Sinestesia (series): you guys met in college. he was a player with a string of exes, and you weren’t really into relationships. but as you became friends, things started to change. the story begins in 2016 and unfolds all the way through 2023. || 18+ || strangers to friends, friends to lovers, angst, smut, fluff, slice of life || on going. Read here (last update: Jan/2024)
When Worlds Collide (series): after your mother’s passing, you balance ballet with top grades—until campus playboy Jungkook asks for tutoring. suddenly you’re thrust into the spotlight you always avoided. || 18+ || angst, smut, slice of life, strangers to lovers, college au, fuckboy!jk, inexperienced reader || on going. Read here (last update: Jun/2024)
Liquor Lips (one shot): a drunk night with your boyfriend quickly turns into something hotter. || 18+ || bf!jungkook || smut || one shot. Read here
Does He Know (one shot): things can get complicated when you’re involved with your boyfriend’s brother. || 18+ || smut, cheating scenario, angst || one shot. Read here
Body to Body (one shot): you’ve had enough of your boyfriend’s teasing, so you decide to punish him. || 18+ || idol!jungkook || established relationship || one shot. Read here
Lost on You (one shot): you’re obsessed with your boyfriend, and you’d do anything for him. || 18+ || bf!jungkook || established relationship || one shot. Read here
Hate You (one shot): hating him is the only way it doesn’t hurt. || 18+ || exes au || angst || one shot. Read here
The Bet (one shot): your boyfriend bets who can lift more at the gym, and things get heated. || 18+ || bf!jungkook || established relationship || one shot. Read here
Get Back at Him (pt.2, one shot): you and jungkook hook up casually until a breakup leads to jealousy and revenge. || 18+ || enemies to lovers || one shot. Read here
Teasing Temptations (one shot): you and your brother’s best friend hate each other… but do you really? || 18+ || enemies to lovers || one shot. Read Here
☆ Min Yoongi
Air Hostess (one shot): you work as a flight attendant, and on a flight you meet a man named august—you can’t take your eyes off him. || 18+ || strangers to lovers, casual sex || smut || one shot. Read here
Truth or Dare (one shot, feat. Jungkook): what’s the worst that can happen when you and your friends get drunk and play truth or dare? || 18+ || smut, threesome || one shot. Read here
☆ Kim Taehyung
Lola (one shot): you’re a dancer in a burlesque club, and he’s a millionaire lawyer on the eve of his wedding. || 18+ || casual sex || smut || one shot. Read here
☆ Park Jimin
Love à Trois (series, feat. Jungkook): you and jimin secretly have feelings for each other, but money problems force you to take in a third roommate—jungkook, the same guy who took your virginity back in high school. || 18+ || angst, smut, slice of life, friends to lovers, roommates au, strangers to lovers, love triangle || series (rewriting). Read here
☆ Requests
he records you being possessive (pt.2). || 18+ || bf!jungkook || smut || one shot
coworker flirts with you. jealous boyfriend. || 18+ || bf!jungkook || smut || one shot
ending a friends-with-benefits. ast naked cuddle. || 18+ || fwb!jungkook || angst, smut || one shot
last time before his military service. || 18+ || bf!jungkook || angst, smut || one shot
you dated taehyung back in college, now he visits you and your husband for dinner. || 18+ || ex!taehyung || angst || one shot
you’re jealous, so he makes it up to you. || 18+ || bf!jungkook || fluff, smut || one shot
non-smut: jungkook and oc as parents, fun day with kids. || fluff || slice of life || one shot
lazy morning sex after a night of passion. || 18+ || bf!jungkook || smut || one shot
wearing a shirt that said sex with you sucks wasn’t supposed to mean anything. but your ex? of course he had to take it as a challenge and now he’s desperate to convince you otherwise.
w.c: 5,8k
pairing: rockstar!Jungkook x fem!reader
rating: +18
genre: exes, angst, smut, a touch of band-life chaos
warnings: explicit sexual contente, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, spit in mouth, degradation, pet names, rough dynamics, alcohol mention, heavy language & insults, jealousy, toxic exes energy.
author’s note: i don’t know if i’m a little rusty when it comes to writing smut, maybe i am, but oh well, here it is lol. i can’t seem to write pure smut without adding a lot of plot, so i ended up creating this whole context that actually made me want to explore more of this story. anyway, i really loved the chaotic, slightly toxic vibe it gave off, idk....
March 12 — Singapore
You hadn’t picked that top to piss off Jungkook. Not on purpose, anyway. But the second his eyes landed on you and he rolled them so hard you thought they might fall out of his skull, you wished you had chosen it intentionally. It felt unfair that sheer coincidence got the credit for irritating him so perfectly.
The tour had barely started and the atmosphere between you was unbearable. As much as you both wanted to keep things professional, it was nearly impossible when the breakup was barely a month old and you were being forced, twenty days after splitting, to spend months on a world tour together.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen it coming. The tour had been planned for almost a year. But the way things collapsed between you after everything… it was impossible to stay together. Not when even the PR team insisted you both keep pretending you were still in love for the public.
Maybe that was what made it so suffocating, acting like you were still a couple after everything that had happened. After you’d suffered a miscarriage six months ago, in the middle of a massive awards show in Los Angeles. After you’d been forced to keep performing through the night while your body quietly gave up the baby you’d carried for seventeen weeks. Maybe it was the way grief had sunk its claws into you, leaving you depressed, while Jungkook, also grieving, had pulled away until you could barely look at each other without fighting.
Or maybe it was the fact that since the tour started, twelve days ago, he’d been reckless, drinking too much, flirting with groupies, throwing accusations at you about Yoongi, the guitarist. As if your late-night songwriting sessions with Yoongi were anything more than desperate attempts to put your pain into lyrics. At least Yoongi listened without judgment, turned your sorrow into something tangible. Meanwhile, Jungkook was drunk somewhere in the corner, actually hitting on some fan.
Maybe it was because the two of you hated each other now. Or worse, because you still loved each other. Or something in between.
Either way, Jungkook was a mess at rehearsal. His focus was shot, his fingers stumbling over guitar strings like he’d forgotten how to play. You’d glared at him more times than you could count, and Yoongi had already muttered a fed-up “What the fuck, man?” into his mic, which Jungkook didn’t bother answering.
Five songs. Five mistakes.
Taehyung groaned behind the drum kit, sticks clattering in irritation, while Vicky, at the keyboard, rubbed her face with both hands.
“Are you stupid?” you snapped, slinging your bass aside and storming toward him. “This song’s from our first album. We’ve played it at every single show for six years, you know it by heart.”
You scoffed when he didn’t even look at you, just stared out at the empty stadium seats like he was bored, then fiddled with his guitar volume.
“Mind your part, I’ll mind mine,” he said, voice flat.
“I am minding my part, but you’re screwing everyone else over, asshole.” You rolled your eyes, glaring at the sharp profile of his face, at the silver flash of his eyebrow piercing. He finally glanced at you sideways, not bothering to reply. “Take this seriously, for fuck’s sake.”
“I am taking it seriously.” His tone stayed maddeningly calm. “Now get back to your spot so we can run it again.”
“Idiot,” you muttered, stomping back to your mic stand. Jungkook stretched out his hand and flipped you off behind your back, which you didn’t see.
How could the man you once admired so much turned into this jerk?
The rest of the band was visibly over it, eyes rolling, patience worn down to the bone. You were all close, but with everything going on, no one had the energy left to deal with you and Jungkook tearing into each other every rehearsal.
“Jungkook, focus,” Lina, the manager, clapped her hands from the pit below the stage, where thousands of fans would soon stand. “We need you here. Forget whatever’s in your head.”
He nodded, pulling the branded pick from between his lips, sliding it back into place between his fingers. Someone called for another take. Taehyung smacked his sticks together three times, counting off. And just like that, the song started again, this time, almost miraculously, it flowed clean.
For three songs, the band managed to hold it together, the music almost like the old days. But then came the acoustic duet, the one where you and Jungkook had to share his mic, his guitar strumming softly as the stage lights bathed you both, forcing you to play the part of lovers for the crowd. His face was a mask, his voice cold and mechanical, and you had to stare into those doe eyes that used to spark with life but had been dull and empty for weeks. You were getting used to it, the hollowness, but it still stung.
Singing songs from when you were head-over-heels, tangled in each other for years, unable to get enough, felt like torture every night. You deserved an Oscar for the performance, for pulling off the act of being in love with Jungkook on stage, night after night. Maybe it was easier when you let yourself remember how he used to be. How he made you feel like the most cherished woman in the world, like your entire universe orbited around him, like you were the muse behind every lyric you sang together.
But God, you hated when he looked at you like that.
Those sharp, predatory eyes, his tongue grazing his lips, zoning your mouth until you could barely breathe. In those moments, you struggled to recall why you’d ever broken up. Because sometimes, that angry glare of his burned with desperation, like he wanted to devour you whole. It made your legs tremble, forced you to look away, because if you held his gaze, you’d lose yourself completely.
That’s exactly what you did during that damn duet, tearing your eyes away from his. His stare was a molten mix of rage and raw desire, too intense to bear, threatening to unravel you right there on stage.
But, then your in-ear monitor cut out, the sudden silence throwing you off. You missed a beat, your voice faltering, and the rhythm of the song collapsed.
Jungkook shot you an accusing glare, his lips tight, and you ignored it, pressing a hand to your ear as you stepped back from the mic, looking toward James, the sound tech. The band ground to a halt, the silence in the stadium deafening.
“My in-ear’s fucked,” you said, trying to keep it professional.
Jungkook huffed into the mic, the sound echoing through the empty arena. You rolled your eyes, irritation flaring.
“You’ve been screwing up all day, and you can’t handle one mistake?” you snapped, gesturing at him. “That’s what soundcheck’s for, genius.”
He licked his lips, his tongue catching on his piercing, his eyes narrowing.
“Stop obsessing over me,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
You laughed through your nose, a bitter, incredulous sound, planting your hands on your hips.
“Obsessed? With you?” You threw your head back, the laugh theatrical, deliberately overdone. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Guys…” Vicky’s voice came from the back, soft but pleading, trying to de-escalate. You both ignored her.
“First, you and Yoongi,” Jungkook said, pointing at the guitarist, who stood frozen, his expression confused. You didn’t dare look at him, just rolled your eyes harder, the absurdity of Jungkook’s words fueling your anger. “Now this fucking shirt.” He jabbed a finger toward your chest, where your cropped tee read Sex with you sucks.
“Oh my God,” you laughed, the sound sharp and loud, echoing off the empty seats. “Not everything is about you, main character.” You glanced down at it, then back at him, grinning viciously. “I grabbed this without thinking, Jungkook. It’s not about you or your dick.” That was true, sex with him was never bad, not even close, and you both knew it. “What a delicate little ego, Kookie.” You spat the nickname like venom, knowing it’d hit him where it hurt.
His jaw clenched, his grip on his guitar tightening as he threw his head back, mouth opening like he was about to fire back with something nasty. But before he could, Lina’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade.
“Enough, both of you!” she barked from the pit, her hands on her hips, her glare fierce enough to silence the entire stage. Vicky slammed her hands onto her keyboard, the metallic clang ringing out.
“Jesus Christ!” Vicky snapped. “You’re acting like fucking kids.”
Lina’s eyes didn’t waver, her tone cutting.
“Thirty-minute break. Now. I don’t care what you do, cool off, scream, cry, whatever. But get this shit out of your systems. The tour’s barely started, and I’m not babysitting your breakup for the next months. Clear your heads, come back focused, or this show will crash and burn before it even gets going.”
Her words landed like a punch, heavy. No one moved for a moment, the silence suffocating, but Jungkook finally turned away, ripping his guitar strap over his head, muttering something under his breath as he stormed toward the wings. You spun on your heel, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze as he carefully set his guitar down, his expression heavy with judgment. Shame burned in your chest. You knew this was ridiculous, childish, but you couldn’t stop. With your chin high, you took long strides toward the exit, desperate to escape the frustrated, disappointed looks from Taehyung, Vicky, and Yoongi. You didn’t need to see their faces to feel the weight of their exhaustion with you and Jungkook.
Now, you walk towards the backstage, surrounded by a massive team working tirelessly to make sure the show would go perfectly, every detail handled to give the fans the best possible experience. But there you were, caught in your own little world with Jungkook, fighting over something stupid again. Even though you both knew you were hurting, your arguments were spilling over, jeopardizing the work of dozens of people.
Your thoughts were cut short when Jungkook’s hand suddenly wrapped around your arm. You startled, flinching back, but before you could react, he pushed open a door behind him, one you hadn’t even realized was there and pulled you inside.
The room was dark and smelled faintly of dust. Stacks of boxes crowded the corners, instrument cases piled on top of one another, mic stands and speaker crates shoved haphazardly against the walls. It was some kind of storage space, cluttered and shadowy, the kind of place you’d never have noticed if he hadn’t dragged you in. But even in the dimness, you could see him, the sharp outline of his body, the white tank clinging to his torso like a spotlight in the dark.
“Leave me alone. I don’t want to fight,” you said quickly as he let go of your arm, closing the door behind you. The room dipped into deeper darkness.
“You don’t want to fight? Wearing that shirt just to humiliate me?” His voice was low, melodic in anger.
“Jungkook” you huffed, rolling your eyes, but he cut you off.
“You think the sex was bad, huh?” His body pressed against yours before you could stop him, your back hitting the wall with a muted thud.
Your eyes widened as you shoved your palms against his chest, keeping what little distance you could manage.
“This isn’t about the fucking shirt!” You shot back, pushing hard against him, trying to shove him off. He didn’t budge. Didn’t even flinch. “This is about you acting like an asshole who can’t even hit the right notes anymore.” The words came out sharp, like you were spitting them at him.
He laughed. The sound echoed in the dusty storage room, a low, humorless laugh that made your skin crawl.
“God, the small-dick energy, Jungkook. You used to be better than this.” You knew it would piss him off, and maybe you wanted it to. At this point, you didn’t care. Let him get angry. You were past the point of keeping the peace.
The room was claustrophobic. The noise of the backstage crew, shouts, clanging equipment, felt miles away, muffled by the heavy door, and he was so close. Too fucking close. And, what you hated most wasn’t that he was this close, it was that you couldn’t make yourself push him away. Not because you weren’t strong enough, because a part of you didn’t want to.
His laugh cut through, so sharp and mocking.
“I never saw you complain before,” he said, his voice low, as he pressed himself even closer, his hips locking against yours with deliberate force. The heat of him seared through your clothes, and you bit your lower lip hard, stifling the gasp that threatened to spill out.
“Get off me,” you said, the words sharp but brittle, your palms shoving against his chest.
For a split second, he eased back, just enough to let you think you’d won, but then he surged forward again, his hands clamping onto you, fingers digging in with a possessive grip that made your breath hitch.
“Do you really want that?” Jungkook’s voice was a low murmur, his mouth hovering so close you could feel the warmth of his breath, his cologne wrapping around you like a drug. His eyes, glinting in the half-light, locked onto yours.
“I’m fucking done with you,” you hissed, your voice trembling with the effort to hold your ground, your pupils straining against the darkness to catch the mocking spark in his gaze.
“Done with me?” he whispered, his lips grazed yours. His voice dropped lower. “You’re not done with me. You’ll never be.”
Before you could fire back, his lips caught your bottom lip, tugging softly that lasted just long enough to make your pulse stutter. Then, slowly, he stepped back, the sudden absence of his heat leaving you cold.
“Go,” he said, his voice flat, but his eyes burned, locked on yours, daring you to move.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not with Jungkook’s dark eyes pinning you against the wall in that cramped, dusty storage room. You swallowed hard, exhaling slowly, then filled your lungs to meet his gaze head-on, defiance burning in your chest.
“Fuck you,” you spat, voice sharp and commanding, leaning forward, but not to escape, but to crash your body into his, harder this time. Your hands slammed against his chest, but he caught your wrists in a reflex, yanking them up mid-air, pulling you closer until your bodies collided again. His hands released your wrists, sliding down to your waist, the movement hiking up your cropped tee, exposing the bare skin of your waist.
The second your bodies pressed together, your mouths followed, but this wasn’t a kiss, it was a battlefield. Lips crushed against each other, his tongue invading your mouth like he owned it, claiming every inch with hunger. You bit down on his lower lip, tugging at the piercing there, and he growled into your mouth, not pulling back. Your tongue pushed against his, lips moving with raw, angry need. Teeth clashed in the tilt of your heads, no rhythm, no finesse, just pure, messy intensity. It was impossible to tell if it was a fight or who the hell was winning.
His fingers trailed up your spine, rough and possessive, until they tangled in your hair, yanking your head back sharply. The motion broke the kiss with a wet noise, leaving your lips red and swollen, your eyes locked on his, chin tilted defiantly.
“You hate me, don’t you?” Jungkook rasped, his free hand slipping under your shirt. His fingers found your pierced nipple, pinching and twisting it with just enough pressure to make you gasp, the sensitivity sending a jolt straight to your core.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” you shot back, as you arched away from his grip, not to escape, but to challenge him.
He smirked, dark and dangerous, tugging your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts. His large hands squeezed them hard, rough enough to pull a long, unwilling moan from your throat. You hated how it slipped out, how your body betrayed you, but he reveled in it, groaning in approval as he spun you around, slamming your front against the cold metal door. Your cheek pressed against it, his hands bracketing your waist, his body caging you in, his chest flush against your back, his hips grinding into your ass. You felt his hardening cock through his tight jeans.
“I’ll shut my mouth when I’m done reminding you what a lying slut you are,” he hissed in your ear, a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. His lips grazed your earlobe, teeth nipping as his hands gripped your hips.
He smelled of sweat and that familiar cologne, the kind that used to make your head spin, and it was intoxicating now, pulling you under despite yourself. You pressed your lips together tight, swallowing any moan or sound of pleasure that might give him the satisfaction he didn’t deserve. Even as your body, half-surrendered to the way his frame pressed against yours, hot, angry, unyielding, you refused to let him know how much you wanted this. Wanted him.
Jungkook ground his hips harder against your ass, the friction deliberate and maddening, and you arched back into him, your body lifting off the wall despite your resolve. His low groan vibrated through you, a sound you hated yourself for craving. His hands moved to your zipper, yanking it down with quick, rough, peeling your jeans off your hips until they pooled at your thighs.
His right hand splayed across your ass, delivering a sharp slap that echoed in the storage room. You bit your lip hard, refusing to give him the moan he wanted, but then he slapped the other cheek, then the first again, the stinging heat building until a low whimper slipped out. His smug chuckle followed, dripping with satisfaction, and you hated how it made your pussy clench, your frustration spilling out in a sharp sigh, as his fingers traced the waistband of your panties, sliding along the thin strip of fabric between your cheeks.
“A thong?” he murmured, his voice velvety and taunting, tugging the fabric to the side. “Thought you only wore this shit for special occasions. Did you know you’d end up here, getting fucked against a door? Or was this for Yoongi?”
You hadn’t planned it, hadn’t even thought twice. You’d woken up late, grabbed the first thing after your shower, same as that damn sex with you sucks shirt, and rushed to soundcheck. But his talk about Yoongi lit a fire in your veins, sharp and angry, enough to make you shove your hips back and try to twist around, to face him. Jungkook’s grip tightened, keeping you pinned, his body a wall of heat and control.
“You’re pathetic,” you said, straining to catch his eyes over your shoulder, but the dark and awkward angle hid the mocking glint you knew was there.
He laughed, amused, his hand never pausing. It slid to the front of your panties, two fingers rubbing against the fabric, teasing.
“And you talk too much for someone about to get fucked senseless,” he shot back. Without warning, his fingers slipped under the fabric, gliding through your slick folds, already soaked. You sighed, hating how eagerly your body responded. “So fucking wet for me already,” he growled in your ear, his tongue dragging along your neck, leaving a hot, wet trail. You clenched your jaw, but your hips rocked into his touch.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you hissed. “I could get wet for anyone. You’re just here.”
He chuckled, his fingers circling your clit with slow, deliberate pressure.
“This pussy’s dripping because it knows who owns it.” He pushed two fingers inside you, rough and sudden, curling them to hit your g spot.
“You—oh, fuck,” you gasped, as his fingers thrust harder, your eyes squeezing shut as pleasure and pain blurred together.
His other hand gripped the back of your neck, his nose trailing along your throat, inhaling deeply. You let out a louder whimper, his fingers plunging deeper, maybe too rough, because he paused to murmur:
“Does it hurt?” His voice was calm, almost mocking, with the pressure of his fingers against your pelvic bone, the obscene wet sounds of your pussy echoing in that small room. He groaned softly, clearly pleased. You shook your head, biting back another moan, refusing to give him more. “Want it to hurt?” he asked, his tone soft but laced with menace.
You shook your head once more, pride keeping you from admitting the truth, but it wasn’t convincing, not to him, not to yourself. You loved when it hurt, and so did he. How could you hide that from someone who knew your body better than you did? It was fucking impossible, and God, it pissed you off.
Jungkook’s laugh rumbled against your neck, mocking, dripping with that filthy edge that made your skin burn. Fuck. Your pussy clenched around his fingers at the sound, and you felt him smirk, pressing them deeper, grinding against your walls with a slow, deliberate twist that made you see stars. He eased up just enough to circle his fingers fully, groaning low in his throat.
“Fucking liar,” he murmured, his voice with lust. “You’re soaked, clenching around my fingers like you’re starving for it. You want this so bad, don’t you? My cock splitting you open right here.”
You whimpered, his words hitting you right between your legs, sending a fresh wave of heat to your core. God, you hated him, hated how much you needed him, how your body betrayed you with every pulse of arousal.
“Just… shut up and fuck me,” you breathed, your voice raw, the defiance melting under the weight of your need. You didn’t want to fight, not when his fingers were driving you insane, not when his hard cock was pressed against your ass. You were craving it, and there was no hiding it anymore.
He let out a hot puff of air against your neck, making you shiver, and yanked his fingers out abruptly, leaving you empty and aching. You whined, your body screaming at the loss, and he slapped your ass hard, making your pussy clench around fucking nothing.
“Needy slut,” he taunted, tugging your thong down completely, the soaked fabric falling to your ankles. “Already begging for my cock. Thought you were tougher than that, baby.”
“Says the guy who dragged me into this shitty room just to fuck me.”
Jungkook didn’t respond, just let out a wicked chuckle that made your skin prickle. You pressed both palms against the door, your body aching for more, craving the feel of him inside you again, but you refused to beg.
You pushed your hips back, seeking friction, to feel his dick against your ass, but found nothing. Then you heard it, the sharp sound of his zipper coming down, and a mix of desperation and relief flooded you, knowing his cock would soon be buried deep inside you.
His hand tangled in your hair again, yanking your head to the side, pressing your cheek harder against the door. With his free hand, he slid his index and middle fingers along your lips, sudden and unannounced. The musky scent hit you first, you knew these were the fingers that had been inside your pussy. He smeared the tips across your lips, and they parted instinctively, letting him push his fingers into your mouth.
The taste of yourself hit your tongue, almost sweet, you thought, as he shoved his fingers deeper, forcing them down your throat in a rough motion. You gagged slightly, the intrusion sudden and intense, but you didn’t pull back, sucking instead, your tongue swirling around his fingers.
Meanwhile, his other hand released your hair, and as you worked your mouth up and down his fingers, you felt his cock, hard, hot, pulsing, sliding between your ass cheeks, teasing the center. You couldn’t hold back the moan, needy, almost a whimper, slipping out like a plea.
“Fuck, listen to you,” Jungkook said. “Moaning like that while you suck your own taste off my fingers. You love this, don’t you?” His cock pressed harder, sliding through your slick folds, teasing your entrance, the raw heat of him making your core clench with anticipation.
You murmured a curse under your breath, hating how your body betrayed you, responding to him despite every ounce of your resistance. His dirty talk, growled low in your ear, sent shivers down your spine as the tip of his cock teased your entrance, brushing against you, so close to sliding in. It made your defiance feel pointless, almost laughable. But you fought it, pulling your mouth off him with a wet, audible pop, throwing your head back and swallowing hard, your voice rough with arousal.
“Fuck me hard,” you demanded, the words spilling out before you could stop them.
Jungkook’s hand gripped your cheeks, forcing your lips to purse as his fingers pressed into your skin. He leaned in, his cock aligning perfectly with your pussy, his voice a low whisper in your ear.
“Open that fucking mouth.” You squeezed your eyes shut, too far gone to think straight, obeying without question. You heard the wet sound of him gathering saliva, then felt the warm, slick liquid hit your lower lip, pooling on your tongue. “Swallow,” he ordered. You did, his saliva sliding down your throat without a second thought, the act filthy in a way that made you clench. You opened your mouth again, letting out a shaky breath as he murmured, “Good girl.”
“Goddamn it, just fuck me already,” you snapped, exasperated by his teasing, his voice, his everything. You loved the way he talked, the way your body reacted, or at least you used to. Jungkook always knew exactly what to say to drive you crazy, to make you lose yourself completely, but right now, his voice pissed you off. You didn’t need his words, his smugness, his presence, just his cock, nothing else.
He didn’t make you ask again. With one hard thrust, he pushed into you, stretching you wide, filling you completely. You gasped, a loud, desperate moan escaping as your eyes squeezed shut, your walls clenching around him, adjusting to his size. Your body had missed this, missed him, no matter how much you hated admitting it. You rolled your hips deliberately, matching his rhythm as he moved, his hands sliding to your hips, gripping the bones to hold you steady. His low, throaty groans vibrated against your skin, syncing with each deep thrust.
It had been so long since you’d fucked, since the breakup, since him. Your vibrator could never compare, no matter how self-sufficient you prided yourself on being. Jungkook was Jungkook, and he knew exactly how to fuck you.
He rested his chin between your shoulder and neck, his lips brushing your ear, his moans soft but raw at the same time. His breath was hot, making you moan louder, your voice melodic and needy in a way you despised. You tried to control it, to bite back the sounds, but it was useless, your body was his, and it always had been.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” his voice thick with lust, his hips snapping harder, the cases next to your left, rattling with each thrust. “So fucking tight, like you were made for me. You love this, don’t you? Love how I fuck you raw, how I make you scream.”
“Jungkook,” you gasped, your fingers digging into the cold metal of the door, your body trembling as he hit your g spot again, with his dick now, over and over.
For a moment, you wanted to turn around, to claw at his muscled back, to mark his skin, to leave proof of this on him. The plasure, the hate. But you couldn’t face him, couldn’t bear to see his parted lips, his dark eyes, the way his teeth caught his lip piercing in the dim light. Even in the near-darkness of the storage room, you didn’t want to risk meeting his gaze, didn’t want to see the intensity in his eyes as he fucked you.
“Don—don’t stop,” you pleaded, your voice breaking.
“Stop?” He laughed, his tongue flicking against your earlobe, “Not a fucking chance.” His hands slid to your ass, gripping tight, his body grinding against yours, driving himself deeper with every thrust, hitting so deep it felt like he was carving himself into you.
His lips trailed down your neck, and you opened your eyes, seeing only the shadowed outlines of equipment cases and the flex of his shoulders behind you. Your breath came in heavy pants, his lip piercing grazing your skin as he sucked hard on your pulse point, the pressure painful. You hissed, almost jerking away, but he held you firm, his teeth grazing just enough to sting. He was marking you, claiming you, that fucking bastard, and you hated how it made your body respond, your ass pushing back against him.
You wanted to moan his name, to beg for more, knowing he’d give it to you, harder, deeper, exactly how you needed it. But you bit it back, refusing to give him the satisfaction, even as your walls clenched tight around him, feeling every inch, every vein, his cock pulsing inside you. Fuck. You hated Jungkook with every fiber of your being, but your body didn’t care, didn’t give a damn about your pride.
You swallowed a moan, then another, your lips pressed tight as he slowed his thrusts deliberately, going deeper, so deep it felt like he was trying to bury himself in you. His hips slammed against yours, the force drawing a small, involuntary whimper from your lips. You felt his smirk against your skin as he repeated the motion, quick and brutal, like he wanted you’d feel him for days.
Jungkook groaned low, long as he tugged your hair again, hard enough to tilt your head back. His grip loosened only to slide his hand down to your throat, his long fingers wrapping around your neck, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. God, you really hated how his touch set you on fire, hated how you craved it. You slapped a hand over your mouth, desperate to muffle the sounds he was pulling from you, but he tightened his grip on your throat, his fingertips pressing into your larynx.
“Trying to be a quiet slut now?” he taunted, his hips stilling, his cock buried deep inside you, a torturous pause. “You used to not give a fuck who heard you, baby. What’s wrong? Scared the crew’s gonna know you’re getting fucked by me in here, right after we fought? Scared they’ll know you can’t live without my cock?”
You whimpered, the sound pathetic and needy. Your hand fell from your mouth, your body trembling as he started moving again, slow, deliberate thrusts that made your knees buckle.
“Fuck you,” you managed, but it was weak, barely audible, your voice shaking with the effort to hold back.
He laughed, filthy, as he thrust harder.
“Oh, I’m fucking you. And you love it. Look at you, taking me so well.” His hand on your throat tightened just enough to make your head spin, the pressure mixing with the pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge.
His free hand slid between your thighs, the frantic collision of your hips, finding your clit, swollen, sensitive, and aching. His fingers circled it once more, rough, and you, moaning loud, not caring anymore. You weren’t going to last much longer, and neither was he. His groans had shifted from angry, dense, and guttural, almost high-pitched, needy and desperate. You knew that sound, knew the way his thrusts grew faster, his cock barely pulling out, too fast to hold back.
His movements were sloppy but precise, enough to make your eyes roll back, his hand still on your throat, the other rubbing your clit without any real pattern, just raw, chaotic pressure.
Before you could register it, Jungkook’s lips were on your neck again, this time on the other side, sucking hard, leaving another stinging mark until the sharp pull of his mouth made you grunt. Your hand shot to his thigh, and, with nowhere else to grip, you dug your nails into his skin, harder with each thrust, marking him as fiercely as he marked you.
Your moans mingled with his, unfiltered, his balls slapping against your ass as you felt him release inside you, hot spurts filling you, pushing you over the edge. You gasped, your hips grinding back against him, your walls pulsing desperately around Jungkook’s cock as you came, moaning, grunting, whimpering, completely out of control. The pleasure stretched on, long and overwhelming, your body shaking against the door.
Your mouth was dry, your lips parted and panting, his hands now resting gently on your body, a stark contrast to the brutal thrusts that had left your core burning. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he didn’t pull out, staying buried inside you, his dick still twitching faintly.
Then you felt it, his forehead against your shoulder, his sweat-damp hair brushing your skin, his lips grazing your shoulder in a soft, fleeting touch that felt too intimate, too tender for what this was.
You tugged your shirt back down, shifting slightly, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Maybe he snapped out of it too, coming down from the high, because he finally pulled out, leaving you empty, aching, not just from the absence of his cock, but from the weight of everything that had just happened. You hated him, hated this, yet part of you ached for more, for his arms around you, his lips on yours, soft and loving like they used to be. You didn’t understand why you wanted it, why you craved that old Jungkook, the one who loved you, not this asshole he’d become.
You pulled your panties and jeans back up, still facing the door, refusing to turn and meet his eyes. The rustle of fabric behind you told you he was doing the same, zipping up his jeans in the heavy silence.
“Don’t ever wear that fucking shirt again,” he muttered, his voice low, almost a whisper.
You froze for a moment, your hand on the door handle, the words sinking in, but thn you turned your head slightly, not enough to face him, just enough to let him know you’d heard.
“I’ll think about it,” you said, your voice cool, defiant.
His breath hitched, like he hadn’t expected the pushback, but he didn’t respond. You pushed the door open and slipped out.
saudade — a portuguese word without a true english translation, a profound, melancholic longing for something or someone that is absent, whether in the past, present, or even something that may never return. more than simple nostalgia or missing, saudade carries the bittersweet weight of memory, loss, desire, and love intertwined.
summary: years after the breakup, jungkook spots you from across the room at a wedding he didn’t even know you’d be attending. and there you are: radiant, stunning, as always. a diamond ring gleams on your left ring finger, and your husband stands proudly by your side.
w.c: 7,2k
pairing: idol!jungkook (barely there) x fem!reader
rating: —
genre: exes, pure ANGST
warnings: heartbreak, alcohol, heavy emotions
author’s note: who would’ve thought my first post after years away would be angst instead of smut? 😅 the last time i shared a fully angst one-shot, I got a flood of angry asks, so please, please read this knowing it’s pure angst, no happy ending, just heartbreak. 🥲 honestly, i almost cried while writing it. the inspiration hit out of nowhere, and i just had to pour it all out. ss always, this is a work of fiction, i don’t own BTS. english isn’t my first language, so forgive any mistakes. 🫶🏻✨ leave me your thoughts in the comments, it really means the world to me. 💕
Jungkook saw you the moment you arrived at the wedding.
Your long, wavy hair spilled in dark cascades over your graphite-colored coat, a perfect choice for the end of winter, light enough without being careless. Wine-red lipstick stained your smile, a smile that seemed fixed in place, unwilling to fade. Your almond-shaped nails, painted a deep crimson to match, gleamed subtly in the low light. But what caught his eyes, what gutted him, was the ring. That fucking ring. A silver band with a teardrop diamond at its center, so large he could spot it from across the room, so sharp it felt like it was staring him down.
How many carats was it? Did you even care?
He knew you didn’t.
It had to be Henry’s doing, your husband, show of wealth, of power, of ownership. Jungkook had heard people say Europeans were like that. And Henry, well, he wasn’t a bad man. Successful, yes. A giant in the Western music industry, owner of one of the biggest record labels in the world. Jungkook had once admired him, even interacted with him a few times back then.
But that was before.
Before you married him. Before you left Jungkook behind. Before, when you and Jungkook had still sworn you were each other’s forever. Three years ago.
Now, you stood across the room from him, your back turned, while another man, your man, slipped your coat from your shoulders. His wedding ring, the one you had placed on his hand, gleamed under the lights too.
Beneath the coat, your maroon dress dipped low, revealing your back. The ink of your tattoo trailed down your spine, the same one Jungkook used to kiss, dot by dot, following the path of your freckles with his lips.
Did you still get dressed naked in front of the mirror? He wondered, lifting his glass of whiskey to his lips and swallowing hard. Did you still light your scented candles and go through that careful ritual before going out?
Jungkook hadn’t wanted to be at that wedding, hadn’t even considered the possibility of seeing you there, but it made sense now, Anthony Westwood, the groom, was a music producer, likely tied to Henry through industry threads. Anthony had become a close friend over the past year, working on BTS’s new album, their late-night talks spilling beyond studio walls into something deeper, something personal. It would’ve been rude for Jungkook to skip the event, especially with the rest of the members there, before the U.S. tour kicked off in a week.
You were there, just as he remembered, yet impossibly different.
His stomach twisted. He thought he might be sick. Because then you turned. And the sight hit him like a blade straight to the chest.
The dress draped you perfectly, light, flowing, yet cinched tight at the waist. But what it framed was unmistakable. Your stomach. Rounded, showing.
You were pregnant.
Five months, maybe more. Pregnant with another man’s child.
Jungkook’s fingers tingled, the sensation crawling up his arms and lodging itself in his chest. It felt like his own body was betraying him, like his heart had forgotten how to beat, how to keep him alive. His mouth went dry, his vision white at the edges. The taste of bitterness flooded his throat.
He was dying. He was certain of it.
And yet, you didn’t even see him. Probably couldn’t. Your eyes squinted as you spoke to the blonde woman in front of you, someone who looked far too close, far too familiar. You must have forgotten your contact lenses again. Typical of you.
Jungkook wanted to scream.
Because you had always wanted this. To be a mother. He remembered every conversation about it, what it would be like, what names you would choose, how you’d decorate the nursery, what traditions you’d pass down. And most of all, how he would be your baby daddy.
He thought he might collapse right there, knees to the floor, begging a God he never even knew he had faith in to rip that indescribable pain out of his chest. Right there, in front of all those people celebrating the happiness of a couple about to vow forever, while the love of his life had just been stolen from him completely.
Pregnant.
The word buzzed in his head, a deafening, disorienting noise. Pregnant with Henry’s baby. Another life growing inside you.
It was obscene. Cruel. It felt like a punishment carved into every fiber of Jungkook’s being, into every cell that made him who he was, every part of him you had once touched. Every part that had once belonged to you.
His throat was tight. No one here could possibly understand the panic clawing through him, the way his chest rose and fell too quickly, the way the whiskey glass shook in his hand. He tried to force the liquor down, but his throat refused, burning with both the bitterness of alcohol and of you.
And there you were, glowing in that devastating way only pregnant women do, carrying proof of a future that had erased him entirely.
When he finally managed to swallow the whiskey, it scorched all the way down. God, it burned.
His jaw tightened as he stared at you, a thousand memories bleeding into the sight before him. His stomach lurched, nausea rising sharp and merciless at the thought of Henry’s hands on you, of Henry’s child inside you. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, forcing himself to hold it together, but the truth was merciless.
You weren’t his anymore. And you never would be again. Still, he couldn’t stop watching you.
Because some part of him, a pathetic, broken part, was waiting. Waiting for you to look up, to notice him standing there. To see him the way you used to. To remember.
But you didn’t.
You only smiled, hand drifting unconsciously to your stomach while the blonde beside you spoke, and Jungkook felt his heart rip itself apart piece by piece.
The people around Jungkook didn’t notice. Or if they did, they chose to ignore the way he looked, strange, hollow, breaking apart from the inside out. No one could ever really know, anyway. No one could survive carrying the knowledge of what it felt like to be him, in his skin, in this moment. No one could endure the truth that he barely remembered how to breathe, let alone how to stand, how to walk, how to keep living.
So he sat through it.
In that vast, glittering hall, all open glass and polished marble, everyone gathered to celebrate a wedding that had little to do with him. People clapped, people smiled, people cried into silk handkerchiefs while vows were spoken. And Jungkook dissociated just enough to get through it. The ceremony passed like smoke, like something unreal. He couldn’t hold onto a single word.
And maybe that was better. Because in that moment, the last thing he wanted was anything to do with love stories.
Instead, he sat there with nothing but a vacant stare, an empty glass of whiskey, and the unbearable need to avoid your face, while you sat only a few rows ahead of him. He could still see you in profile, the curve of your cheek, your smile gentle as you leaned toward someone speaking to you. Your hand rested protectively on your stomach, as though guarding the life that grew inside you.
Every time his eyes landed on that gesture, on that stomach, he had to look away. He stared into the hollow of his glass. He stared out the tall windows at the mountains, capped with soft snow, ancient and indifferent. He stared up at the ceiling, dripping with flowers, roses, lilies, hydrangeas, so many blooms he couldn’t begin to count them. Crimson petals here and there. White orchids, too.
And he wondered, were orchids still your favorite?Or had that changed too, like everything else?
Had you married Henry on a beach, the way you once swore you wanted to?
He didn’t know. He realized, with a bitter twist, that he didn’t know anything about your life anymore. You had always been private, your social media locked down, your circle impossibly small. After the breakup, you vanished from Korea, completely.
Had you gone to Europe with Henry? That would make sense. His empire was there, his influence vast. And yet, Jungkook refused to believe you had not returned home just for Henry. That wasn’t you. You had always longed for home, for your parents, for the comfort of the familiar.
But facts were crueler than dreams. The truth was simple.
You were in New York. And Jungkook was in New York. The same city, the same room, for the first time in four years.
And it was suffocating him more than he ever thought possible. Pregnant, married, untouchable.
Still, he couldn’t stop. His eyes sought you even as he forced himself to look away. And then, for a single fleeting second, it happened.
You turned. Over your shoulder, your gaze caught his.
It was so quick it could have been nothing, just a trick of light, just a mistake. But it wasn’t. It was there. And on your lips, a small, sad smile.
It destroyed him.
Because it told him everything and nothing all at once. It told him you hadn’t forgotten. That somewhere, buried deep, you remembered too.
Jungkook wanted to leave. If nobody had noticed you before, everyone noticed you now. And they understood why Jungkook had been staring into nothing, looking like he’d just seen a ghost, because he literally had.
The pity in his friends’ eyes was almost tangible, and Jungkook hated it. They liked you. I mean, how could they not? You were undeniably charismatic, always bringing life to parties, and you were funny, not in that forced way, but the kind that made people laugh effortlessly. Everyone said you were the perfect match for Jungkook.
And now, someone said something about you that he chose to ignore, sitting at the table assigned to them. Jungkook was grateful you weren’t directly in his line of sight like during the ceremony. Especially because he was forced to stay a little longer for the reception. How rude would it be to fly all the way from Korea to the United States just for this wedding and then leave before midnight?
So, he drank.
That’s when Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi stood up, all three at once, while Jungkook swallowed another sip of whiskey. They spoke, glancing at him, looking somewhat hesitant, somewhat concerned. Jungkook didn’t really know how to describe that look and he didn’t want to.
“We’re gonna go over to…” Jimin started, but didn’t finish. Instead, his eyes shifted toward the table Jungkook knew was yours.
Taehyung cleared his throat, tilting his head to the side, a slow sigh escaping as he bit his lower lip.
“We’re just gonna say hi,” he said, his voice too careful, like he was tiptoeing across a minefield. Yoongi stayed silent, his dark eyes fixed on Jungkook, searching for something, permission, maybe, or a spark of anger. But Jungkook wasn’t angry. He was shattered, pieces of him scattered across the polished floor of the reception hall.
He wanted to beg them not to go, not to walk toward you, not to stir the ashes of a life you’d once shared. Weekends that stretched too long, filled with your laughter, how you’d convinced Jimin to jump into a pool on a rainy Seoul afternoon, your grin so infectious it was almost absurd. How Taehyung would drink too much when you were around, goaded by your teasing challenges, glass after glass until he was stumbling, laughing. How Yoongi, stoic Yoongi, had once cried with you both until dawn after a breakup. You’d been woven into their world, into his world, so tightly it had felt unbreakable. Now, you were a stranger.
But you were happy, weren’t you? Wasn’t that supposed to be enough?
“Go ahead,” Jungkook said, edged with a coldness he didn’t feel. He stared at the empty whiskey glass in his hand, unwilling to meet their eyes.
“You sure?” Jimin asked, searching Jungkook’s face. Jungkook shrugged, forcing himself to look back.
“She’s your friend, isn’t she?” he said, the words hollow. “Or at least she used to be.”
You used to be everything. His, most of all. Now you belonged to someone else, to a life that had erased him, to a man whose ring gleamed on your finger, whose child grew inside you.
Jungkook’s eyes burned with the urge to look, to steal a glance at what was happening at your table, where Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi had gone. But he couldn’t. It would make him look weak, indecisive, like a man clinging to a ghost. But he couldn’t help it. Just one glance, quick and over his shoulder. And there you were, standing, your arms wrapped around Jimin in a hug and Taehyung was next, his grin wide as he pulled you in, you laughed. Henry stood beside you, shaking Yoongi’s hand, his smile polished. Jungkook’s stomach churned, and he snapped his eyes forward.
Namjoon, still at the table, shifted in his seat, his gaze on Jungkook. The rest of the members were scattered, Hoseok and Jin somewhere in the crowd. It was just the two of them now. Namjoon leaned forward.
"You don’t have to stay, you know. You could say it’s jet lag. No one would question it.”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened.
“I’m fine,” he said, lying. He wasn’t fine. He was drowning.
Namjoon tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“You haven’t said a word to her yet. You don’t… want to?”
He fucking wanted to. He forced a shrug again.
“Why would I?” he muttered, but the words felt hollow. He wanted to talk to you, wanted to demand answers, to ask why you’d chosen Henry, why you’d erased him so completely. But he couldn’t. Not when you looked so happy.
“I’ll go say hi to her in a bit,” Namjoon said finally, leaning back in his chair. “But I’m here with you now, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
The sincerity in his voice made Jungkook’s throat tighten. He nodded, grateful for Namjoon’s presence and for the way he didn’t force him to explain. Namjoon’s voice broke the silence again, softer now.
“Seeing her with her husband, happily married” he gestured toward your table, “was it worse in person?”
Jungkook’s breath caught, his fingers twitching against the table. He wanted to laugh, bitterly, but all that came out was a low sound.
“It’s not about her being married.”
Namjoon’s eyes softened, and Jungkook hated it, hated the understanding there, the quiet acknowledgment. It wasn’t the ring on your finger or the vows you’d taken with Henry that broke him. It was the life growing inside you, the future you’d built without him, the dreams you’d once whispered to him. Those were the things that cut deepest, that carved something into his bones, a longing so profound it felt like it might never fade.
He glanced at your table again, against his better judgment, and saw you laughing, your hand resting on Taehyung’s arm as he told some story. Henry was there, his arm around your waist, his smile almost possessive. Jungkook’s heart twisted, and he forced his eyes away, back to the table, to Namjoon.
“She’s happy,” he said, more to himself than to Namjoon. “That’s what matters, right?”
Namjoon didn’t answer, but his silence was enough.
Jin and Hobi returned to the table, pulling Jungkook from his thoughts and shattering the quiet comfort of Namjoon’s presence. It was a relief, in a way, to focus on something other than you. Other than whether you’d shared the name of your baby with his friends. What would you and Henry name your baby? Jungkook knew the names you’d once dreamed of for the children you’d planned with him. You’d never agreed on names. You loved Sophia or Sienna. He preferred Hayoon, Seoyoon. You’d argued they should work in both your worlds, but consensus was never reached. Still, you’d settled on a placeholder for the daughter you imagined, calling her Sunray. He couldn’t even recall how it started, that silly name. It was never meant to be official. You’d promised to decide together.
But that future never came.
The ache of it, that feeling, a longing for a life that slipped away, clawed at him. He forced a smile as Jin said a joke.
By that point, he was already convinced you hadn’t looked back at him once. Not a single glance.
Aa the night progresses, he drank too much, too fast. The alcohol was burning through his veins when he finally got up, head down, the party hall spun just enough for him to need to lean on the chair he had been sitting in before.
“Everything okay?” Hoseok asked, his eyes resting on Jungkook.
“Just the whiskey hitting,” he murmured as he turned on his heels to walk toward the bathroom straight ahead, which meant he wouldn’t even have to pass by his table.
He made his way through the crowd, a few people greeted him from a distance, and he tried his best not to stumble along the way, which worked, up to a point, because when he looked straight ahead to know exactly where he was going, he felt someone bump his shoulder. Lightly, nothing much, but when Jungkook looked to the side, his throat went dry.
Henry.
“Sorry, mate” he said in that British accent Jungkook had always thought was cool, but at that moment it made him sick. The color of his eyes was the same as yours, but in a lighter shade. Which made Jungkook think this would be the color of your baby’s eyes, but he hoped the shade would be exactly yours and not Henry’s.
“Oh, it’s you, Jungkook.” He said with the softest voice, almost friendly. He was taller than Jungkook, brown wavy hair pushed back, clean-shaven, broad shoulders. And even with Jungkook’s muscular build, growing even bigger from more frequent gym visits, he felt small next to Henry. But instead of letting that intimidate him in any way, Jungkook squared his shoulders and straightened his posture.
“No problem,” Jungkook muttered, nodding right after, ready to return on his way to the restroom, but Henry wasn’t finished yet.
“Been a while, hasn’t it?” Henry said, his voice a bit husky, and Jungkook hated the sound of it, feeling the alcohol cloud his mind.
“Yes. A long time,” Jungkook forced out, in an English that barely came out, making himself lock eyes with the man’s eyes, though it took a tremendous effort not to look away, not to let the alcohol or the anger or the ache in his chest take over.
Henry flashed a small smile that set Jungkook on edge, one of those victorious ones, the kind that seemed to rub in Jungkook’s face everything he had taken from him.
“Groom’s side?” he asked, and Jungkook simply nodded. “Me too,” Henry said with that same small smile. “Small world.”
“Small world,” Jungkook repeated, forcing the closest thing to a convincing smile he could manage.
“Your group, right? Growing bigger every year, if that’s even possible,” Henry said casually, as if trying to make conversation, or prolong this awkward encounter. But Jungkook was too broken, too hollow, to pretend.
“Yeah.”
As expected, the conversation died. They stared at each other, Henry arching a brow as if waiting for something more, and Jungkook doing the same, unsure of what was expected of him. He tried to sidestep Henry, to escape the presence, but the man spoke again.
“You should come by our table,” Henry said. “She’d love to catch up.”
Catch up.
Jungkook almost laughed bitterly. As if they were old friends who had simply lost touch over the years, not two people who had loved each other for five years, shared dreams that Henry had stolen away.
His stomach churned again, and Jungkook couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey or the thought of standing in front of you, pretending everything was fine.
“Maybe later.” He lied, not even sure how he managed to form a sentence that sounded natural. “I need to go over there now.” Jungkook nodded toward the front and moved away from Henry.
Henry clapped a hand on his shoulder, meant to be friendly, probably, but it felt like fire, searing through his jacket and into his skin.
Jungkook walked away in long strides, heading toward the restroom, his shoulder still burning where Henry had touched him.
Suddenly, he didn’t need to go to the bathroom at all. He needed air. He needed to escape.
But his feet carried him to the restroom anyway.
He didn’t trust himself to make it to the exit without doing something stupid, like running after you or punching Henry in his perfect, smug face.
The bathroom was empty. Jungkook grip his hands on the sink, staring at his reflection. His tie was crooked, hair falling into his eyes, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He looked like a mess, but not nearly as wrecked as he felt inside.
He let the icy water run over his hands, hoping it would do something for him. But it didn’t help.
He splashed water on his face, harder than necessary, then dragged his hands down his cheeks. But it was useless. You were burned into him, permanent, like the ink on your spine. He could still feel the ghost of your skin under his fingertips, the way you used to lean into him, the soft laugh when he kissed just below your ea as you used to like so much.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the sink so hard his knuckles whitened. He forced himself to breathe, to count to ten, to do anything to keep from collapsing right there.
He didn’t know how long he stood like that, but eventually he straightened, wiped his hands and forced himself to leave the bathroom.
As he stepped out of the restroom, he noticed a door to the side with a sign he understood to be an emergency exit. He pressed his palms against it almost abruptly, pushing the door open to leave the party hall. The moment he did, the icy night air hit his face, filling his nostrils and rushing into his lungs like it was the first real breath of oxygen he’d had all night.
He felt, in some way, pathetic, but he loved you too much not to feel that night physically tearing through his insides. He leaned against the cold wall for a moment, trying desperately to stop the tears from spilling down his face. But before he could even think about how to hold them back, the door opened.
You didn’t see him by the door at first, your dress clung to you, shifting slightly in the wind. He quickly wiped away the tears that had fallen involuntarily as you glanced around, until your eyes finally landed on Jungkook. You sighed, your shoulders dropping as you brushed a loose strand of hair from your cheek where it had stuck to your lips. You looked like you felt sorry for him, and he understood that, which, once again, destroyed him, as if there was still something left to break.
The cold bit at Jungkook’s skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill that settled in his chest when he saw you standing there, the curve of your belly and Jungkook’s eyes dropped to it instinctively before he forced them back to your face.
“Jungkook,” you said, your voice low. It was the first time he’d heard you say his name in years, and it hit him.
Jungkook even opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, as if trying to realign his thoughts that had been completely scattered by your voice saying his name, by your presence materializing in front of him. Jungkook shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants, running his tongue across his lips to moisten them, fighting against the urge to ask you a million questions. Instead, all he managed was a simple:
“Hey.”
It sounded casual, just like he wanted it to. You took a small step forward, tilting your head slightly, as if subtly studying him.
“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” you said. Your accent was stronger than he remembered, probably from not speaking Korean for a while, he thought. “And I saw you in there… and coming out here.”
You added that as you stepped closer again, and Jungkook felt the instinct to retreat, but the wall behind his back wouldn’t let him.
“Mm-hm,” he replied simply. It was more of a sound than an actual response because he didn’t even trust himself to speak at that moment. But his eyes, inevitably, dropped again to your pregnant belly, and of course you noticed. How could you not? He hated how impossible it was not to look.
Your hand went instinctively to your belly when you caught his gaze, a soft sigh escaping your lips.
Jungkook said nothing. He looked away, and you sighed again. Then you took more steps, which at first he thought were toward him, but they weren’t. You just moved to stand beside him, leaning against the wall with your hands behind you. You were probably cold in that dress, with its open back and bare shoulders. Jungkook noticed the fine hairs on your arms slightly raised when he glanced at you quickly.
He didn’t dare speak. Neither did you. So, for what felt like an eternity, there was a heavy silence. Jungkook’s eyes stayed glued to his own shoes. He was completely still, but you seemed somehow restless, shifting slightly as if you couldn’t get comfortable. Jungkook figured it was because the situation was unbearably uncomfortable.
He sighed, gathered what little courage he had left, and finally spoke:
“So… what were you doing out here?”
He turned his face toward you, and you did the same, but only briefly, before your gaze wandered off into the distance again.
“I saw you come out here,” you murmured. “And then I noticed you’ve been drinking a lot tonight.”
You let out a soft laugh that vanished like the wind. Jungkook pressed his lips together. There was no denying it and he didn’t want to anyway. He just nodded, his eyes flicking to your face. You looked back at him then, your eyes scanning his features now. He felt it, he was probably even redder than before.
“Believe me, if I could drink right now, I’d be drinking too.” Your words were meant to be a joke, to ease the tension, but they landed like a stone in Jungkook’s chest. He didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile.
Why? Why would you need to drink? He wanted to demand to know why you’d say something like that when he was the one losing everything, the one watching his entire world slip through his fingers while you stood there, glowing, whole, with a life that didn’t include him. But he didn’t ask. He just stared at you, his heart pounding.
You shifted slightly again, your body adjusting your weight, but he noticed it again. His eyes dropped to your stomach, and he realized it wasn’t just you being restless, it was the baby.
He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Is… is the baby moving?” he asked, so low you couldn’t quite hear it.
You nodded, your smile softening, your hand drifting to your belly again.
“Yeah,” you said, your voice almost proud. “It’s a boy. He’s been moving a lot today. I ate some chocolate earlier, and he always gets all worked up when I do.” You laughed again.
A boy.
A strange sense of relief hit his chest. Because he knew how much you had always wanted to be a mother and your dream had always been to have a little girl. You always talked about girls, about how there would be two of them, with Jungkook’s eyes, those doe eyes you always said you loved. The smile, you wanted it to be Jungkook’s smile. You didn’t really care about the nose, you always said.
But knowing that Henry’s child was a boy somehow, in a stupid and irrational way, eased him. Even though Jungkook had always said he wanted a boy too. Still, the relief was undeniable and nowhere near reasonable, but he wanted to hold on to it now.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
“That’s…” he started, his voice faltering. “That’s… congratulations.”
You nodded, your smile fading just a little.
“Thank you,” you said quietly, your hand still moving in small circles over your stomach. You shifted again, and Jungkook couldn’t help but watch.
“Do you… want to feel him?” you asked, your voice hesitant, like you weren’t sure if you were offering too much and crossing a line. Jungkook froze, his breath catching. His eyes flicked to your stomach, then back to your face, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he could handle it. The idea of touching you, of feeling the life you were carrying, was too much and too painful. But he couldn’t say no. Before he could stop, his hand left his pocket.
You stepped closer, turning to face him fully, and Jungkook’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might break. You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his.
Your smaller hand rested on the back of Jungkook’s tattooed one, then guided it to meet your other hand, which was icy cold. Your wedding ring was on full display, and it felt like it burned against his skin with that touch. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore.
At the same time, your hand seemed to fit perfectly in his, yet felt far too heavy, like it didn’t belong there anymore. But you guided his hand down to your belly, right over the lower part, gently pressing his palm against it. Your eyes stayed on your hands as Jungkook looked at you. Your features still soft, like barely any time had passed.
And then Jungkook felt it, beneath his hand, a tiny kick. It stole the air from his lungs and maybe even a laugh, one he didn’t control and didn’t even know how it escaped. But you laughed too.
Only it wasn’t really a laugh that Jungkook let out, instead, a stubborn tear slipped down his cheek.
He didn’t want you to see, which is why he turned his face, but you were faster and looked at him, your smile disappeared instantly. Your hands fell from on top of his onto your stomach, but his hand lingered there a moment longer, until you spoke.
“Jungkook…” Your voice wasn’t just filled with concern, there was something bordering on guilt. “I… I…” You started to stammer, and Jungkook pulled his hand away, almost abruptly, making the removal of his hand from your stomach feel like the loss of a connection.
“Don't,” he murmured, bringing his hand to his face, but a single tear fell from the other side of the face he was wiping. It was the alcohol, but not just that, obviously. “Don’t say anything.” Jungkook wiped his face fully and tucked his hand back into his pocket, fighting to keep you from seeing how shaky it really was.
You sighed, opened your mouth, drew in a breath. Jungkook could hear you, but could barely meet your eyes. He cursed those tears, but he couldn’t help them.
“I didn’t mean…” you began, but he looked at you, shaking his head, pulling his hands out of his pockets, leaning forward, and said,
“I said don’t.” He repeated it, not harshly, not coldly, but as if he were begging, desperate.
You nodded slowly. Your arms wrapped around yourself, as if the cold had finally caught up to you, or as if you were realizing coming after him was a mistake, he couldn’t know which. After a few moments, Jungkook finally looked at you. Now, you were twisting your fucking wedding ring around your finger, just as you always did with your regular rings when you were nervous.
“I’m sorry,” you said, in a sigh, meeting Jungkook’s eyes.
“Sorry for what, exactly?” Jungkook let out a laugh he couldn’t hold back, ironic, bitter. “For being happily married and living your dream of becoming a mother?” He rolled his eyes, unintentionally, but couldn’t help it.
“I don’t know,” you admitted softly, and Jungkook let out a nasal laugh and turned his face, resting his head against the wall.
“Don’t do that.” Your voice was firm now, making Jungkook lift his head to look at you. Your arms hung loosely at his sides, but your eyes were sharp. “Don’t start acting like I’m the villain.”
Jungkook let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head.
“No one’s saying that.” His tongue brushed across his lips. “I just didn’t expect to find you here. Pregnant.” He practically spat out the last word.
You put your hands on your hips, tilted your head back, and sighed. Your scent drifted into his nose with the night breeze, sweet and overwhelming and it hit him like it was the first time, even though he had touched you just moments ago. He realized he’d been too nervous to notice it before.
“I didn’t expect to see you either,” you said, your voice sounding almost fragile. “I didn’t think...” You had to clear your throat, and Jungkook’s brow arched. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”
“Feel like what?” Jungkook asked, his tone bordering on a growl, not out of anger, but desperation. He wanted to know what it meant, what you being there meant. He was unraveling, while you stood in front of him so composed it felt like a cruel joke. As if he was nothing more than a threat to your perfect future.
You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek, inhaling deeply before meeting his eyes again.
“Like… like seeing you would hurt me.” Another sigh escaped you. “I kind of had to come after you...I wouldn’t have been able to take it if I didn’t.” Your voice broke, tears brimming in your eyes. As you rolled them upward, a few slipped free, and you wiped them away quickly. “The hormones,” you gestured vaguely in circles around your stomach.
Jungkook scoffed, scratching the tip of his nose.
“How can you say that when you’ve got everything you ever wanted, huh?” He leaned closer, stepping toward you this time. “You’re so fucking unfair.” His voice cracked into anger. “You’re pregnant with another guy’s baby!” The words came out louder, rawer.
You covered your face with your hands, sniffling as you turned away.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have come after you,” you whispered, stepping back. “This was a mistake.”
“Do you love him?” Jungkook demanded, no hesitation, his eyes burning into yours like he could force the truth out of you.
“I do.” The answer fell quickly, your tears spilling faster, streaking down your face without resistance.
“Do you love him the way you loved me?” Jungkook’s voice echoed again, low and devastating. He hadn’t even processed your first answer yet, because this was the only question that really mattered. "Love him more than you loved me?"
Your voice trembled, disbelief etched across your face.
“You’re really standing there asking me that?” The words came out sharp, laced with anger.
Jungkook felt it like a blade cutting straight through him. His mouth opened, he wanted to take the words back, but desperation held him hostage. He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t control the storm tearing through his chest. You turned toward the door, ready to leave, but he lunged forward, his hand closing around your arm, just enough to halt you.
“Wait,” he choked out, his wide eyes glassy with tears that made him look so fucking vulnerable. His voice cracked as it left him. “I just need to know.” His grip loosened, trembling fingers slipping away as if he didn’t have the right to hold you. “Just tell me, do you love him more than you loved me? Or are you gonna stand there and say you never loved me at all?”
The last words broke apart, his voice splintering with a sob. He didn’t even know why he’d said it, he was not in control of himself anymore, why he was cornering you like this. The alcohol, the pain, the unbearable sight of you, so close and yet unreachable, had ripped the filter away from his mouth.
Your eyes widened, disbelief across your face. You blinked, several times, as though you hadn’t heard him right. Then you shook your head, hands dragging down your face, your jaw trembling with rage.
“I cannot believe you’re saying this to me.”
You bit your lip, hard, like to keep your voice from cracking, but the fury burned through every syllable.
“Do you have any idea what I gave up for you?” you snapped, the words slicing clean and sharp now, no hesitation. “I literally moved to the other side of the world, Jungkook. I left my country, my family, my friends, my job. Everything! Everything.” You emphasized the last word, your voice ringing through. “I went to a place where I didn’t even speak the language, where I had to start from nothing, just to be with you. Just to dedicate myself to us. That’s how much I loved you.” Your voice was steel now, your Korean so fluent, so precise, that it cut him deeper than anything else. “I loved you more than I loved myself.” Your eyes were already glossy, but finishing the words broke something open. Tears streamed down your cheeks, unstoppable. You were trembling, crying, unraveling, but your voice still carried, trembling with fury. “And you have the audacity to stand here and ask if I ever loved you? How dare you?”
Jungkook’s heart hammered in his chest like someone was slapping him across the face again and again. He wanted to pull you into his arms, to beg for forgiveness, but the only words that stumbled out of him were low, broken.
“You left me,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You walked away.”
You let out a bitter, hollow laugh, shaking your head as you wiped your face with trembling hands.
“I didn’t leave you, Jungkook. You let me go.” Your voice steadied, gaining power with every word. “You knew how everything changed. You knew what happened when my dad got sick. You knew I had to go back, that I had to be there for him. You knew I had my own dreams, my own expectations, but I kept putting them on hold because I was always waiting, for you! And you? You were always in the studio, on tour, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And I tried to be strong, I tried to be enough, but I was alone. You left me in that apartment, over and over again, waiting for you. And I couldn’t keep waiting forever.”
Jungkook swallowed hard, the lump in his throat like fire. None of this was new. He’d known all of it, but hearing it from your lips now, seeing you, pregnant, married, years later, was like being buried alive.
“I never would’ve asked you to give up your career, Jungkook,” you continued, your voice shaking. “I knew what it meant to you. I never would’ve made you choose. But don’t you dare act like I left first. You let me slip through your fingers long before I walked away.”
Jungkook’s vision blurred, his chest caving in. Because you were right. Because he had let you go without even realizing. Because choosing would’ve meant sacrifice, and he’d been too cowardly to face it.
Your voice cracked again as more tears rolled down your cheeks.
“I loved you, Jungkook. I loved you so much it broke me. I loved you more than I loved myself. And that’s exactly why I had to let go. I had to choose me.”
He wanted to scream, to deny it, but the truth crushed the air out of his lungs. His lips trembled as he whispered the only name he could.
“With Henry.”
You blinked, almost startled by the simplicity of it. Then you shook your head.
“No. With myself,” you said “Henry was just the consequence of that. The first real step forward. But before I loved him, I had to love myself again.”
You stood there, both of you locked in a stare, eyes brimming with tears, faces flushed red, not just from the cold, but from anger, from everything unsaid. Your lips pressed tightly together, trembling, your lashes clumped with tears as you tried to blink them away. Jungkook’s chest ached with regret. Regret for everything he’d said, for letting his pain twist into cruelty, for making you this angry when all he’d wanted was to hold you close.
“I’m going inside,” you announced finally, your voice hoarse but firm.
Jungkook took a step back, his throat tight as he nodded.
“Yeah,” he whispered, barely audible. “I think you should.”
You bit down on your lower lip, nodded once, blinking several times as if to steady yourself. You shifted, giving him space, your hand already on the door.
“Goodbye, Jungkook,” you said softly, before pulling it open and slipping inside. The door shut behind you with a heavy finality.
Jungkook stood frozen. He knew his face was pathetic, swollen, blotchy red, tear-streaked, but he didn’t care. He just wanted every piece of you left inside him to pour out with the tears. The night was brutally cold, the kind of cold that cut through bone, and all of it, the darkness, the silence, the memory of your voice saying goodbye, made the moment unbearable.
He didn’t want to be there anymore. Not at the wedding, not at the party, not standing outside a door you had just closed on him. He couldn’t face the laughter of his friends inside, couldn’t face you, couldn’t face anything anymore.
So he stayed there for what felt like forever, though he couldn’t have said how long it really was, but long enough for his tears to come and come again, long enough for the weight in his chest to press him down until he could barely breathe. He knew it wouldn’t be the last time he cried that night.
But eventually, he pulled himself upright, swiped his sleeve across his face, and forced himself to move. Instead of walking back into the warmth and music, Jungkook turned toward the parking lot, his footsteps heavy against the ground. He fumbled for his phone, opening the app to call a car, his breath misting in the cold as he made himself a silent promise.
saudade — a portuguese word without a true english translation, a profound, melancholic longing for something or someone that is absent, whether in the past, present, or even something that may never return. more than simple nostalgia or missing, saudade carries the bittersweet weight of memory, loss, desire, and love intertwined.
summary: years after the breakup, jungkook spots you from across the room at a wedding he didn’t even know you’d be attending. and there you are: radiant, stunning, as always. a diamond ring gleams on your left ring finger, and your husband stands proudly by your side.
w.c: 7,2k
pairing: idol!jungkook (barely there) x fem!reader
rating: —
genre: exes, pure ANGST
warnings: heartbreak, alcohol, heavy emotions
author’s note: who would’ve thought my first post after years away would be angst instead of smut? 😅 the last time i shared a fully angst one-shot, I got a flood of angry asks, so please, please read this knowing it’s pure angst, no happy ending, just heartbreak. 🥲 honestly, i almost cried while writing it. the inspiration hit out of nowhere, and i just had to pour it all out. ss always, this is a work of fiction, i don’t own BTS. english isn’t my first language, so forgive any mistakes. 🫶🏻✨ leave me your thoughts in the comments, it really means the world to me. 💕
Jungkook saw you the moment you arrived at the wedding.
Your long, wavy hair spilled in dark cascades over your graphite-colored coat, a perfect choice for the end of winter, light enough without being careless. Wine-red lipstick stained your smile, a smile that seemed fixed in place, unwilling to fade. Your almond-shaped nails, painted a deep crimson to match, gleamed subtly in the low light. But what caught his eyes, what gutted him, was the ring. That fucking ring. A silver band with a teardrop diamond at its center, so large he could spot it from across the room, so sharp it felt like it was staring him down.
How many carats was it? Did you even care?
He knew you didn’t.
It had to be Henry’s doing, your husband, show of wealth, of power, of ownership. Jungkook had heard people say Europeans were like that. And Henry, well, he wasn’t a bad man. Successful, yes. A giant in the Western music industry, owner of one of the biggest record labels in the world. Jungkook had once admired him, even interacted with him a few times back then.
But that was before.
Before you married him. Before you left Jungkook behind. Before, when you and Jungkook had still sworn you were each other’s forever. Three years ago.
Now, you stood across the room from him, your back turned, while another man, your man, slipped your coat from your shoulders. His wedding ring, the one you had placed on his hand, gleamed under the lights too.
Beneath the coat, your maroon dress dipped low, revealing your back. The ink of your tattoo trailed down your spine, the same one Jungkook used to kiss, dot by dot, following the path of your freckles with his lips.
Did you still get dressed naked in front of the mirror? He wondered, lifting his glass of whiskey to his lips and swallowing hard. Did you still light your scented candles and go through that careful ritual before going out?
Jungkook hadn’t wanted to be at that wedding, hadn’t even considered the possibility of seeing you there, but it made sense now, Anthony Westwood, the groom, was a music producer, likely tied to Henry through industry threads. Anthony had become a close friend over the past year, working on BTS’s new album, their late-night talks spilling beyond studio walls into something deeper, something personal. It would’ve been rude for Jungkook to skip the event, especially with the rest of the members there, before the U.S. tour kicked off in a week.
You were there, just as he remembered, yet impossibly different.
His stomach twisted. He thought he might be sick. Because then you turned. And the sight hit him like a blade straight to the chest.
The dress draped you perfectly, light, flowing, yet cinched tight at the waist. But what it framed was unmistakable. Your stomach. Rounded, showing.
You were pregnant.
Five months, maybe more. Pregnant with another man’s child.
Jungkook’s fingers tingled, the sensation crawling up his arms and lodging itself in his chest. It felt like his own body was betraying him, like his heart had forgotten how to beat, how to keep him alive. His mouth went dry, his vision white at the edges. The taste of bitterness flooded his throat.
He was dying. He was certain of it.
And yet, you didn’t even see him. Probably couldn’t. Your eyes squinted as you spoke to the blonde woman in front of you, someone who looked far too close, far too familiar. You must have forgotten your contact lenses again. Typical of you.
Jungkook wanted to scream.
Because you had always wanted this. To be a mother. He remembered every conversation about it, what it would be like, what names you would choose, how you’d decorate the nursery, what traditions you’d pass down. And most of all, how he would be your baby daddy.
He thought he might collapse right there, knees to the floor, begging a God he never even knew he had faith in to rip that indescribable pain out of his chest. Right there, in front of all those people celebrating the happiness of a couple about to vow forever, while the love of his life had just been stolen from him completely.
Pregnant.
The word buzzed in his head, a deafening, disorienting noise. Pregnant with Henry’s baby. Another life growing inside you.
It was obscene. Cruel. It felt like a punishment carved into every fiber of Jungkook’s being, into every cell that made him who he was, every part of him you had once touched. Every part that had once belonged to you.
His throat was tight. No one here could possibly understand the panic clawing through him, the way his chest rose and fell too quickly, the way the whiskey glass shook in his hand. He tried to force the liquor down, but his throat refused, burning with both the bitterness of alcohol and of you.
And there you were, glowing in that devastating way only pregnant women do, carrying proof of a future that had erased him entirely.
When he finally managed to swallow the whiskey, it scorched all the way down. God, it burned.
His jaw tightened as he stared at you, a thousand memories bleeding into the sight before him. His stomach lurched, nausea rising sharp and merciless at the thought of Henry’s hands on you, of Henry’s child inside you. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, forcing himself to hold it together, but the truth was merciless.
You weren’t his anymore. And you never would be again. Still, he couldn’t stop watching you.
Because some part of him, a pathetic, broken part, was waiting. Waiting for you to look up, to notice him standing there. To see him the way you used to. To remember.
But you didn’t.
You only smiled, hand drifting unconsciously to your stomach while the blonde beside you spoke, and Jungkook felt his heart rip itself apart piece by piece.
The people around Jungkook didn’t notice. Or if they did, they chose to ignore the way he looked, strange, hollow, breaking apart from the inside out. No one could ever really know, anyway. No one could survive carrying the knowledge of what it felt like to be him, in his skin, in this moment. No one could endure the truth that he barely remembered how to breathe, let alone how to stand, how to walk, how to keep living.
So he sat through it.
In that vast, glittering hall, all open glass and polished marble, everyone gathered to celebrate a wedding that had little to do with him. People clapped, people smiled, people cried into silk handkerchiefs while vows were spoken. And Jungkook dissociated just enough to get through it. The ceremony passed like smoke, like something unreal. He couldn’t hold onto a single word.
And maybe that was better. Because in that moment, the last thing he wanted was anything to do with love stories.
Instead, he sat there with nothing but a vacant stare, an empty glass of whiskey, and the unbearable need to avoid your face, while you sat only a few rows ahead of him. He could still see you in profile, the curve of your cheek, your smile gentle as you leaned toward someone speaking to you. Your hand rested protectively on your stomach, as though guarding the life that grew inside you.
Every time his eyes landed on that gesture, on that stomach, he had to look away. He stared into the hollow of his glass. He stared out the tall windows at the mountains, capped with soft snow, ancient and indifferent. He stared up at the ceiling, dripping with flowers, roses, lilies, hydrangeas, so many blooms he couldn’t begin to count them. Crimson petals here and there. White orchids, too.
And he wondered, were orchids still your favorite?Or had that changed too, like everything else?
Had you married Henry on a beach, the way you once swore you wanted to?
He didn’t know. He realized, with a bitter twist, that he didn’t know anything about your life anymore. You had always been private, your social media locked down, your circle impossibly small. After the breakup, you vanished from Korea, completely.
Had you gone to Europe with Henry? That would make sense. His empire was there, his influence vast. And yet, Jungkook refused to believe you had not returned home just for Henry. That wasn’t you. You had always longed for home, for your parents, for the comfort of the familiar.
But facts were crueler than dreams. The truth was simple.
You were in New York. And Jungkook was in New York. The same city, the same room, for the first time in four years.
And it was suffocating him more than he ever thought possible. Pregnant, married, untouchable.
Still, he couldn’t stop. His eyes sought you even as he forced himself to look away. And then, for a single fleeting second, it happened.
You turned. Over your shoulder, your gaze caught his.
It was so quick it could have been nothing, just a trick of light, just a mistake. But it wasn’t. It was there. And on your lips, a small, sad smile.
It destroyed him.
Because it told him everything and nothing all at once. It told him you hadn’t forgotten. That somewhere, buried deep, you remembered too.
Jungkook wanted to leave. If nobody had noticed you before, everyone noticed you now. And they understood why Jungkook had been staring into nothing, looking like he’d just seen a ghost, because he literally had.
The pity in his friends’ eyes was almost tangible, and Jungkook hated it. They liked you. I mean, how could they not? You were undeniably charismatic, always bringing life to parties, and you were funny, not in that forced way, but the kind that made people laugh effortlessly. Everyone said you were the perfect match for Jungkook.
And now, someone said something about you that he chose to ignore, sitting at the table assigned to them. Jungkook was grateful you weren’t directly in his line of sight like during the ceremony. Especially because he was forced to stay a little longer for the reception. How rude would it be to fly all the way from Korea to the United States just for this wedding and then leave before midnight?
So, he drank.
That’s when Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi stood up, all three at once, while Jungkook swallowed another sip of whiskey. They spoke, glancing at him, looking somewhat hesitant, somewhat concerned. Jungkook didn’t really know how to describe that look and he didn’t want to.
“We’re gonna go over to…” Jimin started, but didn’t finish. Instead, his eyes shifted toward the table Jungkook knew was yours.
Taehyung cleared his throat, tilting his head to the side, a slow sigh escaping as he bit his lower lip.
“We’re just gonna say hi,” he said, his voice too careful, like he was tiptoeing across a minefield. Yoongi stayed silent, his dark eyes fixed on Jungkook, searching for something, permission, maybe, or a spark of anger. But Jungkook wasn’t angry. He was shattered, pieces of him scattered across the polished floor of the reception hall.
He wanted to beg them not to go, not to walk toward you, not to stir the ashes of a life you’d once shared. Weekends that stretched too long, filled with your laughter, how you’d convinced Jimin to jump into a pool on a rainy Seoul afternoon, your grin so infectious it was almost absurd. How Taehyung would drink too much when you were around, goaded by your teasing challenges, glass after glass until he was stumbling, laughing. How Yoongi, stoic Yoongi, had once cried with you both until dawn after a breakup. You’d been woven into their world, into his world, so tightly it had felt unbreakable. Now, you were a stranger.
But you were happy, weren’t you? Wasn’t that supposed to be enough?
“Go ahead,” Jungkook said, edged with a coldness he didn’t feel. He stared at the empty whiskey glass in his hand, unwilling to meet their eyes.
“You sure?” Jimin asked, searching Jungkook’s face. Jungkook shrugged, forcing himself to look back.
“She’s your friend, isn’t she?” he said, the words hollow. “Or at least she used to be.”
You used to be everything. His, most of all. Now you belonged to someone else, to a life that had erased him, to a man whose ring gleamed on your finger, whose child grew inside you.
Jungkook’s eyes burned with the urge to look, to steal a glance at what was happening at your table, where Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi had gone. But he couldn’t. It would make him look weak, indecisive, like a man clinging to a ghost. But he couldn’t help it. Just one glance, quick and over his shoulder. And there you were, standing, your arms wrapped around Jimin in a hug and Taehyung was next, his grin wide as he pulled you in, you laughed. Henry stood beside you, shaking Yoongi’s hand, his smile polished. Jungkook’s stomach churned, and he snapped his eyes forward.
Namjoon, still at the table, shifted in his seat, his gaze on Jungkook. The rest of the members were scattered, Hoseok and Jin somewhere in the crowd. It was just the two of them now. Namjoon leaned forward.
"You don’t have to stay, you know. You could say it’s jet lag. No one would question it.”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened.
“I’m fine,” he said, lying. He wasn’t fine. He was drowning.
Namjoon tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“You haven’t said a word to her yet. You don’t… want to?”
He fucking wanted to. He forced a shrug again.
“Why would I?” he muttered, but the words felt hollow. He wanted to talk to you, wanted to demand answers, to ask why you’d chosen Henry, why you’d erased him so completely. But he couldn’t. Not when you looked so happy.
“I’ll go say hi to her in a bit,” Namjoon said finally, leaning back in his chair. “But I’m here with you now, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
The sincerity in his voice made Jungkook’s throat tighten. He nodded, grateful for Namjoon’s presence and for the way he didn’t force him to explain. Namjoon’s voice broke the silence again, softer now.
“Seeing her with her husband, happily married” he gestured toward your table, “was it worse in person?”
Jungkook’s breath caught, his fingers twitching against the table. He wanted to laugh, bitterly, but all that came out was a low sound.
“It’s not about her being married.”
Namjoon’s eyes softened, and Jungkook hated it, hated the understanding there, the quiet acknowledgment. It wasn’t the ring on your finger or the vows you’d taken with Henry that broke him. It was the life growing inside you, the future you’d built without him, the dreams you’d once whispered to him. Those were the things that cut deepest, that carved something into his bones, a longing so profound it felt like it might never fade.
He glanced at your table again, against his better judgment, and saw you laughing, your hand resting on Taehyung’s arm as he told some story. Henry was there, his arm around your waist, his smile almost possessive. Jungkook’s heart twisted, and he forced his eyes away, back to the table, to Namjoon.
“She’s happy,” he said, more to himself than to Namjoon. “That’s what matters, right?”
Namjoon didn’t answer, but his silence was enough.
Jin and Hobi returned to the table, pulling Jungkook from his thoughts and shattering the quiet comfort of Namjoon’s presence. It was a relief, in a way, to focus on something other than you. Other than whether you’d shared the name of your baby with his friends. What would you and Henry name your baby? Jungkook knew the names you’d once dreamed of for the children you’d planned with him. You’d never agreed on names. You loved Sophia or Sienna. He preferred Hayoon, Seoyoon. You’d argued they should work in both your worlds, but consensus was never reached. Still, you’d settled on a placeholder for the daughter you imagined, calling her Sunray. He couldn’t even recall how it started, that silly name. It was never meant to be official. You’d promised to decide together.
But that future never came.
The ache of it, that feeling, a longing for a life that slipped away, clawed at him. He forced a smile as Jin said a joke.
By that point, he was already convinced you hadn’t looked back at him once. Not a single glance.
Aa the night progresses, he drank too much, too fast. The alcohol was burning through his veins when he finally got up, head down, the party hall spun just enough for him to need to lean on the chair he had been sitting in before.
“Everything okay?” Hoseok asked, his eyes resting on Jungkook.
“Just the whiskey hitting,” he murmured as he turned on his heels to walk toward the bathroom straight ahead, which meant he wouldn’t even have to pass by his table.
He made his way through the crowd, a few people greeted him from a distance, and he tried his best not to stumble along the way, which worked, up to a point, because when he looked straight ahead to know exactly where he was going, he felt someone bump his shoulder. Lightly, nothing much, but when Jungkook looked to the side, his throat went dry.
Henry.
“Sorry, mate” he said in that British accent Jungkook had always thought was cool, but at that moment it made him sick. The color of his eyes was the same as yours, but in a lighter shade. Which made Jungkook think this would be the color of your baby’s eyes, but he hoped the shade would be exactly yours and not Henry’s.
“Oh, it’s you, Jungkook.” He said with the softest voice, almost friendly. He was taller than Jungkook, brown wavy hair pushed back, clean-shaven, broad shoulders. And even with Jungkook’s muscular build, growing even bigger from more frequent gym visits, he felt small next to Henry. But instead of letting that intimidate him in any way, Jungkook squared his shoulders and straightened his posture.
“No problem,” Jungkook muttered, nodding right after, ready to return on his way to the restroom, but Henry wasn’t finished yet.
“Been a while, hasn’t it?” Henry said, his voice a bit husky, and Jungkook hated the sound of it, feeling the alcohol cloud his mind.
“Yes. A long time,” Jungkook forced out, in an English that barely came out, making himself lock eyes with the man’s eyes, though it took a tremendous effort not to look away, not to let the alcohol or the anger or the ache in his chest take over.
Henry flashed a small smile that set Jungkook on edge, one of those victorious ones, the kind that seemed to rub in Jungkook’s face everything he had taken from him.
“Groom’s side?” he asked, and Jungkook simply nodded. “Me too,” Henry said with that same small smile. “Small world.”
“Small world,” Jungkook repeated, forcing the closest thing to a convincing smile he could manage.
“Your group, right? Growing bigger every year, if that’s even possible,” Henry said casually, as if trying to make conversation, or prolong this awkward encounter. But Jungkook was too broken, too hollow, to pretend.
“Yeah.”
As expected, the conversation died. They stared at each other, Henry arching a brow as if waiting for something more, and Jungkook doing the same, unsure of what was expected of him. He tried to sidestep Henry, to escape the presence, but the man spoke again.
“You should come by our table,” Henry said. “She’d love to catch up.”
Catch up.
Jungkook almost laughed bitterly. As if they were old friends who had simply lost touch over the years, not two people who had loved each other for five years, shared dreams that Henry had stolen away.
His stomach churned again, and Jungkook couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey or the thought of standing in front of you, pretending everything was fine.
“Maybe later.” He lied, not even sure how he managed to form a sentence that sounded natural. “I need to go over there now.” Jungkook nodded toward the front and moved away from Henry.
Henry clapped a hand on his shoulder, meant to be friendly, probably, but it felt like fire, searing through his jacket and into his skin.
Jungkook walked away in long strides, heading toward the restroom, his shoulder still burning where Henry had touched him.
Suddenly, he didn’t need to go to the bathroom at all. He needed air. He needed to escape.
But his feet carried him to the restroom anyway.
He didn’t trust himself to make it to the exit without doing something stupid, like running after you or punching Henry in his perfect, smug face.
The bathroom was empty. Jungkook grip his hands on the sink, staring at his reflection. His tie was crooked, hair falling into his eyes, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He looked like a mess, but not nearly as wrecked as he felt inside.
He let the icy water run over his hands, hoping it would do something for him. But it didn’t help.
He splashed water on his face, harder than necessary, then dragged his hands down his cheeks. But it was useless. You were burned into him, permanent, like the ink on your spine. He could still feel the ghost of your skin under his fingertips, the way you used to lean into him, the soft laugh when he kissed just below your ea as you used to like so much.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the sink so hard his knuckles whitened. He forced himself to breathe, to count to ten, to do anything to keep from collapsing right there.
He didn’t know how long he stood like that, but eventually he straightened, wiped his hands and forced himself to leave the bathroom.
As he stepped out of the restroom, he noticed a door to the side with a sign he understood to be an emergency exit. He pressed his palms against it almost abruptly, pushing the door open to leave the party hall. The moment he did, the icy night air hit his face, filling his nostrils and rushing into his lungs like it was the first real breath of oxygen he’d had all night.
He felt, in some way, pathetic, but he loved you too much not to feel that night physically tearing through his insides. He leaned against the cold wall for a moment, trying desperately to stop the tears from spilling down his face. But before he could even think about how to hold them back, the door opened.
You didn’t see him by the door at first, your dress clung to you, shifting slightly in the wind. He quickly wiped away the tears that had fallen involuntarily as you glanced around, until your eyes finally landed on Jungkook. You sighed, your shoulders dropping as you brushed a loose strand of hair from your cheek where it had stuck to your lips. You looked like you felt sorry for him, and he understood that, which, once again, destroyed him, as if there was still something left to break.
The cold bit at Jungkook’s skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill that settled in his chest when he saw you standing there, the curve of your belly and Jungkook’s eyes dropped to it instinctively before he forced them back to your face.
“Jungkook,” you said, your voice low. It was the first time he’d heard you say his name in years, and it hit him.
Jungkook even opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, as if trying to realign his thoughts that had been completely scattered by your voice saying his name, by your presence materializing in front of him. Jungkook shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants, running his tongue across his lips to moisten them, fighting against the urge to ask you a million questions. Instead, all he managed was a simple:
“Hey.”
It sounded casual, just like he wanted it to. You took a small step forward, tilting your head slightly, as if subtly studying him.
“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” you said. Your accent was stronger than he remembered, probably from not speaking Korean for a while, he thought. “And I saw you in there… and coming out here.”
You added that as you stepped closer again, and Jungkook felt the instinct to retreat, but the wall behind his back wouldn’t let him.
“Mm-hm,” he replied simply. It was more of a sound than an actual response because he didn’t even trust himself to speak at that moment. But his eyes, inevitably, dropped again to your pregnant belly, and of course you noticed. How could you not? He hated how impossible it was not to look.
Your hand went instinctively to your belly when you caught his gaze, a soft sigh escaping your lips.
Jungkook said nothing. He looked away, and you sighed again. Then you took more steps, which at first he thought were toward him, but they weren’t. You just moved to stand beside him, leaning against the wall with your hands behind you. You were probably cold in that dress, with its open back and bare shoulders. Jungkook noticed the fine hairs on your arms slightly raised when he glanced at you quickly.
He didn’t dare speak. Neither did you. So, for what felt like an eternity, there was a heavy silence. Jungkook’s eyes stayed glued to his own shoes. He was completely still, but you seemed somehow restless, shifting slightly as if you couldn’t get comfortable. Jungkook figured it was because the situation was unbearably uncomfortable.
He sighed, gathered what little courage he had left, and finally spoke:
“So… what were you doing out here?”
He turned his face toward you, and you did the same, but only briefly, before your gaze wandered off into the distance again.
“I saw you come out here,” you murmured. “And then I noticed you’ve been drinking a lot tonight.”
You let out a soft laugh that vanished like the wind. Jungkook pressed his lips together. There was no denying it and he didn’t want to anyway. He just nodded, his eyes flicking to your face. You looked back at him then, your eyes scanning his features now. He felt it, he was probably even redder than before.
“Believe me, if I could drink right now, I’d be drinking too.” Your words were meant to be a joke, to ease the tension, but they landed like a stone in Jungkook’s chest. He didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile.
Why? Why would you need to drink? He wanted to demand to know why you’d say something like that when he was the one losing everything, the one watching his entire world slip through his fingers while you stood there, glowing, whole, with a life that didn’t include him. But he didn’t ask. He just stared at you, his heart pounding.
You shifted slightly again, your body adjusting your weight, but he noticed it again. His eyes dropped to your stomach, and he realized it wasn’t just you being restless, it was the baby.
He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Is… is the baby moving?” he asked, so low you couldn’t quite hear it.
You nodded, your smile softening, your hand drifting to your belly again.
“Yeah,” you said, your voice almost proud. “It’s a boy. He’s been moving a lot today. I ate some chocolate earlier, and he always gets all worked up when I do.” You laughed again.
A boy.
A strange sense of relief hit his chest. Because he knew how much you had always wanted to be a mother and your dream had always been to have a little girl. You always talked about girls, about how there would be two of them, with Jungkook’s eyes, those doe eyes you always said you loved. The smile, you wanted it to be Jungkook’s smile. You didn’t really care about the nose, you always said.
But knowing that Henry’s child was a boy somehow, in a stupid and irrational way, eased him. Even though Jungkook had always said he wanted a boy too. Still, the relief was undeniable and nowhere near reasonable, but he wanted to hold on to it now.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
“That’s…” he started, his voice faltering. “That’s… congratulations.”
You nodded, your smile fading just a little.
“Thank you,” you said quietly, your hand still moving in small circles over your stomach. You shifted again, and Jungkook couldn’t help but watch.
“Do you… want to feel him?” you asked, your voice hesitant, like you weren’t sure if you were offering too much and crossing a line. Jungkook froze, his breath catching. His eyes flicked to your stomach, then back to your face, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he could handle it. The idea of touching you, of feeling the life you were carrying, was too much and too painful. But he couldn’t say no. Before he could stop, his hand left his pocket.
You stepped closer, turning to face him fully, and Jungkook’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might break. You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his.
Your smaller hand rested on the back of Jungkook’s tattooed one, then guided it to meet your other hand, which was icy cold. Your wedding ring was on full display, and it felt like it burned against his skin with that touch. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore.
At the same time, your hand seemed to fit perfectly in his, yet felt far too heavy, like it didn’t belong there anymore. But you guided his hand down to your belly, right over the lower part, gently pressing his palm against it. Your eyes stayed on your hands as Jungkook looked at you. Your features still soft, like barely any time had passed.
And then Jungkook felt it, beneath his hand, a tiny kick. It stole the air from his lungs and maybe even a laugh, one he didn’t control and didn’t even know how it escaped. But you laughed too.
Only it wasn’t really a laugh that Jungkook let out, instead, a stubborn tear slipped down his cheek.
He didn’t want you to see, which is why he turned his face, but you were faster and looked at him, your smile disappeared instantly. Your hands fell from on top of his onto your stomach, but his hand lingered there a moment longer, until you spoke.
“Jungkook…” Your voice wasn’t just filled with concern, there was something bordering on guilt. “I… I…” You started to stammer, and Jungkook pulled his hand away, almost abruptly, making the removal of his hand from your stomach feel like the loss of a connection.
“Don't,” he murmured, bringing his hand to his face, but a single tear fell from the other side of the face he was wiping. It was the alcohol, but not just that, obviously. “Don’t say anything.” Jungkook wiped his face fully and tucked his hand back into his pocket, fighting to keep you from seeing how shaky it really was.
You sighed, opened your mouth, drew in a breath. Jungkook could hear you, but could barely meet your eyes. He cursed those tears, but he couldn’t help them.
“I didn’t mean…” you began, but he looked at you, shaking his head, pulling his hands out of his pockets, leaning forward, and said,
“I said don’t.” He repeated it, not harshly, not coldly, but as if he were begging, desperate.
You nodded slowly. Your arms wrapped around yourself, as if the cold had finally caught up to you, or as if you were realizing coming after him was a mistake, he couldn’t know which. After a few moments, Jungkook finally looked at you. Now, you were twisting your fucking wedding ring around your finger, just as you always did with your regular rings when you were nervous.
“I’m sorry,” you said, in a sigh, meeting Jungkook’s eyes.
“Sorry for what, exactly?” Jungkook let out a laugh he couldn’t hold back, ironic, bitter. “For being happily married and living your dream of becoming a mother?” He rolled his eyes, unintentionally, but couldn’t help it.
“I don’t know,” you admitted softly, and Jungkook let out a nasal laugh and turned his face, resting his head against the wall.
“Don’t do that.” Your voice was firm now, making Jungkook lift his head to look at you. Your arms hung loosely at his sides, but your eyes were sharp. “Don’t start acting like I’m the villain.”
Jungkook let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head.
“No one’s saying that.” His tongue brushed across his lips. “I just didn’t expect to find you here. Pregnant.” He practically spat out the last word.
You put your hands on your hips, tilted your head back, and sighed. Your scent drifted into his nose with the night breeze, sweet and overwhelming and it hit him like it was the first time, even though he had touched you just moments ago. He realized he’d been too nervous to notice it before.
“I didn’t expect to see you either,” you said, your voice sounding almost fragile. “I didn’t think...” You had to clear your throat, and Jungkook’s brow arched. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”
“Feel like what?” Jungkook asked, his tone bordering on a growl, not out of anger, but desperation. He wanted to know what it meant, what you being there meant. He was unraveling, while you stood in front of him so composed it felt like a cruel joke. As if he was nothing more than a threat to your perfect future.
You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek, inhaling deeply before meeting his eyes again.
“Like… like seeing you would hurt me.” Another sigh escaped you. “I kind of had to come after you...I wouldn’t have been able to take it if I didn’t.” Your voice broke, tears brimming in your eyes. As you rolled them upward, a few slipped free, and you wiped them away quickly. “The hormones,” you gestured vaguely in circles around your stomach.
Jungkook scoffed, scratching the tip of his nose.
“How can you say that when you’ve got everything you ever wanted, huh?” He leaned closer, stepping toward you this time. “You’re so fucking unfair.” His voice cracked into anger. “You’re pregnant with another guy’s baby!” The words came out louder, rawer.
You covered your face with your hands, sniffling as you turned away.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have come after you,” you whispered, stepping back. “This was a mistake.”
“Do you love him?” Jungkook demanded, no hesitation, his eyes burning into yours like he could force the truth out of you.
“I do.” The answer fell quickly, your tears spilling faster, streaking down your face without resistance.
“Do you love him the way you loved me?” Jungkook’s voice echoed again, low and devastating. He hadn’t even processed your first answer yet, because this was the only question that really mattered. "Love him more than you loved me?"
Your voice trembled, disbelief etched across your face.
“You’re really standing there asking me that?” The words came out sharp, laced with anger.
Jungkook felt it like a blade cutting straight through him. His mouth opened, he wanted to take the words back, but desperation held him hostage. He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t control the storm tearing through his chest. You turned toward the door, ready to leave, but he lunged forward, his hand closing around your arm, just enough to halt you.
“Wait,” he choked out, his wide eyes glassy with tears that made him look so fucking vulnerable. His voice cracked as it left him. “I just need to know.” His grip loosened, trembling fingers slipping away as if he didn’t have the right to hold you. “Just tell me, do you love him more than you loved me? Or are you gonna stand there and say you never loved me at all?”
The last words broke apart, his voice splintering with a sob. He didn’t even know why he’d said it, he was not in control of himself anymore, why he was cornering you like this. The alcohol, the pain, the unbearable sight of you, so close and yet unreachable, had ripped the filter away from his mouth.
Your eyes widened, disbelief across your face. You blinked, several times, as though you hadn’t heard him right. Then you shook your head, hands dragging down your face, your jaw trembling with rage.
“I cannot believe you’re saying this to me.”
You bit your lip, hard, like to keep your voice from cracking, but the fury burned through every syllable.
“Do you have any idea what I gave up for you?” you snapped, the words slicing clean and sharp now, no hesitation. “I literally moved to the other side of the world, Jungkook. I left my country, my family, my friends, my job. Everything! Everything.” You emphasized the last word, your voice ringing through. “I went to a place where I didn’t even speak the language, where I had to start from nothing, just to be with you. Just to dedicate myself to us. That’s how much I loved you.” Your voice was steel now, your Korean so fluent, so precise, that it cut him deeper than anything else. “I loved you more than I loved myself.” Your eyes were already glossy, but finishing the words broke something open. Tears streamed down your cheeks, unstoppable. You were trembling, crying, unraveling, but your voice still carried, trembling with fury. “And you have the audacity to stand here and ask if I ever loved you? How dare you?”
Jungkook’s heart hammered in his chest like someone was slapping him across the face again and again. He wanted to pull you into his arms, to beg for forgiveness, but the only words that stumbled out of him were low, broken.
“You left me,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You walked away.”
You let out a bitter, hollow laugh, shaking your head as you wiped your face with trembling hands.
“I didn’t leave you, Jungkook. You let me go.” Your voice steadied, gaining power with every word. “You knew how everything changed. You knew what happened when my dad got sick. You knew I had to go back, that I had to be there for him. You knew I had my own dreams, my own expectations, but I kept putting them on hold because I was always waiting, for you! And you? You were always in the studio, on tour, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And I tried to be strong, I tried to be enough, but I was alone. You left me in that apartment, over and over again, waiting for you. And I couldn’t keep waiting forever.”
Jungkook swallowed hard, the lump in his throat like fire. None of this was new. He’d known all of it, but hearing it from your lips now, seeing you, pregnant, married, years later, was like being buried alive.
“I never would’ve asked you to give up your career, Jungkook,” you continued, your voice shaking. “I knew what it meant to you. I never would’ve made you choose. But don’t you dare act like I left first. You let me slip through your fingers long before I walked away.”
Jungkook’s vision blurred, his chest caving in. Because you were right. Because he had let you go without even realizing. Because choosing would’ve meant sacrifice, and he’d been too cowardly to face it.
Your voice cracked again as more tears rolled down your cheeks.
“I loved you, Jungkook. I loved you so much it broke me. I loved you more than I loved myself. And that’s exactly why I had to let go. I had to choose me.”
He wanted to scream, to deny it, but the truth crushed the air out of his lungs. His lips trembled as he whispered the only name he could.
“With Henry.”
You blinked, almost startled by the simplicity of it. Then you shook your head.
“No. With myself,” you said “Henry was just the consequence of that. The first real step forward. But before I loved him, I had to love myself again.”
You stood there, both of you locked in a stare, eyes brimming with tears, faces flushed red, not just from the cold, but from anger, from everything unsaid. Your lips pressed tightly together, trembling, your lashes clumped with tears as you tried to blink them away. Jungkook’s chest ached with regret. Regret for everything he’d said, for letting his pain twist into cruelty, for making you this angry when all he’d wanted was to hold you close.
“I’m going inside,” you announced finally, your voice hoarse but firm.
Jungkook took a step back, his throat tight as he nodded.
“Yeah,” he whispered, barely audible. “I think you should.”
You bit down on your lower lip, nodded once, blinking several times as if to steady yourself. You shifted, giving him space, your hand already on the door.
“Goodbye, Jungkook,” you said softly, before pulling it open and slipping inside. The door shut behind you with a heavy finality.
Jungkook stood frozen. He knew his face was pathetic, swollen, blotchy red, tear-streaked, but he didn’t care. He just wanted every piece of you left inside him to pour out with the tears. The night was brutally cold, the kind of cold that cut through bone, and all of it, the darkness, the silence, the memory of your voice saying goodbye, made the moment unbearable.
He didn’t want to be there anymore. Not at the wedding, not at the party, not standing outside a door you had just closed on him. He couldn’t face the laughter of his friends inside, couldn’t face you, couldn’t face anything anymore.
So he stayed there for what felt like forever, though he couldn’t have said how long it really was, but long enough for his tears to come and come again, long enough for the weight in his chest to press him down until he could barely breathe. He knew it wouldn’t be the last time he cried that night.
But eventually, he pulled himself upright, swiped his sleeve across his face, and forced himself to move. Instead of walking back into the warmth and music, Jungkook turned toward the parking lot, his footsteps heavy against the ground. He fumbled for his phone, opening the app to call a car, his breath misting in the cold as he made himself a silent promise.
wearing a shirt that said sex with you sucks wasn’t supposed to mean anything. but your ex? of course he had to take it as a challenge and now he’s desperate to convince you otherwise.
w.c: 5,8k
pairing: rockstar!Jungkook x fem!reader
rating: +18
genre: exes, angst, smut, a touch of band-life chaos
warnings: explicit sexual contente, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, spit in mouth, degradation, pet names, rough dynamics, alcohol mention, heavy language & insults, jealousy, toxic exes energy.
author’s note: i don’t know if i’m a little rusty when it comes to writing smut, maybe i am, but oh well, here it is lol. i can’t seem to write pure smut without adding a lot of plot, so i ended up creating this whole context that actually made me want to explore more of this story. anyway, i really loved the chaotic, slightly toxic vibe it gave off, idk....
March 12 — Singapore
You hadn’t picked that top to piss off Jungkook. Not on purpose, anyway. But the second his eyes landed on you and he rolled them so hard you thought they might fall out of his skull, you wished you had chosen it intentionally. It felt unfair that sheer coincidence got the credit for irritating him so perfectly.
The tour had barely started and the atmosphere between you was unbearable. As much as you both wanted to keep things professional, it was nearly impossible when the breakup was barely a month old and you were being forced, twenty days after splitting, to spend months on a world tour together.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen it coming. The tour had been planned for almost a year. But the way things collapsed between you after everything… it was impossible to stay together. Not when even the PR team insisted you both keep pretending you were still in love for the public.
Maybe that was what made it so suffocating, acting like you were still a couple after everything that had happened. After you’d suffered a miscarriage six months ago, in the middle of a massive awards show in Los Angeles. After you’d been forced to keep performing through the night while your body quietly gave up the baby you’d carried for seventeen weeks. Maybe it was the way grief had sunk its claws into you, leaving you depressed, while Jungkook, also grieving, had pulled away until you could barely look at each other without fighting.
Or maybe it was the fact that since the tour started, twelve days ago, he’d been reckless, drinking too much, flirting with groupies, throwing accusations at you about Yoongi, the guitarist. As if your late-night songwriting sessions with Yoongi were anything more than desperate attempts to put your pain into lyrics. At least Yoongi listened without judgment, turned your sorrow into something tangible. Meanwhile, Jungkook was drunk somewhere in the corner, actually hitting on some fan.
Maybe it was because the two of you hated each other now. Or worse, because you still loved each other. Or something in between.
Either way, Jungkook was a mess at rehearsal. His focus was shot, his fingers stumbling over guitar strings like he’d forgotten how to play. You’d glared at him more times than you could count, and Yoongi had already muttered a fed-up “What the fuck, man?” into his mic, which Jungkook didn’t bother answering.
Five songs. Five mistakes.
Taehyung groaned behind the drum kit, sticks clattering in irritation, while Vicky, at the keyboard, rubbed her face with both hands.
“Are you stupid?” you snapped, slinging your bass aside and storming toward him. “This song’s from our first album. We’ve played it at every single show for six years, you know it by heart.”
You scoffed when he didn’t even look at you, just stared out at the empty stadium seats like he was bored, then fiddled with his guitar volume.
“Mind your part, I’ll mind mine,” he said, voice flat.
“I am minding my part, but you’re screwing everyone else over, asshole.” You rolled your eyes, glaring at the sharp profile of his face, at the silver flash of his eyebrow piercing. He finally glanced at you sideways, not bothering to reply. “Take this seriously, for fuck’s sake.”
“I am taking it seriously.” His tone stayed maddeningly calm. “Now get back to your spot so we can run it again.”
“Idiot,” you muttered, stomping back to your mic stand. Jungkook stretched out his hand and flipped you off behind your back, which you didn’t see.
How could the man you once admired so much turned into this jerk?
The rest of the band was visibly over it, eyes rolling, patience worn down to the bone. You were all close, but with everything going on, no one had the energy left to deal with you and Jungkook tearing into each other every rehearsal.
“Jungkook, focus,” Lina, the manager, clapped her hands from the pit below the stage, where thousands of fans would soon stand. “We need you here. Forget whatever’s in your head.”
He nodded, pulling the branded pick from between his lips, sliding it back into place between his fingers. Someone called for another take. Taehyung smacked his sticks together three times, counting off. And just like that, the song started again, this time, almost miraculously, it flowed clean.
For three songs, the band managed to hold it together, the music almost like the old days. But then came the acoustic duet, the one where you and Jungkook had to share his mic, his guitar strumming softly as the stage lights bathed you both, forcing you to play the part of lovers for the crowd. His face was a mask, his voice cold and mechanical, and you had to stare into those doe eyes that used to spark with life but had been dull and empty for weeks. You were getting used to it, the hollowness, but it still stung.
Singing songs from when you were head-over-heels, tangled in each other for years, unable to get enough, felt like torture every night. You deserved an Oscar for the performance, for pulling off the act of being in love with Jungkook on stage, night after night. Maybe it was easier when you let yourself remember how he used to be. How he made you feel like the most cherished woman in the world, like your entire universe orbited around him, like you were the muse behind every lyric you sang together.
But God, you hated when he looked at you like that.
Those sharp, predatory eyes, his tongue grazing his lips, zoning your mouth until you could barely breathe. In those moments, you struggled to recall why you’d ever broken up. Because sometimes, that angry glare of his burned with desperation, like he wanted to devour you whole. It made your legs tremble, forced you to look away, because if you held his gaze, you’d lose yourself completely.
That’s exactly what you did during that damn duet, tearing your eyes away from his. His stare was a molten mix of rage and raw desire, too intense to bear, threatening to unravel you right there on stage.
But, then your in-ear monitor cut out, the sudden silence throwing you off. You missed a beat, your voice faltering, and the rhythm of the song collapsed.
Jungkook shot you an accusing glare, his lips tight, and you ignored it, pressing a hand to your ear as you stepped back from the mic, looking toward James, the sound tech. The band ground to a halt, the silence in the stadium deafening.
“My in-ear’s fucked,” you said, trying to keep it professional.
Jungkook huffed into the mic, the sound echoing through the empty arena. You rolled your eyes, irritation flaring.
“You’ve been screwing up all day, and you can’t handle one mistake?” you snapped, gesturing at him. “That’s what soundcheck’s for, genius.”
He licked his lips, his tongue catching on his piercing, his eyes narrowing.
“Stop obsessing over me,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
You laughed through your nose, a bitter, incredulous sound, planting your hands on your hips.
“Obsessed? With you?” You threw your head back, the laugh theatrical, deliberately overdone. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Guys…” Vicky’s voice came from the back, soft but pleading, trying to de-escalate. You both ignored her.
“First, you and Yoongi,” Jungkook said, pointing at the guitarist, who stood frozen, his expression confused. You didn’t dare look at him, just rolled your eyes harder, the absurdity of Jungkook’s words fueling your anger. “Now this fucking shirt.” He jabbed a finger toward your chest, where your cropped tee read Sex with you sucks.
“Oh my God,” you laughed, the sound sharp and loud, echoing off the empty seats. “Not everything is about you, main character.” You glanced down at it, then back at him, grinning viciously. “I grabbed this without thinking, Jungkook. It’s not about you or your dick.” That was true, sex with him was never bad, not even close, and you both knew it. “What a delicate little ego, Kookie.” You spat the nickname like venom, knowing it’d hit him where it hurt.
His jaw clenched, his grip on his guitar tightening as he threw his head back, mouth opening like he was about to fire back with something nasty. But before he could, Lina’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade.
“Enough, both of you!” she barked from the pit, her hands on her hips, her glare fierce enough to silence the entire stage. Vicky slammed her hands onto her keyboard, the metallic clang ringing out.
“Jesus Christ!” Vicky snapped. “You’re acting like fucking kids.”
Lina’s eyes didn’t waver, her tone cutting.
“Thirty-minute break. Now. I don’t care what you do, cool off, scream, cry, whatever. But get this shit out of your systems. The tour’s barely started, and I’m not babysitting your breakup for the next months. Clear your heads, come back focused, or this show will crash and burn before it even gets going.”
Her words landed like a punch, heavy. No one moved for a moment, the silence suffocating, but Jungkook finally turned away, ripping his guitar strap over his head, muttering something under his breath as he stormed toward the wings. You spun on your heel, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze as he carefully set his guitar down, his expression heavy with judgment. Shame burned in your chest. You knew this was ridiculous, childish, but you couldn’t stop. With your chin high, you took long strides toward the exit, desperate to escape the frustrated, disappointed looks from Taehyung, Vicky, and Yoongi. You didn’t need to see their faces to feel the weight of their exhaustion with you and Jungkook.
Now, you walk towards the backstage, surrounded by a massive team working tirelessly to make sure the show would go perfectly, every detail handled to give the fans the best possible experience. But there you were, caught in your own little world with Jungkook, fighting over something stupid again. Even though you both knew you were hurting, your arguments were spilling over, jeopardizing the work of dozens of people.
Your thoughts were cut short when Jungkook’s hand suddenly wrapped around your arm. You startled, flinching back, but before you could react, he pushed open a door behind him, one you hadn’t even realized was there and pulled you inside.
The room was dark and smelled faintly of dust. Stacks of boxes crowded the corners, instrument cases piled on top of one another, mic stands and speaker crates shoved haphazardly against the walls. It was some kind of storage space, cluttered and shadowy, the kind of place you’d never have noticed if he hadn’t dragged you in. But even in the dimness, you could see him, the sharp outline of his body, the white tank clinging to his torso like a spotlight in the dark.
“Leave me alone. I don’t want to fight,” you said quickly as he let go of your arm, closing the door behind you. The room dipped into deeper darkness.
“You don’t want to fight? Wearing that shirt just to humiliate me?” His voice was low, melodic in anger.
“Jungkook” you huffed, rolling your eyes, but he cut you off.
“You think the sex was bad, huh?” His body pressed against yours before you could stop him, your back hitting the wall with a muted thud.
Your eyes widened as you shoved your palms against his chest, keeping what little distance you could manage.
“This isn’t about the fucking shirt!” You shot back, pushing hard against him, trying to shove him off. He didn’t budge. Didn’t even flinch. “This is about you acting like an asshole who can’t even hit the right notes anymore.” The words came out sharp, like you were spitting them at him.
He laughed. The sound echoed in the dusty storage room, a low, humorless laugh that made your skin crawl.
“God, the small-dick energy, Jungkook. You used to be better than this.” You knew it would piss him off, and maybe you wanted it to. At this point, you didn’t care. Let him get angry. You were past the point of keeping the peace.
The room was claustrophobic. The noise of the backstage crew, shouts, clanging equipment, felt miles away, muffled by the heavy door, and he was so close. Too fucking close. And, what you hated most wasn’t that he was this close, it was that you couldn’t make yourself push him away. Not because you weren’t strong enough, because a part of you didn’t want to.
His laugh cut through, so sharp and mocking.
“I never saw you complain before,” he said, his voice low, as he pressed himself even closer, his hips locking against yours with deliberate force. The heat of him seared through your clothes, and you bit your lower lip hard, stifling the gasp that threatened to spill out.
“Get off me,” you said, the words sharp but brittle, your palms shoving against his chest.
For a split second, he eased back, just enough to let you think you’d won, but then he surged forward again, his hands clamping onto you, fingers digging in with a possessive grip that made your breath hitch.
“Do you really want that?” Jungkook’s voice was a low murmur, his mouth hovering so close you could feel the warmth of his breath, his cologne wrapping around you like a drug. His eyes, glinting in the half-light, locked onto yours.
“I’m fucking done with you,” you hissed, your voice trembling with the effort to hold your ground, your pupils straining against the darkness to catch the mocking spark in his gaze.
“Done with me?” he whispered, his lips grazed yours. His voice dropped lower. “You’re not done with me. You’ll never be.”
Before you could fire back, his lips caught your bottom lip, tugging softly that lasted just long enough to make your pulse stutter. Then, slowly, he stepped back, the sudden absence of his heat leaving you cold.
“Go,” he said, his voice flat, but his eyes burned, locked on yours, daring you to move.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not with Jungkook’s dark eyes pinning you against the wall in that cramped, dusty storage room. You swallowed hard, exhaling slowly, then filled your lungs to meet his gaze head-on, defiance burning in your chest.
“Fuck you,” you spat, voice sharp and commanding, leaning forward, but not to escape, but to crash your body into his, harder this time. Your hands slammed against his chest, but he caught your wrists in a reflex, yanking them up mid-air, pulling you closer until your bodies collided again. His hands released your wrists, sliding down to your waist, the movement hiking up your cropped tee, exposing the bare skin of your waist.
The second your bodies pressed together, your mouths followed, but this wasn’t a kiss, it was a battlefield. Lips crushed against each other, his tongue invading your mouth like he owned it, claiming every inch with hunger. You bit down on his lower lip, tugging at the piercing there, and he growled into your mouth, not pulling back. Your tongue pushed against his, lips moving with raw, angry need. Teeth clashed in the tilt of your heads, no rhythm, no finesse, just pure, messy intensity. It was impossible to tell if it was a fight or who the hell was winning.
His fingers trailed up your spine, rough and possessive, until they tangled in your hair, yanking your head back sharply. The motion broke the kiss with a wet noise, leaving your lips red and swollen, your eyes locked on his, chin tilted defiantly.
“You hate me, don’t you?” Jungkook rasped, his free hand slipping under your shirt. His fingers found your pierced nipple, pinching and twisting it with just enough pressure to make you gasp, the sensitivity sending a jolt straight to your core.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” you shot back, as you arched away from his grip, not to escape, but to challenge him.
He smirked, dark and dangerous, tugging your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts. His large hands squeezed them hard, rough enough to pull a long, unwilling moan from your throat. You hated how it slipped out, how your body betrayed you, but he reveled in it, groaning in approval as he spun you around, slamming your front against the cold metal door. Your cheek pressed against it, his hands bracketing your waist, his body caging you in, his chest flush against your back, his hips grinding into your ass. You felt his hardening cock through his tight jeans.
“I’ll shut my mouth when I’m done reminding you what a lying slut you are,” he hissed in your ear, a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. His lips grazed your earlobe, teeth nipping as his hands gripped your hips.
He smelled of sweat and that familiar cologne, the kind that used to make your head spin, and it was intoxicating now, pulling you under despite yourself. You pressed your lips together tight, swallowing any moan or sound of pleasure that might give him the satisfaction he didn’t deserve. Even as your body, half-surrendered to the way his frame pressed against yours, hot, angry, unyielding, you refused to let him know how much you wanted this. Wanted him.
Jungkook ground his hips harder against your ass, the friction deliberate and maddening, and you arched back into him, your body lifting off the wall despite your resolve. His low groan vibrated through you, a sound you hated yourself for craving. His hands moved to your zipper, yanking it down with quick, rough, peeling your jeans off your hips until they pooled at your thighs.
His right hand splayed across your ass, delivering a sharp slap that echoed in the storage room. You bit your lip hard, refusing to give him the moan he wanted, but then he slapped the other cheek, then the first again, the stinging heat building until a low whimper slipped out. His smug chuckle followed, dripping with satisfaction, and you hated how it made your pussy clench, your frustration spilling out in a sharp sigh, as his fingers traced the waistband of your panties, sliding along the thin strip of fabric between your cheeks.
“A thong?” he murmured, his voice velvety and taunting, tugging the fabric to the side. “Thought you only wore this shit for special occasions. Did you know you’d end up here, getting fucked against a door? Or was this for Yoongi?”
You hadn’t planned it, hadn’t even thought twice. You’d woken up late, grabbed the first thing after your shower, same as that damn sex with you sucks shirt, and rushed to soundcheck. But his talk about Yoongi lit a fire in your veins, sharp and angry, enough to make you shove your hips back and try to twist around, to face him. Jungkook’s grip tightened, keeping you pinned, his body a wall of heat and control.
“You’re pathetic,” you said, straining to catch his eyes over your shoulder, but the dark and awkward angle hid the mocking glint you knew was there.
He laughed, amused, his hand never pausing. It slid to the front of your panties, two fingers rubbing against the fabric, teasing.
“And you talk too much for someone about to get fucked senseless,” he shot back. Without warning, his fingers slipped under the fabric, gliding through your slick folds, already soaked. You sighed, hating how eagerly your body responded. “So fucking wet for me already,” he growled in your ear, his tongue dragging along your neck, leaving a hot, wet trail. You clenched your jaw, but your hips rocked into his touch.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you hissed. “I could get wet for anyone. You’re just here.”
He chuckled, his fingers circling your clit with slow, deliberate pressure.
“This pussy’s dripping because it knows who owns it.” He pushed two fingers inside you, rough and sudden, curling them to hit your g spot.
“You—oh, fuck,” you gasped, as his fingers thrust harder, your eyes squeezing shut as pleasure and pain blurred together.
His other hand gripped the back of your neck, his nose trailing along your throat, inhaling deeply. You let out a louder whimper, his fingers plunging deeper, maybe too rough, because he paused to murmur:
“Does it hurt?” His voice was calm, almost mocking, with the pressure of his fingers against your pelvic bone, the obscene wet sounds of your pussy echoing in that small room. He groaned softly, clearly pleased. You shook your head, biting back another moan, refusing to give him more. “Want it to hurt?” he asked, his tone soft but laced with menace.
You shook your head once more, pride keeping you from admitting the truth, but it wasn’t convincing, not to him, not to yourself. You loved when it hurt, and so did he. How could you hide that from someone who knew your body better than you did? It was fucking impossible, and God, it pissed you off.
Jungkook’s laugh rumbled against your neck, mocking, dripping with that filthy edge that made your skin burn. Fuck. Your pussy clenched around his fingers at the sound, and you felt him smirk, pressing them deeper, grinding against your walls with a slow, deliberate twist that made you see stars. He eased up just enough to circle his fingers fully, groaning low in his throat.
“Fucking liar,” he murmured, his voice with lust. “You’re soaked, clenching around my fingers like you’re starving for it. You want this so bad, don’t you? My cock splitting you open right here.”
You whimpered, his words hitting you right between your legs, sending a fresh wave of heat to your core. God, you hated him, hated how much you needed him, how your body betrayed you with every pulse of arousal.
“Just… shut up and fuck me,” you breathed, your voice raw, the defiance melting under the weight of your need. You didn’t want to fight, not when his fingers were driving you insane, not when his hard cock was pressed against your ass. You were craving it, and there was no hiding it anymore.
He let out a hot puff of air against your neck, making you shiver, and yanked his fingers out abruptly, leaving you empty and aching. You whined, your body screaming at the loss, and he slapped your ass hard, making your pussy clench around fucking nothing.
“Needy slut,” he taunted, tugging your thong down completely, the soaked fabric falling to your ankles. “Already begging for my cock. Thought you were tougher than that, baby.”
“Says the guy who dragged me into this shitty room just to fuck me.”
Jungkook didn’t respond, just let out a wicked chuckle that made your skin prickle. You pressed both palms against the door, your body aching for more, craving the feel of him inside you again, but you refused to beg.
You pushed your hips back, seeking friction, to feel his dick against your ass, but found nothing. Then you heard it, the sharp sound of his zipper coming down, and a mix of desperation and relief flooded you, knowing his cock would soon be buried deep inside you.
His hand tangled in your hair again, yanking your head to the side, pressing your cheek harder against the door. With his free hand, he slid his index and middle fingers along your lips, sudden and unannounced. The musky scent hit you first, you knew these were the fingers that had been inside your pussy. He smeared the tips across your lips, and they parted instinctively, letting him push his fingers into your mouth.
The taste of yourself hit your tongue, almost sweet, you thought, as he shoved his fingers deeper, forcing them down your throat in a rough motion. You gagged slightly, the intrusion sudden and intense, but you didn’t pull back, sucking instead, your tongue swirling around his fingers.
Meanwhile, his other hand released your hair, and as you worked your mouth up and down his fingers, you felt his cock, hard, hot, pulsing, sliding between your ass cheeks, teasing the center. You couldn’t hold back the moan, needy, almost a whimper, slipping out like a plea.
“Fuck, listen to you,” Jungkook said. “Moaning like that while you suck your own taste off my fingers. You love this, don’t you?” His cock pressed harder, sliding through your slick folds, teasing your entrance, the raw heat of him making your core clench with anticipation.
You murmured a curse under your breath, hating how your body betrayed you, responding to him despite every ounce of your resistance. His dirty talk, growled low in your ear, sent shivers down your spine as the tip of his cock teased your entrance, brushing against you, so close to sliding in. It made your defiance feel pointless, almost laughable. But you fought it, pulling your mouth off him with a wet, audible pop, throwing your head back and swallowing hard, your voice rough with arousal.
“Fuck me hard,” you demanded, the words spilling out before you could stop them.
Jungkook’s hand gripped your cheeks, forcing your lips to purse as his fingers pressed into your skin. He leaned in, his cock aligning perfectly with your pussy, his voice a low whisper in your ear.
“Open that fucking mouth.” You squeezed your eyes shut, too far gone to think straight, obeying without question. You heard the wet sound of him gathering saliva, then felt the warm, slick liquid hit your lower lip, pooling on your tongue. “Swallow,” he ordered. You did, his saliva sliding down your throat without a second thought, the act filthy in a way that made you clench. You opened your mouth again, letting out a shaky breath as he murmured, “Good girl.”
“Goddamn it, just fuck me already,” you snapped, exasperated by his teasing, his voice, his everything. You loved the way he talked, the way your body reacted, or at least you used to. Jungkook always knew exactly what to say to drive you crazy, to make you lose yourself completely, but right now, his voice pissed you off. You didn’t need his words, his smugness, his presence, just his cock, nothing else.
He didn’t make you ask again. With one hard thrust, he pushed into you, stretching you wide, filling you completely. You gasped, a loud, desperate moan escaping as your eyes squeezed shut, your walls clenching around him, adjusting to his size. Your body had missed this, missed him, no matter how much you hated admitting it. You rolled your hips deliberately, matching his rhythm as he moved, his hands sliding to your hips, gripping the bones to hold you steady. His low, throaty groans vibrated against your skin, syncing with each deep thrust.
It had been so long since you’d fucked, since the breakup, since him. Your vibrator could never compare, no matter how self-sufficient you prided yourself on being. Jungkook was Jungkook, and he knew exactly how to fuck you.
He rested his chin between your shoulder and neck, his lips brushing your ear, his moans soft but raw at the same time. His breath was hot, making you moan louder, your voice melodic and needy in a way you despised. You tried to control it, to bite back the sounds, but it was useless, your body was his, and it always had been.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” his voice thick with lust, his hips snapping harder, the cases next to your left, rattling with each thrust. “So fucking tight, like you were made for me. You love this, don’t you? Love how I fuck you raw, how I make you scream.”
“Jungkook,” you gasped, your fingers digging into the cold metal of the door, your body trembling as he hit your g spot again, with his dick now, over and over.
For a moment, you wanted to turn around, to claw at his muscled back, to mark his skin, to leave proof of this on him. The plasure, the hate. But you couldn’t face him, couldn’t bear to see his parted lips, his dark eyes, the way his teeth caught his lip piercing in the dim light. Even in the near-darkness of the storage room, you didn’t want to risk meeting his gaze, didn’t want to see the intensity in his eyes as he fucked you.
“Don—don’t stop,” you pleaded, your voice breaking.
“Stop?” He laughed, his tongue flicking against your earlobe, “Not a fucking chance.” His hands slid to your ass, gripping tight, his body grinding against yours, driving himself deeper with every thrust, hitting so deep it felt like he was carving himself into you.
His lips trailed down your neck, and you opened your eyes, seeing only the shadowed outlines of equipment cases and the flex of his shoulders behind you. Your breath came in heavy pants, his lip piercing grazing your skin as he sucked hard on your pulse point, the pressure painful. You hissed, almost jerking away, but he held you firm, his teeth grazing just enough to sting. He was marking you, claiming you, that fucking bastard, and you hated how it made your body respond, your ass pushing back against him.
You wanted to moan his name, to beg for more, knowing he’d give it to you, harder, deeper, exactly how you needed it. But you bit it back, refusing to give him the satisfaction, even as your walls clenched tight around him, feeling every inch, every vein, his cock pulsing inside you. Fuck. You hated Jungkook with every fiber of your being, but your body didn’t care, didn’t give a damn about your pride.
You swallowed a moan, then another, your lips pressed tight as he slowed his thrusts deliberately, going deeper, so deep it felt like he was trying to bury himself in you. His hips slammed against yours, the force drawing a small, involuntary whimper from your lips. You felt his smirk against your skin as he repeated the motion, quick and brutal, like he wanted you’d feel him for days.
Jungkook groaned low, long as he tugged your hair again, hard enough to tilt your head back. His grip loosened only to slide his hand down to your throat, his long fingers wrapping around your neck, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. God, you really hated how his touch set you on fire, hated how you craved it. You slapped a hand over your mouth, desperate to muffle the sounds he was pulling from you, but he tightened his grip on your throat, his fingertips pressing into your larynx.
“Trying to be a quiet slut now?” he taunted, his hips stilling, his cock buried deep inside you, a torturous pause. “You used to not give a fuck who heard you, baby. What’s wrong? Scared the crew’s gonna know you’re getting fucked by me in here, right after we fought? Scared they’ll know you can’t live without my cock?”
You whimpered, the sound pathetic and needy. Your hand fell from your mouth, your body trembling as he started moving again, slow, deliberate thrusts that made your knees buckle.
“Fuck you,” you managed, but it was weak, barely audible, your voice shaking with the effort to hold back.
He laughed, filthy, as he thrust harder.
“Oh, I’m fucking you. And you love it. Look at you, taking me so well.” His hand on your throat tightened just enough to make your head spin, the pressure mixing with the pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge.
His free hand slid between your thighs, the frantic collision of your hips, finding your clit, swollen, sensitive, and aching. His fingers circled it once more, rough, and you, moaning loud, not caring anymore. You weren’t going to last much longer, and neither was he. His groans had shifted from angry, dense, and guttural, almost high-pitched, needy and desperate. You knew that sound, knew the way his thrusts grew faster, his cock barely pulling out, too fast to hold back.
His movements were sloppy but precise, enough to make your eyes roll back, his hand still on your throat, the other rubbing your clit without any real pattern, just raw, chaotic pressure.
Before you could register it, Jungkook’s lips were on your neck again, this time on the other side, sucking hard, leaving another stinging mark until the sharp pull of his mouth made you grunt. Your hand shot to his thigh, and, with nowhere else to grip, you dug your nails into his skin, harder with each thrust, marking him as fiercely as he marked you.
Your moans mingled with his, unfiltered, his balls slapping against your ass as you felt him release inside you, hot spurts filling you, pushing you over the edge. You gasped, your hips grinding back against him, your walls pulsing desperately around Jungkook’s cock as you came, moaning, grunting, whimpering, completely out of control. The pleasure stretched on, long and overwhelming, your body shaking against the door.
Your mouth was dry, your lips parted and panting, his hands now resting gently on your body, a stark contrast to the brutal thrusts that had left your core burning. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he didn’t pull out, staying buried inside you, his dick still twitching faintly.
Then you felt it, his forehead against your shoulder, his sweat-damp hair brushing your skin, his lips grazing your shoulder in a soft, fleeting touch that felt too intimate, too tender for what this was.
You tugged your shirt back down, shifting slightly, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Maybe he snapped out of it too, coming down from the high, because he finally pulled out, leaving you empty, aching, not just from the absence of his cock, but from the weight of everything that had just happened. You hated him, hated this, yet part of you ached for more, for his arms around you, his lips on yours, soft and loving like they used to be. You didn’t understand why you wanted it, why you craved that old Jungkook, the one who loved you, not this asshole he’d become.
You pulled your panties and jeans back up, still facing the door, refusing to turn and meet his eyes. The rustle of fabric behind you told you he was doing the same, zipping up his jeans in the heavy silence.
“Don’t ever wear that fucking shirt again,” he muttered, his voice low, almost a whisper.
You froze for a moment, your hand on the door handle, the words sinking in, but thn you turned your head slightly, not enough to face him, just enough to let him know you’d heard.
“I’ll think about it,” you said, your voice cool, defiant.
His breath hitched, like he hadn’t expected the pushback, but he didn’t respond. You pushed the door open and slipped out.
saudade — a portuguese word without a true english translation, a profound, melancholic longing for something or someone that is absent, whether in the past, present, or even something that may never return. more than simple nostalgia or missing, saudade carries the bittersweet weight of memory, loss, desire, and love intertwined.
summary: years after the breakup, jungkook spots you from across the room at a wedding he didn’t even know you’d be attending. and there you are: radiant, stunning, as always. a diamond ring gleams on your left ring finger, and your husband stands proudly by your side.
w.c: 7,2k
pairing: idol!jungkook (barely there) x fem!reader
rating: —
genre: exes, pure ANGST
warnings: heartbreak, alcohol, heavy emotions
author’s note: who would’ve thought my first post after years away would be angst instead of smut? 😅 the last time i shared a fully angst one-shot, I got a flood of angry asks, so please, please read this knowing it’s pure angst, no happy ending, just heartbreak. 🥲 honestly, i almost cried while writing it. the inspiration hit out of nowhere, and i just had to pour it all out. ss always, this is a work of fiction, i don’t own BTS. english isn’t my first language, so forgive any mistakes. 🫶🏻✨ leave me your thoughts in the comments, it really means the world to me. 💕
Jungkook saw you the moment you arrived at the wedding.
Your long, wavy hair spilled in dark cascades over your graphite-colored coat, a perfect choice for the end of winter, light enough without being careless. Wine-red lipstick stained your smile, a smile that seemed fixed in place, unwilling to fade. Your almond-shaped nails, painted a deep crimson to match, gleamed subtly in the low light. But what caught his eyes, what gutted him, was the ring. That fucking ring. A silver band with a teardrop diamond at its center, so large he could spot it from across the room, so sharp it felt like it was staring him down.
How many carats was it? Did you even care?
He knew you didn’t.
It had to be Henry’s doing, your husband, show of wealth, of power, of ownership. Jungkook had heard people say Europeans were like that. And Henry, well, he wasn’t a bad man. Successful, yes. A giant in the Western music industry, owner of one of the biggest record labels in the world. Jungkook had once admired him, even interacted with him a few times back then.
But that was before.
Before you married him. Before you left Jungkook behind. Before, when you and Jungkook had still sworn you were each other’s forever. Three years ago.
Now, you stood across the room from him, your back turned, while another man, your man, slipped your coat from your shoulders. His wedding ring, the one you had placed on his hand, gleamed under the lights too.
Beneath the coat, your maroon dress dipped low, revealing your back. The ink of your tattoo trailed down your spine, the same one Jungkook used to kiss, dot by dot, following the path of your freckles with his lips.
Did you still get dressed naked in front of the mirror? He wondered, lifting his glass of whiskey to his lips and swallowing hard. Did you still light your scented candles and go through that careful ritual before going out?
Jungkook hadn’t wanted to be at that wedding, hadn’t even considered the possibility of seeing you there, but it made sense now, Anthony Westwood, the groom, was a music producer, likely tied to Henry through industry threads. Anthony had become a close friend over the past year, working on BTS’s new album, their late-night talks spilling beyond studio walls into something deeper, something personal. It would’ve been rude for Jungkook to skip the event, especially with the rest of the members there, before the U.S. tour kicked off in a week.
You were there, just as he remembered, yet impossibly different.
His stomach twisted. He thought he might be sick. Because then you turned. And the sight hit him like a blade straight to the chest.
The dress draped you perfectly, light, flowing, yet cinched tight at the waist. But what it framed was unmistakable. Your stomach. Rounded, showing.
You were pregnant.
Five months, maybe more. Pregnant with another man’s child.
Jungkook’s fingers tingled, the sensation crawling up his arms and lodging itself in his chest. It felt like his own body was betraying him, like his heart had forgotten how to beat, how to keep him alive. His mouth went dry, his vision white at the edges. The taste of bitterness flooded his throat.
He was dying. He was certain of it.
And yet, you didn’t even see him. Probably couldn’t. Your eyes squinted as you spoke to the blonde woman in front of you, someone who looked far too close, far too familiar. You must have forgotten your contact lenses again. Typical of you.
Jungkook wanted to scream.
Because you had always wanted this. To be a mother. He remembered every conversation about it, what it would be like, what names you would choose, how you’d decorate the nursery, what traditions you’d pass down. And most of all, how he would be your baby daddy.
He thought he might collapse right there, knees to the floor, begging a God he never even knew he had faith in to rip that indescribable pain out of his chest. Right there, in front of all those people celebrating the happiness of a couple about to vow forever, while the love of his life had just been stolen from him completely.
Pregnant.
The word buzzed in his head, a deafening, disorienting noise. Pregnant with Henry’s baby. Another life growing inside you.
It was obscene. Cruel. It felt like a punishment carved into every fiber of Jungkook’s being, into every cell that made him who he was, every part of him you had once touched. Every part that had once belonged to you.
His throat was tight. No one here could possibly understand the panic clawing through him, the way his chest rose and fell too quickly, the way the whiskey glass shook in his hand. He tried to force the liquor down, but his throat refused, burning with both the bitterness of alcohol and of you.
And there you were, glowing in that devastating way only pregnant women do, carrying proof of a future that had erased him entirely.
When he finally managed to swallow the whiskey, it scorched all the way down. God, it burned.
His jaw tightened as he stared at you, a thousand memories bleeding into the sight before him. His stomach lurched, nausea rising sharp and merciless at the thought of Henry’s hands on you, of Henry’s child inside you. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, forcing himself to hold it together, but the truth was merciless.
You weren’t his anymore. And you never would be again. Still, he couldn’t stop watching you.
Because some part of him, a pathetic, broken part, was waiting. Waiting for you to look up, to notice him standing there. To see him the way you used to. To remember.
But you didn’t.
You only smiled, hand drifting unconsciously to your stomach while the blonde beside you spoke, and Jungkook felt his heart rip itself apart piece by piece.
The people around Jungkook didn’t notice. Or if they did, they chose to ignore the way he looked, strange, hollow, breaking apart from the inside out. No one could ever really know, anyway. No one could survive carrying the knowledge of what it felt like to be him, in his skin, in this moment. No one could endure the truth that he barely remembered how to breathe, let alone how to stand, how to walk, how to keep living.
So he sat through it.
In that vast, glittering hall, all open glass and polished marble, everyone gathered to celebrate a wedding that had little to do with him. People clapped, people smiled, people cried into silk handkerchiefs while vows were spoken. And Jungkook dissociated just enough to get through it. The ceremony passed like smoke, like something unreal. He couldn’t hold onto a single word.
And maybe that was better. Because in that moment, the last thing he wanted was anything to do with love stories.
Instead, he sat there with nothing but a vacant stare, an empty glass of whiskey, and the unbearable need to avoid your face, while you sat only a few rows ahead of him. He could still see you in profile, the curve of your cheek, your smile gentle as you leaned toward someone speaking to you. Your hand rested protectively on your stomach, as though guarding the life that grew inside you.
Every time his eyes landed on that gesture, on that stomach, he had to look away. He stared into the hollow of his glass. He stared out the tall windows at the mountains, capped with soft snow, ancient and indifferent. He stared up at the ceiling, dripping with flowers, roses, lilies, hydrangeas, so many blooms he couldn’t begin to count them. Crimson petals here and there. White orchids, too.
And he wondered, were orchids still your favorite?Or had that changed too, like everything else?
Had you married Henry on a beach, the way you once swore you wanted to?
He didn’t know. He realized, with a bitter twist, that he didn’t know anything about your life anymore. You had always been private, your social media locked down, your circle impossibly small. After the breakup, you vanished from Korea, completely.
Had you gone to Europe with Henry? That would make sense. His empire was there, his influence vast. And yet, Jungkook refused to believe you had not returned home just for Henry. That wasn’t you. You had always longed for home, for your parents, for the comfort of the familiar.
But facts were crueler than dreams. The truth was simple.
You were in New York. And Jungkook was in New York. The same city, the same room, for the first time in four years.
And it was suffocating him more than he ever thought possible. Pregnant, married, untouchable.
Still, he couldn’t stop. His eyes sought you even as he forced himself to look away. And then, for a single fleeting second, it happened.
You turned. Over your shoulder, your gaze caught his.
It was so quick it could have been nothing, just a trick of light, just a mistake. But it wasn’t. It was there. And on your lips, a small, sad smile.
It destroyed him.
Because it told him everything and nothing all at once. It told him you hadn’t forgotten. That somewhere, buried deep, you remembered too.
Jungkook wanted to leave. If nobody had noticed you before, everyone noticed you now. And they understood why Jungkook had been staring into nothing, looking like he’d just seen a ghost, because he literally had.
The pity in his friends’ eyes was almost tangible, and Jungkook hated it. They liked you. I mean, how could they not? You were undeniably charismatic, always bringing life to parties, and you were funny, not in that forced way, but the kind that made people laugh effortlessly. Everyone said you were the perfect match for Jungkook.
And now, someone said something about you that he chose to ignore, sitting at the table assigned to them. Jungkook was grateful you weren’t directly in his line of sight like during the ceremony. Especially because he was forced to stay a little longer for the reception. How rude would it be to fly all the way from Korea to the United States just for this wedding and then leave before midnight?
So, he drank.
That’s when Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi stood up, all three at once, while Jungkook swallowed another sip of whiskey. They spoke, glancing at him, looking somewhat hesitant, somewhat concerned. Jungkook didn’t really know how to describe that look and he didn’t want to.
“We’re gonna go over to…” Jimin started, but didn’t finish. Instead, his eyes shifted toward the table Jungkook knew was yours.
Taehyung cleared his throat, tilting his head to the side, a slow sigh escaping as he bit his lower lip.
“We’re just gonna say hi,” he said, his voice too careful, like he was tiptoeing across a minefield. Yoongi stayed silent, his dark eyes fixed on Jungkook, searching for something, permission, maybe, or a spark of anger. But Jungkook wasn’t angry. He was shattered, pieces of him scattered across the polished floor of the reception hall.
He wanted to beg them not to go, not to walk toward you, not to stir the ashes of a life you’d once shared. Weekends that stretched too long, filled with your laughter, how you’d convinced Jimin to jump into a pool on a rainy Seoul afternoon, your grin so infectious it was almost absurd. How Taehyung would drink too much when you were around, goaded by your teasing challenges, glass after glass until he was stumbling, laughing. How Yoongi, stoic Yoongi, had once cried with you both until dawn after a breakup. You’d been woven into their world, into his world, so tightly it had felt unbreakable. Now, you were a stranger.
But you were happy, weren’t you? Wasn’t that supposed to be enough?
“Go ahead,” Jungkook said, edged with a coldness he didn’t feel. He stared at the empty whiskey glass in his hand, unwilling to meet their eyes.
“You sure?” Jimin asked, searching Jungkook’s face. Jungkook shrugged, forcing himself to look back.
“She’s your friend, isn’t she?” he said, the words hollow. “Or at least she used to be.”
You used to be everything. His, most of all. Now you belonged to someone else, to a life that had erased him, to a man whose ring gleamed on your finger, whose child grew inside you.
Jungkook’s eyes burned with the urge to look, to steal a glance at what was happening at your table, where Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi had gone. But he couldn’t. It would make him look weak, indecisive, like a man clinging to a ghost. But he couldn’t help it. Just one glance, quick and over his shoulder. And there you were, standing, your arms wrapped around Jimin in a hug and Taehyung was next, his grin wide as he pulled you in, you laughed. Henry stood beside you, shaking Yoongi’s hand, his smile polished. Jungkook’s stomach churned, and he snapped his eyes forward.
Namjoon, still at the table, shifted in his seat, his gaze on Jungkook. The rest of the members were scattered, Hoseok and Jin somewhere in the crowd. It was just the two of them now. Namjoon leaned forward.
"You don’t have to stay, you know. You could say it’s jet lag. No one would question it.”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened.
“I’m fine,” he said, lying. He wasn’t fine. He was drowning.
Namjoon tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“You haven’t said a word to her yet. You don’t… want to?”
He fucking wanted to. He forced a shrug again.
“Why would I?” he muttered, but the words felt hollow. He wanted to talk to you, wanted to demand answers, to ask why you’d chosen Henry, why you’d erased him so completely. But he couldn’t. Not when you looked so happy.
“I’ll go say hi to her in a bit,” Namjoon said finally, leaning back in his chair. “But I’m here with you now, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
The sincerity in his voice made Jungkook’s throat tighten. He nodded, grateful for Namjoon’s presence and for the way he didn’t force him to explain. Namjoon’s voice broke the silence again, softer now.
“Seeing her with her husband, happily married” he gestured toward your table, “was it worse in person?”
Jungkook’s breath caught, his fingers twitching against the table. He wanted to laugh, bitterly, but all that came out was a low sound.
“It’s not about her being married.”
Namjoon’s eyes softened, and Jungkook hated it, hated the understanding there, the quiet acknowledgment. It wasn’t the ring on your finger or the vows you’d taken with Henry that broke him. It was the life growing inside you, the future you’d built without him, the dreams you’d once whispered to him. Those were the things that cut deepest, that carved something into his bones, a longing so profound it felt like it might never fade.
He glanced at your table again, against his better judgment, and saw you laughing, your hand resting on Taehyung’s arm as he told some story. Henry was there, his arm around your waist, his smile almost possessive. Jungkook’s heart twisted, and he forced his eyes away, back to the table, to Namjoon.
“She’s happy,” he said, more to himself than to Namjoon. “That’s what matters, right?”
Namjoon didn’t answer, but his silence was enough.
Jin and Hobi returned to the table, pulling Jungkook from his thoughts and shattering the quiet comfort of Namjoon’s presence. It was a relief, in a way, to focus on something other than you. Other than whether you’d shared the name of your baby with his friends. What would you and Henry name your baby? Jungkook knew the names you’d once dreamed of for the children you’d planned with him. You’d never agreed on names. You loved Sophia or Sienna. He preferred Hayoon, Seoyoon. You’d argued they should work in both your worlds, but consensus was never reached. Still, you’d settled on a placeholder for the daughter you imagined, calling her Sunray. He couldn’t even recall how it started, that silly name. It was never meant to be official. You’d promised to decide together.
But that future never came.
The ache of it, that feeling, a longing for a life that slipped away, clawed at him. He forced a smile as Jin said a joke.
By that point, he was already convinced you hadn’t looked back at him once. Not a single glance.
Aa the night progresses, he drank too much, too fast. The alcohol was burning through his veins when he finally got up, head down, the party hall spun just enough for him to need to lean on the chair he had been sitting in before.
“Everything okay?” Hoseok asked, his eyes resting on Jungkook.
“Just the whiskey hitting,” he murmured as he turned on his heels to walk toward the bathroom straight ahead, which meant he wouldn’t even have to pass by his table.
He made his way through the crowd, a few people greeted him from a distance, and he tried his best not to stumble along the way, which worked, up to a point, because when he looked straight ahead to know exactly where he was going, he felt someone bump his shoulder. Lightly, nothing much, but when Jungkook looked to the side, his throat went dry.
Henry.
“Sorry, mate” he said in that British accent Jungkook had always thought was cool, but at that moment it made him sick. The color of his eyes was the same as yours, but in a lighter shade. Which made Jungkook think this would be the color of your baby’s eyes, but he hoped the shade would be exactly yours and not Henry’s.
“Oh, it’s you, Jungkook.” He said with the softest voice, almost friendly. He was taller than Jungkook, brown wavy hair pushed back, clean-shaven, broad shoulders. And even with Jungkook’s muscular build, growing even bigger from more frequent gym visits, he felt small next to Henry. But instead of letting that intimidate him in any way, Jungkook squared his shoulders and straightened his posture.
“No problem,” Jungkook muttered, nodding right after, ready to return on his way to the restroom, but Henry wasn’t finished yet.
“Been a while, hasn’t it?” Henry said, his voice a bit husky, and Jungkook hated the sound of it, feeling the alcohol cloud his mind.
“Yes. A long time,” Jungkook forced out, in an English that barely came out, making himself lock eyes with the man’s eyes, though it took a tremendous effort not to look away, not to let the alcohol or the anger or the ache in his chest take over.
Henry flashed a small smile that set Jungkook on edge, one of those victorious ones, the kind that seemed to rub in Jungkook’s face everything he had taken from him.
“Groom’s side?” he asked, and Jungkook simply nodded. “Me too,” Henry said with that same small smile. “Small world.”
“Small world,” Jungkook repeated, forcing the closest thing to a convincing smile he could manage.
“Your group, right? Growing bigger every year, if that’s even possible,” Henry said casually, as if trying to make conversation, or prolong this awkward encounter. But Jungkook was too broken, too hollow, to pretend.
“Yeah.”
As expected, the conversation died. They stared at each other, Henry arching a brow as if waiting for something more, and Jungkook doing the same, unsure of what was expected of him. He tried to sidestep Henry, to escape the presence, but the man spoke again.
“You should come by our table,” Henry said. “She’d love to catch up.”
Catch up.
Jungkook almost laughed bitterly. As if they were old friends who had simply lost touch over the years, not two people who had loved each other for five years, shared dreams that Henry had stolen away.
His stomach churned again, and Jungkook couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey or the thought of standing in front of you, pretending everything was fine.
“Maybe later.” He lied, not even sure how he managed to form a sentence that sounded natural. “I need to go over there now.” Jungkook nodded toward the front and moved away from Henry.
Henry clapped a hand on his shoulder, meant to be friendly, probably, but it felt like fire, searing through his jacket and into his skin.
Jungkook walked away in long strides, heading toward the restroom, his shoulder still burning where Henry had touched him.
Suddenly, he didn’t need to go to the bathroom at all. He needed air. He needed to escape.
But his feet carried him to the restroom anyway.
He didn’t trust himself to make it to the exit without doing something stupid, like running after you or punching Henry in his perfect, smug face.
The bathroom was empty. Jungkook grip his hands on the sink, staring at his reflection. His tie was crooked, hair falling into his eyes, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He looked like a mess, but not nearly as wrecked as he felt inside.
He let the icy water run over his hands, hoping it would do something for him. But it didn’t help.
He splashed water on his face, harder than necessary, then dragged his hands down his cheeks. But it was useless. You were burned into him, permanent, like the ink on your spine. He could still feel the ghost of your skin under his fingertips, the way you used to lean into him, the soft laugh when he kissed just below your ea as you used to like so much.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the sink so hard his knuckles whitened. He forced himself to breathe, to count to ten, to do anything to keep from collapsing right there.
He didn’t know how long he stood like that, but eventually he straightened, wiped his hands and forced himself to leave the bathroom.
As he stepped out of the restroom, he noticed a door to the side with a sign he understood to be an emergency exit. He pressed his palms against it almost abruptly, pushing the door open to leave the party hall. The moment he did, the icy night air hit his face, filling his nostrils and rushing into his lungs like it was the first real breath of oxygen he’d had all night.
He felt, in some way, pathetic, but he loved you too much not to feel that night physically tearing through his insides. He leaned against the cold wall for a moment, trying desperately to stop the tears from spilling down his face. But before he could even think about how to hold them back, the door opened.
You didn’t see him by the door at first, your dress clung to you, shifting slightly in the wind. He quickly wiped away the tears that had fallen involuntarily as you glanced around, until your eyes finally landed on Jungkook. You sighed, your shoulders dropping as you brushed a loose strand of hair from your cheek where it had stuck to your lips. You looked like you felt sorry for him, and he understood that, which, once again, destroyed him, as if there was still something left to break.
The cold bit at Jungkook’s skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill that settled in his chest when he saw you standing there, the curve of your belly and Jungkook’s eyes dropped to it instinctively before he forced them back to your face.
“Jungkook,” you said, your voice low. It was the first time he’d heard you say his name in years, and it hit him.
Jungkook even opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, as if trying to realign his thoughts that had been completely scattered by your voice saying his name, by your presence materializing in front of him. Jungkook shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants, running his tongue across his lips to moisten them, fighting against the urge to ask you a million questions. Instead, all he managed was a simple:
“Hey.”
It sounded casual, just like he wanted it to. You took a small step forward, tilting your head slightly, as if subtly studying him.
“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” you said. Your accent was stronger than he remembered, probably from not speaking Korean for a while, he thought. “And I saw you in there… and coming out here.”
You added that as you stepped closer again, and Jungkook felt the instinct to retreat, but the wall behind his back wouldn’t let him.
“Mm-hm,” he replied simply. It was more of a sound than an actual response because he didn’t even trust himself to speak at that moment. But his eyes, inevitably, dropped again to your pregnant belly, and of course you noticed. How could you not? He hated how impossible it was not to look.
Your hand went instinctively to your belly when you caught his gaze, a soft sigh escaping your lips.
Jungkook said nothing. He looked away, and you sighed again. Then you took more steps, which at first he thought were toward him, but they weren’t. You just moved to stand beside him, leaning against the wall with your hands behind you. You were probably cold in that dress, with its open back and bare shoulders. Jungkook noticed the fine hairs on your arms slightly raised when he glanced at you quickly.
He didn’t dare speak. Neither did you. So, for what felt like an eternity, there was a heavy silence. Jungkook’s eyes stayed glued to his own shoes. He was completely still, but you seemed somehow restless, shifting slightly as if you couldn’t get comfortable. Jungkook figured it was because the situation was unbearably uncomfortable.
He sighed, gathered what little courage he had left, and finally spoke:
“So… what were you doing out here?”
He turned his face toward you, and you did the same, but only briefly, before your gaze wandered off into the distance again.
“I saw you come out here,” you murmured. “And then I noticed you’ve been drinking a lot tonight.”
You let out a soft laugh that vanished like the wind. Jungkook pressed his lips together. There was no denying it and he didn’t want to anyway. He just nodded, his eyes flicking to your face. You looked back at him then, your eyes scanning his features now. He felt it, he was probably even redder than before.
“Believe me, if I could drink right now, I’d be drinking too.” Your words were meant to be a joke, to ease the tension, but they landed like a stone in Jungkook’s chest. He didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile.
Why? Why would you need to drink? He wanted to demand to know why you’d say something like that when he was the one losing everything, the one watching his entire world slip through his fingers while you stood there, glowing, whole, with a life that didn’t include him. But he didn’t ask. He just stared at you, his heart pounding.
You shifted slightly again, your body adjusting your weight, but he noticed it again. His eyes dropped to your stomach, and he realized it wasn’t just you being restless, it was the baby.
He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Is… is the baby moving?” he asked, so low you couldn’t quite hear it.
You nodded, your smile softening, your hand drifting to your belly again.
“Yeah,” you said, your voice almost proud. “It’s a boy. He’s been moving a lot today. I ate some chocolate earlier, and he always gets all worked up when I do.” You laughed again.
A boy.
A strange sense of relief hit his chest. Because he knew how much you had always wanted to be a mother and your dream had always been to have a little girl. You always talked about girls, about how there would be two of them, with Jungkook’s eyes, those doe eyes you always said you loved. The smile, you wanted it to be Jungkook’s smile. You didn’t really care about the nose, you always said.
But knowing that Henry’s child was a boy somehow, in a stupid and irrational way, eased him. Even though Jungkook had always said he wanted a boy too. Still, the relief was undeniable and nowhere near reasonable, but he wanted to hold on to it now.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
“That’s…” he started, his voice faltering. “That’s… congratulations.”
You nodded, your smile fading just a little.
“Thank you,” you said quietly, your hand still moving in small circles over your stomach. You shifted again, and Jungkook couldn’t help but watch.
“Do you… want to feel him?” you asked, your voice hesitant, like you weren’t sure if you were offering too much and crossing a line. Jungkook froze, his breath catching. His eyes flicked to your stomach, then back to your face, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he could handle it. The idea of touching you, of feeling the life you were carrying, was too much and too painful. But he couldn’t say no. Before he could stop, his hand left his pocket.
You stepped closer, turning to face him fully, and Jungkook’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might break. You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his.
Your smaller hand rested on the back of Jungkook’s tattooed one, then guided it to meet your other hand, which was icy cold. Your wedding ring was on full display, and it felt like it burned against his skin with that touch. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore.
At the same time, your hand seemed to fit perfectly in his, yet felt far too heavy, like it didn’t belong there anymore. But you guided his hand down to your belly, right over the lower part, gently pressing his palm against it. Your eyes stayed on your hands as Jungkook looked at you. Your features still soft, like barely any time had passed.
And then Jungkook felt it, beneath his hand, a tiny kick. It stole the air from his lungs and maybe even a laugh, one he didn’t control and didn’t even know how it escaped. But you laughed too.
Only it wasn’t really a laugh that Jungkook let out, instead, a stubborn tear slipped down his cheek.
He didn’t want you to see, which is why he turned his face, but you were faster and looked at him, your smile disappeared instantly. Your hands fell from on top of his onto your stomach, but his hand lingered there a moment longer, until you spoke.
“Jungkook…” Your voice wasn’t just filled with concern, there was something bordering on guilt. “I… I…” You started to stammer, and Jungkook pulled his hand away, almost abruptly, making the removal of his hand from your stomach feel like the loss of a connection.
“Don't,” he murmured, bringing his hand to his face, but a single tear fell from the other side of the face he was wiping. It was the alcohol, but not just that, obviously. “Don’t say anything.” Jungkook wiped his face fully and tucked his hand back into his pocket, fighting to keep you from seeing how shaky it really was.
You sighed, opened your mouth, drew in a breath. Jungkook could hear you, but could barely meet your eyes. He cursed those tears, but he couldn’t help them.
“I didn’t mean…” you began, but he looked at you, shaking his head, pulling his hands out of his pockets, leaning forward, and said,
“I said don’t.” He repeated it, not harshly, not coldly, but as if he were begging, desperate.
You nodded slowly. Your arms wrapped around yourself, as if the cold had finally caught up to you, or as if you were realizing coming after him was a mistake, he couldn’t know which. After a few moments, Jungkook finally looked at you. Now, you were twisting your fucking wedding ring around your finger, just as you always did with your regular rings when you were nervous.
“I’m sorry,” you said, in a sigh, meeting Jungkook’s eyes.
“Sorry for what, exactly?” Jungkook let out a laugh he couldn’t hold back, ironic, bitter. “For being happily married and living your dream of becoming a mother?” He rolled his eyes, unintentionally, but couldn’t help it.
“I don’t know,” you admitted softly, and Jungkook let out a nasal laugh and turned his face, resting his head against the wall.
“Don’t do that.” Your voice was firm now, making Jungkook lift his head to look at you. Your arms hung loosely at his sides, but your eyes were sharp. “Don’t start acting like I’m the villain.”
Jungkook let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head.
“No one’s saying that.” His tongue brushed across his lips. “I just didn’t expect to find you here. Pregnant.” He practically spat out the last word.
You put your hands on your hips, tilted your head back, and sighed. Your scent drifted into his nose with the night breeze, sweet and overwhelming and it hit him like it was the first time, even though he had touched you just moments ago. He realized he’d been too nervous to notice it before.
“I didn’t expect to see you either,” you said, your voice sounding almost fragile. “I didn’t think...” You had to clear your throat, and Jungkook’s brow arched. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”
“Feel like what?” Jungkook asked, his tone bordering on a growl, not out of anger, but desperation. He wanted to know what it meant, what you being there meant. He was unraveling, while you stood in front of him so composed it felt like a cruel joke. As if he was nothing more than a threat to your perfect future.
You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek, inhaling deeply before meeting his eyes again.
“Like… like seeing you would hurt me.” Another sigh escaped you. “I kind of had to come after you...I wouldn’t have been able to take it if I didn’t.” Your voice broke, tears brimming in your eyes. As you rolled them upward, a few slipped free, and you wiped them away quickly. “The hormones,” you gestured vaguely in circles around your stomach.
Jungkook scoffed, scratching the tip of his nose.
“How can you say that when you’ve got everything you ever wanted, huh?” He leaned closer, stepping toward you this time. “You’re so fucking unfair.” His voice cracked into anger. “You’re pregnant with another guy’s baby!” The words came out louder, rawer.
You covered your face with your hands, sniffling as you turned away.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have come after you,” you whispered, stepping back. “This was a mistake.”
“Do you love him?” Jungkook demanded, no hesitation, his eyes burning into yours like he could force the truth out of you.
“I do.” The answer fell quickly, your tears spilling faster, streaking down your face without resistance.
“Do you love him the way you loved me?” Jungkook’s voice echoed again, low and devastating. He hadn’t even processed your first answer yet, because this was the only question that really mattered. "Love him more than you loved me?"
Your voice trembled, disbelief etched across your face.
“You’re really standing there asking me that?” The words came out sharp, laced with anger.
Jungkook felt it like a blade cutting straight through him. His mouth opened, he wanted to take the words back, but desperation held him hostage. He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t control the storm tearing through his chest. You turned toward the door, ready to leave, but he lunged forward, his hand closing around your arm, just enough to halt you.
“Wait,” he choked out, his wide eyes glassy with tears that made him look so fucking vulnerable. His voice cracked as it left him. “I just need to know.” His grip loosened, trembling fingers slipping away as if he didn’t have the right to hold you. “Just tell me, do you love him more than you loved me? Or are you gonna stand there and say you never loved me at all?”
The last words broke apart, his voice splintering with a sob. He didn’t even know why he’d said it, he was not in control of himself anymore, why he was cornering you like this. The alcohol, the pain, the unbearable sight of you, so close and yet unreachable, had ripped the filter away from his mouth.
Your eyes widened, disbelief across your face. You blinked, several times, as though you hadn’t heard him right. Then you shook your head, hands dragging down your face, your jaw trembling with rage.
“I cannot believe you’re saying this to me.”
You bit your lip, hard, like to keep your voice from cracking, but the fury burned through every syllable.
“Do you have any idea what I gave up for you?” you snapped, the words slicing clean and sharp now, no hesitation. “I literally moved to the other side of the world, Jungkook. I left my country, my family, my friends, my job. Everything! Everything.” You emphasized the last word, your voice ringing through. “I went to a place where I didn’t even speak the language, where I had to start from nothing, just to be with you. Just to dedicate myself to us. That’s how much I loved you.” Your voice was steel now, your Korean so fluent, so precise, that it cut him deeper than anything else. “I loved you more than I loved myself.” Your eyes were already glossy, but finishing the words broke something open. Tears streamed down your cheeks, unstoppable. You were trembling, crying, unraveling, but your voice still carried, trembling with fury. “And you have the audacity to stand here and ask if I ever loved you? How dare you?”
Jungkook’s heart hammered in his chest like someone was slapping him across the face again and again. He wanted to pull you into his arms, to beg for forgiveness, but the only words that stumbled out of him were low, broken.
“You left me,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You walked away.”
You let out a bitter, hollow laugh, shaking your head as you wiped your face with trembling hands.
“I didn’t leave you, Jungkook. You let me go.” Your voice steadied, gaining power with every word. “You knew how everything changed. You knew what happened when my dad got sick. You knew I had to go back, that I had to be there for him. You knew I had my own dreams, my own expectations, but I kept putting them on hold because I was always waiting, for you! And you? You were always in the studio, on tour, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And I tried to be strong, I tried to be enough, but I was alone. You left me in that apartment, over and over again, waiting for you. And I couldn’t keep waiting forever.”
Jungkook swallowed hard, the lump in his throat like fire. None of this was new. He’d known all of it, but hearing it from your lips now, seeing you, pregnant, married, years later, was like being buried alive.
“I never would’ve asked you to give up your career, Jungkook,” you continued, your voice shaking. “I knew what it meant to you. I never would’ve made you choose. But don’t you dare act like I left first. You let me slip through your fingers long before I walked away.”
Jungkook’s vision blurred, his chest caving in. Because you were right. Because he had let you go without even realizing. Because choosing would’ve meant sacrifice, and he’d been too cowardly to face it.
Your voice cracked again as more tears rolled down your cheeks.
“I loved you, Jungkook. I loved you so much it broke me. I loved you more than I loved myself. And that’s exactly why I had to let go. I had to choose me.”
He wanted to scream, to deny it, but the truth crushed the air out of his lungs. His lips trembled as he whispered the only name he could.
“With Henry.”
You blinked, almost startled by the simplicity of it. Then you shook your head.
“No. With myself,” you said “Henry was just the consequence of that. The first real step forward. But before I loved him, I had to love myself again.”
You stood there, both of you locked in a stare, eyes brimming with tears, faces flushed red, not just from the cold, but from anger, from everything unsaid. Your lips pressed tightly together, trembling, your lashes clumped with tears as you tried to blink them away. Jungkook’s chest ached with regret. Regret for everything he’d said, for letting his pain twist into cruelty, for making you this angry when all he’d wanted was to hold you close.
“I’m going inside,” you announced finally, your voice hoarse but firm.
Jungkook took a step back, his throat tight as he nodded.
“Yeah,” he whispered, barely audible. “I think you should.”
You bit down on your lower lip, nodded once, blinking several times as if to steady yourself. You shifted, giving him space, your hand already on the door.
“Goodbye, Jungkook,” you said softly, before pulling it open and slipping inside. The door shut behind you with a heavy finality.
Jungkook stood frozen. He knew his face was pathetic, swollen, blotchy red, tear-streaked, but he didn’t care. He just wanted every piece of you left inside him to pour out with the tears. The night was brutally cold, the kind of cold that cut through bone, and all of it, the darkness, the silence, the memory of your voice saying goodbye, made the moment unbearable.
He didn’t want to be there anymore. Not at the wedding, not at the party, not standing outside a door you had just closed on him. He couldn’t face the laughter of his friends inside, couldn’t face you, couldn’t face anything anymore.
So he stayed there for what felt like forever, though he couldn’t have said how long it really was, but long enough for his tears to come and come again, long enough for the weight in his chest to press him down until he could barely breathe. He knew it wouldn’t be the last time he cried that night.
But eventually, he pulled himself upright, swiped his sleeve across his face, and forced himself to move. Instead of walking back into the warmth and music, Jungkook turned toward the parking lot, his footsteps heavy against the ground. He fumbled for his phone, opening the app to call a car, his breath misting in the cold as he made himself a silent promise.
the way i should have got to read this classic long ago and not NOW! but good things come eventually. so- OH MY GOD. what the fuck was that? the whole thing is such a rollercoster that my angst heart is extremely overwelmed with.
i get jungkook. the way he has been throughout the entire scene tells how much he is regretting and how much it hurts although he is happy to see her happy. and okay! we all collectively hate henry (like for no reasons but.....lololol).
this was so bittersweet, thankyou so much for putting into words what i have wanted to read 😫😫
omg liz 😭💖 your comment literally made my cheeks hurt from smiling so much!!
i’m so happy you felt that rollercoaster vibe because that’s exactly what i wanted this story to be, with all the highs, the lows! it means so much to me that you caught onto what i was trying to show with jungkook. like, when you love someone that deeply, seeing them happy even if it’s not with you… it’s completely crushing 💔🥹 and about henry!! yesss exactly!! poor guy doesn’t really deserve the hate but omg we just collectively want him out of the way already 😂
thank you for taking the time to leave such a heartfelt comment, it seriously made my whole day 💕
wearing a shirt that said sex with you sucks wasn’t supposed to mean anything. but your ex? of course he had to take it as a challenge and now he’s desperate to convince you otherwise.
w.c: 5,8k
pairing: rockstar!Jungkook x fem!reader
rating: +18
genre: exes, angst, smut, a touch of band-life chaos
warnings: explicit sexual contente, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, spit in mouth, degradation, pet names, rough dynamics, alcohol mention, heavy language & insults, jealousy, toxic exes energy.
author’s note: i don’t know if i’m a little rusty when it comes to writing smut, maybe i am, but oh well, here it is lol. i can’t seem to write pure smut without adding a lot of plot, so i ended up creating this whole context that actually made me want to explore more of this story. anyway, i really loved the chaotic, slightly toxic vibe it gave off, idk....
March 12 — Singapore
You hadn’t picked that top to piss off Jungkook. Not on purpose, anyway. But the second his eyes landed on you and he rolled them so hard you thought they might fall out of his skull, you wished you had chosen it intentionally. It felt unfair that sheer coincidence got the credit for irritating him so perfectly.
The tour had barely started and the atmosphere between you was unbearable. As much as you both wanted to keep things professional, it was nearly impossible when the breakup was barely a month old and you were being forced, twenty days after splitting, to spend months on a world tour together.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen it coming. The tour had been planned for almost a year. But the way things collapsed between you after everything… it was impossible to stay together. Not when even the PR team insisted you both keep pretending you were still in love for the public.
Maybe that was what made it so suffocating, acting like you were still a couple after everything that had happened. After you’d suffered a miscarriage six months ago, in the middle of a massive awards show in Los Angeles. After you’d been forced to keep performing through the night while your body quietly gave up the baby you’d carried for seventeen weeks. Maybe it was the way grief had sunk its claws into you, leaving you depressed, while Jungkook, also grieving, had pulled away until you could barely look at each other without fighting.
Or maybe it was the fact that since the tour started, twelve days ago, he’d been reckless, drinking too much, flirting with groupies, throwing accusations at you about Yoongi, the guitarist. As if your late-night songwriting sessions with Yoongi were anything more than desperate attempts to put your pain into lyrics. At least Yoongi listened without judgment, turned your sorrow into something tangible. Meanwhile, Jungkook was drunk somewhere in the corner, actually hitting on some fan.
Maybe it was because the two of you hated each other now. Or worse, because you still loved each other. Or something in between.
Either way, Jungkook was a mess at rehearsal. His focus was shot, his fingers stumbling over guitar strings like he’d forgotten how to play. You’d glared at him more times than you could count, and Yoongi had already muttered a fed-up “What the fuck, man?” into his mic, which Jungkook didn’t bother answering.
Five songs. Five mistakes.
Taehyung groaned behind the drum kit, sticks clattering in irritation, while Vicky, at the keyboard, rubbed her face with both hands.
“Are you stupid?” you snapped, slinging your bass aside and storming toward him. “This song’s from our first album. We’ve played it at every single show for six years, you know it by heart.”
You scoffed when he didn’t even look at you, just stared out at the empty stadium seats like he was bored, then fiddled with his guitar volume.
“Mind your part, I’ll mind mine,” he said, voice flat.
“I am minding my part, but you’re screwing everyone else over, asshole.” You rolled your eyes, glaring at the sharp profile of his face, at the silver flash of his eyebrow piercing. He finally glanced at you sideways, not bothering to reply. “Take this seriously, for fuck’s sake.”
“I am taking it seriously.” His tone stayed maddeningly calm. “Now get back to your spot so we can run it again.”
“Idiot,” you muttered, stomping back to your mic stand. Jungkook stretched out his hand and flipped you off behind your back, which you didn’t see.
How could the man you once admired so much turned into this jerk?
The rest of the band was visibly over it, eyes rolling, patience worn down to the bone. You were all close, but with everything going on, no one had the energy left to deal with you and Jungkook tearing into each other every rehearsal.
“Jungkook, focus,” Lina, the manager, clapped her hands from the pit below the stage, where thousands of fans would soon stand. “We need you here. Forget whatever’s in your head.”
He nodded, pulling the branded pick from between his lips, sliding it back into place between his fingers. Someone called for another take. Taehyung smacked his sticks together three times, counting off. And just like that, the song started again, this time, almost miraculously, it flowed clean.
For three songs, the band managed to hold it together, the music almost like the old days. But then came the acoustic duet, the one where you and Jungkook had to share his mic, his guitar strumming softly as the stage lights bathed you both, forcing you to play the part of lovers for the crowd. His face was a mask, his voice cold and mechanical, and you had to stare into those doe eyes that used to spark with life but had been dull and empty for weeks. You were getting used to it, the hollowness, but it still stung.
Singing songs from when you were head-over-heels, tangled in each other for years, unable to get enough, felt like torture every night. You deserved an Oscar for the performance, for pulling off the act of being in love with Jungkook on stage, night after night. Maybe it was easier when you let yourself remember how he used to be. How he made you feel like the most cherished woman in the world, like your entire universe orbited around him, like you were the muse behind every lyric you sang together.
But God, you hated when he looked at you like that.
Those sharp, predatory eyes, his tongue grazing his lips, zoning your mouth until you could barely breathe. In those moments, you struggled to recall why you’d ever broken up. Because sometimes, that angry glare of his burned with desperation, like he wanted to devour you whole. It made your legs tremble, forced you to look away, because if you held his gaze, you’d lose yourself completely.
That’s exactly what you did during that damn duet, tearing your eyes away from his. His stare was a molten mix of rage and raw desire, too intense to bear, threatening to unravel you right there on stage.
But, then your in-ear monitor cut out, the sudden silence throwing you off. You missed a beat, your voice faltering, and the rhythm of the song collapsed.
Jungkook shot you an accusing glare, his lips tight, and you ignored it, pressing a hand to your ear as you stepped back from the mic, looking toward James, the sound tech. The band ground to a halt, the silence in the stadium deafening.
“My in-ear’s fucked,” you said, trying to keep it professional.
Jungkook huffed into the mic, the sound echoing through the empty arena. You rolled your eyes, irritation flaring.
“You’ve been screwing up all day, and you can’t handle one mistake?” you snapped, gesturing at him. “That’s what soundcheck’s for, genius.”
He licked his lips, his tongue catching on his piercing, his eyes narrowing.
“Stop obsessing over me,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
You laughed through your nose, a bitter, incredulous sound, planting your hands on your hips.
“Obsessed? With you?” You threw your head back, the laugh theatrical, deliberately overdone. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Guys…” Vicky’s voice came from the back, soft but pleading, trying to de-escalate. You both ignored her.
“First, you and Yoongi,” Jungkook said, pointing at the guitarist, who stood frozen, his expression confused. You didn’t dare look at him, just rolled your eyes harder, the absurdity of Jungkook’s words fueling your anger. “Now this fucking shirt.” He jabbed a finger toward your chest, where your cropped tee read Sex with you sucks.
“Oh my God,” you laughed, the sound sharp and loud, echoing off the empty seats. “Not everything is about you, main character.” You glanced down at it, then back at him, grinning viciously. “I grabbed this without thinking, Jungkook. It’s not about you or your dick.” That was true, sex with him was never bad, not even close, and you both knew it. “What a delicate little ego, Kookie.” You spat the nickname like venom, knowing it’d hit him where it hurt.
His jaw clenched, his grip on his guitar tightening as he threw his head back, mouth opening like he was about to fire back with something nasty. But before he could, Lina’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade.
“Enough, both of you!” she barked from the pit, her hands on her hips, her glare fierce enough to silence the entire stage. Vicky slammed her hands onto her keyboard, the metallic clang ringing out.
“Jesus Christ!” Vicky snapped. “You’re acting like fucking kids.”
Lina’s eyes didn’t waver, her tone cutting.
“Thirty-minute break. Now. I don’t care what you do, cool off, scream, cry, whatever. But get this shit out of your systems. The tour’s barely started, and I’m not babysitting your breakup for the next months. Clear your heads, come back focused, or this show will crash and burn before it even gets going.”
Her words landed like a punch, heavy. No one moved for a moment, the silence suffocating, but Jungkook finally turned away, ripping his guitar strap over his head, muttering something under his breath as he stormed toward the wings. You spun on your heel, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze as he carefully set his guitar down, his expression heavy with judgment. Shame burned in your chest. You knew this was ridiculous, childish, but you couldn’t stop. With your chin high, you took long strides toward the exit, desperate to escape the frustrated, disappointed looks from Taehyung, Vicky, and Yoongi. You didn’t need to see their faces to feel the weight of their exhaustion with you and Jungkook.
Now, you walk towards the backstage, surrounded by a massive team working tirelessly to make sure the show would go perfectly, every detail handled to give the fans the best possible experience. But there you were, caught in your own little world with Jungkook, fighting over something stupid again. Even though you both knew you were hurting, your arguments were spilling over, jeopardizing the work of dozens of people.
Your thoughts were cut short when Jungkook’s hand suddenly wrapped around your arm. You startled, flinching back, but before you could react, he pushed open a door behind him, one you hadn’t even realized was there and pulled you inside.
The room was dark and smelled faintly of dust. Stacks of boxes crowded the corners, instrument cases piled on top of one another, mic stands and speaker crates shoved haphazardly against the walls. It was some kind of storage space, cluttered and shadowy, the kind of place you’d never have noticed if he hadn’t dragged you in. But even in the dimness, you could see him, the sharp outline of his body, the white tank clinging to his torso like a spotlight in the dark.
“Leave me alone. I don’t want to fight,” you said quickly as he let go of your arm, closing the door behind you. The room dipped into deeper darkness.
“You don’t want to fight? Wearing that shirt just to humiliate me?” His voice was low, melodic in anger.
“Jungkook” you huffed, rolling your eyes, but he cut you off.
“You think the sex was bad, huh?” His body pressed against yours before you could stop him, your back hitting the wall with a muted thud.
Your eyes widened as you shoved your palms against his chest, keeping what little distance you could manage.
“This isn’t about the fucking shirt!” You shot back, pushing hard against him, trying to shove him off. He didn’t budge. Didn’t even flinch. “This is about you acting like an asshole who can’t even hit the right notes anymore.” The words came out sharp, like you were spitting them at him.
He laughed. The sound echoed in the dusty storage room, a low, humorless laugh that made your skin crawl.
“God, the small-dick energy, Jungkook. You used to be better than this.” You knew it would piss him off, and maybe you wanted it to. At this point, you didn’t care. Let him get angry. You were past the point of keeping the peace.
The room was claustrophobic. The noise of the backstage crew, shouts, clanging equipment, felt miles away, muffled by the heavy door, and he was so close. Too fucking close. And, what you hated most wasn’t that he was this close, it was that you couldn’t make yourself push him away. Not because you weren’t strong enough, because a part of you didn’t want to.
His laugh cut through, so sharp and mocking.
“I never saw you complain before,” he said, his voice low, as he pressed himself even closer, his hips locking against yours with deliberate force. The heat of him seared through your clothes, and you bit your lower lip hard, stifling the gasp that threatened to spill out.
“Get off me,” you said, the words sharp but brittle, your palms shoving against his chest.
For a split second, he eased back, just enough to let you think you’d won, but then he surged forward again, his hands clamping onto you, fingers digging in with a possessive grip that made your breath hitch.
“Do you really want that?” Jungkook’s voice was a low murmur, his mouth hovering so close you could feel the warmth of his breath, his cologne wrapping around you like a drug. His eyes, glinting in the half-light, locked onto yours.
“I’m fucking done with you,” you hissed, your voice trembling with the effort to hold your ground, your pupils straining against the darkness to catch the mocking spark in his gaze.
“Done with me?” he whispered, his lips grazed yours. His voice dropped lower. “You’re not done with me. You’ll never be.”
Before you could fire back, his lips caught your bottom lip, tugging softly that lasted just long enough to make your pulse stutter. Then, slowly, he stepped back, the sudden absence of his heat leaving you cold.
“Go,” he said, his voice flat, but his eyes burned, locked on yours, daring you to move.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not with Jungkook’s dark eyes pinning you against the wall in that cramped, dusty storage room. You swallowed hard, exhaling slowly, then filled your lungs to meet his gaze head-on, defiance burning in your chest.
“Fuck you,” you spat, voice sharp and commanding, leaning forward, but not to escape, but to crash your body into his, harder this time. Your hands slammed against his chest, but he caught your wrists in a reflex, yanking them up mid-air, pulling you closer until your bodies collided again. His hands released your wrists, sliding down to your waist, the movement hiking up your cropped tee, exposing the bare skin of your waist.
The second your bodies pressed together, your mouths followed, but this wasn’t a kiss, it was a battlefield. Lips crushed against each other, his tongue invading your mouth like he owned it, claiming every inch with hunger. You bit down on his lower lip, tugging at the piercing there, and he growled into your mouth, not pulling back. Your tongue pushed against his, lips moving with raw, angry need. Teeth clashed in the tilt of your heads, no rhythm, no finesse, just pure, messy intensity. It was impossible to tell if it was a fight or who the hell was winning.
His fingers trailed up your spine, rough and possessive, until they tangled in your hair, yanking your head back sharply. The motion broke the kiss with a wet noise, leaving your lips red and swollen, your eyes locked on his, chin tilted defiantly.
“You hate me, don’t you?” Jungkook rasped, his free hand slipping under your shirt. His fingers found your pierced nipple, pinching and twisting it with just enough pressure to make you gasp, the sensitivity sending a jolt straight to your core.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” you shot back, as you arched away from his grip, not to escape, but to challenge him.
He smirked, dark and dangerous, tugging your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts. His large hands squeezed them hard, rough enough to pull a long, unwilling moan from your throat. You hated how it slipped out, how your body betrayed you, but he reveled in it, groaning in approval as he spun you around, slamming your front against the cold metal door. Your cheek pressed against it, his hands bracketing your waist, his body caging you in, his chest flush against your back, his hips grinding into your ass. You felt his hardening cock through his tight jeans.
“I’ll shut my mouth when I’m done reminding you what a lying slut you are,” he hissed in your ear, a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. His lips grazed your earlobe, teeth nipping as his hands gripped your hips.
He smelled of sweat and that familiar cologne, the kind that used to make your head spin, and it was intoxicating now, pulling you under despite yourself. You pressed your lips together tight, swallowing any moan or sound of pleasure that might give him the satisfaction he didn’t deserve. Even as your body, half-surrendered to the way his frame pressed against yours, hot, angry, unyielding, you refused to let him know how much you wanted this. Wanted him.
Jungkook ground his hips harder against your ass, the friction deliberate and maddening, and you arched back into him, your body lifting off the wall despite your resolve. His low groan vibrated through you, a sound you hated yourself for craving. His hands moved to your zipper, yanking it down with quick, rough, peeling your jeans off your hips until they pooled at your thighs.
His right hand splayed across your ass, delivering a sharp slap that echoed in the storage room. You bit your lip hard, refusing to give him the moan he wanted, but then he slapped the other cheek, then the first again, the stinging heat building until a low whimper slipped out. His smug chuckle followed, dripping with satisfaction, and you hated how it made your pussy clench, your frustration spilling out in a sharp sigh, as his fingers traced the waistband of your panties, sliding along the thin strip of fabric between your cheeks.
“A thong?” he murmured, his voice velvety and taunting, tugging the fabric to the side. “Thought you only wore this shit for special occasions. Did you know you’d end up here, getting fucked against a door? Or was this for Yoongi?”
You hadn’t planned it, hadn’t even thought twice. You’d woken up late, grabbed the first thing after your shower, same as that damn sex with you sucks shirt, and rushed to soundcheck. But his talk about Yoongi lit a fire in your veins, sharp and angry, enough to make you shove your hips back and try to twist around, to face him. Jungkook’s grip tightened, keeping you pinned, his body a wall of heat and control.
“You’re pathetic,” you said, straining to catch his eyes over your shoulder, but the dark and awkward angle hid the mocking glint you knew was there.
He laughed, amused, his hand never pausing. It slid to the front of your panties, two fingers rubbing against the fabric, teasing.
“And you talk too much for someone about to get fucked senseless,” he shot back. Without warning, his fingers slipped under the fabric, gliding through your slick folds, already soaked. You sighed, hating how eagerly your body responded. “So fucking wet for me already,” he growled in your ear, his tongue dragging along your neck, leaving a hot, wet trail. You clenched your jaw, but your hips rocked into his touch.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you hissed. “I could get wet for anyone. You’re just here.”
He chuckled, his fingers circling your clit with slow, deliberate pressure.
“This pussy’s dripping because it knows who owns it.” He pushed two fingers inside you, rough and sudden, curling them to hit your g spot.
“You—oh, fuck,” you gasped, as his fingers thrust harder, your eyes squeezing shut as pleasure and pain blurred together.
His other hand gripped the back of your neck, his nose trailing along your throat, inhaling deeply. You let out a louder whimper, his fingers plunging deeper, maybe too rough, because he paused to murmur:
“Does it hurt?” His voice was calm, almost mocking, with the pressure of his fingers against your pelvic bone, the obscene wet sounds of your pussy echoing in that small room. He groaned softly, clearly pleased. You shook your head, biting back another moan, refusing to give him more. “Want it to hurt?” he asked, his tone soft but laced with menace.
You shook your head once more, pride keeping you from admitting the truth, but it wasn’t convincing, not to him, not to yourself. You loved when it hurt, and so did he. How could you hide that from someone who knew your body better than you did? It was fucking impossible, and God, it pissed you off.
Jungkook’s laugh rumbled against your neck, mocking, dripping with that filthy edge that made your skin burn. Fuck. Your pussy clenched around his fingers at the sound, and you felt him smirk, pressing them deeper, grinding against your walls with a slow, deliberate twist that made you see stars. He eased up just enough to circle his fingers fully, groaning low in his throat.
“Fucking liar,” he murmured, his voice with lust. “You’re soaked, clenching around my fingers like you’re starving for it. You want this so bad, don’t you? My cock splitting you open right here.”
You whimpered, his words hitting you right between your legs, sending a fresh wave of heat to your core. God, you hated him, hated how much you needed him, how your body betrayed you with every pulse of arousal.
“Just… shut up and fuck me,” you breathed, your voice raw, the defiance melting under the weight of your need. You didn’t want to fight, not when his fingers were driving you insane, not when his hard cock was pressed against your ass. You were craving it, and there was no hiding it anymore.
He let out a hot puff of air against your neck, making you shiver, and yanked his fingers out abruptly, leaving you empty and aching. You whined, your body screaming at the loss, and he slapped your ass hard, making your pussy clench around fucking nothing.
“Needy slut,” he taunted, tugging your thong down completely, the soaked fabric falling to your ankles. “Already begging for my cock. Thought you were tougher than that, baby.”
“Says the guy who dragged me into this shitty room just to fuck me.”
Jungkook didn’t respond, just let out a wicked chuckle that made your skin prickle. You pressed both palms against the door, your body aching for more, craving the feel of him inside you again, but you refused to beg.
You pushed your hips back, seeking friction, to feel his dick against your ass, but found nothing. Then you heard it, the sharp sound of his zipper coming down, and a mix of desperation and relief flooded you, knowing his cock would soon be buried deep inside you.
His hand tangled in your hair again, yanking your head to the side, pressing your cheek harder against the door. With his free hand, he slid his index and middle fingers along your lips, sudden and unannounced. The musky scent hit you first, you knew these were the fingers that had been inside your pussy. He smeared the tips across your lips, and they parted instinctively, letting him push his fingers into your mouth.
The taste of yourself hit your tongue, almost sweet, you thought, as he shoved his fingers deeper, forcing them down your throat in a rough motion. You gagged slightly, the intrusion sudden and intense, but you didn’t pull back, sucking instead, your tongue swirling around his fingers.
Meanwhile, his other hand released your hair, and as you worked your mouth up and down his fingers, you felt his cock, hard, hot, pulsing, sliding between your ass cheeks, teasing the center. You couldn’t hold back the moan, needy, almost a whimper, slipping out like a plea.
“Fuck, listen to you,” Jungkook said. “Moaning like that while you suck your own taste off my fingers. You love this, don’t you?” His cock pressed harder, sliding through your slick folds, teasing your entrance, the raw heat of him making your core clench with anticipation.
You murmured a curse under your breath, hating how your body betrayed you, responding to him despite every ounce of your resistance. His dirty talk, growled low in your ear, sent shivers down your spine as the tip of his cock teased your entrance, brushing against you, so close to sliding in. It made your defiance feel pointless, almost laughable. But you fought it, pulling your mouth off him with a wet, audible pop, throwing your head back and swallowing hard, your voice rough with arousal.
“Fuck me hard,” you demanded, the words spilling out before you could stop them.
Jungkook’s hand gripped your cheeks, forcing your lips to purse as his fingers pressed into your skin. He leaned in, his cock aligning perfectly with your pussy, his voice a low whisper in your ear.
“Open that fucking mouth.” You squeezed your eyes shut, too far gone to think straight, obeying without question. You heard the wet sound of him gathering saliva, then felt the warm, slick liquid hit your lower lip, pooling on your tongue. “Swallow,” he ordered. You did, his saliva sliding down your throat without a second thought, the act filthy in a way that made you clench. You opened your mouth again, letting out a shaky breath as he murmured, “Good girl.”
“Goddamn it, just fuck me already,” you snapped, exasperated by his teasing, his voice, his everything. You loved the way he talked, the way your body reacted, or at least you used to. Jungkook always knew exactly what to say to drive you crazy, to make you lose yourself completely, but right now, his voice pissed you off. You didn’t need his words, his smugness, his presence, just his cock, nothing else.
He didn’t make you ask again. With one hard thrust, he pushed into you, stretching you wide, filling you completely. You gasped, a loud, desperate moan escaping as your eyes squeezed shut, your walls clenching around him, adjusting to his size. Your body had missed this, missed him, no matter how much you hated admitting it. You rolled your hips deliberately, matching his rhythm as he moved, his hands sliding to your hips, gripping the bones to hold you steady. His low, throaty groans vibrated against your skin, syncing with each deep thrust.
It had been so long since you’d fucked, since the breakup, since him. Your vibrator could never compare, no matter how self-sufficient you prided yourself on being. Jungkook was Jungkook, and he knew exactly how to fuck you.
He rested his chin between your shoulder and neck, his lips brushing your ear, his moans soft but raw at the same time. His breath was hot, making you moan louder, your voice melodic and needy in a way you despised. You tried to control it, to bite back the sounds, but it was useless, your body was his, and it always had been.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” his voice thick with lust, his hips snapping harder, the cases next to your left, rattling with each thrust. “So fucking tight, like you were made for me. You love this, don’t you? Love how I fuck you raw, how I make you scream.”
“Jungkook,” you gasped, your fingers digging into the cold metal of the door, your body trembling as he hit your g spot again, with his dick now, over and over.
For a moment, you wanted to turn around, to claw at his muscled back, to mark his skin, to leave proof of this on him. The plasure, the hate. But you couldn’t face him, couldn’t bear to see his parted lips, his dark eyes, the way his teeth caught his lip piercing in the dim light. Even in the near-darkness of the storage room, you didn’t want to risk meeting his gaze, didn’t want to see the intensity in his eyes as he fucked you.
“Don—don’t stop,” you pleaded, your voice breaking.
“Stop?” He laughed, his tongue flicking against your earlobe, “Not a fucking chance.” His hands slid to your ass, gripping tight, his body grinding against yours, driving himself deeper with every thrust, hitting so deep it felt like he was carving himself into you.
His lips trailed down your neck, and you opened your eyes, seeing only the shadowed outlines of equipment cases and the flex of his shoulders behind you. Your breath came in heavy pants, his lip piercing grazing your skin as he sucked hard on your pulse point, the pressure painful. You hissed, almost jerking away, but he held you firm, his teeth grazing just enough to sting. He was marking you, claiming you, that fucking bastard, and you hated how it made your body respond, your ass pushing back against him.
You wanted to moan his name, to beg for more, knowing he’d give it to you, harder, deeper, exactly how you needed it. But you bit it back, refusing to give him the satisfaction, even as your walls clenched tight around him, feeling every inch, every vein, his cock pulsing inside you. Fuck. You hated Jungkook with every fiber of your being, but your body didn’t care, didn’t give a damn about your pride.
You swallowed a moan, then another, your lips pressed tight as he slowed his thrusts deliberately, going deeper, so deep it felt like he was trying to bury himself in you. His hips slammed against yours, the force drawing a small, involuntary whimper from your lips. You felt his smirk against your skin as he repeated the motion, quick and brutal, like he wanted you’d feel him for days.
Jungkook groaned low, long as he tugged your hair again, hard enough to tilt your head back. His grip loosened only to slide his hand down to your throat, his long fingers wrapping around your neck, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. God, you really hated how his touch set you on fire, hated how you craved it. You slapped a hand over your mouth, desperate to muffle the sounds he was pulling from you, but he tightened his grip on your throat, his fingertips pressing into your larynx.
“Trying to be a quiet slut now?” he taunted, his hips stilling, his cock buried deep inside you, a torturous pause. “You used to not give a fuck who heard you, baby. What’s wrong? Scared the crew’s gonna know you’re getting fucked by me in here, right after we fought? Scared they’ll know you can’t live without my cock?”
You whimpered, the sound pathetic and needy. Your hand fell from your mouth, your body trembling as he started moving again, slow, deliberate thrusts that made your knees buckle.
“Fuck you,” you managed, but it was weak, barely audible, your voice shaking with the effort to hold back.
He laughed, filthy, as he thrust harder.
“Oh, I’m fucking you. And you love it. Look at you, taking me so well.” His hand on your throat tightened just enough to make your head spin, the pressure mixing with the pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge.
His free hand slid between your thighs, the frantic collision of your hips, finding your clit, swollen, sensitive, and aching. His fingers circled it once more, rough, and you, moaning loud, not caring anymore. You weren’t going to last much longer, and neither was he. His groans had shifted from angry, dense, and guttural, almost high-pitched, needy and desperate. You knew that sound, knew the way his thrusts grew faster, his cock barely pulling out, too fast to hold back.
His movements were sloppy but precise, enough to make your eyes roll back, his hand still on your throat, the other rubbing your clit without any real pattern, just raw, chaotic pressure.
Before you could register it, Jungkook’s lips were on your neck again, this time on the other side, sucking hard, leaving another stinging mark until the sharp pull of his mouth made you grunt. Your hand shot to his thigh, and, with nowhere else to grip, you dug your nails into his skin, harder with each thrust, marking him as fiercely as he marked you.
Your moans mingled with his, unfiltered, his balls slapping against your ass as you felt him release inside you, hot spurts filling you, pushing you over the edge. You gasped, your hips grinding back against him, your walls pulsing desperately around Jungkook’s cock as you came, moaning, grunting, whimpering, completely out of control. The pleasure stretched on, long and overwhelming, your body shaking against the door.
Your mouth was dry, your lips parted and panting, his hands now resting gently on your body, a stark contrast to the brutal thrusts that had left your core burning. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he didn’t pull out, staying buried inside you, his dick still twitching faintly.
Then you felt it, his forehead against your shoulder, his sweat-damp hair brushing your skin, his lips grazing your shoulder in a soft, fleeting touch that felt too intimate, too tender for what this was.
You tugged your shirt back down, shifting slightly, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Maybe he snapped out of it too, coming down from the high, because he finally pulled out, leaving you empty, aching, not just from the absence of his cock, but from the weight of everything that had just happened. You hated him, hated this, yet part of you ached for more, for his arms around you, his lips on yours, soft and loving like they used to be. You didn’t understand why you wanted it, why you craved that old Jungkook, the one who loved you, not this asshole he’d become.
You pulled your panties and jeans back up, still facing the door, refusing to turn and meet his eyes. The rustle of fabric behind you told you he was doing the same, zipping up his jeans in the heavy silence.
“Don’t ever wear that fucking shirt again,” he muttered, his voice low, almost a whisper.
You froze for a moment, your hand on the door handle, the words sinking in, but thn you turned your head slightly, not enough to face him, just enough to let him know you’d heard.
“I’ll think about it,” you said, your voice cool, defiant.
His breath hitched, like he hadn’t expected the pushback, but he didn’t respond. You pushed the door open and slipped out.
wearing a shirt that said sex with you sucks wasn’t supposed to mean anything. but your ex? of course he had to take it as a challenge and now he’s desperate to convince you otherwise.
w.c: 5,8k
pairing: rockstar!Jungkook x fem!reader
rating: +18
genre: exes, angst, smut, a touch of band-life chaos
warnings: explicit sexual contente, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, spit in mouth, degradation, pet names, rough dynamics, alcohol mention, heavy language & insults, jealousy, toxic exes energy.
author’s note: i don’t know if i’m a little rusty when it comes to writing smut, maybe i am, but oh well, here it is lol. i can’t seem to write pure smut without adding a lot of plot, so i ended up creating this whole context that actually made me want to explore more of this story. anyway, i really loved the chaotic, slightly toxic vibe it gave off, idk....
March 12 — Singapore
You hadn’t picked that top to piss off Jungkook. Not on purpose, anyway. But the second his eyes landed on you and he rolled them so hard you thought they might fall out of his skull, you wished you had chosen it intentionally. It felt unfair that sheer coincidence got the credit for irritating him so perfectly.
The tour had barely started and the atmosphere between you was unbearable. As much as you both wanted to keep things professional, it was nearly impossible when the breakup was barely a month old and you were being forced, twenty days after splitting, to spend months on a world tour together.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen it coming. The tour had been planned for almost a year. But the way things collapsed between you after everything… it was impossible to stay together. Not when even the PR team insisted you both keep pretending you were still in love for the public.
Maybe that was what made it so suffocating, acting like you were still a couple after everything that had happened. After you’d suffered a miscarriage six months ago, in the middle of a massive awards show in Los Angeles. After you’d been forced to keep performing through the night while your body quietly gave up the baby you’d carried for seventeen weeks. Maybe it was the way grief had sunk its claws into you, leaving you depressed, while Jungkook, also grieving, had pulled away until you could barely look at each other without fighting.
Or maybe it was the fact that since the tour started, twelve days ago, he’d been reckless, drinking too much, flirting with groupies, throwing accusations at you about Yoongi, the guitarist. As if your late-night songwriting sessions with Yoongi were anything more than desperate attempts to put your pain into lyrics. At least Yoongi listened without judgment, turned your sorrow into something tangible. Meanwhile, Jungkook was drunk somewhere in the corner, actually hitting on some fan.
Maybe it was because the two of you hated each other now. Or worse, because you still loved each other. Or something in between.
Either way, Jungkook was a mess at rehearsal. His focus was shot, his fingers stumbling over guitar strings like he’d forgotten how to play. You’d glared at him more times than you could count, and Yoongi had already muttered a fed-up “What the fuck, man?” into his mic, which Jungkook didn’t bother answering.
Five songs. Five mistakes.
Taehyung groaned behind the drum kit, sticks clattering in irritation, while Vicky, at the keyboard, rubbed her face with both hands.
“Are you stupid?” you snapped, slinging your bass aside and storming toward him. “This song’s from our first album. We’ve played it at every single show for six years, you know it by heart.”
You scoffed when he didn’t even look at you, just stared out at the empty stadium seats like he was bored, then fiddled with his guitar volume.
“Mind your part, I’ll mind mine,” he said, voice flat.
“I am minding my part, but you’re screwing everyone else over, asshole.” You rolled your eyes, glaring at the sharp profile of his face, at the silver flash of his eyebrow piercing. He finally glanced at you sideways, not bothering to reply. “Take this seriously, for fuck’s sake.”
“I am taking it seriously.” His tone stayed maddeningly calm. “Now get back to your spot so we can run it again.”
“Idiot,” you muttered, stomping back to your mic stand. Jungkook stretched out his hand and flipped you off behind your back, which you didn’t see.
How could the man you once admired so much turned into this jerk?
The rest of the band was visibly over it, eyes rolling, patience worn down to the bone. You were all close, but with everything going on, no one had the energy left to deal with you and Jungkook tearing into each other every rehearsal.
“Jungkook, focus,” Lina, the manager, clapped her hands from the pit below the stage, where thousands of fans would soon stand. “We need you here. Forget whatever’s in your head.”
He nodded, pulling the branded pick from between his lips, sliding it back into place between his fingers. Someone called for another take. Taehyung smacked his sticks together three times, counting off. And just like that, the song started again, this time, almost miraculously, it flowed clean.
For three songs, the band managed to hold it together, the music almost like the old days. But then came the acoustic duet, the one where you and Jungkook had to share his mic, his guitar strumming softly as the stage lights bathed you both, forcing you to play the part of lovers for the crowd. His face was a mask, his voice cold and mechanical, and you had to stare into those doe eyes that used to spark with life but had been dull and empty for weeks. You were getting used to it, the hollowness, but it still stung.
Singing songs from when you were head-over-heels, tangled in each other for years, unable to get enough, felt like torture every night. You deserved an Oscar for the performance, for pulling off the act of being in love with Jungkook on stage, night after night. Maybe it was easier when you let yourself remember how he used to be. How he made you feel like the most cherished woman in the world, like your entire universe orbited around him, like you were the muse behind every lyric you sang together.
But God, you hated when he looked at you like that.
Those sharp, predatory eyes, his tongue grazing his lips, zoning your mouth until you could barely breathe. In those moments, you struggled to recall why you’d ever broken up. Because sometimes, that angry glare of his burned with desperation, like he wanted to devour you whole. It made your legs tremble, forced you to look away, because if you held his gaze, you’d lose yourself completely.
That’s exactly what you did during that damn duet, tearing your eyes away from his. His stare was a molten mix of rage and raw desire, too intense to bear, threatening to unravel you right there on stage.
But, then your in-ear monitor cut out, the sudden silence throwing you off. You missed a beat, your voice faltering, and the rhythm of the song collapsed.
Jungkook shot you an accusing glare, his lips tight, and you ignored it, pressing a hand to your ear as you stepped back from the mic, looking toward James, the sound tech. The band ground to a halt, the silence in the stadium deafening.
“My in-ear’s fucked,” you said, trying to keep it professional.
Jungkook huffed into the mic, the sound echoing through the empty arena. You rolled your eyes, irritation flaring.
“You’ve been screwing up all day, and you can’t handle one mistake?” you snapped, gesturing at him. “That’s what soundcheck’s for, genius.”
He licked his lips, his tongue catching on his piercing, his eyes narrowing.
“Stop obsessing over me,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
You laughed through your nose, a bitter, incredulous sound, planting your hands on your hips.
“Obsessed? With you?” You threw your head back, the laugh theatrical, deliberately overdone. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Guys…” Vicky’s voice came from the back, soft but pleading, trying to de-escalate. You both ignored her.
“First, you and Yoongi,” Jungkook said, pointing at the guitarist, who stood frozen, his expression confused. You didn’t dare look at him, just rolled your eyes harder, the absurdity of Jungkook’s words fueling your anger. “Now this fucking shirt.” He jabbed a finger toward your chest, where your cropped tee read Sex with you sucks.
“Oh my God,” you laughed, the sound sharp and loud, echoing off the empty seats. “Not everything is about you, main character.” You glanced down at it, then back at him, grinning viciously. “I grabbed this without thinking, Jungkook. It’s not about you or your dick.” That was true, sex with him was never bad, not even close, and you both knew it. “What a delicate little ego, Kookie.” You spat the nickname like venom, knowing it’d hit him where it hurt.
His jaw clenched, his grip on his guitar tightening as he threw his head back, mouth opening like he was about to fire back with something nasty. But before he could, Lina’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade.
“Enough, both of you!” she barked from the pit, her hands on her hips, her glare fierce enough to silence the entire stage. Vicky slammed her hands onto her keyboard, the metallic clang ringing out.
“Jesus Christ!” Vicky snapped. “You’re acting like fucking kids.”
Lina’s eyes didn’t waver, her tone cutting.
“Thirty-minute break. Now. I don’t care what you do, cool off, scream, cry, whatever. But get this shit out of your systems. The tour’s barely started, and I’m not babysitting your breakup for the next months. Clear your heads, come back focused, or this show will crash and burn before it even gets going.”
Her words landed like a punch, heavy. No one moved for a moment, the silence suffocating, but Jungkook finally turned away, ripping his guitar strap over his head, muttering something under his breath as he stormed toward the wings. You spun on your heel, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze as he carefully set his guitar down, his expression heavy with judgment. Shame burned in your chest. You knew this was ridiculous, childish, but you couldn’t stop. With your chin high, you took long strides toward the exit, desperate to escape the frustrated, disappointed looks from Taehyung, Vicky, and Yoongi. You didn’t need to see their faces to feel the weight of their exhaustion with you and Jungkook.
Now, you walk towards the backstage, surrounded by a massive team working tirelessly to make sure the show would go perfectly, every detail handled to give the fans the best possible experience. But there you were, caught in your own little world with Jungkook, fighting over something stupid again. Even though you both knew you were hurting, your arguments were spilling over, jeopardizing the work of dozens of people.
Your thoughts were cut short when Jungkook’s hand suddenly wrapped around your arm. You startled, flinching back, but before you could react, he pushed open a door behind him, one you hadn’t even realized was there and pulled you inside.
The room was dark and smelled faintly of dust. Stacks of boxes crowded the corners, instrument cases piled on top of one another, mic stands and speaker crates shoved haphazardly against the walls. It was some kind of storage space, cluttered and shadowy, the kind of place you’d never have noticed if he hadn’t dragged you in. But even in the dimness, you could see him, the sharp outline of his body, the white tank clinging to his torso like a spotlight in the dark.
“Leave me alone. I don’t want to fight,” you said quickly as he let go of your arm, closing the door behind you. The room dipped into deeper darkness.
“You don’t want to fight? Wearing that shirt just to humiliate me?” His voice was low, melodic in anger.
“Jungkook” you huffed, rolling your eyes, but he cut you off.
“You think the sex was bad, huh?” His body pressed against yours before you could stop him, your back hitting the wall with a muted thud.
Your eyes widened as you shoved your palms against his chest, keeping what little distance you could manage.
“This isn’t about the fucking shirt!” You shot back, pushing hard against him, trying to shove him off. He didn’t budge. Didn’t even flinch. “This is about you acting like an asshole who can’t even hit the right notes anymore.” The words came out sharp, like you were spitting them at him.
He laughed. The sound echoed in the dusty storage room, a low, humorless laugh that made your skin crawl.
“God, the small-dick energy, Jungkook. You used to be better than this.” You knew it would piss him off, and maybe you wanted it to. At this point, you didn’t care. Let him get angry. You were past the point of keeping the peace.
The room was claustrophobic. The noise of the backstage crew, shouts, clanging equipment, felt miles away, muffled by the heavy door, and he was so close. Too fucking close. And, what you hated most wasn’t that he was this close, it was that you couldn’t make yourself push him away. Not because you weren’t strong enough, because a part of you didn’t want to.
His laugh cut through, so sharp and mocking.
“I never saw you complain before,” he said, his voice low, as he pressed himself even closer, his hips locking against yours with deliberate force. The heat of him seared through your clothes, and you bit your lower lip hard, stifling the gasp that threatened to spill out.
“Get off me,” you said, the words sharp but brittle, your palms shoving against his chest.
For a split second, he eased back, just enough to let you think you’d won, but then he surged forward again, his hands clamping onto you, fingers digging in with a possessive grip that made your breath hitch.
“Do you really want that?” Jungkook’s voice was a low murmur, his mouth hovering so close you could feel the warmth of his breath, his cologne wrapping around you like a drug. His eyes, glinting in the half-light, locked onto yours.
“I’m fucking done with you,” you hissed, your voice trembling with the effort to hold your ground, your pupils straining against the darkness to catch the mocking spark in his gaze.
“Done with me?” he whispered, his lips grazed yours. His voice dropped lower. “You’re not done with me. You’ll never be.”
Before you could fire back, his lips caught your bottom lip, tugging softly that lasted just long enough to make your pulse stutter. Then, slowly, he stepped back, the sudden absence of his heat leaving you cold.
“Go,” he said, his voice flat, but his eyes burned, locked on yours, daring you to move.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not with Jungkook’s dark eyes pinning you against the wall in that cramped, dusty storage room. You swallowed hard, exhaling slowly, then filled your lungs to meet his gaze head-on, defiance burning in your chest.
“Fuck you,” you spat, voice sharp and commanding, leaning forward, but not to escape, but to crash your body into his, harder this time. Your hands slammed against his chest, but he caught your wrists in a reflex, yanking them up mid-air, pulling you closer until your bodies collided again. His hands released your wrists, sliding down to your waist, the movement hiking up your cropped tee, exposing the bare skin of your waist.
The second your bodies pressed together, your mouths followed, but this wasn’t a kiss, it was a battlefield. Lips crushed against each other, his tongue invading your mouth like he owned it, claiming every inch with hunger. You bit down on his lower lip, tugging at the piercing there, and he growled into your mouth, not pulling back. Your tongue pushed against his, lips moving with raw, angry need. Teeth clashed in the tilt of your heads, no rhythm, no finesse, just pure, messy intensity. It was impossible to tell if it was a fight or who the hell was winning.
His fingers trailed up your spine, rough and possessive, until they tangled in your hair, yanking your head back sharply. The motion broke the kiss with a wet noise, leaving your lips red and swollen, your eyes locked on his, chin tilted defiantly.
“You hate me, don’t you?” Jungkook rasped, his free hand slipping under your shirt. His fingers found your pierced nipple, pinching and twisting it with just enough pressure to make you gasp, the sensitivity sending a jolt straight to your core.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” you shot back, as you arched away from his grip, not to escape, but to challenge him.
He smirked, dark and dangerous, tugging your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts. His large hands squeezed them hard, rough enough to pull a long, unwilling moan from your throat. You hated how it slipped out, how your body betrayed you, but he reveled in it, groaning in approval as he spun you around, slamming your front against the cold metal door. Your cheek pressed against it, his hands bracketing your waist, his body caging you in, his chest flush against your back, his hips grinding into your ass. You felt his hardening cock through his tight jeans.
“I’ll shut my mouth when I’m done reminding you what a lying slut you are,” he hissed in your ear, a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. His lips grazed your earlobe, teeth nipping as his hands gripped your hips.
He smelled of sweat and that familiar cologne, the kind that used to make your head spin, and it was intoxicating now, pulling you under despite yourself. You pressed your lips together tight, swallowing any moan or sound of pleasure that might give him the satisfaction he didn’t deserve. Even as your body, half-surrendered to the way his frame pressed against yours, hot, angry, unyielding, you refused to let him know how much you wanted this. Wanted him.
Jungkook ground his hips harder against your ass, the friction deliberate and maddening, and you arched back into him, your body lifting off the wall despite your resolve. His low groan vibrated through you, a sound you hated yourself for craving. His hands moved to your zipper, yanking it down with quick, rough, peeling your jeans off your hips until they pooled at your thighs.
His right hand splayed across your ass, delivering a sharp slap that echoed in the storage room. You bit your lip hard, refusing to give him the moan he wanted, but then he slapped the other cheek, then the first again, the stinging heat building until a low whimper slipped out. His smug chuckle followed, dripping with satisfaction, and you hated how it made your pussy clench, your frustration spilling out in a sharp sigh, as his fingers traced the waistband of your panties, sliding along the thin strip of fabric between your cheeks.
“A thong?” he murmured, his voice velvety and taunting, tugging the fabric to the side. “Thought you only wore this shit for special occasions. Did you know you’d end up here, getting fucked against a door? Or was this for Yoongi?”
You hadn’t planned it, hadn’t even thought twice. You’d woken up late, grabbed the first thing after your shower, same as that damn sex with you sucks shirt, and rushed to soundcheck. But his talk about Yoongi lit a fire in your veins, sharp and angry, enough to make you shove your hips back and try to twist around, to face him. Jungkook’s grip tightened, keeping you pinned, his body a wall of heat and control.
“You’re pathetic,” you said, straining to catch his eyes over your shoulder, but the dark and awkward angle hid the mocking glint you knew was there.
He laughed, amused, his hand never pausing. It slid to the front of your panties, two fingers rubbing against the fabric, teasing.
“And you talk too much for someone about to get fucked senseless,” he shot back. Without warning, his fingers slipped under the fabric, gliding through your slick folds, already soaked. You sighed, hating how eagerly your body responded. “So fucking wet for me already,” he growled in your ear, his tongue dragging along your neck, leaving a hot, wet trail. You clenched your jaw, but your hips rocked into his touch.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you hissed. “I could get wet for anyone. You’re just here.”
He chuckled, his fingers circling your clit with slow, deliberate pressure.
“This pussy’s dripping because it knows who owns it.” He pushed two fingers inside you, rough and sudden, curling them to hit your g spot.
“You—oh, fuck,” you gasped, as his fingers thrust harder, your eyes squeezing shut as pleasure and pain blurred together.
His other hand gripped the back of your neck, his nose trailing along your throat, inhaling deeply. You let out a louder whimper, his fingers plunging deeper, maybe too rough, because he paused to murmur:
“Does it hurt?” His voice was calm, almost mocking, with the pressure of his fingers against your pelvic bone, the obscene wet sounds of your pussy echoing in that small room. He groaned softly, clearly pleased. You shook your head, biting back another moan, refusing to give him more. “Want it to hurt?” he asked, his tone soft but laced with menace.
You shook your head once more, pride keeping you from admitting the truth, but it wasn’t convincing, not to him, not to yourself. You loved when it hurt, and so did he. How could you hide that from someone who knew your body better than you did? It was fucking impossible, and God, it pissed you off.
Jungkook’s laugh rumbled against your neck, mocking, dripping with that filthy edge that made your skin burn. Fuck. Your pussy clenched around his fingers at the sound, and you felt him smirk, pressing them deeper, grinding against your walls with a slow, deliberate twist that made you see stars. He eased up just enough to circle his fingers fully, groaning low in his throat.
“Fucking liar,” he murmured, his voice with lust. “You’re soaked, clenching around my fingers like you’re starving for it. You want this so bad, don’t you? My cock splitting you open right here.”
You whimpered, his words hitting you right between your legs, sending a fresh wave of heat to your core. God, you hated him, hated how much you needed him, how your body betrayed you with every pulse of arousal.
“Just… shut up and fuck me,” you breathed, your voice raw, the defiance melting under the weight of your need. You didn’t want to fight, not when his fingers were driving you insane, not when his hard cock was pressed against your ass. You were craving it, and there was no hiding it anymore.
He let out a hot puff of air against your neck, making you shiver, and yanked his fingers out abruptly, leaving you empty and aching. You whined, your body screaming at the loss, and he slapped your ass hard, making your pussy clench around fucking nothing.
“Needy slut,” he taunted, tugging your thong down completely, the soaked fabric falling to your ankles. “Already begging for my cock. Thought you were tougher than that, baby.”
“Says the guy who dragged me into this shitty room just to fuck me.”
Jungkook didn’t respond, just let out a wicked chuckle that made your skin prickle. You pressed both palms against the door, your body aching for more, craving the feel of him inside you again, but you refused to beg.
You pushed your hips back, seeking friction, to feel his dick against your ass, but found nothing. Then you heard it, the sharp sound of his zipper coming down, and a mix of desperation and relief flooded you, knowing his cock would soon be buried deep inside you.
His hand tangled in your hair again, yanking your head to the side, pressing your cheek harder against the door. With his free hand, he slid his index and middle fingers along your lips, sudden and unannounced. The musky scent hit you first, you knew these were the fingers that had been inside your pussy. He smeared the tips across your lips, and they parted instinctively, letting him push his fingers into your mouth.
The taste of yourself hit your tongue, almost sweet, you thought, as he shoved his fingers deeper, forcing them down your throat in a rough motion. You gagged slightly, the intrusion sudden and intense, but you didn’t pull back, sucking instead, your tongue swirling around his fingers.
Meanwhile, his other hand released your hair, and as you worked your mouth up and down his fingers, you felt his cock, hard, hot, pulsing, sliding between your ass cheeks, teasing the center. You couldn’t hold back the moan, needy, almost a whimper, slipping out like a plea.
“Fuck, listen to you,” Jungkook said. “Moaning like that while you suck your own taste off my fingers. You love this, don’t you?” His cock pressed harder, sliding through your slick folds, teasing your entrance, the raw heat of him making your core clench with anticipation.
You murmured a curse under your breath, hating how your body betrayed you, responding to him despite every ounce of your resistance. His dirty talk, growled low in your ear, sent shivers down your spine as the tip of his cock teased your entrance, brushing against you, so close to sliding in. It made your defiance feel pointless, almost laughable. But you fought it, pulling your mouth off him with a wet, audible pop, throwing your head back and swallowing hard, your voice rough with arousal.
“Fuck me hard,” you demanded, the words spilling out before you could stop them.
Jungkook’s hand gripped your cheeks, forcing your lips to purse as his fingers pressed into your skin. He leaned in, his cock aligning perfectly with your pussy, his voice a low whisper in your ear.
“Open that fucking mouth.” You squeezed your eyes shut, too far gone to think straight, obeying without question. You heard the wet sound of him gathering saliva, then felt the warm, slick liquid hit your lower lip, pooling on your tongue. “Swallow,” he ordered. You did, his saliva sliding down your throat without a second thought, the act filthy in a way that made you clench. You opened your mouth again, letting out a shaky breath as he murmured, “Good girl.”
“Goddamn it, just fuck me already,” you snapped, exasperated by his teasing, his voice, his everything. You loved the way he talked, the way your body reacted, or at least you used to. Jungkook always knew exactly what to say to drive you crazy, to make you lose yourself completely, but right now, his voice pissed you off. You didn’t need his words, his smugness, his presence, just his cock, nothing else.
He didn’t make you ask again. With one hard thrust, he pushed into you, stretching you wide, filling you completely. You gasped, a loud, desperate moan escaping as your eyes squeezed shut, your walls clenching around him, adjusting to his size. Your body had missed this, missed him, no matter how much you hated admitting it. You rolled your hips deliberately, matching his rhythm as he moved, his hands sliding to your hips, gripping the bones to hold you steady. His low, throaty groans vibrated against your skin, syncing with each deep thrust.
It had been so long since you’d fucked, since the breakup, since him. Your vibrator could never compare, no matter how self-sufficient you prided yourself on being. Jungkook was Jungkook, and he knew exactly how to fuck you.
He rested his chin between your shoulder and neck, his lips brushing your ear, his moans soft but raw at the same time. His breath was hot, making you moan louder, your voice melodic and needy in a way you despised. You tried to control it, to bite back the sounds, but it was useless, your body was his, and it always had been.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” his voice thick with lust, his hips snapping harder, the cases next to your left, rattling with each thrust. “So fucking tight, like you were made for me. You love this, don’t you? Love how I fuck you raw, how I make you scream.”
“Jungkook,” you gasped, your fingers digging into the cold metal of the door, your body trembling as he hit your g spot again, with his dick now, over and over.
For a moment, you wanted to turn around, to claw at his muscled back, to mark his skin, to leave proof of this on him. The plasure, the hate. But you couldn’t face him, couldn’t bear to see his parted lips, his dark eyes, the way his teeth caught his lip piercing in the dim light. Even in the near-darkness of the storage room, you didn’t want to risk meeting his gaze, didn’t want to see the intensity in his eyes as he fucked you.
“Don—don’t stop,” you pleaded, your voice breaking.
“Stop?” He laughed, his tongue flicking against your earlobe, “Not a fucking chance.” His hands slid to your ass, gripping tight, his body grinding against yours, driving himself deeper with every thrust, hitting so deep it felt like he was carving himself into you.
His lips trailed down your neck, and you opened your eyes, seeing only the shadowed outlines of equipment cases and the flex of his shoulders behind you. Your breath came in heavy pants, his lip piercing grazing your skin as he sucked hard on your pulse point, the pressure painful. You hissed, almost jerking away, but he held you firm, his teeth grazing just enough to sting. He was marking you, claiming you, that fucking bastard, and you hated how it made your body respond, your ass pushing back against him.
You wanted to moan his name, to beg for more, knowing he’d give it to you, harder, deeper, exactly how you needed it. But you bit it back, refusing to give him the satisfaction, even as your walls clenched tight around him, feeling every inch, every vein, his cock pulsing inside you. Fuck. You hated Jungkook with every fiber of your being, but your body didn’t care, didn’t give a damn about your pride.
You swallowed a moan, then another, your lips pressed tight as he slowed his thrusts deliberately, going deeper, so deep it felt like he was trying to bury himself in you. His hips slammed against yours, the force drawing a small, involuntary whimper from your lips. You felt his smirk against your skin as he repeated the motion, quick and brutal, like he wanted you’d feel him for days.
Jungkook groaned low, long as he tugged your hair again, hard enough to tilt your head back. His grip loosened only to slide his hand down to your throat, his long fingers wrapping around your neck, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. God, you really hated how his touch set you on fire, hated how you craved it. You slapped a hand over your mouth, desperate to muffle the sounds he was pulling from you, but he tightened his grip on your throat, his fingertips pressing into your larynx.
“Trying to be a quiet slut now?” he taunted, his hips stilling, his cock buried deep inside you, a torturous pause. “You used to not give a fuck who heard you, baby. What’s wrong? Scared the crew’s gonna know you’re getting fucked by me in here, right after we fought? Scared they’ll know you can’t live without my cock?”
You whimpered, the sound pathetic and needy. Your hand fell from your mouth, your body trembling as he started moving again, slow, deliberate thrusts that made your knees buckle.
“Fuck you,” you managed, but it was weak, barely audible, your voice shaking with the effort to hold back.
He laughed, filthy, as he thrust harder.
“Oh, I’m fucking you. And you love it. Look at you, taking me so well.” His hand on your throat tightened just enough to make your head spin, the pressure mixing with the pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge.
His free hand slid between your thighs, the frantic collision of your hips, finding your clit, swollen, sensitive, and aching. His fingers circled it once more, rough, and you, moaning loud, not caring anymore. You weren’t going to last much longer, and neither was he. His groans had shifted from angry, dense, and guttural, almost high-pitched, needy and desperate. You knew that sound, knew the way his thrusts grew faster, his cock barely pulling out, too fast to hold back.
His movements were sloppy but precise, enough to make your eyes roll back, his hand still on your throat, the other rubbing your clit without any real pattern, just raw, chaotic pressure.
Before you could register it, Jungkook’s lips were on your neck again, this time on the other side, sucking hard, leaving another stinging mark until the sharp pull of his mouth made you grunt. Your hand shot to his thigh, and, with nowhere else to grip, you dug your nails into his skin, harder with each thrust, marking him as fiercely as he marked you.
Your moans mingled with his, unfiltered, his balls slapping against your ass as you felt him release inside you, hot spurts filling you, pushing you over the edge. You gasped, your hips grinding back against him, your walls pulsing desperately around Jungkook’s cock as you came, moaning, grunting, whimpering, completely out of control. The pleasure stretched on, long and overwhelming, your body shaking against the door.
Your mouth was dry, your lips parted and panting, his hands now resting gently on your body, a stark contrast to the brutal thrusts that had left your core burning. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he didn’t pull out, staying buried inside you, his dick still twitching faintly.
Then you felt it, his forehead against your shoulder, his sweat-damp hair brushing your skin, his lips grazing your shoulder in a soft, fleeting touch that felt too intimate, too tender for what this was.
You tugged your shirt back down, shifting slightly, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Maybe he snapped out of it too, coming down from the high, because he finally pulled out, leaving you empty, aching, not just from the absence of his cock, but from the weight of everything that had just happened. You hated him, hated this, yet part of you ached for more, for his arms around you, his lips on yours, soft and loving like they used to be. You didn’t understand why you wanted it, why you craved that old Jungkook, the one who loved you, not this asshole he’d become.
You pulled your panties and jeans back up, still facing the door, refusing to turn and meet his eyes. The rustle of fabric behind you told you he was doing the same, zipping up his jeans in the heavy silence.
“Don’t ever wear that fucking shirt again,” he muttered, his voice low, almost a whisper.
You froze for a moment, your hand on the door handle, the words sinking in, but thn you turned your head slightly, not enough to face him, just enough to let him know you’d heard.
“I’ll think about it,” you said, your voice cool, defiant.
His breath hitched, like he hadn’t expected the pushback, but he didn’t respond. You pushed the door open and slipped out.
saudade — a portuguese word without a true english translation, a profound, melancholic longing for something or someone that is absent, whether in the past, present, or even something that may never return. more than simple nostalgia or missing, saudade carries the bittersweet weight of memory, loss, desire, and love intertwined.
summary: years after the breakup, jungkook spots you from across the room at a wedding he didn’t even know you’d be attending. and there you are: radiant, stunning, as always. a diamond ring gleams on your left ring finger, and your husband stands proudly by your side.
w.c: 7,2k
pairing: idol!jungkook (barely there) x fem!reader
rating: —
genre: exes, pure ANGST
warnings: heartbreak, alcohol, heavy emotions
author’s note: who would’ve thought my first post after years away would be angst instead of smut? 😅 the last time i shared a fully angst one-shot, I got a flood of angry asks, so please, please read this knowing it’s pure angst, no happy ending, just heartbreak. 🥲 honestly, i almost cried while writing it. the inspiration hit out of nowhere, and i just had to pour it all out. ss always, this is a work of fiction, i don’t own BTS. english isn’t my first language, so forgive any mistakes. 🫶🏻✨ leave me your thoughts in the comments, it really means the world to me. 💕
Jungkook saw you the moment you arrived at the wedding.
Your long, wavy hair spilled in dark cascades over your graphite-colored coat, a perfect choice for the end of winter, light enough without being careless. Wine-red lipstick stained your smile, a smile that seemed fixed in place, unwilling to fade. Your almond-shaped nails, painted a deep crimson to match, gleamed subtly in the low light. But what caught his eyes, what gutted him, was the ring. That fucking ring. A silver band with a teardrop diamond at its center, so large he could spot it from across the room, so sharp it felt like it was staring him down.
How many carats was it? Did you even care?
He knew you didn’t.
It had to be Henry’s doing, your husband, show of wealth, of power, of ownership. Jungkook had heard people say Europeans were like that. And Henry, well, he wasn’t a bad man. Successful, yes. A giant in the Western music industry, owner of one of the biggest record labels in the world. Jungkook had once admired him, even interacted with him a few times back then.
But that was before.
Before you married him. Before you left Jungkook behind. Before, when you and Jungkook had still sworn you were each other’s forever. Three years ago.
Now, you stood across the room from him, your back turned, while another man, your man, slipped your coat from your shoulders. His wedding ring, the one you had placed on his hand, gleamed under the lights too.
Beneath the coat, your maroon dress dipped low, revealing your back. The ink of your tattoo trailed down your spine, the same one Jungkook used to kiss, dot by dot, following the path of your freckles with his lips.
Did you still get dressed naked in front of the mirror? He wondered, lifting his glass of whiskey to his lips and swallowing hard. Did you still light your scented candles and go through that careful ritual before going out?
Jungkook hadn’t wanted to be at that wedding, hadn’t even considered the possibility of seeing you there, but it made sense now, Anthony Westwood, the groom, was a music producer, likely tied to Henry through industry threads. Anthony had become a close friend over the past year, working on BTS’s new album, their late-night talks spilling beyond studio walls into something deeper, something personal. It would’ve been rude for Jungkook to skip the event, especially with the rest of the members there, before the U.S. tour kicked off in a week.
You were there, just as he remembered, yet impossibly different.
His stomach twisted. He thought he might be sick. Because then you turned. And the sight hit him like a blade straight to the chest.
The dress draped you perfectly, light, flowing, yet cinched tight at the waist. But what it framed was unmistakable. Your stomach. Rounded, showing.
You were pregnant.
Five months, maybe more. Pregnant with another man’s child.
Jungkook’s fingers tingled, the sensation crawling up his arms and lodging itself in his chest. It felt like his own body was betraying him, like his heart had forgotten how to beat, how to keep him alive. His mouth went dry, his vision white at the edges. The taste of bitterness flooded his throat.
He was dying. He was certain of it.
And yet, you didn’t even see him. Probably couldn’t. Your eyes squinted as you spoke to the blonde woman in front of you, someone who looked far too close, far too familiar. You must have forgotten your contact lenses again. Typical of you.
Jungkook wanted to scream.
Because you had always wanted this. To be a mother. He remembered every conversation about it, what it would be like, what names you would choose, how you’d decorate the nursery, what traditions you’d pass down. And most of all, how he would be your baby daddy.
He thought he might collapse right there, knees to the floor, begging a God he never even knew he had faith in to rip that indescribable pain out of his chest. Right there, in front of all those people celebrating the happiness of a couple about to vow forever, while the love of his life had just been stolen from him completely.
Pregnant.
The word buzzed in his head, a deafening, disorienting noise. Pregnant with Henry’s baby. Another life growing inside you.
It was obscene. Cruel. It felt like a punishment carved into every fiber of Jungkook’s being, into every cell that made him who he was, every part of him you had once touched. Every part that had once belonged to you.
His throat was tight. No one here could possibly understand the panic clawing through him, the way his chest rose and fell too quickly, the way the whiskey glass shook in his hand. He tried to force the liquor down, but his throat refused, burning with both the bitterness of alcohol and of you.
And there you were, glowing in that devastating way only pregnant women do, carrying proof of a future that had erased him entirely.
When he finally managed to swallow the whiskey, it scorched all the way down. God, it burned.
His jaw tightened as he stared at you, a thousand memories bleeding into the sight before him. His stomach lurched, nausea rising sharp and merciless at the thought of Henry’s hands on you, of Henry’s child inside you. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, forcing himself to hold it together, but the truth was merciless.
You weren’t his anymore. And you never would be again. Still, he couldn’t stop watching you.
Because some part of him, a pathetic, broken part, was waiting. Waiting for you to look up, to notice him standing there. To see him the way you used to. To remember.
But you didn’t.
You only smiled, hand drifting unconsciously to your stomach while the blonde beside you spoke, and Jungkook felt his heart rip itself apart piece by piece.
The people around Jungkook didn’t notice. Or if they did, they chose to ignore the way he looked, strange, hollow, breaking apart from the inside out. No one could ever really know, anyway. No one could survive carrying the knowledge of what it felt like to be him, in his skin, in this moment. No one could endure the truth that he barely remembered how to breathe, let alone how to stand, how to walk, how to keep living.
So he sat through it.
In that vast, glittering hall, all open glass and polished marble, everyone gathered to celebrate a wedding that had little to do with him. People clapped, people smiled, people cried into silk handkerchiefs while vows were spoken. And Jungkook dissociated just enough to get through it. The ceremony passed like smoke, like something unreal. He couldn’t hold onto a single word.
And maybe that was better. Because in that moment, the last thing he wanted was anything to do with love stories.
Instead, he sat there with nothing but a vacant stare, an empty glass of whiskey, and the unbearable need to avoid your face, while you sat only a few rows ahead of him. He could still see you in profile, the curve of your cheek, your smile gentle as you leaned toward someone speaking to you. Your hand rested protectively on your stomach, as though guarding the life that grew inside you.
Every time his eyes landed on that gesture, on that stomach, he had to look away. He stared into the hollow of his glass. He stared out the tall windows at the mountains, capped with soft snow, ancient and indifferent. He stared up at the ceiling, dripping with flowers, roses, lilies, hydrangeas, so many blooms he couldn’t begin to count them. Crimson petals here and there. White orchids, too.
And he wondered, were orchids still your favorite?Or had that changed too, like everything else?
Had you married Henry on a beach, the way you once swore you wanted to?
He didn’t know. He realized, with a bitter twist, that he didn’t know anything about your life anymore. You had always been private, your social media locked down, your circle impossibly small. After the breakup, you vanished from Korea, completely.
Had you gone to Europe with Henry? That would make sense. His empire was there, his influence vast. And yet, Jungkook refused to believe you had not returned home just for Henry. That wasn’t you. You had always longed for home, for your parents, for the comfort of the familiar.
But facts were crueler than dreams. The truth was simple.
You were in New York. And Jungkook was in New York. The same city, the same room, for the first time in four years.
And it was suffocating him more than he ever thought possible. Pregnant, married, untouchable.
Still, he couldn’t stop. His eyes sought you even as he forced himself to look away. And then, for a single fleeting second, it happened.
You turned. Over your shoulder, your gaze caught his.
It was so quick it could have been nothing, just a trick of light, just a mistake. But it wasn’t. It was there. And on your lips, a small, sad smile.
It destroyed him.
Because it told him everything and nothing all at once. It told him you hadn’t forgotten. That somewhere, buried deep, you remembered too.
Jungkook wanted to leave. If nobody had noticed you before, everyone noticed you now. And they understood why Jungkook had been staring into nothing, looking like he’d just seen a ghost, because he literally had.
The pity in his friends’ eyes was almost tangible, and Jungkook hated it. They liked you. I mean, how could they not? You were undeniably charismatic, always bringing life to parties, and you were funny, not in that forced way, but the kind that made people laugh effortlessly. Everyone said you were the perfect match for Jungkook.
And now, someone said something about you that he chose to ignore, sitting at the table assigned to them. Jungkook was grateful you weren’t directly in his line of sight like during the ceremony. Especially because he was forced to stay a little longer for the reception. How rude would it be to fly all the way from Korea to the United States just for this wedding and then leave before midnight?
So, he drank.
That’s when Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi stood up, all three at once, while Jungkook swallowed another sip of whiskey. They spoke, glancing at him, looking somewhat hesitant, somewhat concerned. Jungkook didn’t really know how to describe that look and he didn’t want to.
“We’re gonna go over to…” Jimin started, but didn’t finish. Instead, his eyes shifted toward the table Jungkook knew was yours.
Taehyung cleared his throat, tilting his head to the side, a slow sigh escaping as he bit his lower lip.
“We’re just gonna say hi,” he said, his voice too careful, like he was tiptoeing across a minefield. Yoongi stayed silent, his dark eyes fixed on Jungkook, searching for something, permission, maybe, or a spark of anger. But Jungkook wasn’t angry. He was shattered, pieces of him scattered across the polished floor of the reception hall.
He wanted to beg them not to go, not to walk toward you, not to stir the ashes of a life you’d once shared. Weekends that stretched too long, filled with your laughter, how you’d convinced Jimin to jump into a pool on a rainy Seoul afternoon, your grin so infectious it was almost absurd. How Taehyung would drink too much when you were around, goaded by your teasing challenges, glass after glass until he was stumbling, laughing. How Yoongi, stoic Yoongi, had once cried with you both until dawn after a breakup. You’d been woven into their world, into his world, so tightly it had felt unbreakable. Now, you were a stranger.
But you were happy, weren’t you? Wasn’t that supposed to be enough?
“Go ahead,” Jungkook said, edged with a coldness he didn’t feel. He stared at the empty whiskey glass in his hand, unwilling to meet their eyes.
“You sure?” Jimin asked, searching Jungkook’s face. Jungkook shrugged, forcing himself to look back.
“She’s your friend, isn’t she?” he said, the words hollow. “Or at least she used to be.”
You used to be everything. His, most of all. Now you belonged to someone else, to a life that had erased him, to a man whose ring gleamed on your finger, whose child grew inside you.
Jungkook’s eyes burned with the urge to look, to steal a glance at what was happening at your table, where Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi had gone. But he couldn’t. It would make him look weak, indecisive, like a man clinging to a ghost. But he couldn’t help it. Just one glance, quick and over his shoulder. And there you were, standing, your arms wrapped around Jimin in a hug and Taehyung was next, his grin wide as he pulled you in, you laughed. Henry stood beside you, shaking Yoongi’s hand, his smile polished. Jungkook’s stomach churned, and he snapped his eyes forward.
Namjoon, still at the table, shifted in his seat, his gaze on Jungkook. The rest of the members were scattered, Hoseok and Jin somewhere in the crowd. It was just the two of them now. Namjoon leaned forward.
"You don’t have to stay, you know. You could say it’s jet lag. No one would question it.”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened.
“I’m fine,” he said, lying. He wasn’t fine. He was drowning.
Namjoon tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“You haven’t said a word to her yet. You don’t… want to?”
He fucking wanted to. He forced a shrug again.
“Why would I?” he muttered, but the words felt hollow. He wanted to talk to you, wanted to demand answers, to ask why you’d chosen Henry, why you’d erased him so completely. But he couldn’t. Not when you looked so happy.
“I’ll go say hi to her in a bit,” Namjoon said finally, leaning back in his chair. “But I’m here with you now, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
The sincerity in his voice made Jungkook’s throat tighten. He nodded, grateful for Namjoon’s presence and for the way he didn’t force him to explain. Namjoon’s voice broke the silence again, softer now.
“Seeing her with her husband, happily married” he gestured toward your table, “was it worse in person?”
Jungkook’s breath caught, his fingers twitching against the table. He wanted to laugh, bitterly, but all that came out was a low sound.
“It’s not about her being married.”
Namjoon’s eyes softened, and Jungkook hated it, hated the understanding there, the quiet acknowledgment. It wasn’t the ring on your finger or the vows you’d taken with Henry that broke him. It was the life growing inside you, the future you’d built without him, the dreams you’d once whispered to him. Those were the things that cut deepest, that carved something into his bones, a longing so profound it felt like it might never fade.
He glanced at your table again, against his better judgment, and saw you laughing, your hand resting on Taehyung’s arm as he told some story. Henry was there, his arm around your waist, his smile almost possessive. Jungkook’s heart twisted, and he forced his eyes away, back to the table, to Namjoon.
“She’s happy,” he said, more to himself than to Namjoon. “That’s what matters, right?”
Namjoon didn’t answer, but his silence was enough.
Jin and Hobi returned to the table, pulling Jungkook from his thoughts and shattering the quiet comfort of Namjoon’s presence. It was a relief, in a way, to focus on something other than you. Other than whether you’d shared the name of your baby with his friends. What would you and Henry name your baby? Jungkook knew the names you’d once dreamed of for the children you’d planned with him. You’d never agreed on names. You loved Sophia or Sienna. He preferred Hayoon, Seoyoon. You’d argued they should work in both your worlds, but consensus was never reached. Still, you’d settled on a placeholder for the daughter you imagined, calling her Sunray. He couldn’t even recall how it started, that silly name. It was never meant to be official. You’d promised to decide together.
But that future never came.
The ache of it, that feeling, a longing for a life that slipped away, clawed at him. He forced a smile as Jin said a joke.
By that point, he was already convinced you hadn’t looked back at him once. Not a single glance.
Aa the night progresses, he drank too much, too fast. The alcohol was burning through his veins when he finally got up, head down, the party hall spun just enough for him to need to lean on the chair he had been sitting in before.
“Everything okay?” Hoseok asked, his eyes resting on Jungkook.
“Just the whiskey hitting,” he murmured as he turned on his heels to walk toward the bathroom straight ahead, which meant he wouldn’t even have to pass by his table.
He made his way through the crowd, a few people greeted him from a distance, and he tried his best not to stumble along the way, which worked, up to a point, because when he looked straight ahead to know exactly where he was going, he felt someone bump his shoulder. Lightly, nothing much, but when Jungkook looked to the side, his throat went dry.
Henry.
“Sorry, mate” he said in that British accent Jungkook had always thought was cool, but at that moment it made him sick. The color of his eyes was the same as yours, but in a lighter shade. Which made Jungkook think this would be the color of your baby’s eyes, but he hoped the shade would be exactly yours and not Henry’s.
“Oh, it’s you, Jungkook.” He said with the softest voice, almost friendly. He was taller than Jungkook, brown wavy hair pushed back, clean-shaven, broad shoulders. And even with Jungkook’s muscular build, growing even bigger from more frequent gym visits, he felt small next to Henry. But instead of letting that intimidate him in any way, Jungkook squared his shoulders and straightened his posture.
“No problem,” Jungkook muttered, nodding right after, ready to return on his way to the restroom, but Henry wasn’t finished yet.
“Been a while, hasn’t it?” Henry said, his voice a bit husky, and Jungkook hated the sound of it, feeling the alcohol cloud his mind.
“Yes. A long time,” Jungkook forced out, in an English that barely came out, making himself lock eyes with the man’s eyes, though it took a tremendous effort not to look away, not to let the alcohol or the anger or the ache in his chest take over.
Henry flashed a small smile that set Jungkook on edge, one of those victorious ones, the kind that seemed to rub in Jungkook’s face everything he had taken from him.
“Groom’s side?” he asked, and Jungkook simply nodded. “Me too,” Henry said with that same small smile. “Small world.”
“Small world,” Jungkook repeated, forcing the closest thing to a convincing smile he could manage.
“Your group, right? Growing bigger every year, if that’s even possible,” Henry said casually, as if trying to make conversation, or prolong this awkward encounter. But Jungkook was too broken, too hollow, to pretend.
“Yeah.”
As expected, the conversation died. They stared at each other, Henry arching a brow as if waiting for something more, and Jungkook doing the same, unsure of what was expected of him. He tried to sidestep Henry, to escape the presence, but the man spoke again.
“You should come by our table,” Henry said. “She’d love to catch up.”
Catch up.
Jungkook almost laughed bitterly. As if they were old friends who had simply lost touch over the years, not two people who had loved each other for five years, shared dreams that Henry had stolen away.
His stomach churned again, and Jungkook couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey or the thought of standing in front of you, pretending everything was fine.
“Maybe later.” He lied, not even sure how he managed to form a sentence that sounded natural. “I need to go over there now.” Jungkook nodded toward the front and moved away from Henry.
Henry clapped a hand on his shoulder, meant to be friendly, probably, but it felt like fire, searing through his jacket and into his skin.
Jungkook walked away in long strides, heading toward the restroom, his shoulder still burning where Henry had touched him.
Suddenly, he didn’t need to go to the bathroom at all. He needed air. He needed to escape.
But his feet carried him to the restroom anyway.
He didn’t trust himself to make it to the exit without doing something stupid, like running after you or punching Henry in his perfect, smug face.
The bathroom was empty. Jungkook grip his hands on the sink, staring at his reflection. His tie was crooked, hair falling into his eyes, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He looked like a mess, but not nearly as wrecked as he felt inside.
He let the icy water run over his hands, hoping it would do something for him. But it didn’t help.
He splashed water on his face, harder than necessary, then dragged his hands down his cheeks. But it was useless. You were burned into him, permanent, like the ink on your spine. He could still feel the ghost of your skin under his fingertips, the way you used to lean into him, the soft laugh when he kissed just below your ea as you used to like so much.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the sink so hard his knuckles whitened. He forced himself to breathe, to count to ten, to do anything to keep from collapsing right there.
He didn’t know how long he stood like that, but eventually he straightened, wiped his hands and forced himself to leave the bathroom.
As he stepped out of the restroom, he noticed a door to the side with a sign he understood to be an emergency exit. He pressed his palms against it almost abruptly, pushing the door open to leave the party hall. The moment he did, the icy night air hit his face, filling his nostrils and rushing into his lungs like it was the first real breath of oxygen he’d had all night.
He felt, in some way, pathetic, but he loved you too much not to feel that night physically tearing through his insides. He leaned against the cold wall for a moment, trying desperately to stop the tears from spilling down his face. But before he could even think about how to hold them back, the door opened.
You didn’t see him by the door at first, your dress clung to you, shifting slightly in the wind. He quickly wiped away the tears that had fallen involuntarily as you glanced around, until your eyes finally landed on Jungkook. You sighed, your shoulders dropping as you brushed a loose strand of hair from your cheek where it had stuck to your lips. You looked like you felt sorry for him, and he understood that, which, once again, destroyed him, as if there was still something left to break.
The cold bit at Jungkook’s skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill that settled in his chest when he saw you standing there, the curve of your belly and Jungkook’s eyes dropped to it instinctively before he forced them back to your face.
“Jungkook,” you said, your voice low. It was the first time he’d heard you say his name in years, and it hit him.
Jungkook even opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, as if trying to realign his thoughts that had been completely scattered by your voice saying his name, by your presence materializing in front of him. Jungkook shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants, running his tongue across his lips to moisten them, fighting against the urge to ask you a million questions. Instead, all he managed was a simple:
“Hey.”
It sounded casual, just like he wanted it to. You took a small step forward, tilting your head slightly, as if subtly studying him.
“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” you said. Your accent was stronger than he remembered, probably from not speaking Korean for a while, he thought. “And I saw you in there… and coming out here.”
You added that as you stepped closer again, and Jungkook felt the instinct to retreat, but the wall behind his back wouldn’t let him.
“Mm-hm,” he replied simply. It was more of a sound than an actual response because he didn’t even trust himself to speak at that moment. But his eyes, inevitably, dropped again to your pregnant belly, and of course you noticed. How could you not? He hated how impossible it was not to look.
Your hand went instinctively to your belly when you caught his gaze, a soft sigh escaping your lips.
Jungkook said nothing. He looked away, and you sighed again. Then you took more steps, which at first he thought were toward him, but they weren’t. You just moved to stand beside him, leaning against the wall with your hands behind you. You were probably cold in that dress, with its open back and bare shoulders. Jungkook noticed the fine hairs on your arms slightly raised when he glanced at you quickly.
He didn’t dare speak. Neither did you. So, for what felt like an eternity, there was a heavy silence. Jungkook’s eyes stayed glued to his own shoes. He was completely still, but you seemed somehow restless, shifting slightly as if you couldn’t get comfortable. Jungkook figured it was because the situation was unbearably uncomfortable.
He sighed, gathered what little courage he had left, and finally spoke:
“So… what were you doing out here?”
He turned his face toward you, and you did the same, but only briefly, before your gaze wandered off into the distance again.
“I saw you come out here,” you murmured. “And then I noticed you’ve been drinking a lot tonight.”
You let out a soft laugh that vanished like the wind. Jungkook pressed his lips together. There was no denying it and he didn’t want to anyway. He just nodded, his eyes flicking to your face. You looked back at him then, your eyes scanning his features now. He felt it, he was probably even redder than before.
“Believe me, if I could drink right now, I’d be drinking too.” Your words were meant to be a joke, to ease the tension, but they landed like a stone in Jungkook’s chest. He didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile.
Why? Why would you need to drink? He wanted to demand to know why you’d say something like that when he was the one losing everything, the one watching his entire world slip through his fingers while you stood there, glowing, whole, with a life that didn’t include him. But he didn’t ask. He just stared at you, his heart pounding.
You shifted slightly again, your body adjusting your weight, but he noticed it again. His eyes dropped to your stomach, and he realized it wasn’t just you being restless, it was the baby.
He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Is… is the baby moving?” he asked, so low you couldn’t quite hear it.
You nodded, your smile softening, your hand drifting to your belly again.
“Yeah,” you said, your voice almost proud. “It’s a boy. He’s been moving a lot today. I ate some chocolate earlier, and he always gets all worked up when I do.” You laughed again.
A boy.
A strange sense of relief hit his chest. Because he knew how much you had always wanted to be a mother and your dream had always been to have a little girl. You always talked about girls, about how there would be two of them, with Jungkook’s eyes, those doe eyes you always said you loved. The smile, you wanted it to be Jungkook’s smile. You didn’t really care about the nose, you always said.
But knowing that Henry’s child was a boy somehow, in a stupid and irrational way, eased him. Even though Jungkook had always said he wanted a boy too. Still, the relief was undeniable and nowhere near reasonable, but he wanted to hold on to it now.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
“That’s…” he started, his voice faltering. “That’s… congratulations.”
You nodded, your smile fading just a little.
“Thank you,” you said quietly, your hand still moving in small circles over your stomach. You shifted again, and Jungkook couldn’t help but watch.
“Do you… want to feel him?” you asked, your voice hesitant, like you weren’t sure if you were offering too much and crossing a line. Jungkook froze, his breath catching. His eyes flicked to your stomach, then back to your face, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he could handle it. The idea of touching you, of feeling the life you were carrying, was too much and too painful. But he couldn’t say no. Before he could stop, his hand left his pocket.
You stepped closer, turning to face him fully, and Jungkook’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might break. You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his.
Your smaller hand rested on the back of Jungkook’s tattooed one, then guided it to meet your other hand, which was icy cold. Your wedding ring was on full display, and it felt like it burned against his skin with that touch. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore.
At the same time, your hand seemed to fit perfectly in his, yet felt far too heavy, like it didn’t belong there anymore. But you guided his hand down to your belly, right over the lower part, gently pressing his palm against it. Your eyes stayed on your hands as Jungkook looked at you. Your features still soft, like barely any time had passed.
And then Jungkook felt it, beneath his hand, a tiny kick. It stole the air from his lungs and maybe even a laugh, one he didn’t control and didn’t even know how it escaped. But you laughed too.
Only it wasn’t really a laugh that Jungkook let out, instead, a stubborn tear slipped down his cheek.
He didn’t want you to see, which is why he turned his face, but you were faster and looked at him, your smile disappeared instantly. Your hands fell from on top of his onto your stomach, but his hand lingered there a moment longer, until you spoke.
“Jungkook…” Your voice wasn’t just filled with concern, there was something bordering on guilt. “I… I…” You started to stammer, and Jungkook pulled his hand away, almost abruptly, making the removal of his hand from your stomach feel like the loss of a connection.
“Don't,” he murmured, bringing his hand to his face, but a single tear fell from the other side of the face he was wiping. It was the alcohol, but not just that, obviously. “Don’t say anything.” Jungkook wiped his face fully and tucked his hand back into his pocket, fighting to keep you from seeing how shaky it really was.
You sighed, opened your mouth, drew in a breath. Jungkook could hear you, but could barely meet your eyes. He cursed those tears, but he couldn’t help them.
“I didn’t mean…” you began, but he looked at you, shaking his head, pulling his hands out of his pockets, leaning forward, and said,
“I said don’t.” He repeated it, not harshly, not coldly, but as if he were begging, desperate.
You nodded slowly. Your arms wrapped around yourself, as if the cold had finally caught up to you, or as if you were realizing coming after him was a mistake, he couldn’t know which. After a few moments, Jungkook finally looked at you. Now, you were twisting your fucking wedding ring around your finger, just as you always did with your regular rings when you were nervous.
“I’m sorry,” you said, in a sigh, meeting Jungkook’s eyes.
“Sorry for what, exactly?” Jungkook let out a laugh he couldn’t hold back, ironic, bitter. “For being happily married and living your dream of becoming a mother?” He rolled his eyes, unintentionally, but couldn’t help it.
“I don’t know,” you admitted softly, and Jungkook let out a nasal laugh and turned his face, resting his head against the wall.
“Don’t do that.” Your voice was firm now, making Jungkook lift his head to look at you. Your arms hung loosely at his sides, but your eyes were sharp. “Don’t start acting like I’m the villain.”
Jungkook let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head.
“No one’s saying that.” His tongue brushed across his lips. “I just didn’t expect to find you here. Pregnant.” He practically spat out the last word.
You put your hands on your hips, tilted your head back, and sighed. Your scent drifted into his nose with the night breeze, sweet and overwhelming and it hit him like it was the first time, even though he had touched you just moments ago. He realized he’d been too nervous to notice it before.
“I didn’t expect to see you either,” you said, your voice sounding almost fragile. “I didn’t think...” You had to clear your throat, and Jungkook’s brow arched. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”
“Feel like what?” Jungkook asked, his tone bordering on a growl, not out of anger, but desperation. He wanted to know what it meant, what you being there meant. He was unraveling, while you stood in front of him so composed it felt like a cruel joke. As if he was nothing more than a threat to your perfect future.
You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek, inhaling deeply before meeting his eyes again.
“Like… like seeing you would hurt me.” Another sigh escaped you. “I kind of had to come after you...I wouldn’t have been able to take it if I didn’t.” Your voice broke, tears brimming in your eyes. As you rolled them upward, a few slipped free, and you wiped them away quickly. “The hormones,” you gestured vaguely in circles around your stomach.
Jungkook scoffed, scratching the tip of his nose.
“How can you say that when you’ve got everything you ever wanted, huh?” He leaned closer, stepping toward you this time. “You’re so fucking unfair.” His voice cracked into anger. “You’re pregnant with another guy’s baby!” The words came out louder, rawer.
You covered your face with your hands, sniffling as you turned away.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have come after you,” you whispered, stepping back. “This was a mistake.”
“Do you love him?” Jungkook demanded, no hesitation, his eyes burning into yours like he could force the truth out of you.
“I do.” The answer fell quickly, your tears spilling faster, streaking down your face without resistance.
“Do you love him the way you loved me?” Jungkook’s voice echoed again, low and devastating. He hadn’t even processed your first answer yet, because this was the only question that really mattered. "Love him more than you loved me?"
Your voice trembled, disbelief etched across your face.
“You’re really standing there asking me that?” The words came out sharp, laced with anger.
Jungkook felt it like a blade cutting straight through him. His mouth opened, he wanted to take the words back, but desperation held him hostage. He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t control the storm tearing through his chest. You turned toward the door, ready to leave, but he lunged forward, his hand closing around your arm, just enough to halt you.
“Wait,” he choked out, his wide eyes glassy with tears that made him look so fucking vulnerable. His voice cracked as it left him. “I just need to know.” His grip loosened, trembling fingers slipping away as if he didn’t have the right to hold you. “Just tell me, do you love him more than you loved me? Or are you gonna stand there and say you never loved me at all?”
The last words broke apart, his voice splintering with a sob. He didn’t even know why he’d said it, he was not in control of himself anymore, why he was cornering you like this. The alcohol, the pain, the unbearable sight of you, so close and yet unreachable, had ripped the filter away from his mouth.
Your eyes widened, disbelief across your face. You blinked, several times, as though you hadn’t heard him right. Then you shook your head, hands dragging down your face, your jaw trembling with rage.
“I cannot believe you’re saying this to me.”
You bit your lip, hard, like to keep your voice from cracking, but the fury burned through every syllable.
“Do you have any idea what I gave up for you?” you snapped, the words slicing clean and sharp now, no hesitation. “I literally moved to the other side of the world, Jungkook. I left my country, my family, my friends, my job. Everything! Everything.” You emphasized the last word, your voice ringing through. “I went to a place where I didn’t even speak the language, where I had to start from nothing, just to be with you. Just to dedicate myself to us. That’s how much I loved you.” Your voice was steel now, your Korean so fluent, so precise, that it cut him deeper than anything else. “I loved you more than I loved myself.” Your eyes were already glossy, but finishing the words broke something open. Tears streamed down your cheeks, unstoppable. You were trembling, crying, unraveling, but your voice still carried, trembling with fury. “And you have the audacity to stand here and ask if I ever loved you? How dare you?”
Jungkook’s heart hammered in his chest like someone was slapping him across the face again and again. He wanted to pull you into his arms, to beg for forgiveness, but the only words that stumbled out of him were low, broken.
“You left me,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You walked away.”
You let out a bitter, hollow laugh, shaking your head as you wiped your face with trembling hands.
“I didn’t leave you, Jungkook. You let me go.” Your voice steadied, gaining power with every word. “You knew how everything changed. You knew what happened when my dad got sick. You knew I had to go back, that I had to be there for him. You knew I had my own dreams, my own expectations, but I kept putting them on hold because I was always waiting, for you! And you? You were always in the studio, on tour, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And I tried to be strong, I tried to be enough, but I was alone. You left me in that apartment, over and over again, waiting for you. And I couldn’t keep waiting forever.”
Jungkook swallowed hard, the lump in his throat like fire. None of this was new. He’d known all of it, but hearing it from your lips now, seeing you, pregnant, married, years later, was like being buried alive.
“I never would’ve asked you to give up your career, Jungkook,” you continued, your voice shaking. “I knew what it meant to you. I never would’ve made you choose. But don’t you dare act like I left first. You let me slip through your fingers long before I walked away.”
Jungkook’s vision blurred, his chest caving in. Because you were right. Because he had let you go without even realizing. Because choosing would’ve meant sacrifice, and he’d been too cowardly to face it.
Your voice cracked again as more tears rolled down your cheeks.
“I loved you, Jungkook. I loved you so much it broke me. I loved you more than I loved myself. And that’s exactly why I had to let go. I had to choose me.”
He wanted to scream, to deny it, but the truth crushed the air out of his lungs. His lips trembled as he whispered the only name he could.
“With Henry.”
You blinked, almost startled by the simplicity of it. Then you shook your head.
“No. With myself,” you said “Henry was just the consequence of that. The first real step forward. But before I loved him, I had to love myself again.”
You stood there, both of you locked in a stare, eyes brimming with tears, faces flushed red, not just from the cold, but from anger, from everything unsaid. Your lips pressed tightly together, trembling, your lashes clumped with tears as you tried to blink them away. Jungkook’s chest ached with regret. Regret for everything he’d said, for letting his pain twist into cruelty, for making you this angry when all he’d wanted was to hold you close.
“I’m going inside,” you announced finally, your voice hoarse but firm.
Jungkook took a step back, his throat tight as he nodded.
“Yeah,” he whispered, barely audible. “I think you should.”
You bit down on your lower lip, nodded once, blinking several times as if to steady yourself. You shifted, giving him space, your hand already on the door.
“Goodbye, Jungkook,” you said softly, before pulling it open and slipping inside. The door shut behind you with a heavy finality.
Jungkook stood frozen. He knew his face was pathetic, swollen, blotchy red, tear-streaked, but he didn’t care. He just wanted every piece of you left inside him to pour out with the tears. The night was brutally cold, the kind of cold that cut through bone, and all of it, the darkness, the silence, the memory of your voice saying goodbye, made the moment unbearable.
He didn’t want to be there anymore. Not at the wedding, not at the party, not standing outside a door you had just closed on him. He couldn’t face the laughter of his friends inside, couldn’t face you, couldn’t face anything anymore.
So he stayed there for what felt like forever, though he couldn’t have said how long it really was, but long enough for his tears to come and come again, long enough for the weight in his chest to press him down until he could barely breathe. He knew it wouldn’t be the last time he cried that night.
But eventually, he pulled himself upright, swiped his sleeve across his face, and forced himself to move. Instead of walking back into the warmth and music, Jungkook turned toward the parking lot, his footsteps heavy against the ground. He fumbled for his phone, opening the app to call a car, his breath misting in the cold as he made himself a silent promise.
saudade — a portuguese word without a true english translation, a profound, melancholic longing for something or someone that is absent, whether in the past, present, or even something that may never return. more than simple nostalgia or missing, saudade carries the bittersweet weight of memory, loss, desire, and love intertwined.
summary: years after the breakup, jungkook spots you from across the room at a wedding he didn’t even know you’d be attending. and there you are: radiant, stunning, as always. a diamond ring gleams on your left ring finger, and your husband stands proudly by your side.
w.c: 7,2k
pairing: idol!jungkook (barely there) x fem!reader
rating: —
genre: exes, pure ANGST
warnings: heartbreak, alcohol, heavy emotions
author’s note: who would’ve thought my first post after years away would be angst instead of smut? 😅 the last time i shared a fully angst one-shot, I got a flood of angry asks, so please, please read this knowing it’s pure angst, no happy ending, just heartbreak. 🥲 honestly, i almost cried while writing it. the inspiration hit out of nowhere, and i just had to pour it all out. ss always, this is a work of fiction, i don’t own BTS. english isn’t my first language, so forgive any mistakes. 🫶🏻✨ leave me your thoughts in the comments, it really means the world to me. 💕
Jungkook saw you the moment you arrived at the wedding.
Your long, wavy hair spilled in dark cascades over your graphite-colored coat, a perfect choice for the end of winter, light enough without being careless. Wine-red lipstick stained your smile, a smile that seemed fixed in place, unwilling to fade. Your almond-shaped nails, painted a deep crimson to match, gleamed subtly in the low light. But what caught his eyes, what gutted him, was the ring. That fucking ring. A silver band with a teardrop diamond at its center, so large he could spot it from across the room, so sharp it felt like it was staring him down.
How many carats was it? Did you even care?
He knew you didn’t.
It had to be Henry’s doing, your husband, show of wealth, of power, of ownership. Jungkook had heard people say Europeans were like that. And Henry, well, he wasn’t a bad man. Successful, yes. A giant in the Western music industry, owner of one of the biggest record labels in the world. Jungkook had once admired him, even interacted with him a few times back then.
But that was before.
Before you married him. Before you left Jungkook behind. Before, when you and Jungkook had still sworn you were each other’s forever. Three years ago.
Now, you stood across the room from him, your back turned, while another man, your man, slipped your coat from your shoulders. His wedding ring, the one you had placed on his hand, gleamed under the lights too.
Beneath the coat, your maroon dress dipped low, revealing your back. The ink of your tattoo trailed down your spine, the same one Jungkook used to kiss, dot by dot, following the path of your freckles with his lips.
Did you still get dressed naked in front of the mirror? He wondered, lifting his glass of whiskey to his lips and swallowing hard. Did you still light your scented candles and go through that careful ritual before going out?
Jungkook hadn’t wanted to be at that wedding, hadn’t even considered the possibility of seeing you there, but it made sense now, Anthony Westwood, the groom, was a music producer, likely tied to Henry through industry threads. Anthony had become a close friend over the past year, working on BTS’s new album, their late-night talks spilling beyond studio walls into something deeper, something personal. It would’ve been rude for Jungkook to skip the event, especially with the rest of the members there, before the U.S. tour kicked off in a week.
You were there, just as he remembered, yet impossibly different.
His stomach twisted. He thought he might be sick. Because then you turned. And the sight hit him like a blade straight to the chest.
The dress draped you perfectly, light, flowing, yet cinched tight at the waist. But what it framed was unmistakable. Your stomach. Rounded, showing.
You were pregnant.
Five months, maybe more. Pregnant with another man’s child.
Jungkook’s fingers tingled, the sensation crawling up his arms and lodging itself in his chest. It felt like his own body was betraying him, like his heart had forgotten how to beat, how to keep him alive. His mouth went dry, his vision white at the edges. The taste of bitterness flooded his throat.
He was dying. He was certain of it.
And yet, you didn’t even see him. Probably couldn’t. Your eyes squinted as you spoke to the blonde woman in front of you, someone who looked far too close, far too familiar. You must have forgotten your contact lenses again. Typical of you.
Jungkook wanted to scream.
Because you had always wanted this. To be a mother. He remembered every conversation about it, what it would be like, what names you would choose, how you’d decorate the nursery, what traditions you’d pass down. And most of all, how he would be your baby daddy.
He thought he might collapse right there, knees to the floor, begging a God he never even knew he had faith in to rip that indescribable pain out of his chest. Right there, in front of all those people celebrating the happiness of a couple about to vow forever, while the love of his life had just been stolen from him completely.
Pregnant.
The word buzzed in his head, a deafening, disorienting noise. Pregnant with Henry’s baby. Another life growing inside you.
It was obscene. Cruel. It felt like a punishment carved into every fiber of Jungkook’s being, into every cell that made him who he was, every part of him you had once touched. Every part that had once belonged to you.
His throat was tight. No one here could possibly understand the panic clawing through him, the way his chest rose and fell too quickly, the way the whiskey glass shook in his hand. He tried to force the liquor down, but his throat refused, burning with both the bitterness of alcohol and of you.
And there you were, glowing in that devastating way only pregnant women do, carrying proof of a future that had erased him entirely.
When he finally managed to swallow the whiskey, it scorched all the way down. God, it burned.
His jaw tightened as he stared at you, a thousand memories bleeding into the sight before him. His stomach lurched, nausea rising sharp and merciless at the thought of Henry’s hands on you, of Henry’s child inside you. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, forcing himself to hold it together, but the truth was merciless.
You weren’t his anymore. And you never would be again. Still, he couldn’t stop watching you.
Because some part of him, a pathetic, broken part, was waiting. Waiting for you to look up, to notice him standing there. To see him the way you used to. To remember.
But you didn’t.
You only smiled, hand drifting unconsciously to your stomach while the blonde beside you spoke, and Jungkook felt his heart rip itself apart piece by piece.
The people around Jungkook didn’t notice. Or if they did, they chose to ignore the way he looked, strange, hollow, breaking apart from the inside out. No one could ever really know, anyway. No one could survive carrying the knowledge of what it felt like to be him, in his skin, in this moment. No one could endure the truth that he barely remembered how to breathe, let alone how to stand, how to walk, how to keep living.
So he sat through it.
In that vast, glittering hall, all open glass and polished marble, everyone gathered to celebrate a wedding that had little to do with him. People clapped, people smiled, people cried into silk handkerchiefs while vows were spoken. And Jungkook dissociated just enough to get through it. The ceremony passed like smoke, like something unreal. He couldn’t hold onto a single word.
And maybe that was better. Because in that moment, the last thing he wanted was anything to do with love stories.
Instead, he sat there with nothing but a vacant stare, an empty glass of whiskey, and the unbearable need to avoid your face, while you sat only a few rows ahead of him. He could still see you in profile, the curve of your cheek, your smile gentle as you leaned toward someone speaking to you. Your hand rested protectively on your stomach, as though guarding the life that grew inside you.
Every time his eyes landed on that gesture, on that stomach, he had to look away. He stared into the hollow of his glass. He stared out the tall windows at the mountains, capped with soft snow, ancient and indifferent. He stared up at the ceiling, dripping with flowers, roses, lilies, hydrangeas, so many blooms he couldn’t begin to count them. Crimson petals here and there. White orchids, too.
And he wondered, were orchids still your favorite?Or had that changed too, like everything else?
Had you married Henry on a beach, the way you once swore you wanted to?
He didn’t know. He realized, with a bitter twist, that he didn’t know anything about your life anymore. You had always been private, your social media locked down, your circle impossibly small. After the breakup, you vanished from Korea, completely.
Had you gone to Europe with Henry? That would make sense. His empire was there, his influence vast. And yet, Jungkook refused to believe you had not returned home just for Henry. That wasn’t you. You had always longed for home, for your parents, for the comfort of the familiar.
But facts were crueler than dreams. The truth was simple.
You were in New York. And Jungkook was in New York. The same city, the same room, for the first time in four years.
And it was suffocating him more than he ever thought possible. Pregnant, married, untouchable.
Still, he couldn’t stop. His eyes sought you even as he forced himself to look away. And then, for a single fleeting second, it happened.
You turned. Over your shoulder, your gaze caught his.
It was so quick it could have been nothing, just a trick of light, just a mistake. But it wasn’t. It was there. And on your lips, a small, sad smile.
It destroyed him.
Because it told him everything and nothing all at once. It told him you hadn’t forgotten. That somewhere, buried deep, you remembered too.
Jungkook wanted to leave. If nobody had noticed you before, everyone noticed you now. And they understood why Jungkook had been staring into nothing, looking like he’d just seen a ghost, because he literally had.
The pity in his friends’ eyes was almost tangible, and Jungkook hated it. They liked you. I mean, how could they not? You were undeniably charismatic, always bringing life to parties, and you were funny, not in that forced way, but the kind that made people laugh effortlessly. Everyone said you were the perfect match for Jungkook.
And now, someone said something about you that he chose to ignore, sitting at the table assigned to them. Jungkook was grateful you weren’t directly in his line of sight like during the ceremony. Especially because he was forced to stay a little longer for the reception. How rude would it be to fly all the way from Korea to the United States just for this wedding and then leave before midnight?
So, he drank.
That’s when Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi stood up, all three at once, while Jungkook swallowed another sip of whiskey. They spoke, glancing at him, looking somewhat hesitant, somewhat concerned. Jungkook didn’t really know how to describe that look and he didn’t want to.
“We’re gonna go over to…” Jimin started, but didn’t finish. Instead, his eyes shifted toward the table Jungkook knew was yours.
Taehyung cleared his throat, tilting his head to the side, a slow sigh escaping as he bit his lower lip.
“We’re just gonna say hi,” he said, his voice too careful, like he was tiptoeing across a minefield. Yoongi stayed silent, his dark eyes fixed on Jungkook, searching for something, permission, maybe, or a spark of anger. But Jungkook wasn’t angry. He was shattered, pieces of him scattered across the polished floor of the reception hall.
He wanted to beg them not to go, not to walk toward you, not to stir the ashes of a life you’d once shared. Weekends that stretched too long, filled with your laughter, how you’d convinced Jimin to jump into a pool on a rainy Seoul afternoon, your grin so infectious it was almost absurd. How Taehyung would drink too much when you were around, goaded by your teasing challenges, glass after glass until he was stumbling, laughing. How Yoongi, stoic Yoongi, had once cried with you both until dawn after a breakup. You’d been woven into their world, into his world, so tightly it had felt unbreakable. Now, you were a stranger.
But you were happy, weren’t you? Wasn’t that supposed to be enough?
“Go ahead,” Jungkook said, edged with a coldness he didn’t feel. He stared at the empty whiskey glass in his hand, unwilling to meet their eyes.
“You sure?” Jimin asked, searching Jungkook’s face. Jungkook shrugged, forcing himself to look back.
“She’s your friend, isn’t she?” he said, the words hollow. “Or at least she used to be.”
You used to be everything. His, most of all. Now you belonged to someone else, to a life that had erased him, to a man whose ring gleamed on your finger, whose child grew inside you.
Jungkook’s eyes burned with the urge to look, to steal a glance at what was happening at your table, where Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi had gone. But he couldn’t. It would make him look weak, indecisive, like a man clinging to a ghost. But he couldn’t help it. Just one glance, quick and over his shoulder. And there you were, standing, your arms wrapped around Jimin in a hug and Taehyung was next, his grin wide as he pulled you in, you laughed. Henry stood beside you, shaking Yoongi’s hand, his smile polished. Jungkook’s stomach churned, and he snapped his eyes forward.
Namjoon, still at the table, shifted in his seat, his gaze on Jungkook. The rest of the members were scattered, Hoseok and Jin somewhere in the crowd. It was just the two of them now. Namjoon leaned forward.
"You don’t have to stay, you know. You could say it’s jet lag. No one would question it.”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened.
“I’m fine,” he said, lying. He wasn’t fine. He was drowning.
Namjoon tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“You haven’t said a word to her yet. You don’t… want to?”
He fucking wanted to. He forced a shrug again.
“Why would I?” he muttered, but the words felt hollow. He wanted to talk to you, wanted to demand answers, to ask why you’d chosen Henry, why you’d erased him so completely. But he couldn’t. Not when you looked so happy.
“I’ll go say hi to her in a bit,” Namjoon said finally, leaning back in his chair. “But I’m here with you now, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
The sincerity in his voice made Jungkook’s throat tighten. He nodded, grateful for Namjoon’s presence and for the way he didn’t force him to explain. Namjoon’s voice broke the silence again, softer now.
“Seeing her with her husband, happily married” he gestured toward your table, “was it worse in person?”
Jungkook’s breath caught, his fingers twitching against the table. He wanted to laugh, bitterly, but all that came out was a low sound.
“It’s not about her being married.”
Namjoon’s eyes softened, and Jungkook hated it, hated the understanding there, the quiet acknowledgment. It wasn’t the ring on your finger or the vows you’d taken with Henry that broke him. It was the life growing inside you, the future you’d built without him, the dreams you’d once whispered to him. Those were the things that cut deepest, that carved something into his bones, a longing so profound it felt like it might never fade.
He glanced at your table again, against his better judgment, and saw you laughing, your hand resting on Taehyung’s arm as he told some story. Henry was there, his arm around your waist, his smile almost possessive. Jungkook’s heart twisted, and he forced his eyes away, back to the table, to Namjoon.
“She’s happy,” he said, more to himself than to Namjoon. “That’s what matters, right?”
Namjoon didn’t answer, but his silence was enough.
Jin and Hobi returned to the table, pulling Jungkook from his thoughts and shattering the quiet comfort of Namjoon’s presence. It was a relief, in a way, to focus on something other than you. Other than whether you’d shared the name of your baby with his friends. What would you and Henry name your baby? Jungkook knew the names you’d once dreamed of for the children you’d planned with him. You’d never agreed on names. You loved Sophia or Sienna. He preferred Hayoon, Seoyoon. You’d argued they should work in both your worlds, but consensus was never reached. Still, you’d settled on a placeholder for the daughter you imagined, calling her Sunray. He couldn’t even recall how it started, that silly name. It was never meant to be official. You’d promised to decide together.
But that future never came.
The ache of it, that feeling, a longing for a life that slipped away, clawed at him. He forced a smile as Jin said a joke.
By that point, he was already convinced you hadn’t looked back at him once. Not a single glance.
Aa the night progresses, he drank too much, too fast. The alcohol was burning through his veins when he finally got up, head down, the party hall spun just enough for him to need to lean on the chair he had been sitting in before.
“Everything okay?” Hoseok asked, his eyes resting on Jungkook.
“Just the whiskey hitting,” he murmured as he turned on his heels to walk toward the bathroom straight ahead, which meant he wouldn’t even have to pass by his table.
He made his way through the crowd, a few people greeted him from a distance, and he tried his best not to stumble along the way, which worked, up to a point, because when he looked straight ahead to know exactly where he was going, he felt someone bump his shoulder. Lightly, nothing much, but when Jungkook looked to the side, his throat went dry.
Henry.
“Sorry, mate” he said in that British accent Jungkook had always thought was cool, but at that moment it made him sick. The color of his eyes was the same as yours, but in a lighter shade. Which made Jungkook think this would be the color of your baby’s eyes, but he hoped the shade would be exactly yours and not Henry’s.
“Oh, it’s you, Jungkook.” He said with the softest voice, almost friendly. He was taller than Jungkook, brown wavy hair pushed back, clean-shaven, broad shoulders. And even with Jungkook’s muscular build, growing even bigger from more frequent gym visits, he felt small next to Henry. But instead of letting that intimidate him in any way, Jungkook squared his shoulders and straightened his posture.
“No problem,” Jungkook muttered, nodding right after, ready to return on his way to the restroom, but Henry wasn’t finished yet.
“Been a while, hasn’t it?” Henry said, his voice a bit husky, and Jungkook hated the sound of it, feeling the alcohol cloud his mind.
“Yes. A long time,” Jungkook forced out, in an English that barely came out, making himself lock eyes with the man’s eyes, though it took a tremendous effort not to look away, not to let the alcohol or the anger or the ache in his chest take over.
Henry flashed a small smile that set Jungkook on edge, one of those victorious ones, the kind that seemed to rub in Jungkook’s face everything he had taken from him.
“Groom’s side?” he asked, and Jungkook simply nodded. “Me too,” Henry said with that same small smile. “Small world.”
“Small world,” Jungkook repeated, forcing the closest thing to a convincing smile he could manage.
“Your group, right? Growing bigger every year, if that’s even possible,” Henry said casually, as if trying to make conversation, or prolong this awkward encounter. But Jungkook was too broken, too hollow, to pretend.
“Yeah.”
As expected, the conversation died. They stared at each other, Henry arching a brow as if waiting for something more, and Jungkook doing the same, unsure of what was expected of him. He tried to sidestep Henry, to escape the presence, but the man spoke again.
“You should come by our table,” Henry said. “She’d love to catch up.”
Catch up.
Jungkook almost laughed bitterly. As if they were old friends who had simply lost touch over the years, not two people who had loved each other for five years, shared dreams that Henry had stolen away.
His stomach churned again, and Jungkook couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey or the thought of standing in front of you, pretending everything was fine.
“Maybe later.” He lied, not even sure how he managed to form a sentence that sounded natural. “I need to go over there now.” Jungkook nodded toward the front and moved away from Henry.
Henry clapped a hand on his shoulder, meant to be friendly, probably, but it felt like fire, searing through his jacket and into his skin.
Jungkook walked away in long strides, heading toward the restroom, his shoulder still burning where Henry had touched him.
Suddenly, he didn’t need to go to the bathroom at all. He needed air. He needed to escape.
But his feet carried him to the restroom anyway.
He didn’t trust himself to make it to the exit without doing something stupid, like running after you or punching Henry in his perfect, smug face.
The bathroom was empty. Jungkook grip his hands on the sink, staring at his reflection. His tie was crooked, hair falling into his eyes, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He looked like a mess, but not nearly as wrecked as he felt inside.
He let the icy water run over his hands, hoping it would do something for him. But it didn’t help.
He splashed water on his face, harder than necessary, then dragged his hands down his cheeks. But it was useless. You were burned into him, permanent, like the ink on your spine. He could still feel the ghost of your skin under his fingertips, the way you used to lean into him, the soft laugh when he kissed just below your ea as you used to like so much.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the sink so hard his knuckles whitened. He forced himself to breathe, to count to ten, to do anything to keep from collapsing right there.
He didn’t know how long he stood like that, but eventually he straightened, wiped his hands and forced himself to leave the bathroom.
As he stepped out of the restroom, he noticed a door to the side with a sign he understood to be an emergency exit. He pressed his palms against it almost abruptly, pushing the door open to leave the party hall. The moment he did, the icy night air hit his face, filling his nostrils and rushing into his lungs like it was the first real breath of oxygen he’d had all night.
He felt, in some way, pathetic, but he loved you too much not to feel that night physically tearing through his insides. He leaned against the cold wall for a moment, trying desperately to stop the tears from spilling down his face. But before he could even think about how to hold them back, the door opened.
You didn’t see him by the door at first, your dress clung to you, shifting slightly in the wind. He quickly wiped away the tears that had fallen involuntarily as you glanced around, until your eyes finally landed on Jungkook. You sighed, your shoulders dropping as you brushed a loose strand of hair from your cheek where it had stuck to your lips. You looked like you felt sorry for him, and he understood that, which, once again, destroyed him, as if there was still something left to break.
The cold bit at Jungkook’s skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill that settled in his chest when he saw you standing there, the curve of your belly and Jungkook’s eyes dropped to it instinctively before he forced them back to your face.
“Jungkook,” you said, your voice low. It was the first time he’d heard you say his name in years, and it hit him.
Jungkook even opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, as if trying to realign his thoughts that had been completely scattered by your voice saying his name, by your presence materializing in front of him. Jungkook shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants, running his tongue across his lips to moisten them, fighting against the urge to ask you a million questions. Instead, all he managed was a simple:
“Hey.”
It sounded casual, just like he wanted it to. You took a small step forward, tilting your head slightly, as if subtly studying him.
“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” you said. Your accent was stronger than he remembered, probably from not speaking Korean for a while, he thought. “And I saw you in there… and coming out here.”
You added that as you stepped closer again, and Jungkook felt the instinct to retreat, but the wall behind his back wouldn’t let him.
“Mm-hm,” he replied simply. It was more of a sound than an actual response because he didn’t even trust himself to speak at that moment. But his eyes, inevitably, dropped again to your pregnant belly, and of course you noticed. How could you not? He hated how impossible it was not to look.
Your hand went instinctively to your belly when you caught his gaze, a soft sigh escaping your lips.
Jungkook said nothing. He looked away, and you sighed again. Then you took more steps, which at first he thought were toward him, but they weren’t. You just moved to stand beside him, leaning against the wall with your hands behind you. You were probably cold in that dress, with its open back and bare shoulders. Jungkook noticed the fine hairs on your arms slightly raised when he glanced at you quickly.
He didn’t dare speak. Neither did you. So, for what felt like an eternity, there was a heavy silence. Jungkook’s eyes stayed glued to his own shoes. He was completely still, but you seemed somehow restless, shifting slightly as if you couldn’t get comfortable. Jungkook figured it was because the situation was unbearably uncomfortable.
He sighed, gathered what little courage he had left, and finally spoke:
“So… what were you doing out here?”
He turned his face toward you, and you did the same, but only briefly, before your gaze wandered off into the distance again.
“I saw you come out here,” you murmured. “And then I noticed you’ve been drinking a lot tonight.”
You let out a soft laugh that vanished like the wind. Jungkook pressed his lips together. There was no denying it and he didn’t want to anyway. He just nodded, his eyes flicking to your face. You looked back at him then, your eyes scanning his features now. He felt it, he was probably even redder than before.
“Believe me, if I could drink right now, I’d be drinking too.” Your words were meant to be a joke, to ease the tension, but they landed like a stone in Jungkook’s chest. He didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile.
Why? Why would you need to drink? He wanted to demand to know why you’d say something like that when he was the one losing everything, the one watching his entire world slip through his fingers while you stood there, glowing, whole, with a life that didn’t include him. But he didn’t ask. He just stared at you, his heart pounding.
You shifted slightly again, your body adjusting your weight, but he noticed it again. His eyes dropped to your stomach, and he realized it wasn’t just you being restless, it was the baby.
He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Is… is the baby moving?” he asked, so low you couldn’t quite hear it.
You nodded, your smile softening, your hand drifting to your belly again.
“Yeah,” you said, your voice almost proud. “It’s a boy. He’s been moving a lot today. I ate some chocolate earlier, and he always gets all worked up when I do.” You laughed again.
A boy.
A strange sense of relief hit his chest. Because he knew how much you had always wanted to be a mother and your dream had always been to have a little girl. You always talked about girls, about how there would be two of them, with Jungkook’s eyes, those doe eyes you always said you loved. The smile, you wanted it to be Jungkook’s smile. You didn’t really care about the nose, you always said.
But knowing that Henry’s child was a boy somehow, in a stupid and irrational way, eased him. Even though Jungkook had always said he wanted a boy too. Still, the relief was undeniable and nowhere near reasonable, but he wanted to hold on to it now.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
“That’s…” he started, his voice faltering. “That’s… congratulations.”
You nodded, your smile fading just a little.
“Thank you,” you said quietly, your hand still moving in small circles over your stomach. You shifted again, and Jungkook couldn’t help but watch.
“Do you… want to feel him?” you asked, your voice hesitant, like you weren’t sure if you were offering too much and crossing a line. Jungkook froze, his breath catching. His eyes flicked to your stomach, then back to your face, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he could handle it. The idea of touching you, of feeling the life you were carrying, was too much and too painful. But he couldn’t say no. Before he could stop, his hand left his pocket.
You stepped closer, turning to face him fully, and Jungkook’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might break. You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his.
Your smaller hand rested on the back of Jungkook’s tattooed one, then guided it to meet your other hand, which was icy cold. Your wedding ring was on full display, and it felt like it burned against his skin with that touch. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore.
At the same time, your hand seemed to fit perfectly in his, yet felt far too heavy, like it didn’t belong there anymore. But you guided his hand down to your belly, right over the lower part, gently pressing his palm against it. Your eyes stayed on your hands as Jungkook looked at you. Your features still soft, like barely any time had passed.
And then Jungkook felt it, beneath his hand, a tiny kick. It stole the air from his lungs and maybe even a laugh, one he didn’t control and didn’t even know how it escaped. But you laughed too.
Only it wasn’t really a laugh that Jungkook let out, instead, a stubborn tear slipped down his cheek.
He didn’t want you to see, which is why he turned his face, but you were faster and looked at him, your smile disappeared instantly. Your hands fell from on top of his onto your stomach, but his hand lingered there a moment longer, until you spoke.
“Jungkook…” Your voice wasn’t just filled with concern, there was something bordering on guilt. “I… I…” You started to stammer, and Jungkook pulled his hand away, almost abruptly, making the removal of his hand from your stomach feel like the loss of a connection.
“Don't,” he murmured, bringing his hand to his face, but a single tear fell from the other side of the face he was wiping. It was the alcohol, but not just that, obviously. “Don’t say anything.” Jungkook wiped his face fully and tucked his hand back into his pocket, fighting to keep you from seeing how shaky it really was.
You sighed, opened your mouth, drew in a breath. Jungkook could hear you, but could barely meet your eyes. He cursed those tears, but he couldn’t help them.
“I didn’t mean…” you began, but he looked at you, shaking his head, pulling his hands out of his pockets, leaning forward, and said,
“I said don’t.” He repeated it, not harshly, not coldly, but as if he were begging, desperate.
You nodded slowly. Your arms wrapped around yourself, as if the cold had finally caught up to you, or as if you were realizing coming after him was a mistake, he couldn’t know which. After a few moments, Jungkook finally looked at you. Now, you were twisting your fucking wedding ring around your finger, just as you always did with your regular rings when you were nervous.
“I’m sorry,” you said, in a sigh, meeting Jungkook’s eyes.
“Sorry for what, exactly?” Jungkook let out a laugh he couldn’t hold back, ironic, bitter. “For being happily married and living your dream of becoming a mother?” He rolled his eyes, unintentionally, but couldn’t help it.
“I don’t know,” you admitted softly, and Jungkook let out a nasal laugh and turned his face, resting his head against the wall.
“Don’t do that.” Your voice was firm now, making Jungkook lift his head to look at you. Your arms hung loosely at his sides, but your eyes were sharp. “Don’t start acting like I’m the villain.”
Jungkook let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head.
“No one’s saying that.” His tongue brushed across his lips. “I just didn’t expect to find you here. Pregnant.” He practically spat out the last word.
You put your hands on your hips, tilted your head back, and sighed. Your scent drifted into his nose with the night breeze, sweet and overwhelming and it hit him like it was the first time, even though he had touched you just moments ago. He realized he’d been too nervous to notice it before.
“I didn’t expect to see you either,” you said, your voice sounding almost fragile. “I didn’t think...” You had to clear your throat, and Jungkook’s brow arched. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”
“Feel like what?” Jungkook asked, his tone bordering on a growl, not out of anger, but desperation. He wanted to know what it meant, what you being there meant. He was unraveling, while you stood in front of him so composed it felt like a cruel joke. As if he was nothing more than a threat to your perfect future.
You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek, inhaling deeply before meeting his eyes again.
“Like… like seeing you would hurt me.” Another sigh escaped you. “I kind of had to come after you...I wouldn’t have been able to take it if I didn’t.” Your voice broke, tears brimming in your eyes. As you rolled them upward, a few slipped free, and you wiped them away quickly. “The hormones,” you gestured vaguely in circles around your stomach.
Jungkook scoffed, scratching the tip of his nose.
“How can you say that when you’ve got everything you ever wanted, huh?” He leaned closer, stepping toward you this time. “You’re so fucking unfair.” His voice cracked into anger. “You’re pregnant with another guy’s baby!” The words came out louder, rawer.
You covered your face with your hands, sniffling as you turned away.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have come after you,” you whispered, stepping back. “This was a mistake.”
“Do you love him?” Jungkook demanded, no hesitation, his eyes burning into yours like he could force the truth out of you.
“I do.” The answer fell quickly, your tears spilling faster, streaking down your face without resistance.
“Do you love him the way you loved me?” Jungkook’s voice echoed again, low and devastating. He hadn’t even processed your first answer yet, because this was the only question that really mattered. "Love him more than you loved me?"
Your voice trembled, disbelief etched across your face.
“You’re really standing there asking me that?” The words came out sharp, laced with anger.
Jungkook felt it like a blade cutting straight through him. His mouth opened, he wanted to take the words back, but desperation held him hostage. He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t control the storm tearing through his chest. You turned toward the door, ready to leave, but he lunged forward, his hand closing around your arm, just enough to halt you.
“Wait,” he choked out, his wide eyes glassy with tears that made him look so fucking vulnerable. His voice cracked as it left him. “I just need to know.” His grip loosened, trembling fingers slipping away as if he didn’t have the right to hold you. “Just tell me, do you love him more than you loved me? Or are you gonna stand there and say you never loved me at all?”
The last words broke apart, his voice splintering with a sob. He didn’t even know why he’d said it, he was not in control of himself anymore, why he was cornering you like this. The alcohol, the pain, the unbearable sight of you, so close and yet unreachable, had ripped the filter away from his mouth.
Your eyes widened, disbelief across your face. You blinked, several times, as though you hadn’t heard him right. Then you shook your head, hands dragging down your face, your jaw trembling with rage.
“I cannot believe you’re saying this to me.”
You bit your lip, hard, like to keep your voice from cracking, but the fury burned through every syllable.
“Do you have any idea what I gave up for you?” you snapped, the words slicing clean and sharp now, no hesitation. “I literally moved to the other side of the world, Jungkook. I left my country, my family, my friends, my job. Everything! Everything.” You emphasized the last word, your voice ringing through. “I went to a place where I didn’t even speak the language, where I had to start from nothing, just to be with you. Just to dedicate myself to us. That’s how much I loved you.” Your voice was steel now, your Korean so fluent, so precise, that it cut him deeper than anything else. “I loved you more than I loved myself.” Your eyes were already glossy, but finishing the words broke something open. Tears streamed down your cheeks, unstoppable. You were trembling, crying, unraveling, but your voice still carried, trembling with fury. “And you have the audacity to stand here and ask if I ever loved you? How dare you?”
Jungkook’s heart hammered in his chest like someone was slapping him across the face again and again. He wanted to pull you into his arms, to beg for forgiveness, but the only words that stumbled out of him were low, broken.
“You left me,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You walked away.”
You let out a bitter, hollow laugh, shaking your head as you wiped your face with trembling hands.
“I didn’t leave you, Jungkook. You let me go.” Your voice steadied, gaining power with every word. “You knew how everything changed. You knew what happened when my dad got sick. You knew I had to go back, that I had to be there for him. You knew I had my own dreams, my own expectations, but I kept putting them on hold because I was always waiting, for you! And you? You were always in the studio, on tour, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And I tried to be strong, I tried to be enough, but I was alone. You left me in that apartment, over and over again, waiting for you. And I couldn’t keep waiting forever.”
Jungkook swallowed hard, the lump in his throat like fire. None of this was new. He’d known all of it, but hearing it from your lips now, seeing you, pregnant, married, years later, was like being buried alive.
“I never would’ve asked you to give up your career, Jungkook,” you continued, your voice shaking. “I knew what it meant to you. I never would’ve made you choose. But don’t you dare act like I left first. You let me slip through your fingers long before I walked away.”
Jungkook’s vision blurred, his chest caving in. Because you were right. Because he had let you go without even realizing. Because choosing would’ve meant sacrifice, and he’d been too cowardly to face it.
Your voice cracked again as more tears rolled down your cheeks.
“I loved you, Jungkook. I loved you so much it broke me. I loved you more than I loved myself. And that’s exactly why I had to let go. I had to choose me.”
He wanted to scream, to deny it, but the truth crushed the air out of his lungs. His lips trembled as he whispered the only name he could.
“With Henry.”
You blinked, almost startled by the simplicity of it. Then you shook your head.
“No. With myself,” you said “Henry was just the consequence of that. The first real step forward. But before I loved him, I had to love myself again.”
You stood there, both of you locked in a stare, eyes brimming with tears, faces flushed red, not just from the cold, but from anger, from everything unsaid. Your lips pressed tightly together, trembling, your lashes clumped with tears as you tried to blink them away. Jungkook’s chest ached with regret. Regret for everything he’d said, for letting his pain twist into cruelty, for making you this angry when all he’d wanted was to hold you close.
“I’m going inside,” you announced finally, your voice hoarse but firm.
Jungkook took a step back, his throat tight as he nodded.
“Yeah,” he whispered, barely audible. “I think you should.”
You bit down on your lower lip, nodded once, blinking several times as if to steady yourself. You shifted, giving him space, your hand already on the door.
“Goodbye, Jungkook,” you said softly, before pulling it open and slipping inside. The door shut behind you with a heavy finality.
Jungkook stood frozen. He knew his face was pathetic, swollen, blotchy red, tear-streaked, but he didn’t care. He just wanted every piece of you left inside him to pour out with the tears. The night was brutally cold, the kind of cold that cut through bone, and all of it, the darkness, the silence, the memory of your voice saying goodbye, made the moment unbearable.
He didn’t want to be there anymore. Not at the wedding, not at the party, not standing outside a door you had just closed on him. He couldn’t face the laughter of his friends inside, couldn’t face you, couldn’t face anything anymore.
So he stayed there for what felt like forever, though he couldn’t have said how long it really was, but long enough for his tears to come and come again, long enough for the weight in his chest to press him down until he could barely breathe. He knew it wouldn’t be the last time he cried that night.
But eventually, he pulled himself upright, swiped his sleeve across his face, and forced himself to move. Instead of walking back into the warmth and music, Jungkook turned toward the parking lot, his footsteps heavy against the ground. He fumbled for his phone, opening the app to call a car, his breath misting in the cold as he made himself a silent promise.
Hiiiii 💕✨ Omg I just wanted to say your stories are INCREDIBLE 😭🔥 You write Jungkook so perfectly 🐰💜 I’m obsessed!!! 🫶🏾 Quick question tho 👀 🫰🏾🫰🏾🫰🏾🫰🏾 do you have any upcoming fics planned? Or maybe a sequel? 😍📖 Literally can’t get enough of your writing, queen 👑✨ Keep slaying!!! 💫💌
you’re adorable for this message, thank you 🥹💌
honestly the oneshot i’m working on got out of hand, was supposed to be pwp but somehow i gave it so much context that now i kinda wanna make it into a whole story lmao. but i know myself, i always struggle to keep writing once i start posting, so i’m trying to be patient before i share anything. writing’s been slow lately (work life is killing me) so we’ll see 🫠
but i think i’ll be posting this oneshot sometime this week since it’s almost done… and if i do expand it, idk, lets see lol 😂
Genre: idol!au, strangers to lovers, romance, one-sided love
Summary: BTS books out a quiet restaurant in Itaewon for a private dinner, owned by a longtime friend. But their peaceful night off is hilariously interrupted when a heartbroken y/n, best friend to the owner’s wife, takes over the karaoke corner with breakup anthems and zero shame. One performance turns into a full emotional concert and Jungkook is captivated. He asks for your number just curious at first. But what starts as a simple text turns into something deeper. It begins with chaotic karaoke but it just might end with a relationship.
Word count: 1639 | chapter 1 out of im not sure yet :))
a/n: as promised, this is the first chapter of story B. Please do tell me what you think so I can decide whether to finish this series or not xD Enjoy this one as much as I did writing it ^^
The restaurant is located at the end of a quiet alleyway in Itaewon, between a vintage bookstore and a flower shop that somehow makes the surrounding area smells like spring even in winter. From the outside, it didn’t look like much. No flashy sign or neon lights. Just a plaque that read Dalbit, and a chalkboard outside the door with the handwritten words:
“Closed to public tonight. Private event. Thank you.”
Inside, however, the energy told a different story. The lights were dimmed just enough to feel cozy without being in the dark. Wood tones, warm lighting, and large glass windows and tall curtains gave the place a modern yet inviting vibe. And in the middle of the restaurant was an unexpected and unmissable karaoke setup complete with a screen, standing microphones, and a stage lighting with ambience that glows according to beat of the songs being played.
And in the middle of stage, there was you. You didn’t know they have arrived, or maybe you did but you were too drunk to care. You stood there on the stage gripping the mic like it just broke your heart as you sing out “Goodbye, Mr. Perfectly Fine”.
BTS didn’t expect it, the voice, the vibe, and certainly not the passion behind every word you sang out. The moment they stepped inside, thinking they would be able to enjoy a private and quiet dinner at their friend’s restaurant, they were greeted with a full on karaoke performance of a Taylor Swift heartbreak anthem being sung with the kind of emotion that made you feel like the singer was either an actress or someone who just had her heart stomped on hours ago.
Their friend and the owner of the place, Jihoon, came rushing out from behind the bar to greet them, “Hey! Sorry, sorry hope that didn’t shock you.” Namjoon blinked still adjusting to the sound, “We thought we were the only ones here?”
“You are,” Jihoon said with an apologetic face, “Technically. I just didn’t have the heart to say no. That’s my wife’s best friend. She got dumped yesterday by some absolute loser and now the five of them are doing this thing of blasting Taylor Swift all night. Something about emotional healing or something.”
Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “He must’ve really been an ass. That voice sounds like a cry for help.” Jihoon chuckled, “Well, they each drank two bottles of soju and at least sang two rounds of that 10 minute version of All Too Well. This is considered pretty mild now.”
The seven of them laughed, and Jungkook’s eyes drifted back to the karaoke stage. You stood there gripping the mic like it was first and your last time to sing on earth, dressing casually with your hair up in a bun and wearing a hoodie too big for your frame and ripped jeans.
“She actually can sing,” Taehyung said almost surprised.
“Do we mind it?” Jihoon asked.
“Not at all,” Seokjin replied with a grin, “This is entertainment.”
They followed Jihoon to their table not far off the centre of the restaurant, plenty of space for seven people and an open view of the karaoke corner, and took their seats.
“She doesn’t sound drunk,” Hoseok observed after a minute. “But she sounds furious,” Namjoon murmured. “It’s tragic actually,” Seokjin chuckled shaking his head.
As they skimmed the menu and called over a server, your song ended, but instead of sitting back to your table, you stayed there, flipping through the tablet to pick another track. Your friends, seated on couches on the left hand side of the stage with drinks in hand, cheering as the first notes of Red played.
Jungkook leaned forward in his chair, his chin resting in his palm as he watched you. “What?” Taehyung asked, nudging him. “Nothing,” Jungkook said.
The server arrived and started writing their orders; bulgogi, kimchi pancakes, seafood stew, and some soju to kick things off. But even after the server left, no one really turned their attention away from the stage. Now you were pacing the tiny karaoke platform, hand gestures as expressive as the notes coming out of your throat.
And Jungkook somehow just couldn’t take his eyes off you.
The food came quickly but no one minded waiting. It helped that you were now singing Back to December, and Jihoon’s wife and your other friend joined you onstage. The three of you were jumping around, screaming lyrics into the mic, and laughing in between lines.
“Okay, they’re kinda iconic,” Jimin admitted taking a sip of soju. “This should be a show, it can be called ‘therapeutic chaos’.” Yoongi glanced at Jungkook, who was still fixated on you. “You okay?” Jungkook blinked. “Huh?” “You’ve been staring at her like she’s a Rubik’s Cube.”
“I just,” He scratched the back of his neck. “Just admit you think she’s pretty,” Seokjin said as he playfully elbowed Jungkook.
“You want her number already?” Taehyung teased. “No,” Jungkook replied too fast suddenly blushing in front of his hyungs. “I just don’t know a lot of people who are not singers that can stand in front of strangers and scream about heartbreak.”
“She’s drunk and doesn’t even know we’re here,” Jin reminded him. “She will eventually,” Jihoon said, walking back over with an extra plate. “Especially if she starts sobbing mid chorus. But you’ll have to pretend you didn’t see.”
“Who broke up with her, anyway?” Jungkook asked curiously. Jihoon grimaced, “Some finance guy. Met him once. Wore boat shoes to every hang out, you know the type.” Jimin nodded slowly, “The worst kind.”
Taehyung leaned over and nudged Jungkook with his elbow, eyes sparkling like he just came up with the greatest idea in the world, “Maybe we should join them.” Jungkook turned to him, brows raised. “What?” “The karaoke. Come on, you saw the setlist they queued, Taylor Swift all night. You know any of her songs?”
Across the table, Namjoon nearly choked on his soju, “You do realize they’re on a Taylor Swift karaoke night right? That’s girls territory. You don’t just join that.” “But we’ve been watching them for like fifteen minutes and she seems cool and chill. Plus she’s drunk” Taehyung said nodding towards you.
Jungkook, already watching you again, “I know august,” he said casually. “It was on repeat everywhere for awhile especially on August.” Taehyung tilted his head, “I know august by heart.” “But you guys are walking into a minefield. One wrong lyric and you’re the villain in their girl group.” Namjoon added while setting down his drink.
“Worse,” said Seokjin. “You become the guy from finance.”
Everyone at the table groaned.
Still Jungkook pushed back his chair, “We’re not finance guys,” he said simply. “And we’re not doing All Too Well (10 Minute Version), we’ll survive.” “Let’s go,” Taehyung grinned as he stands up.
“Try to not get publicly executed,” Namjoon said.
“This is going to be good,” Yoongi leaned back in his seat, watching the two of the youngest of the group walk toward the stage, “I give it five seconds before someone cries.” “Hopefully not Jungkook,” Hoseok said as he laughed.
You just wrapped your eight Taylor Swift song of the night and were trying to select your next song when a voice called out, “You’re doing great!” You blinked up from the karaoke tablet and found yourself face to face with Taehyung and Jungkook, standing just a few feet away.
It wasn’t exactly a surprise, Jihoon warned you BTS would be coming tonight and you have actually seen them before as they attended Jihoon and Dahyun’s wedding, but you did not expect them to actually approach you. You figured they would just stay in their own corner, drinking quietly like celebrities pretending to be normal people.
“Hi,” you said into the mic, your cheeks a little flushed. “I’m drunk. Sorry for the commotion.” You said as you waved clumsily towards their table and the rest of BTS waved back. Hoseok cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “You’re good! Finance bros are assholes anyway!”
You groaned as you turned towards the bar, “JIHOON!” you half yelled into the mic “Did you just air out my laundry to strangers?!” From behind the bar, Jihoon raised both hands like a man caught red handed. “They’re not strangers! They’re my friends!”
“She’s so funny,” Seokjin murmured back at the table sipping his drink. “She’s so gonna regret this in the morning,” Namjoon replied.
Meanwhile, Jungkook stepped closer to the mic. “Can we join you?” Your eyes widened. “Really? You want to join me?” “If you don’t mind,” he shrugs, “We were thinking of singing august?” “Oh my god,” you gasped dramatically, “It’s a duet! Or a three duet? What do you call it when there’s three people?”
“Trio!” Namjoon called out from behind.
“Yes, that!” you said while you point your finger at Namjoon.
“Okay, everyone, please welcome the best trio in Itaewon tonight, me, Jungkook, and Taehyung. We will now be performing august by Taylor Swift. Please clap first. I need the validation,” you turned your head to look at Taehyung and Jungkook before saying, “And they need the support.”
From behind the bar Jihoon shouted “Y/n, you do remember, they are actual performers unlike you.” “No one asked for your opinion, Jihoon,” you shouted back at him.
Jungkook chuckled beside you before leaning in and whisper to Taehyung, “She’s actually adorable.”
Your friends clapped not long after and so did the other members.
Hoseok even gave a whoop of encouragement while Jimin held up his phone to start recording.
“Regret. Regret is going to hit me like a train tomorrow,” you mumbled under your breath with a smile.
Jungkook leaned towards you and whispered,
“Don’t worry. You’re killing it.”
