the continuous giggles that were now leaving you as you felt lighter than you had in what felt like years. he too matched you, the intensity lightening up massively as he let out a quiet laugh despite himself.
“what’d you expect, hm?” he asked, voice soft. “i haven’t seen you in eight months, and now you’re sat next to me looking like this. wearing pink.”
his hand slowly slid over, brushing against your own, fingertips grazing your skin before he intertwined them, gently.
you let him.
the second you curled your hand into his yourself, his expression changed. up until now, it was him losing control, reigning himself in, biting himself down to make sure you were as comfortable as possible but fuck. you were the one touching him now, making sure he could see you intertwine your hands properly, squeezing his hand.
it felt like a confirmation that this was the beginning of a new chapter.
he wanted to scream, to yell on the top of his lungs at the thought of you openly showing him your willingness. his sweet, angel girl; he loved you more than words could describe and he wanted to spend the rest of his life showing you.
“missed this,” he admitted quietly, eyes on your much smaller hand holding his so intimately. “missed you touching me.”
your eyes burned suddenly.
jungkook noticed immediately with a frown, expression softening at the edges.
“hey, baby.” his thumb brushed yours. “don’t cry.”
“m’not crying.” you whispered, though your voice wobbled embarrassingly.
he held you close to him as you both remained quiet for the rest of the journey, though the silence felt welcomed after such a rush and mix of emotions. you had gone from anxiety, to confusion, to excitement, to warmth, to a painful reminder of what once was - it was enough to drive you insane. being around him hurt, but being near him was healing.
rain continued to pitter patter outside as your hands remained intertwined, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he sat there trying to fathom how this was real. you were letting him in, and he could see it, could see how much it was taking out of you and he’d be damned if he fucked it up again. to get a second chance was insanity alone, but to have it with you?
the car began slowing down.
through the tinted windows, you could see a flash of white, people trying to get a glimpse of the elusive ceo they were so obsessed with. you gulped as you watched other powerful business people walk in with their dates, models and celebrities lining up to have their picture taken.
you leaned into him almost immediately.
jungkook held onto you tightly, arm sliding over your waist and gently squeezing. “i’m here. stay by me.”
you nodded quickly, dazed. “okay.”
his eyes lingered on your face for a second too long before he muttered under his breath, almost like he couldn’t help himself. “you look so fucking pretty.”
your heart nearly stopped, meeting his gaze as your shoulders slumped, feeling calm through his sweet words.
the car door opened.
chaos.
jungkook stepped out first and the reaction was everything you had expected and somehow so much more. your eyes blinked as you watched the cameras explode violently, reporters shouting his name from all directions as they desperately tried to get a clear shot of him, knowing he could easily make front page news without having to try.
your heart stopped for a moment.
his back faced everyone else as he turned to you, taking a hold of your hands once more and gently helping you out of the car, smoothening your dress.
the second they saw you? everything multiplied by ten.
genuine screaming was heard from somewhere behind the barricades as you slowly stepped out, your own hand finding jungkook’s for a sense of comfort which he readily gave you, pulling you in a little closer than necessary. the noise was erupting, your vision blinded momentarily by the insane flashes, reports actually tripping over one another to take pictures of you in particular.
this wasn’t normal.
jeon jungkook never brought women anywhere. never entertained rumours, never dated publicly, never stood beside any other woman that hadn’t been you. even then, you had been painfully private, making sure to attend closed events with rare appearances, often opting to support in the shadows as opposed to centre stage as he was forced to.
but now? this was the loudest statement you could have possibly made and it slowly dawned on you both the nature of the decision.
you were telling the world you were ready to start again.
his entire demeanour had changed out here.
you were overwhelmed to say the least, but it was his arms around you that kept you grounded as you clung to him, your smaller frame tucked so delicately within his own that some found themselves putting their cameras down just so they could observe you both.
you were the epitome of love and neither of you even knew it.
ceo jungkook - all cold eyes, sharp jaw, that terrifying calmness. yet every few seconds he ducked his head down, whispering something in your ear that would have you smiling almost shyly back up at him, easing your mind away from the hundreds of people who wanted nothing more than to get a picture of you.
“jungkook over here!”
“is that your ex-wife?”
“are you two back together?!”
“y/n!”
you flinched slightly as the voices got louder the closer you walked down the carpet towards the venue, but it seemed jungkook’s presence only felt bigger.
“don’t look at them.” he whispered down into your ear, words tucked for you and you alone. “look at me.”
stupidly enough, you obeyed almost instantly. his eyes softened at the way you listened so sweetly.
“good girl.” he muttered absentmindedly before guiding you to the entrance and away from the prying eyes outside.
the words hit you far harder than they should have. good girl.
oh you were so fucked.
—
the venue was utterly breathtaking.
golden lighting spilled across towering ceilings whilst soft music played from a live orchestra at one side of the ballroom, so elegant you’re indeed whether you were even appropriately dressed. people stared at you openly, all whilst you and your flushed cheeks looked away, purposefully keeping your gaze vague and avoiding eye contact with most. glasses clinked together as powerful figures mingled amongst themselves, professional cameras still set up inside.
and yet, none of it compared to the way people reacted to jungkook.
conversations paused when he walked by, people straightening up. executives who had once terrified you now looked nervous approaching him and it reminded you exactly who he was outside of your relationship.
jeon jungkook was a terrifyingly cold, business man. he was untouchable and unfeeling, everything that made a powerful man powerful and then there was you. his one weakness.
his hand remained firm against the small of your back possessively, claiming you as his own in front of anyone who could see. you loved when he was like this, all brooding and dark as though anyone even had a chance to steal him from you - silly man. even now, with months of distance between you and a divorce, you were all his.
“breathe, baby.” he reminded with a quiet hum in your ear.
“i am breathing.” your cheeks warmed.
“barely.”
you shot him a look, though it was void of any real annoyance as he guided you further into the room. you couldn’t help but admire him openly, all whilst he scanned the room, not realising how deep you were falling into your own thoughts. he really had gotten so much bigger, with his chest so wide you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like under your hands. his shoulders too.
you had spent the entire drive trying not to stare at him. you had failed. miserably.
“drink?”
he pulled you out of your thoughts with a little gasp, realising you had been openly checking him out much to his pleasure. you found yourself nodding, nibbling away at your lip. “yes please.”
the words came out too fast, awarding you with a small laugh as he turned towards the bar.
your eyes followed him automatically.
that was another problem entirely. you see, no matter where jungkook stood, attention naturally followed. men greeted him immediately, keen to get into his good books whilst women openly stared, hoping to garner his fancy and yet he was completely and entirely uninterested. his gaze flickered back to you every few moments, as though he still couldn’t believe you were right there, just for him. just because he had asked you to come.
your chest squeezed painfully at the thought.
he returned only a few moments later with two champagne glasses, handing you yours to which you took with a nervous smile.
“thank you.”
your fingers brushed his purposefully. small, barely noticeable.
oh, but how jungkook had noticed. he noticed everything when it came to you and judging from the way his throat bobbed, taking a large sip of his drink, you knew that your poor ex husband was certainly not able to handle your charm.
the champagne helped much quicker than you were expecting it to.
after the first glass, the tension in your shoulders completely eased but it was the second that had you transforming. your overthinking thoughts ceased to exist, as the warmth in your blood brought out a shade of pink in your face that jungkook couldn’t look away from. standing close to him suddenly felt less terrifying and so much more thrilling.
a dangerous combination - especially when jungkook was looking at you with so much hunger.
a buzz had settled deep into your bloodstream, your brain slightly away with the fairies as you continued to sip, looking up at him. your other hand darted out, fingers trailing over his stomach openly, over to where the buttons of his suit sat. what was an absentminded action to you, tipsy, was enough to have jungkook almost shaking.
you were braver when you had alcohol in you, that much had been true your entire relationship, but even this felt quite insane. he watched as your fingers trailed up and down, sliding up to where his chest was only to drop lower and lower. it wasn’t until your fingertips were brushing the top of his suit trousers that he grabbed your hand.
you pouted at him, head tilted. “why?”
your whine had his shoulders rolling.
“because,” he said slowly, voice rough beneath the sound of the orchestra. “you’re getting handsy.”
your lips patted in faux innocence. “am not.”
jungkook stared at you half in disbelief and other half amusement, still holding your hand that he now pressed to his chest firmly. your fingers had nearly slipped below his waistband, a thought that had him nearly taking you home then and there but he knew it was because the alcohol was making you brave - his tipsy girl. his palm engulfed yours, feeling your fingers wriggle underneath to continue your plans with a slight whine but he was both firm and possessive, not letting you go.
you pressed your thighs together again.
this was the champagne.
he knew it, knew it to be a dangerous mix - the alcohol and your naturally clingy personality once you got comfortable, all combined with the eight months apart meant you were now simply doing whatever your heart wanted with little care to your mind.
your cheeks warmed as you watched him stare down at you, gaze heavier than anything all evening. it seemed the longer you were both in each other’s presence, despite how long you’d spent apart, the more bold you were getting - but could you be blamed? he might have been your ex husband but he still belonged to you, and you knew you were still entirely his, a fucked up fact that meant you were both drawn to each other in ways that meant you could never move on.
multiple months of healing all gone to shit in a single night, with a few drinks. who were you both kidding - moving on wasn’t an option. even you could see that now.
your fingers flexed under his hold, people secretly watching you both interact with bated breath. they couldn’t believe this was the same jungkook they were afraid of, made to mush at the hands of the pretty woman in front of him. he was but a man afterall.
rather than pulling away, your fingers simply curled around the fabric of his suit jacket, fingers touching his shirt purposefully to elicit another reaction out of him. he had reduced you to putty in the drive over and perhaps it was the alcohol in your system, but you wanted him to feel the same.
jungkook was quiet. too quiet.
jaw slightly slack as he took you in, you touching him like his body belonged to you and you alone. he relished in the fact you knew it just as well as he did.
he had missed this so much. just the feel of you, no matter how innocent you pretended to be, skin on skin. it felt like a promise.
and now, you were standing here, head tilted to stare up at him properly whilst looking through pretty lashes that batted at him subconsciously.
it was driving him insane.
“you’re staring again.” you hummed at him. his eyebrows narrowed. “because you keep touching me.”
you tried to bite down the smile that began to form on your lips as your fingers continued to flex, soon finding his heartbeat to confirm your suspicious. oh, he was a mess underneath your hand.
“you don’t seem to mind.”
his jaw flexed. you heard him curse under his breath, calling you a fucking minx which only had you giggling just as quietly. it was a powerful thing to have a man as influential as jungkook so weak in the knees for you, and you couldn’t deny the affect it was having on your mind. he snaked a heavy arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him in a way that was absolutely not becoming of the environment you were in.
“keep this shit up and i’ll take you home.” he promised quietly, leaning down to whisper into your ear.
unfortunately for him, you had no intention of stopping. especially when you had just begun.
“promise?” you whispered back, eyes wide with a faux innocence you knew he wanted to ruin.
his jaw clenched again, blood half boiling at how cheeky you were being and cock hardening by how badly he wanted to ruin you. had this been any other circumstance, you’d already be in the bathroom with your dress to your chest, being pounded into by the only man who knew exactly how to ruin you until you were well bred.
but alas - this night was about proving himself to you, and no matter how hard you made him, he knew he had to do this right.
and so, instead, he pinched you at your waist slightly, pulling an airless squeak out of you before he brushed his lips against your ear.
“behave.”
the word should have been warning enough, but instead, warmth fluttered through you, rushing through your stomach so violently you pressed against him further. jungkook nearly hissed, watching how reactive you were for him, with your hooded eyes and slack jaw.
fuck.
his hands were all over you, with little care to who was watching and you knew tomorrow you’d be mortified when you remembered how brazen you had both been, but it was hard not to feel addicted when you were both feeling the same way. you giggled lightly, hiding your face in his chest momentarily before meeting his gaze.
“you’re very confident for someone i divorced.” you playfully hummed.
at that, he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face. “didn’t stop you from getting your pretty hands all over me.”
the alcohol was well into your system as you found yourself giggling once more, fully hiding yourself in his chest to which he wrapped his arms around you properly, the two of you whispering and laughing together as though it was the most natural thing in the world. jungkook’s colleagues, rivals and admirers all watched you both in genuine curiosity at the way you were so well suited. two people, quietly infatuated with one another - it was toothache inducing.
the conversation between you both remained playful, with his thumb tracing your bottom lip at one point muttering something about how badly he wanted to know how your lip gloss tasted. an hour in and you were both practically trying to one up each other with how far you could take it, leaving you both laughing whilst trying to stay quiet.
this is what you had missed. joy. comfort. being around him in a way that didn’t feel like you were fighting to prove something. it had been so long since you’d felt this carefree that you realised pretty quickly that you couldn’t let him ago again. it was a horrible thought at first, realising that the past few months may have been for naught but perhaps absence did make the heart fonder.
soon enough, you had been there close enough two hours and jungkook had done the rounds once you settled in, less tipsy but still buzzed. you met his new business partners, clients you hadn’t seen in a while, a mixture of familiar faces and people you had only ever heard about. neither of you commented on the fact he introduced you intimately, with a heavy arm around your waist.
it genuinely felt like no time had past with the way you both felt so comfortable, the dynamics between you natural considering he had been the one constant in your life for the past fifteen years. you sipped on your glass of water as you listened to his conversation half mindedly, watching him discuss a new company contract with one of his shareholders.
it wasn’t until you heard a voice echo throughout the ballroom announcing the beginning of the charity auction that the conversation came to an end. jungkook immediately took a hold of your hand, planting a cheeky kiss to your knuckles with a slight smirk, before leading you towards the front of the room where the different things on auction sat to be admired over.
“c’mon.”
you followed him easily, hands intertwined whilst you walked side by side, champagne now a dull buzz in your body. people moved around you respectfully, all whilst their eyes lingered on you much longer than needed. could you blame them? you were the infamous woman that had managed to lock down the one man that seemed disinterested in everything, so much so that you had him laughing and flushing pink every time you so much as looked at him. the divorced couple that looked anything but divorced.
oh, they were staring indeed, with hushed whispers and even quieter questions.
your attention drifted lazily over the displayed pieces, politely but nothing quite caught your interest, your eyebrows pulling up at some of the art pieces named. it wasn’t until you reached the very end that you found yourself stopped in your tracks.
jungkook noticed, he too coming to a stop to glance over at you only for his gaze to follow yours. he immediately understood.
beneath warm lighting sat a painting, inconspicuous to most considering it was much smaller than the grand pieces to the left, but it had your eyelashes fluttering
white gardenias.
your breath left you quietly.
it wasn’t just flowers - it was an oil painting, textured with strokes of green, ivory and creams whilst petals cascaded over one another so delicately your heart ached. the background dat moodier, darker compared to the softness of the flower leaving you in a state of utter awe for a few moments, all whilst holding the hand of your ex-husband who watched you with bated breath.
it was beautiful.
you stepped closer unconsciously, hardly aware of yourself.
jungkook didn’t think he’d ever seen you look at something with this much wonder, in all of the years he had known you. it did something to him, to watch you genuinely in awe at something he could so easily give you - it made him realise he needed provide it for you just to see that look again and again and again and again and again.
he felt this throat tighten, a harsh lump forming the longer he watched you admire it. the way your glossy lips parted, eyes widened and fingers tracing the air in front of it - donned in the same diamond necklace he had gotten you years prior. the same necklace he’d bought you after you murmured something about diamonds resembling stars late one night as you curled into him in your shared bed.
and here you were, wearing it, all whilst your hand curled inside his as though you had never been more at peace. that did something to him. something he couldn’t quite describe.
your fingers moved to brush over the small description plaque underneath, reading the inspiration for the piece with a small, choked huff - devotion. enduring, eternal love through trial and tribulation through each season of life.
your own throat tightened then. of course.
“gardenias are difficult flowers..they die so easily if you don’t take care of them.” you found yourself whispering; straightening your back and avoiding his gaze to bite back any tears that wanted to appear.
his chest tightened violently.
all he could think about was the little apartment you had both shared when you were younger, when he barely had any money to get you by each month. the one with the poor lighting and the janky sink - you used to sit by the window each morning whilst he got ready for work, whispering sweet things down at them because you believed it would help them grow.
he remembered every single detail.
“you kept yours alive for months.” he whispered back, the hand that was clasped in yours now intertwining your fingers, as though he could project his memories back to you.
you blinked back at him, eyes glassy, surprised slightly. you hadn’t expected him to remember something so small and insignificant.
how could jungkook could ever forget a single thing about you?
a small smile pulled at your lips. “i used to get upset whenever they’d lose petals.”
“you cried once.” he corrected.
you rolled your eyes. “shut up!”
he only shrugged, lips twitching. “had to console you all night.”
“i thought i killed it!”
his quiet laugh nearly knocked the air from your lungs, all whilst he pulled you back into him, breathing in the scent from your hair before taking you to your shared table, where the auction was about to begin. your fingers remained curled around his own, all whilst he helped you sit down, fixing your dress for you.
he physically couldn’t pull away from you, couldn’t stop touching you even as you began conversing to the woman beside you, who jungkook recognised as one of his shareholders. his thigh was pressed against yours, all whilst his hand sat heavy in your lap, both of your hands playing with his fingers absentmindedly.
the different items came on stage as you watched people bid, raising their panels whilst some shouted out their numbers for more exclusive pieces. you couldn’t help your giggles, leaning over to whisper in jungkook’s ear whenever you’d see more excited people, all for him to lean into you with an equal smile. the two of you were being silly, and it felt fun for once.
by the time the gardenia painting finally appeared, your posture straightened as you tapped on his hand with a wiggle of your eyebrows. jungkook watched you with a lazy grin, eyes flicking over your face.
cute.
the bidding started much lower than you expected, causing you to frown. “that’s it?”
he nearly laughed, seeing your passion for your flowers. “art’s subjective, baby.”
“yeah, well everyone is wrong..so.”
fuck. he loved you so much.
you watched as someone raised their paddle, and then another, and another. a bidding war began as your head bounced between people, watching in utter curiosity though a part of you wondered what it would be like to bid yourself. ironically for you, you were completely unaware of the man beside you staring at your profile like he wanted to devote the rest of his life to you.
“two million.”
your eyebrows raised.
“two and a half!” someone else shouted, causing you to play with his fingers a little faster almost out of excitement.
“hope someone who actually appreciates it gets it.” you leaned over to whisper into his ear, lips brushing against his cheek in the process.
his jaw ticked.
game on.
just as someone shouted out, claiming three million, jungkook ran a hand through his hair before raising his panel, dark eyes trained on the auctioneer.
“five million.”
your head snapped sideways so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash, all whilst jungkook sat completely calm, hand raised lazily as though this was easy. like he hadn’t just dropped five million as though it was nothing.
“jungkook!” you whispered, eyes wide. he merely hummed back at you, hand still intertwined with yours. “hm?”
“what are you doing?!”
“getting you your painting.”
you stared at him in disbelief.
across the room, multiple people were openly whispering now, glancing between you because everyone could recognise what was exactly happening. this wasn’t ego - this was love.
obsessive, and terrifying love.
another bidder raised their paddle almost nervously, calling out a measly “five and a half” after a moment of hesitation.
“seven million.”
an audible murmur fluttered through the room just as you grabbed onto his arm with a large gasp, eyes widening as though he was batshit insane. “jungkook, stop!”
he finally looked at you, small smile playing on his lips at the sight of you so shocked. it was so cute the way you were practically toppling over your seat, a reminder that despite being with him, you had never really dabbled in his wealth whatsoever despite it all belonging to you.
a large shout of ‘sold’ was heard by all, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. his eyes admired you, from your lips to your eyes, your shaking hands that were both clinging to his thigh, your cleavage that had dipped even further than earlier. fuck. you were the epitome of everything he had ever wanted.
“you wanted it.” he whispered to you, as though that was all he needed, as though it was enough of a reason to spend seven million in one night with a flick of his wrist.
your eyes near enough watered at his words, knowing that nothing had ever described jungkook better.
—
things between you and jungkook had settled into something dangerous.
not enough to call yourselves fixed, or enough to place a label onto whatever fragile thing had formed between you, but enough that your days seemed lighter. having him back in your life meant you were happy again, and actually excited - finally feeling whole in ways that no one else quite understood.
he called more often now.
what started off as phone calls sometimes briefly between meetings, something about using your voice to destress before important gatherings. they quickly turned to late night facetimes where both of you laid in bed, half naked, chatting until either of you would fall asleep. some nights they turned into something darker, dirtier, with a slip of your night dress to show him more all whilst he’d grunt and hiss at the sight, whispering all of the things he wanted to do to you.
it was beginning to feel domestic, familiar even. so terrifyingly easy.
you realised pretty quickly that somewhere along the way, between late night conversations and soft laughs exchanged, you had began falling deeply in love again.
hard.
he had been away on business ever since the gala a few weeks ago, with him currently stationed in hong kong over some important stakeholder meetings. you knew he was incredibly stressed over it, given the frequency of his calls - always at odd times during the day and night, sometimes with the intention of just looking at your face as though it was the only motivator he needed.
the time difference was more irritating than you had expected, and yet he still managed to find a way to accommodate to your schedule as opposed to his.
your favourite so far had been a simple picture of the skyline view from his hotel, taken at three am with a caption of ‘wish you were here.’
you hated how much those four words affected you.
pathetic, really. how even now, you’d kick your feet in excitement over any message sent from your ex husband.
it had become routine now, to expect messages from him with each waking moment, calls when the workload was heavier. perhaps that was exactly why the silence that afternoon felt so particularly loud.
you were curled into your couch, opting to work from home as you were in his jumper and a pair of flimsy shorts. you hummed quietly as you balanced your laptop on your thighs, all whilst a random entertainment news channel played in the back to offer some noise in your otherwise quiet apartment.
your ears perked up once you heard jungkook’s name somewhere in the background.
your attention barely lifted at first, no doubt another gossip sesh on how attractive he was which often made you giggle, but this felt different.
“ceo jeon jungkook spotted in hong kong alongside mystery woman-“
your stomach dropped.
the laptop slipped from your thighs and onto the couch cushion, all whilst your head snapped towards the television, reaching for the remote to turn it up. the image splashed across the screen, all whilst you sat there, smaller than anything, watching.
jungkook.
beside him, an undeniably beautiful woman.
she was tall, elegant, dressed sharply in a suit practically created for her whilst cameras flashed at them harshly, exiting a building together. the headline underneath made your chest cave in further.
‘global heartthrob ceo finally moving on after the divorce?’
you stared. and stared, and stared, and stared, and stared, and stared until your knees had slowly slid to the ground, your back touching the couch whilst the entertainment show droned on and on about the details of your relationship with jungkook, about how smitten you had both seen at the gala, how they were the first to break this exclusive news.
your brain knew better. you knew jungkook like the back of your hand and logically, you fucking knew better. jungkook was so many things, but he had always placed you and your emotions first, your priorities, your necessities, your life - your wants and needs transcended everything else. you had never asked for it to be this way, it was just the way he was.
even during your separation, he had never looked at a woman twice. you knew that.
but logic had never been able to defeat insecurity.
all you could think, all you could see, based off of a single image was how she fit beside him. how effortless it looked, how beautiful she was, how successful. so poised and polished - she was everything a woman who stood beside jungkook ought to have been and it was killing you in real time.
the worst thing of all was the realisation that he didn’t belong to you.
all of this emotion, this horrible feeling inside your chest and soul - you were the one to divorce him. you had been the one that demanded it end back then, no matter how much he had begged you to see reason, believing that it was the correct step forward for the both of you. he had every right to move onto someone else, had every right to actually step forward towards something new.
and yet the thought of him belonging to someone else felt the closest to grief you had ever felt in your life.
your phone rang violently loud beside you, droning out the words of the presenter and making you jump slightly.
jungkook.
your eyes burned instantly.
the phone continued to ring and ring across the sofa cushion as you stared at his contact picture, a photo taken on your anniversary a few years ago that you could never bring yourself to change. your chest rose unevenly as another harsh wave of emotion hit you.
you couldn’t do this.
not after you had spent the past few months trying not to think about him, only for him to come back into your life.
the call rang out.
then another came. and another. and another.
your phone was blowing up with a mixture of calls and messages, each vibration making your heart ache so much worse as the topic changed on the tv, talking about some other celebrity gossip all whilst you felt your entire life collapse before your very eyes.
with shaking hands and teary orbs, you turned your phone off.
you burst into tears.
the rest of the day was spent being utterly miserable. you had never felt so pathetic in all of your life, with pain running up and down your veins in a way that genuinely left you almost debilitated. the last time you were this heartbroken, you were a fresh divorcee.
the curtains remained shut despite the afternoon sun outside, your apartment dim besides the soft flicker of the television that continued playing mindlessly in the background. at some point, you had dragged yourself towards your bed with tears still streaming down your face, his oversized jumper now heavy on your frame.
you hated this version of yourself.
hated how deeply this had affected you despite knowing better. you knew him better than this, had enough trust in him and yet you couldn’t barter with what was directly in front of you - months after rebuilding a sense of confidence all for it to shatter over one measly, gossip channel.
you closed your eyes, images of the beautiful woman stood beside him flooding your mind causing you to open them up again with a quiet whimper. so composed and effortless. untouched by the devastation eating you alive.
by morning, your chest was in genuine pain.
you looked awful too.
your eyes were swollen, red with the continuous tears all night whilst your skin felt sunken and dull, the early morning sun hitting your skin from glimpses through your blinds. you forced yourself out of your bed and into your shower, trying to rid the plaguing thoughts out of your body. you failed, spending the majority of it quietly crying.
by the time you were in the living room again, your nose was just as pink as your eyes, hands shaky and body adorned in an old t-shirt you had secretly stolen from his wardrobe back when you were packing to leave. you curled weakly into the couch, blanket curled onto your legs as you begged your body to rid the horrible stomach ache that had now found home inside you.
your phone remained switched off, somewhere under the blanket, still left there from yesterday. you reached for the remote.
you just wanted mindless noise.
instead, the television flickered to life and you found your breath catching harshly for the umpteenth time within 24 hours.
breaking news banners on every channel you came across.
jeon jungkook.
a whimper pulled up out of your throat at the sight of his images everywhere, your fingers tightening around the blanket before you turned the volume up.
“the ceo has officially filed legal proceedings against multiple media outlets this morning following yesterday’s false dating allegations-“
your heartbeat began thundering. you sat up immediately.
another clip appeared instantly, reporters practically tripping over one another in front of jungkook’s main company building, cameras flashing in hopes of getting a picture of anyone who could answer for anything.
“the statement released by jeon jungkook’s legal team less than half an hour ago reads as follows-“
the screen shifted, and suddenly, there it was. cold white text against a black background that had your breathing stopping completely.
“the allegations regarding ceo jeon jungkook are entirely false. the individual photographed was present for a scheduled business meeting attended by multiple executives and investors. legal action will be taken against all parties responsible for the deliberate spread of false information and invasion of privacy.”
your throat tightened harshly.
your eyebrows furrowed as you watched the presenter stop, looking at the camera momentarily, before her voice completely softened.
“as for the final portion of the statement, many online are expressing surprise regarding the unusually personal nature of his response as he personally commented-“
more text appeared.
you scanned it once. twice.
over and over and over until a harsh sob was ripped from your lips.
“i have never entertained nor pursued any romantic involvement with anyone.
there has only ever been one woman.”
a broken sound tore from your throat as your hand flew to your mouth, fresh tears spilling from eyes so fast that you couldn’t see the tv. your heart felt like it had been picked up from the ground, cradled and cherished after being pierced over and over all night, attacked without any reprise.
you couldn’t believe what you were reading.
jungkook, your jungkook? so private and reserved, not willing to give one inch of himself to anyone other than you and yet here he was, making himself as clear as possible. he was telling everyone with ears that you were his but more importantly, he belonged to you and you alone.
he despised media attention, it truly was the one thing he hated more than anything and the both of you would often laugh at rumours and random things stated in the tabloids because they were all bullshit.
and yet he has made a statement publicly.
for you.
your chest cracked at the thought as you covered your face with both hands, sobbing harder and harder.
before you could wallow further, a loud banging erupted from the front door.
the sound tore so violently through the apartment, you jumped - startled on the couch whilst your heart leapt to your throat. the slight fear had your tears stopping immediately, allowing for enough of a shock to regulate your mind for a few moments.
another knock came before you could even process it. louder, and louder, and louder.
“baby!”
your breath hitched painfully.
jungkook?
his voice sounded wrecked. not the calm, controlled man the world knew, nor the eerie ceo who often stood emotionless in front of the cameras whilst deals worth billions sat heavy on his shoulders. this was your jungkook - the one who loved you much too hard, half unravelled whenever the conversation pertained to you.
“open the door.” he shouted again, along another collective banging. his voice cracked slightly. “please..”
you stared into space for just a moment, your mind unable to comprehend what was happening before your legs carried you to the door, through the hallway. you slipped on your blanket slightly, already shaking body weaker than usual given the past twenty four hours, all whilst hot, heavy tears burned in your eyes once more.
another knock.
“baby, c’mon..”
the second your shaking hands unlocked the door, it swung open hard enough to hit the wall behind it, as though jungkook couldn’t believe you had actually heard him.
he looked utterly destroyed.
he stood, still in a suit that now sat disheveled on his frame, black tie loosened around his throat, white shirt wrinkled as though he had been in it for hours. his usually pushed back hair was messy, pulled at and tugged through large hands any time he had realised the depths of emotion you were no doubt feeling looking at the news - if the shoe was on the other foot, and jungkook had seen news of you and another man; he would’ve happily burnt the world to a crisp.
the second he saw you, his entire face fell apart, anger long dissipating.
“fuck.” he whispered, heaving out a breath.
his oversized shirt sat on your body, engulfing your smaller frame, swallowing you whole in a way that had his breath taken away. it was your eyes that broke him, however, as they looked so swollen, no doubt from crying so hard, your cheeks still damp and lips still quivering enough that he watched you bite down on them.
you watched his throat bob harshly, watched his eyes flicker over yourself frantically like he was trying to assess how badly you had been hurting without him here to comfort you. the thought terrified him.
that was all it took for a sob to rip out of your chest so painfully your knees almost buckled. your hands flew up to your face.
immediately, his arms shot out, cradling you almost harshly to him with one large arm completely covering you whilst his large hand pressed against the back of your head, holding you close to him as though this was the only remedy for a situation like this. his sweet girl. his sweet, sweet girl.
“i called you for nineteen fucking hours.” he said, eyes darting down at you desperately.
you couldn’t stop crying. “i know.”
“your phone was off.” his voice broke slightly, as though the situation had hurt him beyond words. “that scared me, y/n.” he admitted, chest heaving a little.
your crying only worsened immediately because of course it scared him - jeon jungkook, a man who’s entire identity was you and you alone. the prospect of losing you for the second time would surely be enough to kill him, and yet answering his calls felt like the last thing you could bring yourself to do.
“i tried not to think like that,” you choked out through hiccups. “i know you wouldn’t, logically i know but just kept seeing the pictures of you beside her and..”
your chest was heaving.
“stop talking about her.”
the words came out sharp, almost harsh.
his hand slipped to cup your face, holding your jaw in place whilst his arm slipped down, cupping your body to him so you could rest, his own strength supporting you up. his eyes were wild.
“don’t,” he repeated quieter, chest rising and falling. “don’t..stand here and..fuck, don’t compare yourself to someone else for even a second over some shitty tabloid.”
you couldn’t stop crying. it was as though that was all you could do.
“jungkook..”
“no.” he cut in immediately, voice cracking at the edges. “you don’t get it.”
he stood before you, a cocktail mix of utter despair and devotion, all whilst anger and fear simmered on the surface, every emotion open on his face to the point he almost felt unrecognisable. you knew he loved you, could see it painted on his features for the world to see but you weren’t sure when his feelings for you had become his very destruction. it scared you.
his hand shook around your face.
“you think i flew half a day because of a fucking dating rumour?” his eyes glazed over. “i don’t give a fuck about the tabloids, baby, you know that. i was scared because i know what this would do to you. i know your brain.”
your breath hitched.
“i know you.” he repeated, hands continuing to shake against you. “know how your mind gets. i know you’d sit here and cry over this shit when you know i would never touch another woman.”
another harsh sob clawed up your throat, and jungkook heaved at the sight as though it was the worst sound he had ever heard.
“look at me.” he pleaded suddenly.
his hands dropping from your body as he suddenly dropped to his knees - a man of his stature rendered completely broken by the woman he loved. the amount of people who looked up to him, feared him; the amount of people he dictated on a daily basis and yet here he was, on his knees for you. only you.
“there has never been anyone else.” his voice cracked completely. “not before you, not after you. not after this, no matter what happens, you hear me? it’s you, and it’s always going to be just you.”
your own knees were begging to give out, as you leaned against him, only for him to rest his face against your stomach, breathing you in like a man desperate for your understanding. he wanted you to see, needed you to comprehend the situation at hand. there was no him without you, the concept didn’t exist.
“you’re the only woman i’ve ever loved and there is nothing after you, y/n, because you’re my wife. divorce or not, i don’t give a fuck, i belong to you forever whether you want me or not and i won’t..i can’t have you thinking otherwise.”
your entire body gave in at the admission as you collapsed into him with another heart breaking sob, jungkook holding you like a man terrified he had said too much and truly not enough. for the first time since the divorce, neither of you tried to pretend this wasn’t exactly what it was.
—
the rest of the evening softened after that.
somewhere between the tears and the endless kisses planted to your cheeks, nose, head, hands and stomach came an ease to the panic that had long settled into your bones for the past few months. he refused to let you go, grunting almost childishly whenever you’d move out of his arms to do anything until you found yourself snuggled back into his arms, as though the thought of distance after such a clear cut declaration of love physically pained him.
he looked exhausted now that the adrenaline of the situation had worn off, his under eyes sunken from the exhaustion that had now settled deep into his body. to think he had flown all the way across the world simply because of the thought of you crying all alone over a situation that was so completely false upset him - it made you want to sob all over again.
how could you have ever let him go? how could you proceed forward without him, without him so deeply intertwined in your life once more?
eventually you found an old pair of black shorts mixed in with your clothes from when you had packed your things all those months ago. jungkook had stared at them for a few moments after his shower, towel low on his hips as water droplets slipped down his chest. it had his heart pounding faster than anything yet.
“you kept these?” he murmured down at you, watching the way your eyes flickered up from his physique, small gasp leaving your lips at being caught. “oh! um..must’ve slipped them in by accident.”
he didn’t comment on the fact you were wearing his t-shirt either, despite it hardening his cock.
still, he pulled them on as you settled into bed, your hair still scented from your earlier shower too. you, in his too big top, whilst he grabbed you immediately, shirtless and hands still desperate to hold you in a way he had held back on for so long.
you hummed as your body pressed against his, his figure snaking around your body as a heavy arm curled under your ass as a means to prop you up higher in his arms, causing you to giggle into his neck. your arms wrapped around him too, humming a little under your breath as he breathed in your scent openly.
you both laid there in silence for a long while, breathing. healing.
the room was dark now, with the city lights from afar shining through the slips of your blinds, illuminating slivers of his bare chest beside where your hands sat. you could feel his heartbeat, the way it calmed your already heightened senses as though your body recognised it was finally home.
“missed this.” you whispered into his ear, only snuggling closer to him.
jungkook’s grip, once on your waist, slid down to your ass once more. this time, his palm sat on your ass cheek, fingers digging into your skin whilst breathing you in.
“don’t say shit like that to me when i’m hard.” he grunted, a small smile forming across your lips. you hadn’t even done anything, not that you needed to to get jungkook bothered.
when you pulled him from your neck, his eyes were already glazed over, both of you taking a second to simply stare at one another in the exact way you had wanted for so long. his mouth parted, as his hooded eyes took you in, holding you closer, tighter.
within seconds, his lips touched yours.
slowly, at first, as though he was trying to relearn you after years of you being his. he savoured every moment of your lips against his, especially once you started to kiss him back, both of you uncertain in the beginning but once your hands began to find home in his hair, it was then that jungkook’s touch began to grow in confidence.
he kissed like a man starved, one hand buried in your hair too whilst the other continued to grip your ass possessively, as though physically feeling you was enough to have his mind go into overdrive. every small sound you made went straight to his cock as he swallowed your little sighs and whimpers, only pushing him to kiss you deeper and deeper and deeper.
he was growing desperate, pushing you down against the bed, half hovering over you as he rested on one arm, hand cupping at your thighs, your stomach, your knee. anything he could get his hands on all whilst his tongue explored your mouth as though he had every right.
perhaps he did because despite everything, the divorce and distance, the heartbreak - he still reacted to you like you were the only thing capable of fucking him up.
his lips eventually drifted from your mouth, pressing against your chin, your jaw and finally your neck. oh, this sweet, pretty little neck, he had dreams of marking it up and down every other night and the fact he had you in his arms now, in a bed far too small for the things he so desperately wanted to do to you was everything and more.
jungkook moved, properly hovering over you now just as you moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist, pushing your top down your thighs and revealing your lace panties you had conveniently put on. just in case, of course.
he pulled away, a string of saliva connecting both of your mouths as you watched it break apart the further he pulled his head back. just staring at you hurt, with the way your cheeks had flushed and your hair was spread all across the pillow, and your thighs. fuck. the sight of what was between them had him openly groaning down at you.
“need you to tell me to stop baby, or i won’t be able to hold back.” he hissed down at you, feeling your legs tighten around him before he could finish his sentence.
your hands moved to the waistband of his shorts, eyes never leaving his as you tugged on it just slightly. jungkook, who’s two hands were on either side of your head, blinked down at you half in awe and other agony, the prospect of you teasing him in a moment like this his literal worst nightmare. you always knew how to make him impatient, said it was the best version of him.
he watched with bated breath as you grabbed one of his arms until his hand was in your own, slowly pushing it under your top to rest on your stomach. it felt heavy on your frame, large palm heating your already hot skin before you pulled him down, other arm wrapping around his neck.
“wanna feel you here, kookie.” you whispered into his ear.
jungkook nearly took you then and there.
his jaw flexed, a heavy leaving his lips as he chased your lips, planting another kiss. “yeah? want kookie deep inside?”
“mhm.” you hummed against him, placing your hand over his on your stomach.
“but haven’t taken me for so long, baby. might be too much.”
you closed your eyes at that - the way he cooed down at you despite telling you how easily he could ruin you, break you. it all felt like too much and yet the empty ache inside of you reminded you it wasn’t enough, causing you to merely nod.
“i don’t care. want it.”
the pout on your lips. fuck. jungkook thanked the gods he was a better man, more patient, especially knowing you were doing this on purpose.
“always used to struggle to take me, hm? fucked you open every night and you’d still cry.”
jungkook reached forward, lips on your neck once more but this time, his hips began chasing yours, grinding down almost harshly, causing you to feel every inch, every vein against the flimsy material you called panties. it was heavenly
your hands grabbed him by his biceps, smaller hands unable to wrap around the circumference of his skin. how could you forget your nights of passion? he would spend hours between your legs, so mean, orgasm after orgasm and he still wouldn’t feel satisfied, an insatiable man to his core. even on nights you’d argue, it would somehow end in you fucking which meant the last eight months had been utter hell.
your poor fingers couldn’t reach far enough and nothing brought you to an orgasm unless you thought of him, imagining it was own digits instead of your own.
silly you - if only you realised how similar you and jungkook were. he couldn’t get off unless he was on your instagram, staring at your pretty eyes and lips as he tugged on his cock with all of his energy, round after round after round only to be constantly dissatisfied. having you below him, so ready to be his again? it fucked with his head.
“you'll make it fit.” you whispered.
within mere moments, neither of you could wait. his shorts, alongside the large tshirt that originally belonged to him were on the floor, leaving you in your lacy panties alone. his boxers strained against his hardened length which oozed precum at the mere sight of you, hips bucking a little as you watched him groan out loud at the wet patch forming against the flimsy material.
“my pretty pussy.” he whispered, just as he parted your legs. his fingers pushed your panties to the side, almost hissing from how damp they were, knowing you must have been needy for a while. “missed her. you’ve been holding out on me, baby.”
your eyelashes fluttered up at him at the first touch of his fingers running up and down your slit. you let out an airy moan, barely audible, your body immediately easing back into the covers now that you could finally feel him on you.
he suckled on your neck whilst he circled your clit, knowing your body better than anyone. you were both so in tune with each other’s wants and needs that an eight month break between you both meant nothing when he bit against the sweet spot on your neck all whilst applying more pressure.
you squeaked, nails digging into his biceps at the harshness of his fingers.
“fuck, you’re so needy.” he grunted, pulling away from your neck after leaving a hefty purple bruise. “not been touching your pussy the way it needs.”
“doesn’t feel..” you moaned louder. “doesn’t feel good if you don’t do it.”
his eyes almost rolled back at that. “yeah? need kookie to be the one to touch you?”
“mhm.”
at that, he pulled his hand away only resulting in a loud whine from you. so cruel, to have been given a taste, only to have it pulled away from you.
your positions, however, suddenly changed as jungkook realised the space on the bed was much smaller compared to the bed you had once shared. he rested his back on your wooden bed frame before grabbing you properly, resting you in his lap against his too hard cock, spreading your legs wide.
your back was against his chest, all whilst he caged you in, his fingers returning to your cunt immediately.
this new position had you so much more exposed, as he pushed your thighs apart, index finger circling your hole before slowly pushing inside. your eyebrows furrowed, watching him with a shake to your breath as he took his time, knowing a single one of his was the equivalent of two or three of your own - a though that had him wanting to fuck into you already.
the loud moan that left your lips once he fully inserted it was enough to have him kissing at your temple, cooing.
“like that?”
“feels big.” you whispered back with a shake, feeling him pump in and out.
at that, jungkook thought he was ready to fucking cum. even your pussy was as sweet as you were - too big? one finger and you were already fucked out, but he knew he had to stretch you to accommodate him, a thought that brought a nasty little smirk on his face.
“gotta fuck you open, baby. always so tight.” he continued to coo at you, all as you looked up at him, his finger being joined with another.
soon enough, he was roughly fingering you, all whilst you both maintained eye contact, often breaking it just to share a kiss as though neither of you could get closer to the other. the feeling of him inside you, just like you had become used to for so many years after months apart was the definition of pleasure, your eyes hooded with each pump.
“feels s’good.” you slurred slightly, chest heaving.
he watched your breasts, your bed squeaking with each passing movement and he fucking loved it. loved having your eyes on him, loved having your tits bounced everytime he’d fuck you open a little harder, your sweet moans filling the space.
you could feel how hard he was, but everytime you tried to turn to pleasure him too, he’d merely hold you tighter, as though your orgasm was the only objective on his mind. he wanted to eat you out, fuck - the thought had him all but growling at you but he knew he’d never last, promising himself he’d save that for later tonight.
“wish you knew how many times i’ve dreamt about this.” he grunted down at you, as he watched your thighs try to close from the onslaught of pleasure, only for him to widen them immediately. “i’m constantly fisting my cock thinking about you. at work, at home, in the fucking car.”
“what do you think about?” you pressed desperately, needing to hear it.
jungkook bared his teeth at you slightly, all whilst his pace quickened. “think about breeding you, pumping you full of cum till you’re begging me to stop. every morning, every night until you’re pregnant with our baby. you’d like that, hm?”
you could have sobbed. like was an understatement, your legs widening with each passing word as you nodded almost desperately at him, looking up and above where his head tilted down to watch you.
your eyes then fluttered shut at the image of him touching himself, almost shuddering out of relief at the thought of him so infatuated that he had to cum just to get you off of his mind. especially at work - the whole reason of your divorce being his dedication to his occupation and now knowing you had your affect on him there too? it was euphoric.
“think about you all the time.” you whimpered back at him, pout so cute he wanted to scream. “tried..fuck..tried to touch myself after the gala..but wasn’t enough.”
he watched as you shook your head up at him, one of your hands on his wrist as the same hand pumped faster inside of you at the admission. he cursed under his breath, letting out a deep exhale.
“should’ve told me. fuck, y/n. would’ve ruined you then, baby, you know that right?” he nuzzled into your cheek. “would’ve let you use me as much as you want.”
it was your turn to whimper under your breath, as your eyes shut tight at the familiar feeling in your stomach starting to creep up. it was shocking, how slowly it managed to creep on you, and yet you could feel every inch of its intensity, the first in a long time where you know you’d feel satisfied.
jungkook could feel you clenching, your too tight hole sucking him in desperately as a bid to have him go meaner on you, to which he was more than happy to oblige with. he grabbed your chin with his other hand, forcing your head back so you’d open your eyes again. he wanted to watch.
“eyes on me, pretty girl.”
you weren’t sure if it was the sweet way he cooed at you, or the brutal pace he was now forcing you to take but your orgasm hit you like a freight train. you let out a loud squeak as electricity fluttered through from your head to your toes, your hips rising whilst he continued to finger you through your high, hissing at how sexy you looked maintaining eye contact.
his pace didn’t lessen, devoted to longing out every hit of pleasure for as long as possible, your legs shaking as you pawed at his wrist, but he refused to stop. your body began falling into overstimulation, whining loudly as your weakened hands grabbed onto his, feeling him finally slow whilst he remained two fingers deep, pushed inside of you all the way to his knuckles.
he curled them one last time, causing a shaky breath to leave you before slowly removing them inch by inch.
the emptiness inside of you was horrible, a reminder of what else you wanted and how badly. your big eyes met his, only to watch him take his fingers press them against your pouted lips until they parted, your tongue wrapping around. you tasted yourself, a sweet sigh leaving his lips at the sight of you sucking so eagerly, his cock jolting harshly in his boxers.
“still don’t think you can take me right now.” he whispered down at you, other hand moved so it was openly cupping your pussy as a whole, palm brushing against your hypersensitive clit.
you jolted which each passing touch, breathing shaky before you took his fingers out of your mouth, saliva coating them where your slick once was.
“don’t care, kookie. i want it anyway.” you grumbled slightly, and he swore he had never loved you more.
it was your turn to move as you pulled away from his grasp, giggling a little to yourself at the look on his face once you put space between you, only to turn around, so you were laying on your stomach. he remained in his position, legs on either side of you allowing you to press your hand against his massive bulge.
oh, how you’d missed his cock.
you were as impatient as ever as you pulled his boxers down enough so that his fat cock could finally spring free, watching the way it tilted upwards at first, but its weight forced it down lower and lower until it was resting almost gently on your face.
he wanted to take a picture. wanted to make it his screen saver, your contact picture in his phone - he wanted it in his fucking wallet. his girl, eyes all hooded after being bratty for his cock? you were a minx and you didn’t even know it.
“don’t have a condom.” he found himself whispering at you, just as you began to pump him.
you tilted your head at him, hand unable to wrap around his length as you slowly teased his slit, fingers brushing against it just to him shudder. you watched his face, watched his very composure crumble before your very eyes all whilst he muttered something about a condom? your mind was barely working, still sensitive from the way he had made you cum and the horniness still in your stomach.
“why would i want you to wear a condom?” you whispered up at him, as though it was a little secret between you.
you watched his eyes darken in real time, narrowing down at you as both of his large hands grabbed the back of your head. you giggled, resting your cheek on his thigh whilst you continued to pump his cock, focusing on the tip just the way he liked it. the heaviness in your hand was what you missed the most, causing you to leave a little kiss to it on the mushroom tip, your fluttering eyes only driving him more and more insane.
he wouldn’t last like this. not with you staring up at him like that.
and so, he pulled your hair. you whimpered, pussy clenching as he pulled you up by your locks, your large eyes completely taken over by how rough he was being with you, no doubt being fuelled by the heightened emotions of the past two days. this was your favourite jungkook, secretly of course.
within seconds, you were on your back once more, all whilst he grabbed your hips and yanked you close to him. he dropped down to give you a kiss on your lips, savouring the taste and feel of you before beginning to rub his cock up and down your tight hole.
“my girl.” he whispered against your mouth. “no going back after this.”
your eyes clenched shut at the feeling of him teasing you, pushing the tip against your hole only to pull back the second it began inserting, rubbing it up and down and over your clit once more. he was a tease through and through, but you were too needy to see reason.
“don’t wanna go back, want it all.” you simply whimpered back.
your words were enough to finally have him pushing inside of you.
first, the tip. your face contorted to the familiar feel of his cock slowly inserting inside of you, your breath catching slightly at the sheer size of him - you struggled to take him even when your sex life was incredibly active, so you knew now that you hadn’t been touched for eight months, this was going to be hard.
you watched his face harden, all whilst your eyes slipped downwards to see him pushing further in, inch by inch, until your fingernails were puncturing the skin of his outer arms. he watched your face instead, willing himself not to cum at the way your jaw grew slack, big eyes only widening further at the too large cock settling in inside of you.
it was too much, too big, too at once. you couldn’t think, could barely see and yet you couldn’t pull yourself away from watching him bottom out even if you wanted to, a slight bulge evident where he sat deep inside of you. his large hand took a hold of yours and kissed it before pressing it against the bulge, only to rest his own right on top. applying pressure, he hissed at the way you let out a loud whimper, your cute thighs trembling around him.
“feel that?” he whispered down at you, nuzzling your nose to force you to look at him. “thats where i fucking belong. this pussy stretches so good for me every time.”
your lip was already trembling, a sight that had his cock throbbing deep inside of you as you clenched down on him hard. his cry baby - he loved seeing you teary during sex.
you were still adjusting as he began to move, causing you to squeal, but jungkook couldn’t wait anymore, not when he’d been dealt with blue balls for close to a year. you were the only option, pledging to live a life of fucking celibacy if you’d have chosen to never let him inbetween your legs again though the thought killed him inside. live a life without a taste of your sweet pussy? he’d sooner die.
“jungkook!” you slapped the tops of his biceps, as he continued his thrusting inside of you, nipping at your jaw, feeling his smirk against your skin.
the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you was intense, something you had been craving for so long now and yet now it was happening, you wanted more, and more and more and more and more. he loved this shy game you’d always play, always pretending like you couldn’t take it despite the fact your legs were widening further and you were moaning like a bitch in heat - it turned him on beyond words to know underneath the sweet persona, you were the filthiest slut he had ever known.
his pace was deep, mean but slow and it wasn’t enough, purposefully done to tease you for as long as he could, to ensure you’d stay needy. it was clearly working with the way your moans, whines and gasps filled the air only to be followed with a long drawl of his name, face scrunched up so cute he wanted to fucking scream.
“c’mon, baby, you’re so good to me.” he cooed, continuing his slow thrusts. “just gotta ask if you want something.”
your eyes scrunched shut, whimpering at his words knowing he wanted you in ways that you had reminisced on for months, the feeling of him kissing the gummy part of your cunt something you had missed so much.
“want it properly, kookie.” you begged him, though you couldn’t meet his gaze, eyes flickering down to his neck as he continued his pace. “yeah? tell kookie how you want it.”
your fingers clung to his shoulders as he came down, arms now pressed on either side of your head as he nuzzled your nose with his own, actions too sweet given the sinful position he had you in.
your breathing was ragged, the feel of him inside you too much for your poor little mind to handle without breaking and yet it wasn’t nearly enough. you craved something harsher, meaner, more jungkook. neither of you had ever been ones for soft sex, always preferring it as needy as possible which only heightened considering the fact you were both so utterly obsessive when it came to the other.
you whined loudly as his actions came to a stop completely, now grinding against you whilst still being inside.
“just want you to fuck me properly.” you whimpered, lip quivering so much faster, hips lifting to meet his as a means to relieve yourself.
god. you were killing him.
“good girl.”
jungkook planted a single kiss to your lips, oddly sweet before pulling back, planting two more to your forehead and nose. you were ready to whine once more until you felt his hips pull back, only to thrust into you harshly.
you squealed as jungkook began his pace exactly how you craved it, exactly how you used to picture with your own fingers in your cunt, desperately trying and failing to replicate the feel. hard. fast. mean. rough.
your neighbours would no doubt complain tomorrow with the way your bed frame began pounding into the wall, his head pressed against yours as his thrusts began kissing your cervix. your legs shook around him, much to his enjoyment, all whilst he forced you to maintain eye contact, wanting so badly to see the affect he was having on you after he had been deprived of you for so long.
“fuck..there she is. that’s my girl.” he hissed down at you, not holding back, the sound of skin slapping against skin heavy in the room. “you don’t know how badly i missed you.”
“m-missed..ugh! missed you..too..” you managed to string together, salted tears now escaping your eyes as they streamed on either side of the pillow.
“pretty girl like you needs to be fucked mean. no good to be nice to you, huh?” he growled down at you, only causing your lip to quiver that much faster as you nodded. “can’t think unless it’s me bullying your pussy into an orgasm.”
your nods were paired with soft sobs as he pounded, ruining your soppy core just like you had wanted. you had dreamt of this, dreamt of him, genuinely believing you’d never reach this state of pleasure ever again in your life and yet here he was, coaxing it out of you to remind you that he’d never leave you again.
his thrusts were sloppier than usual, no doubt due to the extensive length between your last fuck but it only had you moaning and crying louder. the thought of the usually composed jeon jungkook a whining mess for you and you alone had you clamping down hard on his cock.
“can’t believe i let you leave me.” he grunted hard at the feel of you getting so tight, gritting his teeth as he pounded you further. “never again. you fucking hear me, y/n? you’re my wife forever.”
“promise?” you sobbed back, arms now wrapping around his neck as you tried to bring him impossibly closer, as though you could in any capacity.
he nipped at your bottom lip, moaning into your mouth at the way you all but begged him to make it a reality.
“gonna take you to the courthouse tomorrow, get you a nice dress and we do..fuck..we do this again, understand?” he closed his eyes the more you whined and whined. “gonna let me put that ring back on your fucking finger, baby?”
you nodded wildly, just as you felt your orgasm build up in your stomach again, whining loudly up at him in a way he recognised immediately. fuck, he had missed this so much - his angel girl, all needy, begging for it even though she could barely take it. he could feel his own coming on fast, causing him to pull his hand down and rub at your clit, hissing at the feeling of you clamping down on his cock harshly.
“c’mon baby. want you to cum on your husband’s cock, hm? gonna get you nice and round like you deserve.” his thrusts only got meaner. “move you back in. fuck this pussy every single day, just like you need.”
your high rushed through you at the exact point his did, your legs wrapping around his waist as a means to keep him inside. you could feel it all through your body, the way it seized up and bucked into him all whilst he continued his thrusts, fucking you through both of your orgasms.
your vision started growing dark, the intensity of it overwhelming as he rode out your highs whilst whispering soft i love you’s in your ear, cradling you to his chest, holding you closer than you’d ever felt him before.
everything after that completely blurred together.
you remembered jungkook taking care of you, tenderness laced into his very being as he held you like you were akin to a porcelain doll - sweet, so soft, so delicate. somewhere between the damp kisses pressed to your skin underneath the bubbling bath he had drawn for you both, to the continuous declarations of love muttered down at you; you realised that this was inevitable. he was inevitable.
there didn’t exist a reality where you both could live without one another - you knew that now.
even after the heartbreak, the divorce, the loneliness and the debilitating grief, you still found yourself exactly where you belonged. your cheek pressed against his chest, his heartbeat soothing you into a dreamlike state which paled in comparison to the reality that was now yours. his love had you wrapped so tightly you knew you’d never live without it again.
you were finally home.
—
this beast of a fic is finally done yay!!! i hope you guys love ex husband jungkook just as much as i do!
tried to make him less yandere in this one and more pathetic yearner lol but i may have slipped here and there 💔
i’d love to hear your thoughts on this - love hearing you guys after a fic drops so i’m excited to see what you all think!!!!
if you wanna help support me pay my disgusting, awful, horrific london rent, my kofi is linked <3
themes: idol!jungkook/idol!Y/N; toxic idol industry; childhood friends to whatever the hell this is lol; "we grew up together so why is this suddenly weird" energy; a lot of competition and jealousy; blurred friendship/romantic boundaries; growing up famous; "everyone loves you so why do I feel like I'm losing"
series warnings: mdni!; 2016-2018 jungkook :); explicit content; toxic relationship dynamics; m*nors in high-pressure settings; panic attacks/anxiety; substantial s*bstance ab*se; voyeurism; m*sturbation; consent-adjacent dynamics; first time
word count: ~14k(chapter total)/~50k (series total)
a/n: not sure about this one, curious to see what you guys think. i just really wanted to relive 2016-18 jungkook. ALSO, no taglist, but thank you forever for supporting this hobby!
Lately, he’s been so uneasy. Easy to unsettle. Constantly on edge and wandering off into impossible what-if situations. It feels like a chronic condition. He should see the company doctor.
Instead, he goes to see a friend, as he always does.
And that word lingers, as it always does.
Fame has made things awfully confusing for him, and, lately, it’s only gotten worse. Take friend, for example. He’s not sure what to make of it. The people he calls friend he could sooner call family, and his own real family feels like an odd bunch of long-distance friends.
But Y/N, she’s something all the way in the middle.
They grew up together. She was 13 when he debuted but eons smarter and light years ahead in talent. He knew he could, and would, catch up to light years, but eons were unattainable. She always had the upper hand and the prestige. He felt like dollar store candy compared to her - palatable but not as transient and alluring.
That feeling of watching eyes shift from him to her, always, bred a sense of competition that strained any familial pull they could have felt.
But then, there was the time he broke his ankle during training. He was 14, she was 12. She somehow convinced her managers to let her stay in the hospital while they put the cast on him. Stayed by his bedside while he cried because he thought he had messed everything up. A stoic presence, but that was warmth he couldn’t forget.
Then, there was the time when she got so sick that he had to wake up Yoongi to take her to the ER without anyone noticing. She insisted - if they found out how sick she was, they wouldn’t let her perform at the award show the next day.
He stayed in her dorm, changed the cold towels on her head to bring her fever down, and force fed her medication when she refused to take it. He was days away from debuting then, and he remembered thinking about how much trouble he’d be in if anyone knew where he was.
Then, shortly after he debuted, once they realized that they had made it big in the States before they really ever got to break ground in Korea, she tagged along with them for their LA stay.
While the group filmed humiliation rituals framed as promotional content, Y/N was paraded around to the studios in the area, collaborated on projects and wrote some ten-twenty songs that eventually got sold off to the biggest names in the industry and landed on the Billboard charts. She danced with the most impressive choreographers while he filmed nine back to back lives feigning to adult fans for their well earned paychecks. They were building her reputation, and they were milking his before he even got to build one.
But, at the end of each day, with these envies pushed aside, they would find each other. They’d huddle up in his hotel room and bother whichever member he was sharing it with that day - usually Taehyung and Jimin, but Yoongi tended to stop by, too. Everyone liked spending time with Y/N. A small pride of his was that Y/N preferred to spend time with him over everyone else. She told him as much. At least one day out of the week, they’d sneak an Uber to Chinatown and eat something they technically weren’t allowed to eat, then get back to the house they had rented out for the team to stay in, and hit the treadmills in the basement until they were about ready to throw up.
Then, sweaty on the tile floors, they would lie and cool their skin and talk for hours about all of this - there were no unspokens between them. He told her that he was jealous of the people she got to work with, and the things she got to achieve. She said she wanted nothing more than to sing and dance like a monkey and not give a second thought to anything.
“It feels like they’re forcing a genius out of me. It’s not really there, but they’re digging because it would be nice if it were there.”
She was a marketable, multi-national ploy for the company with a god given talent for words and sounds. Even as she complained, she sounded ethereal.
Jungkook knew that a part of it was intended to insult him because she harbored some hatred for his ways, too. Wanted him to snap out of it and stand up for himself. But those inspirational aspirations - of a revolt against the company - were better served with Yoongi and Taehyung, who felt a similar extraction of a genius out of them that they weren’t ready to give.
“You don’t like it when I hang out with Yoongi-hyung.” She said one day in the middle of a particularly challenging treadmill run. He choked on a wad of rice noodles that had congealed and threatened to fight their way back up his throat.
“What..” He gasped, wiping the sweat from his forehead, “What - why would I-?”
“You glare.” She choked out, brushing the back of her hand against her sweat-slicked bangs. “And you sulk.”
Jungkook stopped the treadmill. She kept running.
“I don’t know, I think he’s a little too old to be that infatuated with whatever you’re telling him.”
She stopped the treadmill. He slowly laid back on the floor.
She walked over to him, towel tapping over her decollete and the back of her neck - a wash of bare skin.
When she crouched next to him, he could smell her for the first time in a way that he had never smelled her. A sweet, tangy, sour hit of sweat coupled with the remnants of a sandalwood wash.
Her big eyes staring down at him, dancing but focused.
He gulped at the feeling that stirred in him at that moment. It made him feel sick and sleepy. He wanted to go to bed and paint a picture of her against his eyelids and hold on to it for the rest of the night and maybe never speak to her again.
That was the first time that he had felt such a convulsion. He didn’t feel like that again for a long time. When they got back to Korea, Jungkook was a famous 17 year old and Y/N was 15 and getting ready to officially debut. Their schedules kept them far enough apart that he didn’t need to sit with that feeling.
There was no time to corrupt the few moments they got together in a given week. His body and his mind willed his hormones to dull so that he could laugh, joke, and smile with his friend in between the bouts of the insane schedule he was on. They hadn’t quite made it as big in Korea as they did in the States, but there was massive momentum and the company wanted the group to optimize the popularity in America all the while building off of the energy that they had in Korea. It meant traveling between both countries until he felt the blood run dry in his body, and doing a concert during the day and a music show at night, and a million and one variety show appearances, where he had to be fun and charming and human but not too human.
Y/N debuted with immediate success. Her foreign look was appreciated in Korea, and she had already staked out a place in people’s hearts in the American industry. She got late night tv show slots with backup dancers and magazine covers in almost every single major Asian publication. She got three designer sponsorships within three months of debut and made the company 13 million dollars. Unheard of. The problem was that they sunk 5 million into her image, training, and her debut. One of the most expensive solo investments they had made - they were determined to get their money’s worth. She had her first comeback a month after her debut activities ended. Second comeback came after two months of the last one. The wheel kept turning like that, and Y/N, effectively, never got a single day off.
She was determined to make back the debt she had accrued because she was convinced that that would break the chains. She needed to break the chains more than she needed anything else.
He had caught her in a practice room one night after three months of not catching a glimpse of her.
She was dressed like a celebrity - baggy, layered clothes and a baseball cap and an unnecessary pair of sunglasses.
She startled in front of the mirror when he walked in - the lights were dimmed and he didn’t realize anyone was in there. When he saw her, he didn’t immediately recognize her either. Just had the instinct to bow his head and back out, but when she lifted her head, he caught the shadow of her profile and entered instead, closing the door behind him.
“Sorry,” she said, peeling the hoodie off of her face and throwing the cap to the ground. “The door doesn’t lock and some of the young trainees freak out when they see me.”
Jungkook scoffed, walked over and shut the music off, which was playing dimly enough for her to hear the sound of her own feet. That’s what helped her keep count.
“Must be tough.” he teased, dropping his body down to stretch out his back, his fingers easily finding his toes.
“It actually is. Does it not happen to you?”
He shrugged, dropping his hands to his knees and twisting his torso, feeling his back muscles expand.
“I’m used to it, I guess. It’s always hard to deal with the girl trainees - even when you’re not that famous.”
“You’re plenty famous.”
He stood tall again and appreciated for a second the change between them. He was 18, she was 16. He had started to grow taller than her. He always claimed to have an inch above her head, but secretly, he knew that she was leading the charge, but the puberty clocks had turned and he had sprouted while she remained a gracious, tiny size. Almost a head shorter than him now. She was all so different.
She had begun to grow into her body - she developed more muscle and moved with more intention, and his brain sometimes drifted off to think about how it really was underneath all of those stuffy layers.
As if reading his mind, she ditched the hoodie off of her body entirely, revealing a cropped black tank underneath, slightly tinged with her sweat.
“That’s a relief.” She signed out, and followed his earlier movements into a stretch. “My back is killing me.”
Jungkook dropped the arm that he was stretching across his chest and walked up to her. She immediately turned around and pointed, strainedly, to her right shoulder blade.
“Feels like knives when I try to lift my arm over my head.” She complained as his hands began to find their place. He rested one on hand her shoulder to keep her still - she tended to squirm.
The other sprawled over her shoulder blade, and his thumb dipped into the crevice towards her spine, pressing tight on the flesh to spot the knot that had been bothering her.
Right in the center of the bone, he felt the harsh mound of flesh and she affirmed with a short whine and a deep arch of her back, trying to get away from him.
He held her steady, felt her hip hit his and he tried to keep the clouds from fogging his brain.
He pressed and moved his thumb around until she really began to whine and actually tried to get away from him.
“Ah, Jungkook - enough.”
“Stay still.” he chastised while continuing to press into the spot. She moaned again and there it was -
The feeling, the hunger, the smell. It hit him again, but this time, she smelled older, sweeter. There was a heavier, peppery perfume tinting over her natural aroma, and it felt like a shot of alcohol.
“Don’t make those sounds.” He stated, a little too curtly. Her jaw tilted towards him.
“What - mgmh - what sounds?” She asked, and her lips parted just as soon to emit some melodic hum, but this one felt intentional. The hum curved at the end, sounded needy.
“Ok, you’re fine.” He said, quickly retreating from her body as he began to feel an urgency in his hands. They didn’t want to stay on her shoulder blade - they wanted to take a walk through every inch and corner….
“It felt good,” she said with a tinge of regret. He gulped a little too audibly.
They stared at each other.
“It’s been tough, huh?” He asked because he wasn’t sure what else he could do.
She thought about it before nodding.
“Do you think it’s been tougher for me? Than it was for all of you?”
He thought about it.
“I don’t know.” He shook his head, staring at his feet. “I don’t think so. I think it’s easier. Everyone loves you.”
She was silent as she watched his face. There was a sense of betrayal written on hers.
“I thought you’d understand, at least. Everyone loves you, too. Doesn’t it feel humiliating?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to -”
“I’m not mad. I just thought about it that way, too. That everyone loves you. And that it must be easy.”
“I never thought you had it easy. I just don’t think you have it harder. I think it’s harder to fail. More painful.”
She listened.
“Two comebacks in, Y/N, not a single one of them made less than the projections. You made everyone so happy. Your team got bonuses.”
She didn’t talk, so he continued.
“Last comeback, the concept. We asked them to change it a million times. Instead, they blew 3 million dollars into making us look like jokes, and we made nothing close to that. I had two staff get fired. I feel sick, Y/N. I feel scared all the time.”
“What about the next one - the one you’re training for?”
Jungkook rolled his eyes. He felt a little lighter.
“What are you talking about, Y/N?”
Her eyes shone a little - something was wrong.
“The demos. I- I was supposed to be on break. Three months, but they said you’d have a comeback and -”
He scoffed and plopped down on the studio floor, slowly leaning back to stare at the ceiling.
“Well, they lied to you. Didn’t think they’d stoop that low, but they’re just going to sell those songs to someone in LA again, Y/N. Your music doesn’t stay in Seoul much.”
She sat down next to him, throwing her legs out and stretching her torso over them, fingers struggling to perfectly reach her toes - a cm behind.
He sat up slightly onto his elbows to reach to give her back a shove.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Whenever you do a project here, it’s usually not something you produce.” He realized he had begun to rub his hand in a circle onto her back. He slowly peeled his hand back and she stood up, staring down her shoulder and straight into his soul.
“I’m going to make sure they can’t sell this one to LA. This one should stay.”
And stay it did. He never figured out what she did, what she threatened, if she held a gun to her head or a knife to her wrist - but in three months, the project was ripped away from some up and coming rookie group and handed over to them. Turned into a whole album where they let the members produce their own songs. Suddenly, everything lost in translation was perfectly coherent - Seoul accepted them. They won every music show they attended sans one, and they won their first Daesang. The group began to produce their own music, rapid comebacks followed, and they even managed to sell their excess archive for royalties - all chipping away at what seemed an endless debt.
He still felt it - the crater between himself and Y/N. As he rose to exponential fame, at home and also abroad, she became reserved and ditched the youthful flamboyance she had started with. It wasn’t that she was any less known or any less revered, but she wasn’t the new craze anymore. That was him. She was something above and beyond. An established entertainer. She had her first Vogue Korea cover at 16. He was 19. She was 17. He won a Billboard. She performed at Coachella.
They began to make enough money to have a voice and to have demands at the company. So, naturally, 19 came with a lot of secret girlfriends and hookups more than anything else. The company let that slip. Yoongi hyung got to skip a practice for a nap every now and then. They were still working 12 - 15 hour days more than they weren’t, but there was a gasp to be had. Hobi got more control over the choreography and gradually made things easier. Namjoon got outside collaborations. They were still working off the last of the 20 something million that had been invested into them, but their comebacks had caught up to them - they hadn’t had one in the past two years that didn’t more than make back the investments on them so there was nothing more to accrue - the debt had reached its toll, now they just had to pay it.
He saw Y/n less and less, until, by some luck of the stars, they both landed on a break month at the same time in the same country. Y/N for the last two years had managed only a week or a couple of days of off time, and she was always stranded somewhere abroad. Once it was Hong Kong. He was in Taiwan. Felt close enough.
They called each other almost every night, but then that turned into every other night, and then weekly five minute greetings - a sign that the other was still alive and well.
It was one of those weekly calls where they realized that they were going to be in the same area code for the first time in two years.
Jungkook was watching her newest music video. It was set to release a month out from that point - Y/N’s last physicals had come back not so great (because she intentionally starved herself of all the right nutrients to spark alarm) and so they thought a little rest was due.
He was the first one to watch the full video.
He clicked the link in his email and tried to suppress his short breaths from the speaker.
“Are you excited?”
“I don’t know if excited is the right word. You seem excited.”
“It’s a really different concept. I don’t think it’ll take off, but I’m proud.”
“Everything you do takes off. Shut up.”
He hit play, and felt taken back. There was no dance, no green screen, no crazy CGI, and nothing else all that impressive.
It was Y/N, in Hong Kong. In regular clothes. Videos of her eating, walking amongst street lights, trying street food, petting street cats, looking at skylines. The song wasn’t a loud, exciting, enthralling production.
It was a love song, a sincere one. It was a piano, some synth, some bass. It wasn’t a radio song, but it wasn’t not a radio song either.
And she.
She was so human in it.
She wore a short black skirt in one - nothing risque, ending just a hand above her thighs. A big hand, but still, it exuded a soft innocence. A white t shirt on top - fitting and floating just about the end of her stomach, leaving a sliver of skin to shine in the moonlight, then the lead of the restaurant she walked into. Her cheeks were pink and shiny - her hair down and floating about her.
Her body, covered, but also on full display. His stomach sank, something crawled there that reminisced of his earlier bouts around her, but this felt sicker. This needed a cure.
“Silence. You hated it.”
He took off his headphones, and realized that he felt an urge to cry.
“I loved it, Y/N. Speechless is all.”
“What did you love about it?”
He thought, and thought, and tried very hard to think about something other than the shape of her hips in that little black skirt.
“You.”
It was her turn to bathe in silence, and it didn’t put any fear in him. He suddenly felt like he had to be heard at this moment.
“I loved how you looked. You looked really free and happy.”
“I am. I get to go home tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I thought you had another month left.”
“No. I wrapped up all of the late night show recordings, and my one award show appearance got cancelled - they didn’t promote me hard enough apparently. Some drama with the U.S. Execs.”
“So, you’re coming back to Seoul?”
“Uhhuh. I have an apartment now in the company building. It’s on the floor with the penthouses, but it’s not really a penthouse.”
“They’re letting you live in the apartments?”
“Yeah, I’ve had a designer there for the past two months. I’ve seen pictures, but I haven’t been in yet. Sleeping alone there tomorrow.”
“Oh. Sounds scary.”
A bit of silence lingered, and Jungkook could smell the disappointment - not sure in what exactly.
“I, uh - Where are you right now?”
“Japan.”
“I figured. Sorry, I just thought -”
“Flying back to Korea tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll stay with you. If you want.”
“Huh?”
“For your first night in the apartment. I can keep you company.”
“You don’t have to.”
He smiled at her generosity.
“What floor is it on?”
She wasn’t lying - it really was on the penthouse floor, not that he quite doubted her. Keeping her near the lower ranked, older idols was a disaster waiting to happen. The bunch tended to be a bad influence and tended to have nefarious intentions, at least as far as the management described them to be. They were like forbidden cities to the younger idols, and it had to be that way, Jungkook figured, because the older idols were privy to too much.
But also, Y/n was deserving of the C-suite living. She brought in enough money to justify it - she was far beyond being tied down by any debt. Sometimes, Jungkook wondered if there was a chance that she was close to achieving a level of success that no one had yet. Jungkook wondered if she was nearing a status where she could change things for herself. Be a little freer.
He thought about the music video all night, all morning, and the whole drive over to the building. He easily scanned in - he’d hooked up with a couple of the older female idols and MCs that lived there. A couple of actresses. He’d never been on the top floor, but he thought about Y/n in Hong Kong the entire 48 floor climb up.
The entire city glowed through the glass walls of her living room. A million blinks of neon yellow, pink, purple, and blue. The glow of the Han River danced in the reflection and on the white fur rugs dorning her floors.
Within minutes of him entering and receiving the silent walk through of the house, they were sprawled out on that rug. Lights off, curtains open, city scape pouring in.
“Jungkook?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you think we’d get here? Like two years ago, if I told you-”
“Yes.” He didn’t need to think that through. Usually, their exchanges took a couple of seconds of deliberation. They weren’t ones to blurt back and forth - they were very intentional in their speech. Something that the adults around them praised them for, and maybe it wasn’t anything innate to their character but more so a reflection of how tightly wound the media training had made them.
“Really?”
“For you - definitely. I didn’t know where I’d end up. I’m surprised about that.”
“I knew. For you. I thought it would happen quicker, but I’m glad it didn’t. And, Jungkook?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you listening?”
“Mhhm.” His eyes were closed, his arms splayed out on each side, his fingers just barely grazing her bare knee. She seemed partial to tight spaghetti trap tank tops and short cotton shorts. That’s what she wore under her hoodie in the practice room. A different color iteration was on her body now. Anyway, he preferred to close his eyes around this outfit.
“You’re not, but I’m glad it didn’t. You should hear how selfish this sounds - I was glad that I didn’t have to share you with as many people as I thought I would, as fast as I would.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. She had no idea. He had to share her with the world, like she did with him, sure. But in real life, with the people they knew, where it mattered, to the people with power and money - they all loved her more. He had concrete numbers in his head - managers, staff, acquaintances, mentors, you name it - of the amount of people who knew her and loved her and had access to her and he had to share her with.
She never had to share, not like he did.
“I guess I’m saying that I was scared to lose you.”
Jungkook’s ears perked up, he crossed his hands behind his head and opened his eyes to stare at her, laying down next to him, staring right back at him.
Her expression, as always, was dull. But her features, nothing of the sort. She had worn some dark lip tint during the day that had left a kissed look behind. Her undereyes were a shade too purple and dark, but it made the black of her irises appear darker, and pulled him into that tortured gaze. Her cheeks were pink from the warmth of the radiant floors - she wasn’t too sure on how to adjust it for now. The whole house emanated a soft, stable warmth. It felt neutral in the way that Y/n did.
“I thought I messed things up. Didn’t call enough, didn’t check in. I thought, a lot, while I was away, that you were out with people now, laughing with them, getting closer to them, and I felt like, I was losing, I don’t know, like I was losing something.”
Jungkook, as he usually did, thought about his answer.
“Like a game?”
“What do you mean?”
“You describe your feelings in a weird way.”
She laughed a hearty laugh, it hit her eyes, which shined and shined endlessly. It took him back to the late nights in LA, immediately made him smile.
“I missed you, too, Y/N. I didn’t have fun with anyone. I didn’t laugh with them. I promise.”
He had almost started laughing, too, but his words - warm and simple - somehow moved her to a frown, then pushed her to lean over and
Kiss him on the cheek.
She recoiled quickly, but he
He couldn’t help it, he kissed her.
He kissed her.
She kissed him back.
A million thoughts and sparks formed within and around him. His mobility reacted before his thoughts formed to the circumstances at hand. He pushed his upper body off so that he could hover his chest over hers as she laid back against the floor, hands immediately at his collar, not pushing or pulling.
His hand came up to hold her cheek, thumb grazing along her jaw as he moved his lips to fit against hers, prying them open and tasting the thing he’s stared at for as long as he knew what lips were. Why they mattered.
In the few moments it took for them to situate into the kiss, Y/N’s body seemed to burn up underneath his and her mouth opened to let out a sound he couldn’t ever forget from that moment on.
Taking the opportunity, he licked into her mouth and felt the soft brush of her tongue against his. Rabbit like and hot, it moved endearingly, and her hands lost their restraint on his shirt. They scratched into his hair and anchored themselves there, tugging when his hand moved down to grab her knee.
“Ah, Y/N…” he sighed out, moving his lips to start to pepper kisses down her cheek and along her neck, right by the jugular.
“Jungkook, wait -”
He felt blood rush to his ears, and other places, and she started to squirm underneath him, and he felt this sick, sweet annoyance that he used to feel when he used to stay up, trying to massage some strain or knot out of Y/N’s back or neck or leg, and having to spend hours trying to get her to stay still so that he could get it done. So, instinct took over and he grabbed her wrists, pressed them into the floor above her head and pressed harder into her body.
She became so pliant so easily, it almost startled him to feel all that resistance against his grip fade.
He stopped kissing her, lifted his hips up, and stared down, breathless at her.
“Sorry.”
She gulped and slowly brought her hands down to rest at her sternum, cheeks burning brighter than ever.
“That was weird.”
“Yeah, we -”
“I can feel you.”
“Huh?”
“O-on my leg.”
His eyes burned from the embarrassment and he practically jumped off of her, flinging his back against the floor and staring straight back at the ceiling.
“Sorry, Y/N -”
“No, no, I’m sorry, really -”
“Let’s just forget-”
“Absolutely. Let’s forget.”
They didn’t stay on the rug for much longer. Y/N showed him to one of the guest rooms, leading the charge through the long corridors of her apartment. He wasn’t quite convinced that it wasn’t a penthouse. He wasn’t so sure what made something a penthouse - he thought it was just a euphemism for a big ass apartment.
He tried to focus on that - on the silly differentiation between different large, bodacious apartments - and not on the outline of her silhouette, a sliver of her lower back still peeking through despite her constant attempts to pull her tanktop over the waistband of her shorts, but both are too short.
“I, uh, kind of designed this one for you. You know, if you’re ever mad at the guys, or anything.”
She gave the admission, parked in front of the door of the subject room, looking up at him with big eyes as if she didn’t know what they were capable of. As if his skin wasn’t itching to be on hers.
Did she really not realize?
She took the silence with a nod and turned around to unlock the door, pushing it open and standing against it to let him in. He tried not to breathe in her scent as he stepped through the entrance.
It was painted black, no windows, dim yellow lighting, gunmetal furniture and other shades of grey decor that all began to take familiar shapes.
The room itself was huge, adorned with a small loft in the top right corner, leaning against a generous skylight showing a dull but peaceful Seoul sky.
One of the walls was from ceiling to floor covered in different records, and it took him three separate glances to realize that they were their favorite albums.
There was a gaming desk, and he walked closer to look through the frames that were placed around the monitor. Pictures of the two - one from a photoshoot where they almost killed each other.
He was 16, she was 14. They were offered an innocent couple shoot for a small pizza chain, and it was the first time that Jungkook was given the opportunity to make money solo, outside of group activities. It was clearly above Y/N’s paygrade but he begged for her days and bought her everything she asked for at the convenience store, starved himself, until she agreed to it. But the shoot was unbearable. Y/N wouldn’t cooperate and kept asking for breaks. She refused to reciprocate any of his poses, and the outfits they were given looked horrible.
He laughed at the picture before putting it down.
“If you ever need to get away. Or, anything. It’s yours.”
He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t even really look at her. He walked over to the bed - huge, california king, had to be. The sheets were a soft but thick jersey material, felt nice under his palms.
“Should I move in?” He joked, eyes glancing over the floor as he laughed. It took him a second to lift his gaze to match hers. It was comforting to see her look nervous. “I’m joking.”
“Y-you can. That’d be nice.”
Silence.
“I can’t. That’s not - Y/N-”
“Sorry, sorry…” She stayed by the desk, digging her pointer finger into the leather of the chair. “I actually thought about making this my room, but I changed my mind last minute. Some of my clothes are still in here.”
“How did you get them to let you live alone?”
She spun the chair slightly around and sat down, crossed her bare legs. They shone under the soft yellow lights.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I get that you make them bank. I get that. But letting you live alone, aren’t they risking all of that?”
It was her turn to scoff, but she lacked humor in her face. She was starting to look like a kid whose Mother’s Day surprise soured.
“Are they risking anything by letting you fuck half the company’s idols?”
His face recoiled in an amused shock, and his lips broke down into a surprised laugh. He wasn’t sure what button he’d pressed, but her anger was endearing. He felt things start to soften, and something childish return to the air between them.
“Alright, Jesus, I guess word gets around.”
“Of course, it does. I did a duo stage with Yunjin, and she seems to know everything about everyone.”
“Well, the source material isn’t too bad, is it?”
She blushed almost instantly, her legs uncrossed to press together. She sat up straight.
“I should go to bed. Tonight’s been weird.”
He nodded and yawned, crashed back against the duvet.
“Fine by me.”
“Fine.”
“See you tomorrow.”
After she left the room, he felt it get ten degrees cooler in there, much welcome for a good night’s sleep.
The room was like a little nest for him - it was right out of his childhood dreams. He could spend days locked in here with no complaints, so long as good room service allowed. He began to inspect every inch, for little goose eggs of Y/N’s thoughts and design.
He found his way to the closet, unsure of what to find in there. He managed to recall himself to the earlier conversation when he was greeted by Y/N’s wardrobe.
There were dresses, heels, random jewelry - nothing eyecatching, except for the thin drawers on the center island. It wasn’t his first time in a woman’s closet - he half (maybe more than half) knew what to expect.
He just didn’t expect it to look like that.
Lace, tiny, and colorful. Some innocent and sweet, while others were mind boggling. Without thinking, he grabbed the one his eyes gravitated like a rabbit to.
It was a simple black bikini brief, but it looked soft, frequented. His fingers rubbed the fabric back and forth between his hands, irises darkening before he could realize what was happening.
He was 19, and she was 17, and that night, Jungkook laid in the bed that she had bought for him, in one of the infinite amount of rooms in her mansion in the sky, and jacked off with a pair of her undies. It was one of the most emasculating experiences of his life.
When he woke up, he was greeted by nothing but silence and an apologetic note on the kitchen countertop: “Sorry! Last minute schedule change - stay as long as you’d like. Call me when you can.”
He sighed and called her immediately. She was in the sky.
“Germany, huh?”
“Yeah, some German big money investors want dinner with a K-pop idol. I guess the agency is trying to go global. I don’t know. How did you sleep?”
“Fine,” he murmured, grabbing an apple sauce packet and a can of coke from the fridge. “I’m probably going to take you up on that offer. I’m going to crash here for a bit.”
“Until I get back?”
He stared at his reflection in a mirror in the hallway. It appeared distorted.
“Yeah. Until you come back.”
Within a matter of a week, he boned at least four girls into Y/N’s bed. Not the one she bought him, no. His new obsession was her bedroom. He felt watched in it - felt like there were definitely cameras somewhere in there, but he couldn’t be sure that she ever checked it, nor that he didn’t want her to.
Sometimes, he felt like he was performing for her. He couldn’t really think of a reason as to why he would do what he was doing on her bed if he wasn’t performing for her. But the way he felt about it deep down was nothing better than neutral. He felt nothing. He felt nothing walking around the house like a ghost, staring at the city, drinking the days away until the next thing.
The next thing for him ended up being his first world tour.
He was gone for a full year, and then some, counting all of the pre- and post-activities. The group skyrocketed, gained credibility, and became enviable. They became national excellence, and perhaps more importantly, they all became millionaires. He actually got one of the penthouses that the company offered, and it certainly was different.
Bigger, obviously.
It was waiting for him at the end of the tour. He was 20, she was 18. He flew home to see what the company’s designers had done to it, and he was pleased enough. Everything was made according to his taste, maximizing his privacy and optimizing the amenities. Hot tub, personal indoor pool with a small rooftop courtyard. Outdoor bar, 24/7 catering. Random luxuries compiled into a gaudy, dark home.
Impressive beyond measure.
And yet, that night, while Y/N was away on promoting some European movie she filmed for Cannes, he ended up in her house, fucking some random executive into her bed.
When Y/N was done accepting the Cannes award with the rest of her cast, Jungkook left for Japan, to work on the next album and to film enough music videos to satiate the hordes. At the same time, Jungkook started to hear rumors about Y/N dating some rapper named DEAN.
After Japan, they were carted back to LA, where they worked on the B-side of their album and filmed more content.
Rumors began to bloom and one dating rumor spiraled into a million dating rumors about Y/N. The rumor of all rumors was that she had gone absolutely nympho. Jungkook started going to the gym, religiously. There was not much else to do in the heat in California. He couldn’t wait to go home.
Next winter, Jungkook was on a plane back to Seoul. Heavy snowstorms had littered the week with uncertainty about the state of his flight, but luck was on his side and instead of spending the night rotting away at the first class lounge, he got to fly home in stomach churning, god-quaking turbulence.
His phone rang on the car ride home.
“Heard you’re back in Seoul.”
“It hasn’t even been twenty minutes. God.”
“I have my sources.”
His back shivered the slightest bit at the softness of her tone - she was almost whispering.
“Where are you?”
“Guess.”
“You’re in Korea.”
She laughed and the line crackled.
“A little more specific, maybe.”
His lips lifted into a devious upturn, which he straightened out almost immediately. He had gotten better at controlling his impulses.
But despite the repression, something in him kept smiling at the picture that painted in his mind - vivid and imaginative.
Sprawled out on the rug - clothing inapt no matter how much she tugs on it - her dark, midnight navy hair falling around her like a halo.
“On the rug.” he said, trying to catch his own breath. “In your living room.”
“Bingo.”
“Should I reroute?”
“Are we not in the same building?”
He smirked once more. He didn’t care to repress it this time.
“I got an actual penthouse - a block down.”
Silence, but he could hear the smile.
“Reroute then. Anything bigger than this would give me a headache.”
“I’ll see you there.”
He hung up and the driver swatted his hand at him - a friendly old man that had been with him since they had first started to make it big in the states. He used to drive Y/N, too. He knows of them as two friends. Innocent, sibling like kids.
It made his stomach turn again, almost as bad as the turbulence did.
“She just got back yesterday.”
“You drove her?” Jungkook asked, trying to dull the sound of his curiosity.
“She requested it. Her manager’s driving makes her nauseous, apparently. Not everyone has the skill. It’s learned, you know.”
“She’s still a brat.” Jungkook huffed, trying to hide a frown. He hated her creepy manager. Her being in a car with him made him nauseous, too.
“She’s a bit different, Mr. Jeon.”
Jungkook’s ears perked up.
“What do you mean?”
The driver sighed, pulled into Y/N’s garage and put the car in park before finally turning to face him.
“Mr. Jeon, I think something happened to her in Europe. She’s a tough girl, but she’s really quiet.”
Those words stayed with Jungkook during the entire 48-floor journey. He didn’t feel nauseous or faint or unwell, but he felt responsible. He didn’t know what the drive meant, and he couldn’t collect himself to be prepared for what it all might have meant. He felt a bit of fury in his bones, but he didn’t know who the culprit was. He brewed like that all the way to her apartment.
He entered like he always did, but this time, there was no desperate girl joining him in his stumble through the entryway.
But he wasn’t alone.
He was accompanied by her sweet, recognizable scent, swimming through the months’ drained apartment. This was the smell that seemed to wear off with every girl that he brought in. This was the smell that lingered in his thoughts late at night. This was the scent on her cardigan that he kept in his tour luggage.
It drowned the house so fast.
He followed the scent to the kitchen, with loud but composed steps to warn her of his presence - to not catch her off guard. The driver’s words mingled with his excitement of seeing her again, and he couldn’t manage a poker face.
She was standing in her kitchen, watching something on her phone with her headphones in, lips pulled into an inquisitive frown.
The sudden shadow in the doorway made her lift her head up, and while Jungkook immediately beamed at her, her expression remained unchanged. Flat, but inquisitive.
Jungkook’s smile dropped.
She clicked the phone off and took her headphones off almost robotically. Jungkook felt a need to fill the silence.
“I can’t believe you’re home.”
She looked around the room, back at him, then walked past him and towards the living room, phone in hand.
He instinctively moved out of the way as she marched out of the doorway, and felt the beginnings of bewilderment as he followed behind her.
“Silent treatment?” He joked as she walked up to that cozy rug in the middle of her living room and slowly sat down on her shins. Her big, raven eyes stared back at him.
“No,” she answered, slowly sitting on her hip so that she was splayed to one side, her legs laying out, tangled together. “Just tired. I’ve been slipping in and out of sleep for the past 24 hours.”
He took a millisecond to take in what she was wearing. A big t-shirt, clearly a man’s. He couldn’t see much else. He couldn’t really bring himself to think about it.
“I heard Cannes was tough. What happened?”
Her head tilted. Her eyes seemed to get angrier but her face managed to stay neutral.
“How was the tour?”
He licked his lips and rocked onto his heels, trying to disperse the confrontational stare he was being met with.
“I asked you first,” he tried to keep everything light-hearted at the end of it - a joke. Joking. Easy going conversations between friends - he was trying so hard to manifest it all so that he could push all this aside and enjoy her company. Get to really talk to her like he used to.
“I couldn’t focus on anything at Cannes. People didn’t really like me there. I think I seemed vapid.”
His eyes softened and he immediately plopped down next to her on the rug.
He was 20, she was 18.
“We should drink if we’re going to catch up.” He offered, eyes twinkling with mischief, but a recognizable warm mischief. She needed only to lift one corner of her mouth into a smile before he dissolved into a fit of laughter and ran to the kitchen to snatch the expensive whiskey he had spotted. Cork popped, he sat back down and took down a shot before shoving it toward Y/N.
“To shitty French people.”
She smiled and took a swig, followed it by an immediate hiss.
“God, that tastes like gasoline.” She coughed. He gave her back a couple of pats and took down some whiskey through his insufferable grin.
“Welcome back, Y/N.”
“Welcome back, Jungkook.”
They smiled at each other, honestly. Finally.
They spent the next hour finishing up half the bottle of whiskey and reminiscing about their childhood and the other members and catching up and everything else they could squeeze in before the alcohol started to turn sour, and certain words exchanged created black holes in their wake.
“The French weren’t all that shitty, you know,” she finally quipped, turning the conversation back to this doomed Cannes topic. “They had a point. I was being vapid.”
“How?” He asked with a genuine, drunk sincerity. “I have never known you to be vapid.”
She was sitting with her knees pulled to her chest. It had been obvious to him at least half an hour ago that she was wearing the tiniest possible shorts - borderline boxer briefs - under her big, big shirt.
He wanted to ask, but he didn’t.
“I was distracted.”
He really wanted to ask. He didn’t know how to not ask.
“Was it because of a guy?”
Silence. He dared to make eye contact with her. He could see red creeping into her cheeks and it was not a happy shade. She looked to be brewing. He wasn’t happy about her reaction, but in this rare occasion, his mind didn’t immediately reject the oncoming confrontation. He wanted to see where it would lead.
“Sure. Losing my virginity, drunk out of my mind in a hotel room with three guys watching wasn’t ideal.”
Jungkook leapt up, body acting before the mind. The absurdity couldn’t even register to him.
“Ya, Y/N-”
“I’m obviously joking. You want to ask, so ask.”
He bit his cheek, propped his knee up and leaned his elbow against it. Repositioning to dilute his anger.
“It’s none of my business.” He started. “But I always shared with you. Whenever you asked. I wasn’t snippy because you asked.”
“Yeah, but I asked. You haven’t asked me anything.”
He swallowed a desire to go up an octave.
“Fine,” he said through a heartless chuckle, picking at the white fur. “Whose shirt are you wearing?”
She smiled, her hands reached for the hems.
“Does it bother you? Should I-”
His hands shot out to pull hers down, cementing the shirt to cover her abdomen. She looked at him like she had won.
“It’s one of my dancers. It’s his shirt. Or maybe his boyfriend’s.”
Jungkook let go of the shirt.
“The rumors aren’t true. I rejected my manager during the festival, and he went on a little PR rampage. He couldn’t actually afford to tank my image, given that he needs the commission, so he just spread a bunch of rumors in the agency.”
“Y/N-”
“It’s fine-”
“I’ll kill him. Tell me to do it, I’ll kill him.”
She shook her head and laughed.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. He didn’t really do anything. That wasn’t my issue with Cannes. Wasn’t my distraction.”
“Ok, so, what was it?”
She smiled. Red. Green. She looked evil and angelic. She clearly had a plan.
“I can show you. New obsession. You might know of it.”
She grabbed her phone from one of the couches nearby and clicked a button, and suddenly, the TV rose from the floor and turned on.
It wouldn’t be a lie to say Jungkook wasn’t surprised at what played.
Y/N’s bed, the scene of the crime.
It was sick, he knew it, but he felt a sense of pride. Because it bothered her? Because he had the power to make her feel something?
He was ready to read into this confession, over and over again.
But Y/N wasn’t the type to leave things out of context, to let you dwell on the answer. She’s big on confessing to the full crime.
“Sorry,” he offered, staring at the screen and avoiding her gaze at all costs.
“For what?”
“Your room is really pretty. The ladies like it, and you said I could use your house.” He stood up, sat down on the couch, and her gaze followed his every move. “Didn’t mean to upset you during your movie premiere.”
She smiled and paused the video of him pounding into a blonde idol.
“Do you really not recognize this shirt?”
Jungkook’s pride paused. His cloud nine felt the incoming rupture. He looked at it once again, he was perhaps too shy to really look at it before. He just saw the outline - the big silhouette. Didn’t question it much.
It was an old shirt - washed a couple of times.
It was his shirt.
It was the shirt -
“Let’s watch my favorite video. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
“Y/N-”
“Y/N-”
His voice jumped back at him through the large tv screen. So did that god forsaken shirt.
It was the first night, in his new room, with the black underwear. The display included an unforgiving stream of sounds - he never realized how vocal he was being.
“My favorite part.” She whispered, eyes genuinely widening with amazement like a child seeing a dead body for the first time.
He came. The digital quality of Y/N’s security system proved to be better than most of the porno he watched.
Though physical proximity felt like lava in this context, Jungkook willed his body to cross the threshold and drop back onto the floor and grab the phone out of Y/N’s hand, to click whatever button he needed to to end this charade, but she moved quickly, suddenly animated.
She sprung off the floor and Jungkook came crashing down, she turned the corner into the long hallway while his legs scrambled to get back up.
She ran full speed down the corridor, and he was hot on her heels but not hot enough. She bolted in and out of rooms while dragging her finger over some button to make the loud video playing in the living room rewind over and over and over on the part where he called out her name.
His whiny, needy voice echoed throughout the house until he finally got to her in her own room. The last room on the corridor, and a bit of a sharp turn, but Y/N miscalculated the turn and ran into the wall, giving Jungkook his only opportunity, which he seized.
He cornered her against the wall and ripped the phone out of her hand, and it wasn’t funny or playful. He was annoyed, frustrated, and angry.
Angry in the way a father, a teacher, would be. Angry in a way that Jungkook hadn’t really felt and that Y/n hadn’t really seen.
Once he grabbed the phone, he quickly swiped off of whatever app was blasting the video throughout the house and tossed it on the floor.
“You can’t just throw people’s phones-” she began to protest but was cut short by his hand slamming down on the wall right next to her head.
“What the fuck, Y/N?? What the actual fuck!?”
Her playful smile dropped and she flinched against the wall. Jungkook was seeing red and just couldn’t get himself to feel bad no matter how hard her eyes pleaded for it.
“I thought it was funny…”
“What about that seems funny to you???”
He wanted to stop. He could see the fear, the regret in her. He missed her. He didn’t want to do this.
“Sorry, I just -”
“Do you think it’s funny, Y/N? That I think of you like that?”
Her lips pursed, and what really infuriated him wasn’t that she genuinely looked scared, but more so that she looked like she was stifling humor behind a facade of fear to invoke pity out of him. It usually worked, but it wasn’t working now. It was just making everything worse.
But in her silence, he couldn’t escalate anything to his liking. He just sighed and took a step back, frustrated. And slightly icky.
“Just…” he shook his head, rubbed his brows. “Just delete the videos.”
“Why should I?”
There - that was a good hook to keep complaining, and whining, and berating, and he really felt a need to do all three. He felt a need to lecture. To chastise.
“Are you fucking kidding me!?!? They’re illegal sex tapes, Y/N, are you insane?!?!”
“Yeah, in my bed! It’s you having sex with randos in my bed! How do you even have the nerve to get mad at me right now?!?”
“What about the video of me jacking off?? What’s your excuse for that?”
She flushed, mouth dropped open and closed as she seemed to suddenly be overtaken by a fishlike surprise. Her offense at his weird choice to have sex in her bed was warranted, he never took issue with that.
Would have been happy to talk it out, get pointers on his performance.
The anger seethed when he saw the last clip. That felt like a betrayal. He wasn’t sure of what. He couldn’t put it into words, but he felt like he didn’t need to. It seemed like a pretty per se situation.
“I was just curious. If you liked your room.”
“Well, you could have stopped watching.”
“You were talking about me!”
“I don’t think that’s how anyone would characterize it.”
The two stared at each other, hard. Brows furrowed on both faces, hands clenched in some way or fashion.
“You should have turned it off, Y/N. I…” he took a second to look down at his hands, slowly unravel the tension in his knuckles. “I don’t know what to do now. I’m sorry, I guess.”
She looked remorseful, but not in any way more substantial than being caught with your hand down a cookie jar.
She kept silent. His head hung low. They let the silence linger for a second.
Then, out of the crisp static of the giant apartment, cut the sound of her limbs slicing through the tense air.
With a gulp, her fingers came up tentatively to graze either side of his neck. Though he didn’t wish to, he had to raise his ashamed gaze to try to read her face, but before he could, she had already wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her tip toes to slowly but firmly hug him.
He was engulfed in that sweet smell of her. She didn’t say anything, and suddenly, he felt no shame. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her back, unconsciously trying to pull her in tighter but there was nowhere else for her body to go.
He felt every inch and crevice of her body press against his, and beneath his closed eyes, he could conjure up a vivid image. Maybe Y/N felt a similar sense of curiosity because she slowly pulled away to look at him.
Wide eyes, always wide. Always curious.
Without speaking, her fingers found the hem of his t-shirt and began to lift it. Jungkook would have taken the damn thing off himself if he had been with any other girl, but he was just as curious about her. He felt like surrendering, just this once.
So, he let her, without intervention, pull the shirt off of him. She retreated back to the wall right after that, and stared at him like she was unsure of the next step, but it never felt abrupt. He felt himself in a daze, in a dream.
And he’d had dreams like this, so he wouldn’t be shocked.
With the same gentle attention, he peeled his own shirt off of her. She had one of her signature tanks underneath, and he couldn’t bear to take that off of her yet.
She shivered but the room wasn’t much colder, and he found himself hugging her again, closer than they’d ever been.
It took a second before she softened into him, her cheek laying on his arm.
“You’re warm,” she mumbled, her words tickling his skin as she spoke. Her nails wrapped around his bicep, digging in to balance herself as she peeled off to stare up at him. “You’ve always been really warm.”
He kept looking at her. He couldn’t stop - he had no idea what he looked like - angry? enchanted? sad?
She shifted her weight to her other foot and pushed up on her toes again, making him lean back instinctively.
Scared?
“What happens next?”
Her voice became but a whisper, and it scratched against her throat. With the shirt gone, he now came to realize that she was in.
Her.
Black.
Panties.
His stomach churned, out of turn and in rage of his sudden rush of desire. He dove his head into her neck, tried to drown it out with her scent, but she giggled against the intrusion and it made him sicker.
He was off of her sooner than he thought possible.
He had to take breaths before he could straighten up, and his chest was tight. His throat clenched, and there it was. Not again.
He was 13. She was 11.
—
Jungkook was never a fan of cardio. Not at 13, at least. And more than that, he hated getting yelled at, at an ungodly octave at 7 am after doing the most cardio his body has ever done.
With sweat dripping off of his forehead, he was subject to his first 30 minute “professional critique” session. It was a voice lesson mind you….
He made it out of the practice room with his soul in pieces and his body barely intact, but by some sober wisdom, he managed to drag himself into a supply closet. The stench of cigarettes and wet mops flooded his nose, and he felt it. His chest tightened, his throat closed in on itself, and his face grew warm, so warm.
To top the whole charade off, out of the shadowy shelves stocking toilet paper crawled out a tiny girl. Dark hair, wide eyes, bare feet.
She looked like a ghost.
She held a book and a small android phone and was too busy rubbing the sleep out of her eyes to notice the state of him.
“Ever heard of knocking?”
The witty slide was lost somewhere between the wheeze he let out before crouching into a corner, everything getting worse with the panic.
“Oh my god, are you okay??”
He shook his head. Slowly at first as he rocked his body back and forth, but something compelled him to turn around and violently shake his head at her, eyes brimmed with tears.
On the cusp of his death, he could make out the laugh she was trying to stifle.
“What’s wrong?” her voice was soft as she was small. Not short, just lanky. Maybe small was the wrong word, but he wasn’t getting oxygen in his brain so give him a break.
“I’m…” he choked, forcefully swallowing a gulp of air.. “I don’t know!”
“Oh god, shut up!” her hand collapsed around his mouth and with an inexplicable amount of strength, she pushed him further into the filthy, smelly room, making his head whirl.
“First of all,” she seethed, her dark eyes shining in the dim light of the closet, “you’re fine. I can feel you breathing your nasty snot on my hand, so don’t worry - you’re breathing.”
He wanted to bite her hand, but suddenly, an ounce of weight was lifted off his chest, he felt his lungs move a little.
“Second of all,” she continued, choosing to emphasize her point by digging her shoe into his toes. He groaned against her hand and wished she had the foresight to give him the demand before she persisted with the torture. The reverse wasn’t very productive. “... some of us nap in this room. If they find out I’m in here with you, I am never going to debut, and I am never going to get out of this god forsaken country.”
He felt himself tear up again, and he found no more relief in her words. The weight was back and heavier.
“Ok, ok, stop. Sorry.”
The change in her tone was maniacal. She flipped so quick from sounding like his voice coach (who he despised) to his mother (whom he missed dearly).
“You’re having a panic attack. If they find out about it, they’ll drop you. So, you need to get it together.”
Immediate panic.
“That probably made things worse. Let’s try again. What’s your name?”
He waited for her to slowly pull her hand away, not all the way, but it generously rested at his chin.
“J-Jungkook.”
“Hi, Jungkook. I’m Y/N.”
“I- I don’t care.” He spittled before collapsing down to rest his hands on his knees.
“Ok, noted.” He felt her tap his back, rhythmic and solid. “You’re having a panic attack. You think you can’t breathe. You can breathe. You think you’re going to die. You’re not going to die. You think you need to run, scream. You don’t. You need a distraction.”
And distraction it was to be lectured by a sixth grader, so Jungkook stood up straight, ignored the pains in his chest and everywhere else and attempted to muster an insult back, but before he could -
She kissed him.
A quick, wet peck against his lips, eyes squeezed shut and face looking ridiculous.
It was over as soon as it had happened.
Suddenly, his nose picked up on the slight peppermint scent emanating from the toilet cakes. He noticed how neat everything was in the closet.
And the lanky girl in front of him…
She smelled nice.
“That was gross.”
“Healed ya.”
Something told him that he was never going to be able to wipe that smirk off of her face. And before he could pull her hair, or kick her in the shin, she jumped out of the closet, and shut it quickly behind her. In a single moment, a whole charade of adult noises flooded the hallway and a whole tirade of badgering followed.
—
“Oh, god, Jungkook -”
“Stop.”
She was trying to come closer, but his head was spinning enough. It was spinning enough. He felt three lifetimes drain out of him by the time he got himself to sit on her bed, but it was all hell, and it was like he couldn’t escape all of it. All of the women, the knowing that she had watched, presumably all of it.
What about the time, with the 30 year old redhead, when he made her put on Y/N’s clothes? The tank with the shorts..
“Can.. can you open the windows?”
He crashed back against her sheets as she hurried to push her green curtains to the side to crank open the windows as much as she could in the high rise.
He stared at her ceiling, baby cherubs and the entire chapel wallpapered to her ceiling. Except it wasn’t. Some of it was carved, gold frugally throughout.
Her room definitely did not look like his. Her room was a lot of bright colors, antique furniture from Europe or old American movie stars, and carpeted throughout in soft, camel color. It was like the 50s and the 70s threw up into a master suite.
It was like a cocoon stitched of all of her costumes - various personas she’s sifted through with each comeback, each project.
He closed his eyes, inhaled through his nose.
“You realize that your house looks ridiculous, right?”
“Have you gotten medicated for that yet?”
“You should have,” he took another deep inhale, “kept it. How your designer had it. She knew what she was doing.”
“You haven’t gotten any better at holding it in. I’m surprised they haven’t medicated you yet -”
“They have, Y/N. They have. It’s just not enough sometimes and you…”
“I’m not the problem.”
She was quick.
“I can’t believe you let them do that to you.”
Jungkook stayed silent, trying to still his chest, but everything felt so infinitely out of his reach under these cathedral skies.
In his daze, he hadn’t noticed that she had crossed the room until he felt the bed sink next to him. The touch of her leg against his made made his hands clench, but he somehow found the courage to sit up.
“You power through it, but you don’t hold it in. That’s why they medicated you.” She mumbled, leaning down to peel one of her socks off.
“What about you then?” he asked, breaths still only coming in through his nose. He was lightly bewildered, but his head felt like it was coming off of a fever, ready to enter another one. “God, Y/N what are you doing?”
She peeled the other sock off.
She didn’t acknowledge him until she scooted back on the bed - as large as his - and climbed under the sheets. Only then, in the comfort of the bed, which had materialized around her like the rings of Saturn, hypnotizing him in, did his chest finally, at once, release its shackles.
She looked up at him.
Her wide eyes were slimmed to a softer yet darker stare and her hair had a sultry tease to it. He could hear the siren’s calls.
“Just come in…”
“Y/N, this is weird.”
He didn’t mean to sound petty when he said that.
“I’m sorry if you were mad about that. I remember, you know.”
“I wasn’t-”
“Yes, you were. Just come in. We used to share the bed when I couldn’t sneak out of your hotel room. It’s soothing to sleep with another body around.”
He hesitated for a second further, not for any physical restraint.
“How do you know that?”
“I read it somewhere.”
He rolled his eyes and stood up to crawl into the very opposite side she was on, but the bed was cold, unnaturally cold, and he couldn’t stop shivering.
His chattering teeth were uncharacteristically loud in the silence of her room, a vintage grandfather clock ticking somewhere in the four corners.
“Jungkook -”
“I’m fine.”
Another bout of silence, he continued to chatter. Something in him had paralyzed him from stretching out his limbs to warm the cloth.
“Seriously -”
“If I touch you, I’m going to have another panic attack.”
“I’m cold.”
Through his own chattering, he had been deaf to hers, but bracing his body for a second allowed him to feel her body shaking behind him. He looked back, only to find that she had her back to him, too, but even through the insanely heavy duvet on her bed, he could see her shoulders vibrating the slightest bit.
Whatever he was feeling in his chest was no mind, no matter now. All he could focus on was his composure as he reached over and pulled her back into his chest, trying to leave as much space as he could between their hips.
Her breath hitched, and her hand grabbed at his, gripping her stomach as it pulled her in. She didn’t let go when he tried to pull it away, and he didn’t resist much. She brought it up to cuddle her cheek against it.
Without question, missing their mothers, they had slept like this on so many nights when their hotel sleepovers went too long or the nightly manager controls left them stranded at the gym, unable to sneak back into their dorms.
So, the position was more than natural, and yet it was something new.
Because it was a cat’s nightly necessity back then, and he would have been better off cuddling a twig for some action, and they didn’t have to think twice about it. Sometimes, they’d wake up with their faces too close together, but that was easily solved by a shove or a punch and a quick adjustment.
But this felt like a nuclear bomb and anything could have been a trigger. Her soft breath against the arm she was cuddling, his mouth buried into her hair, and her body - full and healthy against him.
All of this bare skin.
“Why are you so tense?” Y/N asked, and her tone was pointed, pleased. It stirred him, and he felt the nausea release, fizzle into the air and back to where it came from. The hunger started to take it over.
“Go to sleep, Y/N,” he tried not to beg. Not that it would soften her.
“I’m not really sleepy.”
“It’s like 2 am.”
“Not sleepy.” she whined, attempting to turn around to face him but he kept a stern hand on her shoulder, keeping her still.
“Don’t.”
“Whyyy….”
The whine dragged and she easily pushed off his grip and turned around, leaving but a hand’s distance between their faces.
He groaned and extended his arms out, trying to push her away, but she fought it - credit to her, she really didn’t seem to be very sleepy.
“God, Y/N, just share the bed equally.”
A couple of more tussles later, they had managed to drift off to sleep in their separate corners, the bed all warmed up from their incessant fighting. But when they woke up, they had found their way back to the middle - pillows and blanket entangled, limbs twisted into unnecessary pretzels.
It was a whole ceremony, coming to that morning.
He first opened his eyes to find her face down into his extended arm, one leg squeezed in between his, the blanket clear over her head.
Through a groggy vision, he readjusted his arm and pulled her head above the covers. The next time he woke up, her face was resting on his chest, and they were sharing a pillow, the other three were discarded somewhere by their feet.
The third time, he felt more sober, and his eyes opened wider, she was snoring on his arm, hair covering her eyes.
He cleared his throat and awkwardly reached over to brush it away, the small move making her eyes flutter open.
That was her first time, she was almost still in sleep as she stared at him.
“Good morning,” he whispered, breath too raspy to pronounce every vowel. She twisted onto her stomach, fists stretched out into a big yawn, before she twisted into a little ball inside the crevice.
She seemed to quickly drift back into sleep, and he was aware of how malleable it made her. And he reached over, in the comfort of the warmth of the morning, and pulled her back against his chest, snuggled his hand against her cheek scratched lightly lightly against her scalp, as if petting a cat.
“You’re going to choke me with your fat arms,” she murmured, shoving his hand down, but he opted to rest it on her waist, fingers curling around to hold her tight like a belt.
One thing about Y/N was that she was much more shy in the morning light. Her mania slept in at night.
She immediately pressed both hands down on his arm, trying to get him to release the grip, and he didn’t resist it, but didn’t let her push it off all the way. He retreated just enough to push his hand underneath her tank top, fingers splaying over her abdomen.
“What are you doing?” She was drowning with doubt. The girl that would have let it all happen the night before was too shy for her belly button in the sunshine.
His middle finger circled it, intentionally, making her squirm right against him - morning hard.
Her breath hitched, her whole body froze, and he didn’t care.
She was 18, and he was 20, and he decided that they needed to release some of the steam or they would explode.
“Y/N,” he whispered, his mouth pushing through her messy hair to press tight against her ear. “Did you watch it all?”
A gulp, followed by silence, and what he could imagine to be a flat mouth.
“You did. I won’t ask why.” He kissed the top of her ear, she shuddered against him. He could feel himself digging into the very bottom of her back, too prominent now to deny, and he had the gall to readjust her so that he could rest himself right between her thighs, digging up into her warm, radiating center.
“Were you curious, Y/N?” he asked, betraying his very last words. “You don’t have to answer,” he tried in an attempt to remediate, but she didn’t seem responsive to anything he said. Only his hand, which was now tip-toeing its way - one gentle touch after another - down to the hem of her boyshorts, his calloused nails catching on a loose string. Her hips twitched at the light touch, and when his fingers grazed over the same spot again, he could tell that the very least it tickled her, and more importantly, at the very least, it got her to initiate contact.
Leaning back against him more intentionally now, he could tell that she could feel him, and he didn’t shy away from it, hummed for it, even - closed his eyes and silently begged for it.
And she obliged. If she had any experience, it was hard to tell, but this heavy reassurance that she didn’t, that drove him crazier than any skilled reciprocation could have.
Her movements were small but the intent was clear, from the way she tilted her head to the side, trying to bury her face in the bedding, to the immediate shortness of her breath.
As his arms wrapped around her, one forever running his fingers back and forth on her lower abdomen, the other curled up to cradle her face as he grinded into her, dragging his length against her, feeling her grow warm and wet through
The plain, meaningless cloths separating them - too thin to to really barricade them from each other.
His lips were in her hair, on her cheek, kissing alongside the back of her ear - everywhere, just everywhere - and his hands felt bursts of fire, of insatiable curiosity, and he couldn’t help it.
As much as not looking her in the eyes helped make it easier to touch her, he couldn’t kick it anymore. He needed to know - her face, her lips, her eyes, her expression - where was she? What did she want?
Pushing her onto her back, to which she was so pliable, he crawled over her, lips slotting against hers as if this was routine, and if we’re talking dreams, then, sure, he was a pro.
He was, for simply a lack of better word, all over her.
When her hands initially came down to cup his cheeks, he couldn’t stand it. He held onto her wrists and pushed them above her head, pressing them down onto the bed, but one glimpse at her like that made him groan, blush, release, and let her dig her hands around. She settled on his hair, fingers immediately curling and tugging, some sick instinct she’s always had, but in this context, it was nauseatingly charming and needy, and he groaned again, into her mouth this time, and grabbed her hands again, bringing them down in between them so he could stare at her as he kissed them - her fingers, her palms, her wrists. She started to giggle - just a hint of it, little quips - so he smiled back and put them down, felt pulled to and landed a peck on her forehead.
“I’m sorry for what I did here.” he whispers, face pulled into an innocent pout that makes her forget about the weight between his legs. “I’m sick. I’ll never do it again.”
“It’s fine,” she whispers back, voice raspy and cheeks glowing. Eyes low, tired still.
“I’ll stick to my apartment. Or, maybe just my room. If I must.”
She thinks his words through, feels him calming down. Her eyes blink heavily, as if registering that the moment is done, the affection is coming to a close.
But the steam is out, for now, floating about around them.
“If you must.” she repeats, tossing the words in her mouth as if she didn’t mean to say them.
He gets up without much flare after that, feels lighter even, and manages to ignore the death star that Y/N has become on the bed, face drained of her smile, eyes drained of the devilish charm - an unrequited exasperation.
He offers plans for next week, maybe a movie night - haven’t had one in four years, wouldn’t it be nice? You’re both Korean celebrities now, maybe you can get back to hanging out like you used to. You don’t have anything coming up, right?
She stares at him across the kitchen island, as if the proposal never reached her ears. She says, almost independently, not in response to anything he’s ever said -
“I have to go see an apartment in LA.”
His spoon clanks into his bowl, and he flinches because that’s how his rambling probably sounded.
What happened in that bed for Jungkook was supposed to be the beginning.
“An apartment. A second one.” He quips, eyes following his spoon as he stirs it into the milk. They should’ve ordered a Korean breakfast. She should have had one before she left. When was the last time she had a proper breakfast? Not crepes in Paris, not fantuan in Taiwan…
He looks up, her back is to the kitchen island, and her face is but a reflection in the cloudy Seoul skyline blinking in the daylight through her windows.
It’s raining.
“Why do you need to find an apartment in LA?”
She barely looks over her shoulder, barely moves her lips.
A soft morning turns intense and ends in comfort: light slips through the blinds across warm skin and tangled sheets, as sleepy teasing over breakfast slowly shifts until the kitchen feels like a promise.
pairing: jeon jungkook x fem/reader
genre: morning after. domestic fluff. smut. possessive jk. established relationship
note: thank you so much for liking my previous post! I hope you like this one as well ♡
──────────୨ৎ───────────
Sunlight filtered through the blinds, painting soft stripes across the tangled sheets. The room still carried the faint scent of soap and something warmer, something shared.
Jungkook lay on his back, one arm draped over his forehead, breathing slow and deep. When his eyes finally opened, he squinted at the light before turning his head toward me. The moment he saw me, something in his expression shifted—sleep melting into quiet focus.
His hand slid under the covers, finding my hip, his thumb tracing slow, absent circles.
"Morning…" he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
His gaze lingered on my face, taking in every detail now visible in the soft daylight—the same details he had memorized in the dark.
"Sore?" he asked, low and knowing.
I hummed softly in response.
A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, satisfied. His thumb paused, then resumed its slow movement as he pushed himself up slightly, brushing a few strands of hair away from my face.
"Good," he murmured. "Means I did my job right."
I gave a small, sleepy sound, and his lips curved into a soft smile.
"Cute," he added, leaning closer until his face hovered just above mine. "You always get like this… quiet, all soft." His thumb traced along my jaw. "Makes me want to keep you here all day."
Another content hum left me.
He sighed, settling back but keeping his hand on me. "I'll make something to eat. Stay right here."
I nodded faintly.
He smiled, warm and lazy, squeezing my hip before leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of my lips. Then he sat up, stretching, muscles shifting under his skin before he glanced back at me.
"You're getting eggs," he said.
I frowned slightly. "I don't want eggs."
He paused, then laughed under his breath, turning back toward me with a raised brow.
"No eggs?" he repeated, leaning forward again, elbows on his knees. "Then what do you want?"
"Something more… tasty."
The smirk that spread across his lips turned slower, darker.
"More tasty, huh?" His fingers brushed lightly over the sheets near me. "I can manage that… but you'll have to tell me—how hungry are you?"
"A lot."
Something in his gaze sharpened. He leaned closer, voice dropping.
"Then come here."
I blinked. "Wait—I meant real food."
He laughed, the tension breaking instantly as he ran a hand through his messy hair.
"Right. Real food," he said, shaking his head. "My brain's still in bed with you."
"Perv."
"Guilty," he shot back easily, grinning as he stood.
I crossed my arms slightly. "I want waffles."
He stopped at the door, sighing dramatically before glancing back with a teasing smile.
"Waffles? Now you're just demanding."
"If I am, then don't."
A low chuckle escaped him as he leaned against the frame.
"So demanding… and then not?" he teased. "You're confusing me this morning."
"Just do whatever you want."
His eyes lit up instantly.
"Careful," he said, stepping back toward me, voice dropping again. "You know what happens when you give me that kind of permission."
I rolled my eyes.
He softened, laughing quietly before reaching for my hand.
"Come on," he said. "You're coming with me. I don't trust you not to fall asleep again and blame me."
I let him pull me up but instead of letting me fully steady myself, his grip tightened just slightly. There was a flicker in his eyes, something playful… and a little dangerous.
Before I could react, his hands slid to my waist.
"Jungkook—"
In one smooth motion, he lifted me.
A quiet gasp left me as my hands instinctively found his shoulders, and my legs wrapped around his waist. He let out a soft, amused breath, steadying me effortlessly, like he'd done it a hundred times before.
"Much better," he murmured, his voice lower now.
Our faces were suddenly close—too close to ignore the warmth between us.
He started walking down the hallway like that, completely unbothered, one arm secure around me while the other brushed lightly along my thigh, absent but deliberate.
"Now I know you won't run off," he added with a crooked smile.
I laughed softly, shaking my head. "You're impossible."
"Mm," he hummed, glancing up at me. "And yet, here you are."
Sunlight spilled across the floor as he carried me, his thumb lazily tracing patterns against my side. The whole thing felt unfairly easy for him—like holding me there, close, was the most natural thing in the world.
"Consider this," he added, voice dropping just a little, "premium service. Breakfast delivery included."
I rolled my eyes, but my grip on him tightened slightly.
He noticed.
His smile softened—less teasing now, more something warm… something that lingered.
And without putting me down, he carried me straight into the kitchen.
He set ms gently against the counter but didn’t move away.
Not really.
His hands lingered at my waist for a second longer than necessary.
Then he finally stepped back, grabbing a bowl.
“Waffle protocol,” he announced. “Might get a little experimental.”
I watched as he cracked an egg—slightly messy—then fished out a bit of shell with a sheepish smirk.
“Extra crunch,” he said. “Very professional.”
Flour dusted his fingers, a bit of egg still clinging to his skin. I glanced at his hands, and he noticed immediately.
“These?” he asked, lifting them slightly, amused. “Multi-purpose.”
He slowly brought his thumb to his mouth, licking it clean, eyes never leaving mine.
“Messy,” he added quietly.
The air shifted—warmer, heavier.
He dipped a finger into the batter again, swirling it lazily.
“For now… just pancake mix,” he murmured.
When i stepped closer, taking his hand and guiding his fingers to your lips, he froze.
A sharp inhale escaped him, his entire body going still as his gaze locked onto you.
“…That’s not part of the recipe,” he said, voice rough.
I didn’t pull away.
He exhaled slowly, tension flickering through him. “That’s… one way to clean up.”
When i finally let go, he flexed his fingers, still watching you like he’d forgotten everything else.
He stepped closer, caging you against the counter. His voice was low, rough—still morning-raw, but stripped of any leftover sleep.
"What do you want?"
I didn't answer right away. Just looked up at him through your lashes, let the silence stretch.
"What do you want?" I returned the question .
His jaw tightened. Something flickered behind his eyes—something darker than playfulness. He leaned in, one hand braced on the counter beside my hip, the other coming up to grip my chin. Not hard. Just enough to tilt my face toward his.
"I want you to stop playing with your food."
His thumb dragged across my lower lip, slow and deliberate.
"So I'm your food?" I murmured against his skin.
"If that's how you want to put it…" His voice dropped to a murmur, lips brushing the corner of my mouth. "Yeah."
"I don't know. You can show me what you have in mind."
The words left my lips before i could stop them. A dare. A test. She wasn't sure which.
His predatory grin didn't falter. If anything, it sharpened—curling at the edges like he'd been waiting for me to say exactly that. His eyes held mine, dark and unblinking.
The gentle touch behind my ear slid down. His thumb traced the line of my jaw with excruciating slowness, his skin still damp from the batter, leaving a faint, cool trail along my heated flesh. I shivered. He felt it. His gaze flickered with satisfaction.
"Show you?"
He leaned in, closing the last inch of space between us. His lips brushed against the shell of her ear—not quite a kiss, more like a threat wrapped in velvet. His breath was hot, uneven. His voice dropped to a thick, honeyed whisper, dripping with promise.
"I can do much better than that. I can let you taste exactly what I have in mind."
"Mmmm."
The sound was soft. Low. It vibrated against his thumb, still resting on her jaw. A murmur of surrender. Of approval.
That single sound seemed to travel straight through his skin, his muscle, his bones. It landed somewhere deep in his core and lit a fuse he hadn't even known was there.
His breath caught. The wolfish smile turned into something darker. More possessive.
He moved his hand, cupping my chin firmly. His fingers pressed into my skin—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to let me know i wasn't going anywhere.
"Good."
He breathed the word out like a promise. His eyes flickered down to my lips, lingering there for a heartbeat too long.
"Because you're about to get the whole fucking menu."
With that single, soft sound of approval, something in him snapped. The low burn of the last few minutes flared white-hot. He was done talking.
He let go of my chin, his hand sliding to the nape of my neck. His fingers tangled in my hair, gripping firmly, and he pulled my mouth to his in a sudden, claiming kiss.
It was deep, the kind of kiss that swallowed my air and left you dizzy. His tongue swept against yours, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he wanted to do with it. His body pressed my back against the counter, the edge biting into my hips, and i couldn't tell if the heat pooling low in my stomach was from him or from the way his fingers flexed against my scalp.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His forehead dropped to yours, eyes still closed, jaw still tight.
His voice came out wrecked. Low. Almost a growl.
"That's the only sound I want to hear."
My lips curved into a smile. You knew he could feel it.
"I thought you wanted more."
His eyes snapped open. Something feral flickered there, raw and unguarded. His grip in my hair tightened just enough to make your breath catch not painful, just… present. A reminder.
His mouth hovered over mine, lips barely brushing as he spoke.
"Oh, I do."
His other hand slid from the counter to my waist, fingers digging into the soft curve of your my, pulling me flush against him.
"I want everything."
And the way he said it—low, certain, like it was already his—made my knees weak and my cheeks burn all at once.
I slid my hand down, first to my nipples through my shirt to show him how hard they were, then down to my heat. The deliberate movement was pure visual provocation. His eyes tracked my hand's slow descent, the hitch in his breathing the only sign he was still alive and not carved from stone. When my palm finally pressed against the heat between my thighs, a ragged, animal sound tore from his throat.
He watched, utterly transfixed, for one more agonizing second before his control shattered. His hand snapped out, grabbing my wrist and pinning it to the counter beside us. He leaned in, his mouth a breath away from mine, his voice a guttural command. "Don't. You don't get to do that. Only I do."
"Really? Then why am I the one touching myself right now?"
The challenge in my words, the sheer defiance of my action, slammed into him. His jaw tightened, the feral heat in his eyes solidifying into something dangerously focused. My wrist was still pinned beneath his, but the implied control I'd just exerted was a spark thrown on dynamite.
He pressed my wrist harder into the cold countertop, his other hand coming up to grip my jaw, forcing me to hold his gaze.
"Because I'm letting you. For about three more seconds. Then your hands stay right here." He released my jaw, trailing his fingertips down my throat, over my collarbone, stopping just above the fabric of my shirt. "I decide what you feel. Where you're touched. And right now..." His fingers slipped under the hem of my shirt, grazing the skin of my stomach. "I'm starting here."
He dropped to his knees on the kitchen tile, his mouth finding the soft skin of my stomach first in a series of open-mouthed, searing kisses. He moved upward slowly, worshipfully, his hands holding my hips steady as his lips traced a blazing path over my ribs, then higher, until his warm breath ghosted over the thin fabric covering my breasts.
He didn't look up, his focus entirely on the peaked flesh beneath my shirt. He closed his mouth over it, fabric and all, sucking gently, then harder, his tongue circling the stiff peak through the material. A low groan rumbled from his chest against my skin.
"Told you." He breathed the words against me, his voice muffled. "My decision. My touch."
A sharp intake of breath escaped me—the only sound in the quiet kitchen, cut through by the wet, hot sound of his mouth working over my shirt. The sensation was almost too much: the fabric rasping against my oversensitive skin, his tongue a firm, persistent pressure, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp.
He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips still brushing the damp cotton. His voice was thick, rough with want.
"That's the sound." He looked up at me, his eyes black with intent. "Now tell me you don't want my hands on you instead."
He didn't wait for a verbal answer. My gasp was permission enough. His hands moved from my hips, sliding up my sides to grip the hem of my shirt. He pulled the fabric up and over my head in one swift motion, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. His dark eyes swept over me, the morning light painting my skin in gold. His voice was a reverent rasp.
"Better."
He drank in the sight of my bare skin, the sharp rise and fall of my chest, with a hunger that was almost painful. The air grew thick, the only sound our mingled, ragged breathing. His hands slid up my waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, his gaze never leaving mine.
"All mine."
He held me there, suspended in his gaze for a long, trembling moment. The morning air was cool against my newly bared skin, but the heat from his hands and his stare was overwhelming. His thumbs made slow, deliberate circles just below the swell of my breasts, a promise of where his mouth would go next.
He leaned forward, his breath hot against my skin as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss just above my navel. His voice was a low vibration against me. "Every inch." Another kiss, higher. "Every sigh." His lips brushed the underside of my breast, his tongue darting out to taste my skin. "It all belongs to me now."
Then he slipped his hand into my panties to feel my wetness. His declaration hung in the air between us, a possessive truth he was determined to prove. Keeping one hand splayed possessively on my waist, his other drifted lower, his fingers tracing a line along the top edge of my panties before slipping beneath the fabric.
His fingers slid through the heat and slickness he found there, a dark, satisfied sound rumbling in his chest as he looked up at me. "See?" His voice was thick, his touch deliberate, circling but not yet giving me the pressure I craved. "Even your body knows who it answers to."
"Then give my body what it wants."
My words were a direct order—an invitation and a challenge wrapped in one. His fingers, still slick with me, paused their circling. A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips against my skin as he looked up at me, his dark eyes gleaming with absolute authority.
He withdrew his hand from my panties, holding my gaze as he brought his glistening fingers to his own mouth, tasting me without breaking eye contact. His voice was a low, commanding purr.
"I will. But on my terms. And only when I'm sure you remember who's giving it to you."
He stood up slowly, his movements deliberate and full of predatory grace. His eyes, dark and hungry, never left mine as he crowded me back against the kitchen counter. He gripped my hips and spun me around, pressing my front against the cool marble countertop. His body caged me from behind, his voice a hot whisper against my ear.
"You ask so pretty. But I'm not done reminding you."
He put a finger in. He didn't hesitate. His finger the same one that had just tasted me slipped inside me with a smooth, deliberate stroke, filling me with a sudden, aching fullness.
His other hand splayed across my lower back, pinning me gently but firmly against the counter as he worked his finger deep, then shallow, his breath hot against the nape of my neck. "There." His voice was a low, possessive growl. "That's what you wanted. But it's not enough, is it?"
"No."
His finger stilled completely inside me, the sudden cessation of movement almost more jarring than the penetration itself. His body went rigid against my back.
He pulled his finger out slowly, deliberately, and turned me around to face him. His eyes were dark pools of stormy intensity, his jaw tight. "No?" His voice was dangerously low, almost a whisper.
I didn't have to speak. He put two fingers inside me. A dark, appreciative sound rumbled in his chest at my silent demand. His hands slid back to my hips, keeping me firmly caged against the counter. His voice was a low, taunting murmur against my skin.
"Greedy." The word was a caress. He didn't tease this time. Two fingers pressed against my entrance, then slid inside me with a slow, deep, deliberate stretch, filling me completely. "Is that better?"
"Mhm."
A low, throaty chuckle vibrated against my back. His two fingers worked inside me, deep and slow, curling just right to make me gasp. His other hand slid around my hip, his palm pressing flat against my lower stomach, holding me firmly in place against the thrust of his fingers.
The two fingers inside me curled deliberately, his thumb finding my clit to apply a slow, circling pressure. Every movement was a claim, a demonstration of the control he'd demanded. His dark eyes watched my face, waiting. His hands moved slowly, caressing me with a tenderness that made me shiver.
The rhythm inside me shifting from slow and deep to something sharper, controlled, punishing pace that demanded my full attention.
He brought his lips to the sensitive skin just below my ear, his teeth grazing lightly as he spoke, his voice rough with approval.
His thumb pressed harder against my clit, his fingers curling upward. "Now show me."
His thumb began circling my clit with a rough, unyielding pressure, while the two fingers inside me drove deep and fast, his wrist working with a focused, relentless rhythm. He watched my face, his own expression one of intense concentration and dark pleasure, orchestrating every sensation that would bring me to the edge.
His gaze locked on mine, his breathing becoming heavier in time with his movements.
"That's it. Come for me. Give it to me."
His rhythm became punishing in its precision, his thumb a relentless point of pressure and friction, his fingers a deep, driving force inside me. The air grew thick with the sounds of skin, ragged breathing, and the unyielding pace he set. His eyes never left my face, watching for every flicker of reaction as he commanded my release.
His free hand came up to tangle in my hair, gently pulling my head back to expose my throat, his voice a ragged, possessive command against my ear.
"Now. Don't you dare hold back."
His command was followed by the brutal, final escalation of his touch. His thumb worked my clit in fast, ruthless circles, his two fingers pistoning deep inside me with a force that pushed me back against the hard counter with every thrust. The combined assault was overwhelming, designed to break my control entirely and deliver exactly what he'd demanded.
His grip in my hair tightened just enough to anchor me, his lips brushing my ear as he drove me relentlessly toward the edge, his voice a raw, breathless growl.
" Come on. Give it to me. Prove it."
His dark eyes were heavy-lidded with a primal satisfaction, watching my every reaction as he drove me toward the climax he'd commanded.
The relentless rhythm brought me to a orgasm that shook my entire body. As my shudders subsided, his fingers, glistening, pulled slowly from me. He held his hand up between our faces, his gaze dark and triumphant as he watched me.
"You liked my fingers earlier, didn't you? Taste them now."
He brought his wet fingers to my lips, pressing them gently but insistently against my mouth, his eyes holding mine with a primal, commanding intensity.
"Open."
His command hung in the charged air, his gaze unwavering. The taste of salt and my own release already ghosted my senses as he held his fingers pressed to my lips. His eyes darkened further, a vein pulsing in his jaw as he waited, his entire posture rigid with expectation.
I opened my mouth. His index and middle finger slipped past my lips, resting on my tongue. He watched with rapt, possessive attention as my mouth closed around them, his expression one of dark, profound satisfaction. He let out a low, gravelly hum of approval, his other hand still possessively holding my hair.
"Good girl. Swallow."
"Just like that."
His eyes remained fixed on me, watching me swallow. The air was thick with the raw aftermath of what had just happened, the silence broken only by our breathing. He slowly withdrew his fingers from my mouth, his thumb tracing my lower lip in a possessive caress. His gaze was dark and satisfied.
"So, now what should I do with this wet pussy of yours?"
He didn't move away, his body still caging me against the counter. His hand slid down from my hair to grip my hip, his touch branding through the thin material of my clothes. The question hung between them, a raw, provocative promise.
He pressed a kiss to the slope of my shoulder, his voice a low, predatory murmur against her skin.
"Tell me what you want. Or I'll decide for you."
"Mm. You should decide." I answered.
A dark, predatory smile curved his lips at my response. He straightened up, his grip on my hip tightening possessively as his gaze raked over me.
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a low, dangerous purr.
"Good answer.”
His low, dangerous purr vibrated against my ear. The air grew thicker, heavy with the scent of him and her and the raw promise in his words. His hand on my hip was a brand, his body a cage of heat and muscle.
His free hand came up to grasp my chin, tilting her face to meet his burning gaze.
"Then I'm going to make you scream my name against this counter until you forget you ever had a choice."
A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest at my submission. His grasp on my chin tightened just enough to be felt, his eyes holding mine captive.
He released my chin only to slide both hands down to my thighs, hoisting me up onto the kitchen counter in one smooth, powerful motion.
"Let's see if you can keep that attitude while you're coming apart for me."
He settled me firmly on the cold marble, the contrast to his own heat stark. His hands slid up my thighs, pushing the hem of my shirt higher, his movements deliberate and unhurried.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts and underwear, tugging them down my thighs in one rough, decisive motion. The cool kitchen air kissed my newly exposed skin.
He leaned back, his gaze a dark, burning possession as it roamed over me.
"There. That's all I need off. Now put your hands back. Don't make me."
I did what he told me.
His eyes darkened with approval as I complied, his gaze locked on my hands moving back to brace against the cold countertop.
"That's my good girl. Now, keep them there. Let's see how long you can remember who you belong to."
A low, rough sound of approval rumbled in his chest. He leaned in, his warm breath fanning over my neck, one hand sliding around to the small of my back to pull me closer to the edge of the counter.
His other hand slipped between my thighs, his touch deliberate and knowing, his lips grazing my ear.
"Waiting was the only right thing to do. Let's see what else you can do right for me."
The distinct, deliberate sounds filled the silence the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of the quiet slide of his sweatpants. Then, the whisper of his shirt being pulled over his head.
"Much better. Now, where were we?"
He started to tease my entrance with his dick. The teasing pressure of him was maddening, deliberate in its slowness. He held himself there, a hot, heavy promise against my most sensitive skin, not giving me what I craved, just letting me feel the potential.
His breath hitched, a low groan escaping him as he kept that torturous, shallow contact, his hands gripping my hips to hold me steady.
"Look at you. Already begging for it and I haven't even started. Tell me, baby. Who do you belong to?"
"To you, love."
A sharp, approving breath escaped him at my words. His hands tightened on my hips, possessive and sure.
"That's right. And don't you ever forget it."
With my answer given, he ceased his teasing. In one smooth, powerful motion, he thrust forward, claiming me completely, filling the space between us with a deep, shared groan. The sudden, overwhelming sensation of being taken, of being joined, was punctuated only by the solid sound of his palms hitting the counter on either side of my hips, caging me in.
The sharp, breathless sound that escaped me seemed to fuel him further. The initial, claiming thrust settled into a deep, intense connection, his hips flush against mine for a long, weighted moment.
His forehead dropped to rest against my shoulder, a deep groan vibrating against my skin as he began to move, slow and deliberate at first, each roll of his hips measured and possessive.
"Ahh is right, baby. Every sound is mine."
He started slowly but then faster. The deliberate, slow pace was a taunt, a promise of building pressure. But as my body responded, that measured control fractured. His rhythm shifted from deep, claiming strokes to something more urgent, his hips snapping against mine with a new, hungry speed.
His breathing grew ragged, the counter creaking slightly under the force of his movements as he drove into me, each thrust deeper and faster than the last.
"That's it. Take all of it. You're mine."
The only sound was the slap of skin to skin. His balls to my ass. The rhythm intensified, the room filled with the primal, rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin, each powerful thrust creating a sharp, wet slap that echoed against the tile.
His voice was a rough, broken growl against my ear, his body moving with a frenetic, desperate energy.
"Fuck... that sound. You feel it? That's me claiming what's mine."
His pace became relentless, a frantic, driving rhythm that left us both breathless. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and skin, and the sharp, echoing slaps grew faster, more demanding.
His fingers dug into the soft flesh of my hips, his grunts becoming more strained and guttural with each thrust, the sound raw and unrestrained.
His rhythm became a punishing, unrestrained force, his hips slamming against me with a new, primal intensity.
His hands flew from my hips to tangle in my hair, holding it tight in his fists as he pistoned into me with brutal, perfect force, his voice ragged with ecstasy.
The sharp, stinging crack of his palm against my ass echoed the harsh slap of our bodies, a punctuation to his frantic rhythm.
The slap was followed by another, then another, each one landing on the flushed, sensitive skin, his fingers digging in possessively. His other hand, its intricate ink stark against my throat, slid up to wrap around my neck, not squeezing, but holding, a dominant claim as he drove into me with unrelenting force.
My back arched off the counter, a helpless arch of pure pleasure that I couldn't control.
The slaps stopped, the hand at my throat tightened just enough, and his rhythm became a final, desperate, unstoppable drive.
His breath was still hot and ragged against my skin, his body pressed heavily against my back as he slowly softened inside me. The kitchen was silent now save for our panting breaths, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.
He loosened his grip on my throat, his tattooed fingers tracing the skin he'd just claimed.
He pressed a possessive kiss to my shoulder, his lips against my damp skin.
He saw that I was going to come, so he slowed his move.
He deliberately slowed his punishing rhythm to a torturous, shallow grind, denying me the friction I was chasing, his voice a low, teasing command against my ear.
"Oh no, you don't. Not until I say so."
"What?!"
His smirk deepened at my startled reaction, his hips still moving in that deliberate, slow grind that kept me right on the edge.
"You heard me. I decide when you come. Not you." His voice was a low, unwavering command.
His control was absolute, his body a firm, unyielding cage that kept me pinned on the razor's edge he had created.
He maintained the slow, maddening rhythm, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke, his tone dripping with dark amusement.
He nipped at my earlobe, his voice a dark, velvety promise.
"That's right. You asked for this. Now you get the whole fucking package. And my package doesn't come until I'm good and ready to give it to you." He chuckled, the sound low and self-satisfied. "Be a good girl and wait."
He kept up the slow, deliberate grind, savoring every tremor and hitched breath he could feel from my body pressed against his. The morning light filtered through the kitchen window, casting stark shadows and illuminating the flushed skin of my neck and shoulders under his gaze.
He leaned his weight more fully into me, his own breathing beginning to even out as he watched the muscles in my back tense and strain, a low hum of satisfaction in his chest.
"Feels good, doesn't it? This edge. Knowing I'm the only thing holding you back from it." He pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the nape of my neck. "My good girl."
In one swift, powerful motion, he withdrew from me and lifted me from the counter, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he turned and carried me to the nearest wall. The tile was cool and unyielding against my back as he pressed me firmly against it, bringing us face to face.
His dark eyes locked onto mine, his arms caging me in, his voice a low growl.
"Better. I want to watch you. Watch you try to hold on."
The shift in position seemed to unleash something primal in him. With me pinned against the wall, legs wrapped tight around his waist, he drove into me with a renewed, brutal pace. Every thrust was hard, deep, and punishingly fast, the force of it rattling my body against the cool tile.
His eyes blazed, locked on my face, his breathing ragged as he chased his own peak, his voice a raw, broken growl.
"Look at me. Look at me when you come. Only when I let you."
I couldn't anymore, so I came. But he didn't.
My climax broke like a wave against a cliff, my body shuddering and convulsing around him in a desperate, involuntary release.
His jaw tightened, a dark, triumphant fire burning in his eyes as he watched me come undone for him. He didn't stop, didn't give me a moment to breathe, his voice a harsh, ragged command against my lips.
"I didn't say you could. But since you did... Now you take it. Every last bit of it. Until I'm done with you."
His words hung in the air, a sharp accusation laced with dark amusement and possessive fire. The brutal, fast pace of his hips continued unabated, making the wall shudder with each impact.
His hands gripped my thighs harder, his forehead pressed against mine as he drove into me, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.
"That's two for you, angel. And I haven't had mine yet. Someone got a little too impatient."
His fingers curled slightly in your hair—not rough, just enough for you to feel the weight of his hand.
"Show me how sorry you are. On your knees."
The words were a low, absolute command that hung in the charged air between us. His grip on my thighs loosened, signaling the expected descent. His dark eyes held mine, unyielding, the promise of what was to come simmering in their depths.
"Now angel"
He watched me slide down the wall, his gaze intense and unwavering. The cool kitchen floor met my knees. He took a half-step back, his form towering over me in the morning light, casting a long shadow that enveloped me completely. His breathing was still ragged from exertion, his expression one of dark, possessive expectation.
He reached out, his fingers gently but firmly tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb brushing my jawline. His voice was a low, velvety command.
"Good. Now, look up at me. Don't you dare look away. And open your mouth."
His command hung in the air, a final, unyielding order. He looked down at me, his expression a mask of dark anticipation and absolute control, waiting for my compliance. His hand remained at my jaw, his thumb stroking my lower lip once, his eyes burning into mine with unwavering intensity.
My mouth obeyed his command, opening for him on the cool kitchen floor. Jungkook's gaze darkened with satisfaction as he looked down at me, his thumb still resting on my lower lip.
He let out a low, appreciative hum, his other hand moving to his waistband. His voice was thick and velvety.
"Good girl. Now, you're going to pay back every last bit of what you owe."
His tone brooked no hesitation, the command leaving the air heavy with expectation. His thumb pressed gently but firmly against my lower lip, a physical reminder of his control as he waited.
He held my gaze, his own dark and unblinking, a silent dare etched into his features. His breathing was steady now, a controlled rhythm compared to the earlier frenzy.
"Go on. Show me how sorry you are."
A low groan rumbled in his chest as I took him in, his head tipping back slightly. His fingers gently tangled in my hair, not forcing, but guiding my rhythm as he watched me with heavy-lidded, possessive eyes.
His voice was a strained, deep hum of approval.
"That's it… just like that. Take it all. You remember who you belong to right now."
The sudden, forceful thrust deeper into my mouth drew another low groan from him. His fingers tightened in my hair, anchoring me in place as he held himself there for a moment, his jaw clenched.
His voice was a rough, strained growl as he looked down at me, his movements becoming more assertive, setting a punishing pace.
"That's it... take it all. Don't forget who you're paying back."
The force of his thrusts sent him deep, hitting the back of my throat with a wet sound. His hips stuttered slightly at the sensation, a sharp hiss escaping his clenched teeth. His grip in my hair tightened, holding me steady against him.
His movements became slower, more deliberate, each deep push a controlled act of possession. His voice was a ragged, breathless whisper.
"Yes... just like that. Right there. You're taking it so well."
The sounds were messy, wet, and obscene. His cock was slick with saliva, every hard thrust coating his length and my mouth.
His breathing became ragged, his hips losing their controlled rhythm. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat, his hand fisting tighter in my hair.
"Fuck... that's it. Get it all over you. Show me. Look at me."
His command cut through the wet, sloppy sounds. His dark eyes burned down at me, demanding my gaze meet his even as he moved in my mouth.
His thrusts slowed but did not stop, his grip in my hair keeping me from pulling away. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp, thick with lust.
"Look at me when you take it. I want to see your eyes."
His words hung in the air, a rough, demeaning praise that seemed to tighten the very atmosphere between us. His hips continued their slow, deliberate thrusts, his dark gaze locked on mine, watching for every flicker of reaction.
His thumb brushed along my cheek, smearing a trail of wetness across my mouth. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp, thick with lust.
His movements in my mouth had stilled completely, though he remained buried deep, his hand still fisted possessively in my hair. His dark eyes watched me, glinting with dark amusement and a promise.
He used his grip to tilt my head back just slightly further, his thumb stroking my jawline. His voice was a husky, intimate murmur.
"Stick your tongue out."
He remained hovering over me, his dark gaze expectant and unyielding. The command hung in the air, a direct order that left no room for hesitation.
He kept his grip firm in my hair, his other hand coming up to gently tap the tip of my chin with his thumb. His voice was low and thick with anticipation.
"Let me see it. All of it. Don't make me ask again."
He gave a low, dark chuckle of approval at my obedience, his thumb still resting on my jaw. Slowly, he withdrew from my mouth with a slick, wet sound.
He stood straight, his cock flushed and glistening in front of me. He wrapped his hand around it, his strokes slow and deliberate at first, his other hand still loosely tangled in my hair.
"Good. Now watch. Watch what you did to me and swallow."
The single word was a command, low and thick with intent. His hand was still moving, his strokes becoming faster, more urgent. The air grew thick with the scent of him and the charged anticipation of his release.
His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, remained locked on my face. His breathing hitched, his muscles tensing.
"Every drop. You'll take it all."
After his release he took a moment. His breathing was still ragged, his chest heaving as he looked down at you. His hand slowly loosened in your hair, fingers smoothing through the tangled strands instead of gripping.
For a long moment, he just stood there, watching you.
Then he dropped to his knees in front of you.
The kitchen floor was cold against his skin, but he didn't seem to notice. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing gently across your cheekbones, wiping away the mess he'd made.
"Hey," he murmured, voice soft now – stripped of command, stripped of darkness. Just him. "You okay?"
You nodded, still catching my breath.
His forehead dropped to mine. He stayed like that for a second, just breathing with you.
"You did so good," he whispered. "So good for me."
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. Then the tip of my nose. Then my lips – soft this time, barely there, nothing like before.
"Come here."
He pulled me gently against his chest, one arm wrapping around my back, the other cradling the back of my head.
He didn't rush. Didn't try to get me up or clean me off or say too much. He just held me, his thumb tracing slow circles against my back, until mu breathing evened out and the trembling stopped.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were soft. Tender. Nothing like the storm from before.
"Let's get you off this floor, yeah?"
He stood first, then reached down, taking both your hands and pulling me up slowly, carefully. My legs were still unsteady, and he noticed immediately – one arm sliding around my waist to keep you upright.
"Easy. I've got you."
He led me to the counter, grabbing a kitchen towel and running it under warm water. When he came back, he knelt again – not to command, but to care.
His touch was gentle as he wiped my face. Each movement slow, deliberate, tender.
"There," he murmured, tossing the towel aside. "Better?"
I nodded.
He stood, pulling you into his chest again, one hand cradling the back of my head.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For the rough part. Got a little… lost in it."
I shook my head against his chest. "I liked it."
He let out a soft laugh, his chest vibrating against your cheek. "Yeah. I know you did."
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
"Still. You tell me if it's too much. Always."
I pulled back just enough to look up at him. "I will."
His thumb traced your jaw one more time – soft, almost reverent.
"Good girl."
He said it differently this time. Not like a command. Like a promise.
"Now," he said, glancing at the forgotten waffle batter on the counter, "I think I owe you breakfast. Real breakfast this time."
I laughed softly. "You think?"
He grinned that warm, crooked grin from the very beginning of the morning.
"I know."
He grabbed a blanket from the living room and wrapped it around my shoulders before guiding me to a chair at the small kitchen table.
"Sit. Don't move. I'm making you waffles. And coffee. And whatever else you want."
I watched him move around the kitchen naked except for his boxers which he had put on, hair still messy, skin still flushed. He cracked new eggs into a bowl, this time without missing.
in which jungkook orders pizza, puts on a movie, and fully expects a normal night in — only to end up with a drunk, straddling, hickey-leaving mess of a girlfriend who can't stop complimenting his jawline, and somehow? he's never been more in love.
pairing: idol!jungkook x drunk!femreader
genre: fluff, established relationship, soft domestic vibes
warning/tags: drunk reader, alcohol consumption, suggestive content (no smut), hickeys, straddling, drunk kissing, jungkook being a sweetheart, soft boundaries, pet names, fluff, established relationship, secret idol relationship, lowkey chaotic reader x calm jungkook
wc: oneshot (2k)
masterlist
the seoul night skyline glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a million city lights blurred into soft halos against the inky black.
inside, the house was a sanctuary of low, warm light and the kind of comfortable silence that only exists between two people who have nothing left to prove to each other.
jungkook, in his signature uniform of a loose, washed-out gray sweatshirt and black shorts, was sprawled on one end of the massive sectional sofa. his hair, still slightly damp from a post-practice shower, fell in soft, dark waves over his forehead.
across from him, curled up with her socked feet tucked under a plush throw blanket, was you.
the coffee table was a glorious battlefield of late-night cravings.
the iconic red-and-white box of pizza, half-demolished, sat next to a bucket of golden, crispy fried chicken that still radiated warmth. little plastic containers held pools of creamy ranch, spicy gochujang sauce, and a sweet honey mustard dip.
jungkook cradled a tall, frosty glass of draft beer, a thin trail of condensation sliding down its side, while you hugged a large glass of cold peach iced tea, the ice cubes clinking softly every time you shifted.
“okay, okay,” jungkook said, pointing a piece of pepperoni pizza at the screen where the movie’s opening credits had just ended. “this part? this is the best part. just watch his face.”
you squinted at the screen, watching a grizzled detective stare down a suspect. “he just blinked, koo.”
“it’s not just a blink, baby,” he insisted, his doe eyes wide with sincerity as he took a bite.
he chewed, wiped a stray smear of tomato sauce from the corner of his lip with his thumb, and then pointed at the screen again.
“it’s the micro-expression of a man who has seen too much. the slight twitch in his jaw. the weariness. it’s called acting.”
you snorted, tearing off a piece of juicy fried chicken and dipping it liberally into the ranch. “and you would know about micro-expressions, mr. ‘i-have-three-different-faces-for-every-second-of-a-performance’?”
he grinned, a flash of bunny teeth that melted your heart every single time. “exactly. i’m a professional observer of human emotion. now hush, the dialogue is crucial.”
and so the night went. a rhythm you knew by heart.
he’d dissect a scene, you’d tease him for overthinking a simple action movie. you’d steal a piece of his chicken, he’d retaliate by stealing a sip of your iced tea and making a face because it was ‘too sweet’.
he told you about a new choreography he was struggling with, his hands moving through the air to illustrate a particularly difficult transition. you told him about the ridiculous argument your coworker got into over the last cup of office coffee.
he laughed, a real, full-bellied laugh that crinkled his eyes, and reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your jaw for a second longer than necessary.
“i’m glad you’re here,” he said, his voice softer now, meant only for the space between you.
“me too,” you replied, your heart doing a little flip.
even after all this time, the quiet intimacy of these nights still felt like a secret superpower. just jeon jungkook, the biggest star in the world, bare-faced and giggling over pizza grease with his girlfriend.
the movie progressed. the pizza box was reduced to crumbs. the chicken bucket held only a lone, abandoned drumstick. as the on-screen hero prepared for the final, explosive showdown, you found your attention wandering from the screen to the glass in jungkook’s hand.
the golden liquid, the thin layer of foam. he’d always said it was an acquired taste, a ‘grown-up’ drink. you’d always been content with your sweet, predictable beverages. but tonight, watching the light catch the amber depths, a spark of mischief ignited in your chest.
you reached over, your fingers brushing his as you gently tugged the glass from his hand.
he looked at you, one eyebrow raised. “baby?”
“i want to try it,” you said, bringing the glass to your nose. it smelled of bread and something floral, with a sharp, hoppy bite underneath.
he knew you.
he knew your history of getting dizzy after one glass of wine at the company dinner. “you have the tolerance of a hamster,” he said, a warning laced with affection. “you won’t like it.”
“you don’t know that,” you challenged, already tilting the glass.
the first sip was.. a betrayal.
a bitter, carbonated shock that made your tongue recoil. you grimaced, your whole face scrunching up like you’d bitten into a lemon. jungkook laughed, a low, knowing chuckle.
“told you,” he said, gently taking the glass back.
but a stubborn part of you refused to accept defeat. it wasn’t about the taste anymore. it was about the tiny rebellion.
so, over the next twenty minutes, while he was engrossed in the movie’s climax—explosions and dramatic music filling the room—you became a ninja.
a very clumsy, very obvious ninja.
every time he set his glass down on the coaster, your hand would dart out a minute later, and you’d take a quick, furtive sip. gulp, actually.
the bitterness started to fade, replaced by a warm, spreading fuzziness that felt like sinking into a heated blanket. your limbs got heavier. your thoughts got.. wobbly.
the second the movie’s end credits rolled, a triumphant orchestral swell filling the silence, jungkook turned to you to make a comment about the final plot twist. he stopped.
you were staring at him. not your normal, soft, adoring stare. this was a laser-focused, slightly cross-eyed, intense look.
your cheeks were flushed a deep, rosy pink, and your lips were parted in a lazy, dreamy smile.
“you’re drunk,” he stated, not a question. He looked at his glass, which was now conspicuously empty. “you drank almost all of it.”
“m’not drunk,” you slurred, the words melting into each other. “m’warm. and you look.. shiny?”
he sighed, but there was no annoyance in it. only a deep, boundless fondness. “okay, baby. movie’s over. time for bed.”
he started to shift, to stand up and offer you a hand, but you were faster. or, more accurately, you were more recklessly determined. in a movement that was equal parts clumsy and graceful, you swung a leg over his thighs and settled squarely onto his lap, straddling him.
your hands landed on his broad shoulders for balance, and your face was suddenly very, very close to his.
his hands, acting on pure instinct, came up to rest on your waist, his fingers spanning the curve of your hips. he was steady, a solid anchor beneath your sudden, stormy chaos.
“whoa there, angel,” he murmured, his thumbs drawing small, soothing circles on your sides. “you’re a bit tipsy.”
you shook your head, which was a mistake because it made the room spin pleasantly. you leaned in, your nose brushing against his. “no. I’m looking at you. Really looking.”
your words were a syrupy, honeyed drawl. “you’re so pretty, jungkook. like.. so pretty. it’s not fair.” your fingers traced the line of his jaw, the shell of his ear.
“when you work out? and your arms get all.. grrr?” you made a sound that was supposed to be a growl but came out more like a kitten’s mew.
“i wanna bite your biceps. and when you’re on stage.. oh my god.” you closed your eyes, a shiver running through you.
“when you do that thing with your hips? or when you throw your head back and your neck is all there, all sweaty and gorgeous? i almost die. every single time. the stylist noonas have to fan me. they think it’s the heat from the lights.”
he was trying so hard to keep a straight face, to be the responsible one, but a laugh was bubbling in his chest. your unfiltered, drunken rambling was the most adorable thing he’d ever witnessed.
“and you’re so cute when you sleep,” you continued, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“your mouth falls open a little bit. and you make these little.. mmph sounds.” you poked his chest with a finger for emphasis.
“and when you brush your teeth? you just wander around, looking all fluffy and domestic. i look at you and i just want to.. eat you. like, just nom nom nom.” you mimed biting his cheek, and he finally let the laugh out, a soft, breathy sound of pure delight.
“yeah?” he whispered, his eyes sparkling.
“yeah,” you breathed, and then you kissed him.
it wasn't a tentative, sober kiss. it was a needy, open-mouthed, slightly sloppy collision of lips. you tasted like peach iced tea and bitter beer, a strange but intoxicating combination. your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently.
then your lips were on the move, trailing a hot, wet path from the corner of his mouth, down the sharp line of his jaw, to the strong column of his neck.
you found the spot just below his ear, the one you knew drove him crazy, and you sucked. hard. he felt the sting of a forming bruise, a hickey blooming like a dark flower on his skin.
“baby,” he breathed, his hands tightening on your waist. not pushing you away, just.. holding on.
you didn’t listen. you kissed your way down to his collarbone, nipping at the skin visible in the wide neck of his sweatshirt. you pulled the fabric aside and left another mark. you were a woman on a mission, a chaotic, love-drunk little menace.
you grew impatient.
your hands left his shoulders and grabbed his wrists. he felt your small, warm hands wrap around his, and then you were pulling, guiding, placing his palms squarely on your chest, right over your heart that was hammering like a trapped bird.
you looked up at him, your eyes hazy and pleading. “touch me,” you whispered, your voice raw. “please? do something. anything. i need..”
he went very still. the air in the room changed, charged with a different kind of electricity.
but he didn’t move his hands. he just looked at you, his dark eyes soft and full of a love so profound it seemed to absorb all the light in the room.
he leaned in, pressing a single, impossibly gentle kiss to your forehead. then your nose. then each of your closed eyelids.
“no, baby,” he said, his voice a low, steady rumble. “not tonight.”
you whined, a small, frustrated sound, and tried to wiggle in his lap.
he shushed you, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, guiding it to rest against his shoulder. “you’re drunk, my love. my dizzy, adorable, chaos-gremlin. and i love you too much to do anything you might not remember perfectly in the morning.”
he started to rock you, a gentle, swaying motion. “tomorrow, if you still want to, you can ask me again. and i’ll say yes. a thousand times, yes. but right now? you need water, and you need sleep.”
he shifted, scooping you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. you let out a surprised squeak, your arms automatically looping around his neck, your face burying itself in the warm, safe curve of his shoulder.
you could feel the steady, powerful beat of his heart against your side.
he carried you to the bedroom, the city lights now a soft, silver glow through the sheer curtains. he laid you down on the cool sheets, pulled a glass of water from the bedside table, and made you drink half of it.
he helped you out of your jeans, pulled his own oversized t-shirt over your head, and tucked you under the duvet like a child.
you were already half-asleep, the world a fuzzy, warm blur. you felt him climb in next to you, felt his arm snake around your waist and pull you back against the solid wall of his chest. he was warm. he was safe. he was yours.
“my little lightweight,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “my pretty, perfect, messy drunk.”
you mumbled something incoherent that was supposed to be “love you.”
he smiled into your hair. “i love you more, baby. even when you’re trying to give me a heart attack.”
he pressed one last, lingering kiss to your shoulder, and let the quiet of the night and the rhythm of your breathing lull him to sleep, holding you like you were the most precious, fragile, and utterly chaotic thing in his entire universe.
and to him, you were.
a/n: i LOVEEEE this one sm, i hope you guys do too! please check out my other fics as well! <3
Jungkook knew by the third time whatever you were doing was far from innocent. The first time had been easy to ignore. You'd stepped closer while he was grabbing a drink, hand gliding down his grey vest as if there was something to fix, even though it was already perfect.
Then while eating, you'd brushed your hand over his thigh under the table. Although it's a habitual action but your fingers trailed a little too high and dangerously close to where he was already starting to feel the strain in his pants.
Later, when his aunt was showing some old photographs, his hand had rested politely on your waist, while you pressed back almost grinding against his crotch without anyone noticing.
God, you've kept testing his patience since you both arrived here.
From your side, it really wasn’t your fault.
Your husband looked disgustingly hot tonight. The white shirt, the grey vest, the diamond brooch you'd gotten him and those fucking gold rings on his fingers. Your husband looked straight out of a scandalous magazine no less.
It had been too long since he’d properly touched you.
And by too long you mean this morning which only consisted of a desperate makeout session against the dressing table until his dad had called to remind not to be late for the family gathering.
so here he was- looking like pure sin in front of everyone while you were starving for your husband's touch. it's only fair enough to make him suffer too, right. But as you continued with your evil plan of torturing him with your little touches, you began enjoying it too much.
Jungkook was barely holding it together now. He's trying to look relaxed but you knew him too well. Oh, how he wishes if he could just bend you over this instant and fuck that brattyness out of you.
“Aigoo, I left my reading glasses in the kitchen.”
“I’ll get them for you, halmeoni.” You give her a sweet smile before making your to the kitchen.
The moment you reach for the glasses on the counter, a very familiar tattooed arm slams against the cabinet beside your head.
You turn around to find the man you've been successfully avoiding to meet alone. Jungkook’s other hand lands on your hip trapping you between his arms as he presses himself into you. You could absolutely feel the unmistakable bulge pressing against your body.
“What are you doing?” You try to keep your voice innocent.
Jungkook scoffs. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head. “You find this funny, huh?”
You try to bite back your smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about..”
“Keep up with the act and I’ll bend you over this counter right fucking now."
You gulp because your husband may or may not be kidding about this.
“Halmeoni!” you gasp looking at the doorway behind him.
Jungkook jerks back so fast he nearly loses his balance.
By the time he figures there's no one behind, you're snatching the glasses off the counter and dart past him with a bright giggle as you escape the kitchen.
“You little—”
He shakes his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair with a mix of amusement, adjusting his pants to hide his very obvious problem created by his wife.
--
By evening, it’s worse.
Much worse.
The garden's lit up with warm string lights filled with fun chattering and laughters.
But not for Jungkook, because he’s been on edge for hours now and it’s starting to show.
You see it in the way his fingers keeps drumming impatiently, in how his attention drifts back to you no matter who he’s talking to.
Which only makes it harder not to smile.
You sit on the grass with his niece, completely occupied as she shows you her new hair clip collection, nodding along, sharing a laugh at whatever she’s explaining.
“Really?” you speak clipping one on her. “That’s your favorite?”
She nods enthusiastically putting a few on your hair too.
“Are you staying?” she suddenly asks, looking up at you with hopeful eyes.
"Uhh.."
“Stay.” She fists lightly at your dress with her little hand. “Please?"
You soften instantly and glance up to meet Jungkook’s eyes.
The second he sees that look on your face he knows exactly what you’re about to do.
“No, we can't—”
“We can stay,” you say at the same time, smiling down at her.
You don’t look at your husband right away.
because you already know what you’ll see.
and when you finally do glance up—
Yeah.
There it is.
You actually have to press your lips together to stop a laugh.
Of course you didn't intend to stay the night but you also didn't have the heart to say no to his cute little niece. As the night stretches on everyone's scattered. Some have already gone to bed while others lounge in watching an old movie.
You’re curled up on a big sofa, laughing along with Jungkook’s cousins. Jungkook sits across from you joining in here and there.
It’s almost midnight and you’re still showing zero urgency to leave. Your usually patient husband is hanging on by a thread. Jungkook stands up after a moment before letting you know he's heading to bed and you sure catch the sharp edge in his voice when he looks at you.
You give it another twenty minutes before making your way down the room in the hallway where you always stay in whenever you visit.
Your eyes try to adjust to the darkness of the room.
Did Jungkook really fall asleep?
You did tease him a lot today. He’s been worked up since morning and you spent the entire day pushing his buttons.
You pout closing the door behind you. What if he actually got annoyed and decided to just sleep?
The thought barely forms before strong hands grab your waist from behind and you're pinned against the door.
Jungkook’s hand slides up gripping your jaw to tilt your head back. You catch the intensity radiating off him as the moonlight spills through the thin curtains.
He breaths out dangerously calm.
“Had too much fun today, didn't you?” His body burns hot against yours. He only has his trousers on. You can feel how painfully hard he is as his thick length of his cock presses insistently against your ass.
His thumb brushes over your bottom lip almost too possessive.
“My turn now.”
A soft whimper escapes your lips the moment he speaks into your ear. One of his large palm squeezes your waist while the other slides down along your thigh.
You whimper again pressing back against him seeking more friction. The movement makes him growl in warning.
He reaches for the zipper at the back of your dress and yanks it down almost roughly making it pool at your feet. For a second you think he’s finally going to fuck you senseless against the door. but you know your husband too well. After all the teasing you put him through today- he’s going to make you pay for every single second of it first.
You almost whine the moment you feel the loss of his heat. You hear the sound of him unbuckling his belt. Turning around fully, you find Jungkook has dropped his trousers. Sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but his black boxers.
The obscene bulge straining against it only adds more to your wetness.
“Come here.”
Your legs feel weak as you walk towards him.
His gaze drops to your panties. “Off.”
You do as he says, sliding off your drenched fabric down your legs.
Jungkook taps his thick thigh once, manspreading wider. You already know exactly what he wants.
The moment your dripping core makes contact with his veiny muscle, a sharp gasp leaves your lips. His thigh is warm and firm and slightly rough with a light dusting of hair that drags deliciously against your sensitive folds.
Your arms hook around his neck for balance as you begin to rock your hips forward.
His eyes stay locked on where your pussy is pressed, watching the way your slick glistens on his skin.
His muscle flexes beneath you, pressing harder against your clit. Your head falls forward onto his shoulder with a broken moan.
“Jungkoo-” You can feel how wet you are by how easily you’re gliding over his thigh. Jungkook leans back on his palms flat on the bed behind him.
He doesn’t touch you even once. Even as his cock is straining hard against his boxers leaving a wet patch from watching you use him.
Normally, Jungkook’s hands and mouth are always on you. So you know he's deliberately making you suffer.
You moan louder as desperation starts to build. Your slick is dripping down his thigh now.
“Kook.. please”
You become needy. You’re aching for his hands, for his mouth, for anything he's willing to give.
Your hands slide down his chest, pressing against the hard planes of muscle. You need more. You need him to touch you.
You dip your head and bite down on his shoulder making him hiss through his teeth.
“Kook.. touch me..”
Your voice comes out in a pathetic whimper.
Jungkook exhales through his nose in a mock.
You whine loudly, hips stuttering against his thigh as you try to chase the pleasure but it's not enough. It’s almost painful not having your husband’s hands on you when you need him the most.
Your hand moves down to palm him over his boxers. Jungkook lets out a groan jerking up into your touch.
One moment you're riding his thigh and the next you find yourself thrown onto the bed.
“You’re not getting to touch me soon.”
His words vibrate against your skin as he licks a stripe from the column of your throat.
“My wife's been such a brat."
You whimper trying to reach for him again but he catches both of your wrists in one large hand and pins them above your head. Jungkook reaches for something beside you and you know from the feel of it that it's the grey tie he wore. He ties the silk around your wrists tight enough that you feel the gentle bite of restraint.
Jungkook sits back admiring his work. His eyes rake slowly over your body while his fingers barely touch over your belly. Jungkook’s eyes darken even more as he watches you squirm beneath him.
He buries his head into the crook of your neck, teeth sinking into the soft skin to make you gasp followed by the wet heat of his mouth as he sucks hard.
He pulls back up to hover his lips barely an inch away from your own, so close you can feel the warmth of his whiskey breath. You chase his mouth, lips parting in plea to pull him down into a proper kiss. Jungkook exhales a low laugh against your lips. Your back archs as he unclasps your bra.
“You know the safe word?” he speaks against your skin as he starts kissing his way down between the valley of your breasts.
You whine nodding frantically, too worked up to form proper words.
He pauses above your left nipple, his warm breath fanning over the hardened peak.
“words, sweetheart.”
“yes.. jungkook, please—”
The plea barely leaves your mouth before he finally sucks hard around your nipple. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud while his hand continues its torturous path, fingers barely moving along your slick folds.
He alternates between sucking and gentle bites on your breast, then moves to the other one giving it the same attention. All the while, his fingers tease your entrance dipping in just the tip of one finger before pulling back.
You’re panting now, wrists straining against his tie, body arching up into his mouth and hand. Jungkook lifts his head, eyes locked on your flushed face as he continues his slow descent down your body, lips and tongue tracing a wet path over your stomach until he settles between your spread thighs.
When his eyes land on your pussy, a rough sound rumbles from his chest. A thin string of arousal clings to your inner thigh and every time your walls clench around nothing, more of it leaks out.
“I’m sorry,” your voice comes out as a broke whimper. “Sorry, Jungkook.. please”
It’s embarrassing how quickly the apology spills from your lips even though he hasn’t said a single word yet.
Jungkook hums against your thigh. He lifts your left leg angling it up to rest your ankle on his broad shoulder. The new position spreads you open even more for him, exposing your dripping pussy completely to his hungry gaze.
“Can’t hear you.” He places an open-mouthed kiss right on the inside of your ankle.
You whine pathetically.
“Kook, please...” Your voice cracks with desperation. “need you.. so bad. please—”
Jungkook's own desperation wins as he dips his head down dragging his tongue through your folds. The loud moan escapes you as your back arches for him. His hot tongue laps at you with deliberate strokes.
The cool silver of his lip rings only add more to your pleasure as he eats you out like a mad man. One of his hands grips your thigh tightly holding your leg in place on his shoulder while the other slides under your ass, tilting your hips up so he can bury his face deeper between your legs. You moan his name like prayers.
You bring your tied hands to thread your fingers into his hair. Jungkook groans loudly at the tug. His scalp stings from how hard you’re pulling but it only seems to spur him on.
You cry out from the pleasure of his relentless licking, sucking and kissing every inch of your dripping pussy.
You’re shaking. Whimpering. Already close to tears from how badly you need to come but Jungkook pulls back every time only to start the torturous cycle all over again.
“Hands above your head.” Jungkook spreads your folds open with two fingers before you feel the flat of his ring-clad fingers directly onto your swollen clit. You let out a sharp moan as the thick gold rings make contact with your overheated skin. "Fuck—”
He knows how much you love these. How fucking turned on you get every time you see them on his hands. He starts rubbing circles over your clit, letting them drag again and again adding a new kind of delicious friction that makes your toes curl.
Your arousal is leaking steadily down your thighs and onto the sheets beneath you more so coating his shiny gold.
“Look at you,” He murmurs opening you up more. “Dripping all over my rings like a desperate little wife. You love feeling them on your pretty pussy, don’t you?”
You desperately pull down on your tied wrists against the sheets. Your hips twitch uncontrollably trying to grind against the cool metal.
Jungkook chuckles darkly.
He dips his fingers lower curling them deep.
Tears of pleasure stings your eyes as your husband mercilessly continues with fucking you with his fingers.
Every time your moans get louder, every time your pussy starts clenching too hard around his fingers he slows down or pulls back completely leaving you empty and throbbing.
You sob from the frustration and overwhelming pleasure. “I can’t.. koo.. please let me come..”
Jungkook leans down pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your inner thigh. “No,” he sounds almost gentle despite the cruel way he’s denying you.
“You’re gonna come only on my cock tonight.”
He flips you over onto your stomach as his possessive hands manhandle your body yanking your ass up high.
Your tied hands remain stretched above your head. Your back arches deeply, ass presented perfectly for him pussy dripping and exposed.
“Fuck, look at you,” He holds you in place with a bruising grip as he admires the view of his wife.
You finally finally feel the drag of Jungkook’s leaking cock through your soaked folds. The hot tip teases your clit all the way down to your entrance. You can’t help it as you push back against him trying to take him inside.
“My greedy little wife,” he lets out a chuckle.
Before you can form a single word he pushes in with a deep thrust. A loud cry rips from your throat. Jungkook’s cock finds home as he buries himself to the hilt. The sudden fullness makes your walls flutter wildly around him.
“Fuck- baby,” he groans, fingers digging harder into your waist.
He doesn’t give you any time to breathe. He pulls back almost all the way only to slam back in harder setting a brutal pace right away. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass fills the room, mixed with your broken moans and his low grunts.
Your hands fist the sheets above your head as he fucks you roughly from behind manhandling your body however he pleases.
“Take it,” his voice drips possession. “Take every fucking inch like you’ve been begging for all day.”
You’re so glad the rooms in this farmhouse are built soundproof because the noises spilling from your mouth are beyond obscene. Every brutal thrust forces another filthy sound out of you. wet slaps of skin against skin mixing with the squelch of your soaked pussy taking his cock.
Jungkook fucks you rough and deep. His relentless pace makes you see stars. pounding into you from behind as if he’s trying to fuck the brat right out of your body.
His hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast to grope the soft flesh roughly. His fingers find your hardened nipple and pinch it hard.
You cry out.
You’re so close already.
He tugs your hair back roughly with one hand making your back arch until it presses against his strong chest. A strangled moan rips from your throat. The new position has his cock hitting even deeper inside you.
His hand snakes up your body and wraps firmly around your throat making your moan turn choked.
“You don’t get to come until I say so."
He bites down on whatever part of your skin his mouth can reach. His teeth sink in to leave dark bruises, marking you up as he continues thrusting into you with punishing strokes.
“All fucking mine,” he growls right against your ear. His hand tightens slightly around your throat as he speaks. "Taking my cock so well.”
His other hand slides down your body pressing rubbing against your swollen clit.
The sudden added stimulation makes your entire body jerks violently as the orgasm crashes through you.
Tears spill freely from your eyes, sliding down into your hair as your walls clamp down around his cock like a vice. Your pussy gushes around him while he keeps thrusting through it until your legs shake uncontrollably.
"such a brat, aren't you."
You barely recover from the first orgasm of the night before your husband has you on your back.
You try focusing your blurry eyes on him.
Jungkook has his hand stroking his cock glistening with your sweet arousal. The sight of you wrecked and crying beneath him makes him more feral.
He moves on top of you taking your tied wrists and pins them above your head. His mouth crashes down on you hard.
Jungkook barely gives you a moment to breathe between his devouring kisses. You moan against his lips as his cock slides all the way in you again. His hand tightens around your wrists as he starts fucking you harder.
Though the Jeon house has highest grade furnitures but the way Jungkook fucks into you. you pray the bed doesn't break.
“Wanted your husband's cock so bad, didn’t you?” he punctuates each word with a hard thrust. “Now take it. All of it. It’s all yours, baby.”
You can only sob in pleasure as he fucks you into oblivion as he keeps pounding and pouring filthy praises just for you.
You feel like you’re floating in a dream.
You have no idea how many hours have passed. All you know is the endless pleasure of being pulled apart and put back together by your husband’s insatiable hunger.
His stamina is almost animalistic, reminding you of your honeymoon phase when he'd made love seven days a week. In your husband's words, he could never get enough of his beautiful wife.
Jungkook has always been quite experimental with your sex life. loves trying new things, toys, positions on you. but his absolute favourite is still classic missionary. because he gets to see your face when you come.
Jungkook has both of your legs pushed up over his shoulders now folding you in half as he drives into you insane. The angle is brutal, making your eyes roll back.
when he pulls your legs down making them wrap weakly around his waist. your thighs are barely able to hold onto him so Jungkook hooks one arm under your thigh holding it up for you. You’ve completely lost count of how many orgasms you’ve had tonight.
Your mind is too blissed out to keep track of anything and your husband just can’t seem to stop. Jungkook chases every broken moan that leaves your lips.
By the time he finally spills inside you for the last time, you’re more than completely spent.
Your body is covered in his marks. Your pussy is leaking his cum and your legs are shaking so badly you know with absolute certainty you won’t be able to walk properly tomorrow morning.
Jungkook collapses beside you holding you in his arms. You're too dizzy to figure what's happening anymore. But you sure feel your wrists getting lighter followed by so many soft kisses on them and your forehead and your cheeks before you finally pass out.
--
The first thing you register as you awaken are feather-light touches gliding over your skin along with lips trailing down your bare back. You stir letting out a hum.
Jungkook’s hand continues its slow caress down the curve of your waist, over the dip of your hip, then back up again. He becomes so soft after every intense night you spend together. It never not makes you fall for him harder each time.
Jungkook nuzzles his head into your neck while his hand slips between your legs with aching gentleness. His fingers almost caresses over your swollen folds.
A soft whine escapes you as turn around in his embrace, but the moment you do, a sharp hiss leaves your lips.
“Shit, baby” he speaks while his eyes look down to check. “hurts a lot?”
you nuzzle your face into his neck seeking his warmth.
“I can manage..” you mumble against his skin.
Jungkook places a kiss to your hair.
“I’ll cook your favourite pasta when we get home."
You immediately look up at him.
“Work?”
He brushes a hair aside from your face.
“Taking the day off.”
Your face lights up and you lean to peck his cheek.
“I’ll make cheesecake too.” Jungkook shows you his other cheek.
You smile childishly wrapping your arms around his neck smacking another one of your sweet pecks.
“And?”
He slides you closer by your waist, tangling your legs together with his.
“And I’m gonna give you a Jeon Jungkook special massage,” he finishes with a peck on your nose.
“And?” you tilt your head still grinning.
Jungkook lets out a quiet laugh.
“And I’m gonna spoil my wife so so much.” his thumb brushes over your cheek.
“You already do,” you lean in to kiss him properly on the lips. He chases your mouth when you try to pull away.
“Well, I’ll add more to that then." A shared giggle fills between you as Jungkook rolls on top of you and starts attacking you with more of his kisses.
