Bachelor party. Jeon Jungkook is halfway there, halfway gone.
drinks, confusion, sex in the air.
A stripper in his lap.
A moment he doesn’t stop fast enough. And when his fiancée finds out? She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream. She tells him to sit down and talk. Then she shows him exactly where the line is and what it feels like to cross it.
Jungkook twitched the second the words hit him, a sharp little lightning of energy that ran through his shoulders and down his spine, his breath shook out of him in a broken exhale like he has been in the last 30 minutes, his eyes snapped up to her face fast, wide, like he couldn’t help it, like the sound of her voice alone pulled him to attention, he looked overwhelmed already, pupils blown, lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe.
She was killing him. Hadn't she done enough? If she had even a shred of mercy left, now would be the time.
Jungkook grabbed her thighs like he was drowning, like maybe she’d let him hold on, his hands were shaking, they were too slick, too weak slipping against her skin as her warmth soaked into him and made it worse.
Everything smelled like her: sweat, perfume, sex, heavy and cloying in the air, like it was pressing down on his lung, Jungkook swallowed it and it caught in his throat, he couldn’t breathe right either.
He thought it would be over by now. He thought she’d let him rest, that she’d be soft with him, the way he needed, gentle, like a reward,like comfort but she wasn’t and hadn't slowed down a bit even when he thought that's what they needed.
Jungkook didn’t even try to move her dress. Didn’t dare.
She’d taken him past every edge he thought he had, and somehow he was still here trembling, overstimulated, aching in ways that had nothing to do with pleasure.
His breath kept catching, little hitches he couldn’t control every nerve in him begged for stillness, for kindness.
But she just kept going.
And he let her, of course he did.
His whole body throbbed with leftover pleasure, every pulse in his cock felt too strong, too sensitive, sending hot little shocks through him.
Jungkook wanted her mouth on him, he wanted to sink back inside her, he wanted to kiss her stomach and her thighs and her hands, he wanted to beg, he wanted to do anything she told him to do.
None of the words in his head came out right.
“Yn… please,” Jungkook said, voice shredded, his throat felt tight. “I can’t… I still-” His hands pressing her thighs.
Yn drew back just enough to see him, really see him, and something in her face shifted like a switch flipped.
Her eyes went dark, sharp, locked on him with a heat that made his breath skip a beat, Yn inhaled slowly through her nose, deliberate, like she was savoring the wreck she’d made of him, her expression softened, but only at the edges, it was not kindness…
No.
It was hunger.
Predatory and certain.
“Oh, you will,” she said, voice low and steady and that fucking confident smile that made heat coil in his stomach.
Her fingers dragged across his chest, tracing the sweat on his skin, slow enough that he felt every glide of her fingertip when they reached his neck, he swallowed hard, throat bobbing against her touch.
you are killing me, he thought.
She leaned close, her breath warm against his cheek, close enough for him to smell her, Jungkook closed his eyes intoxicated.
“You can fall apart later. Right now, you still belong to me.”
The words didn’t just affect him, it was more than that.
His pulse jumped so hard it almost hurt, his stomach tightened, his cock jerked, leaking again as if responding before he could think and his breath came out in a shaky stutter he couldn’t control.
Yn pushed off his lap and the loss hit him harder than he expected, like her body had been the only thing keeping him grounded and now she was gone and he was left with nothing but the echo of her heat on his skin, he watched her stand and smooth the dress over her hips with slow, careless movements like none of it mattered, like he wasn’t still trembling from her touch, and the fabric stuck damp to her thighs where they were still soaked and the sight of it made his mouth dry up and his hands curl into fists because it wasn’t fair, how easy she made it look, how untouched she seemed while he sat there unraveling.
“Bedroom,” she said again, quiet but firm, the kind of voice that didn’t ask.
Jungkook moved because he had no choice, because that word from her lips was more command than request and his body answered before his mind could catch up, stumbling to his feet, legs shaky, sweatpants dragging around his ankles until he kicked them off in frustration, everything in him burning and tight and wrong because this wasn’t how it was supposed to be, this wasn’t what they were. He is the one who is naturally dominant.
Who owns Yn.
Who takes from Yn.
Who leads Yn to do what he wants.
This extended reversal of power isn't just frustrating, it's unnatural to him. she’d toyed with him, sure, and he’d let her, because it amused him and because it pleased her now she’s pushing too far, holding the power too long, and he's starting to resent the imbalance, not because he can’t handle submission but because this is no longer a game, it's a challenge to his role, his identity, his claim over her. And that’s the tension they both feel at this moment.
and what made it unbearable, what made his body burn and his throat close and his hands ache was how easy it would be to flip this, how every part of him was already begging for it, how his muscles were coiled and ready and screaming to grab her, to pin her, to take back what was his and show her that she was never the one in control no matter how long he let her pretend, that she belonged under him, open and overpowered and ruined in the way only he knew how to do
And he could do it, he could do it right now.
So fast she wouldn’t even have time to look surprised before she was on her back remembering who they were, who he was, but he didn’t, he couldn’t, because if he broke now, if he touched her without the softness she hadn’t given him yet, if he reminded her too soon how easily he could take her apart, she might stop this, she might shut him out, she might say no, and that quiet threat buried under everything was enough to choke him, to chain him, to make him follow with his fists clenched and his jaw tight and his body screaming and still he did nothing yet.
The door closed behind them with a soft, final click.
She leaned back against it, her shoulders relaxed, her arms folding over her chest. The motion made her breasts lift slightly with her breath. Her eyes tracked him slowly from head to toe, quiet and thoughtful, but with a sharpness underneath, like she was deciding exactly what part of him she wanted next.
“Clothes” Yn said cool almost bored “All of them”
the clothes left in question were his underwear, soaked, half down and pathetic, he got rid of it so quick she almost chuckled. His cock stood up against his stomach, flushed dark, heavy, wet at the tip, the thick bead of precum glinted in the low light, Jungkook wanted to stroke it to have some release at this point any breeze was too much, but he waited for her every painful second.
Yn looked at him slowly, letting her gaze travel from his face down his chest, down to where he was hard and leaking for her, she took her sweet time then her lips curved, she sat down at the bed watching him standing there hard and sweaty.
"Get closer"
He moved without thinking, her hand wrapped around his cock right away, no hesitation. Her grip was firm and warm YN squeezed once, slow and controlled, and he let out a deep, shaky groan, his hair falling wild around his face as his head dropped forward for a second.
"Do you have permission to show anyone what belongs to me?" Yn asked, her voice smooth and low. Her nails touched lightly over his balls, the touch delicate but enough to make his breath break in his chest.
Jungkook’s whole body jerked, shame and panic and need tangled together in his face, he wanted to explain himself, he wanted to spill every word in his head to prove he hadn’t done anything wrong, but all that came out was a hoarse, broken mess. "I didnt show-I i didnt-"
She hummed at the sound, the vibration soft, approving then she leaned in and took him into her mouth.
The heat of her lips made his whole body feel so good but it was too much too soon he had to stop his legs from falling, her tongue pressed along the underside of him, slow and slick, and he choked on a breath, his thighs trembled hard and his chest rose like he couldn’t pull enough air in, his hands stayed useless at his sides because he knew he wasn’t allowed to touch her.
But she kept her eyes on him while she worked him deeper, daring him to even think about breaking a rule.
When she popped off him, saliva smeared across her lips, she gave his cock a sharp slap. He gasped, eyes snapping wide.
"That’s not the answer," she said, her voice cool, eyes steady.
He shuddered like she’d hit something in his chest instead of his cock, his voice dropped to a whisper, raw and ashamed "You. You didn't give me permission."
Her smirk widened, slow and pleased "That’s right"
She lowered her head again and rewarded him with a long, devastating suck, her tongue traced circles around him, her hand twisting at the base, dragging a groan out of him so deep it shook his whole torso, again tears pricked the corners of his eyes from the intensity his hips twitched upward, instinct trying to take over, but he forced himself down.
Jungkook was close again too fast, so fast it scared him, his breath hitched and his voice cracked around her name.
And she stopped.
Just stopped.
Her mouth left him with a wet pop, saliva stretching in a thin string from her lips to his flushed tip, his chest heaved like he’d been running, his hands twitched at his sides, his toes curling into the rug, his eyes were glassy and wrecked, desperate for her.
Every nerve in him was screaming for release.
But she didn’t give it.
She didn’t even look like she might.
instead she leaned back against the pillows like she had all the time in the world, like she wasn’t holding him by a thread, the mattress dipping under her weight slow and deliberate, and he couldn’t look away as her dress slid up her hips without resistance, the fabric bunching high and careless until the flushed skin of her thighs was bare and gleaming in the low light, and her chest lifted on a long breath as she spread her legs just enough to make him ache, her fingers gliding down with the kind of ease that told him she’d done this in her head a thousand times before this moment, and the first stroke made her lips part around the softest sigh like it had come straight from her ribs, head tilting back, lashes fluttering slow and heavy like she’d just let something go, and he could hear the faint rustle of fabric, the shift of her body against the sheets, the subtle wet sound of her fingers moving through the slick she’d denied him, and it made his stomach clench so hard it hurt, made his mouth go dry, made him dizzy with how much he wanted to be the one doing it.
"Watch" Yn said, her voice low, caught in a moan.
His jaw locked instantly, he swallowed hard, adam’s apple pushing up and down in a slow, shaky drag.
His eyes were glued to her hand, the movement of her fingers, the slick shine catching the light each time she circled her clit, the wet sound of it filled the quiet room, soft but clear, each stroke sliding, teasing, taunting him, it fed the burn low in his stomach, the one that made his breath come rough.
Then she curled a finger at him "Closer"
Something in him just broke.
That was it, something in him snapped, his breath hitched, his muscles tensed, and all the careful restraint he’d been holding onto slipped out of his hands.
Jungkook lunged forward, grabbing her knees in both hands and forcing them wider, her sharp little gasp barely left her lips before his mouth was on her, his tongue dragged flat and eager over her clit, desperate, hungry, like he had been starving for this.
"Jungkook!" she gasped, the sound caught halfway between a moan and a warning, her hand flew into his hair, fingers curling tight.
Jungkook growled into her, low and messy, the sound vibrating against her, he didn’t lift his head, didn’t hesitate, didn’t give her a single second to pull him away, his tongue flicked fast, circled, pressed, his nose nudged at her as he pushed in deeper, sloppy kisses landing across her folds before he latched back onto her clit, sucking hard enough that her hips jerked.
When he looked up just for a second, just to see her face, he almost broke again because her head was tipped back, mouth parted, lashes low over her eyes like she couldn’t believe him, like she hadn’t expected him to snap, and it wasn’t fear on her face, it wasn’t shock, it was heat, wild and wide and unguarded, and it made something in him snarl, made him push his tongue harder against her like he needed to prove something, needed to drag more of those helpless little sounds out of her until she remembered that he could do this, that he knew how to tear her apart.
Her face twisted, pleasure and irritation mixing fast "I didn’t-ah…tell you-"
He tore his mouth off her just long enough to breathe against her, his voice hoarse and shaking "I don’t care. You need this. And I’m not stopping"
Then he dove back in.
Two fingers slid inside her, fast and sure, curling up hard against her walls, the sound was loud and filthy, his tongue slurped, his chin dripped, it was her slick smeared across his face and down his wrist, she tasted sweet and warm, and he groaned into her like he was drunk on it.
Yn could barely breathe, could barely think, her hand still fisted in his hair but the grip kept slipping, not because she wanted to pull him off but because her fingers were going numb, her whole body fighting between pushing into his mouth and trying to hold still, and she looked down at him through the blur of her lashes and it hit her all at once, how angry he looked, not in a way that scared her but in the way that made her thighs shake harder, jaw tight, brow furrowed, his mouth devoted but his eyes locked on hers like she’d started something she couldn’t stop now, and he looked wrecked, feral, beautiful, like he was giving her everything and also warning her that he was far from done.
Her thighs trembled around his head, her moans climbed higher, thinner, breaking apart, she grabbed his hair and yanked, trying to pull him back, but he only groaned harder, the vibration shooting straight through her.
Jungkook looked up at her, eyes wild and blown wide, lips shiny, and said it right against her clit:
"Make me stop then"
Her whole body shuddered. Heat coiled tight in her stomach, her chest rose sharp and her breaths broke apart into fast, ragged little gasps. His fingers pumped harder, his tongue ruthless, messy, focused only on pulling her straight over the edge. and underneath all of it, beneath the pressure and the noise and the way she felt like she was breaking apart molecule by molecule, there was a thought forming, sharp and breathless and real, she’d pushed him too far, not in a way that made her regret it, but in a way that made her feel it, really feel what it meant to hold him down for too long, because now she wasn’t holding him at all, he was everywhere, mouth and hands and breath and need crashing into her like a wave that didn’t care what it knocked down, and she didn’t want it to stop, not yet, not ever, but the fear curled inside her anyway, that if she gave him an inch more he’d take everything, that can't happen, not yet.
Her head fell back "F-fuck-I’m-"
Then she snapped.
Her fingers twisted in his hair and yanked him off her with a sudden, vicious pull.
The sound Jungkook made when she pulled him away wasn’t clean, wasn’t composed, it was raw and ugly and real, part growl, part wounded whimper, like it had been punched out of him from somewhere deep in his ribs, and his mouth was slick and shining, chin wet, lips swollen from how hard he’d been sucking, pupils blown so wide his eyes looked black, fury and hunger twisted together across his face as he stared up at her, chest heaving, breath catching in fast, shallow bursts like he couldn’t find a rhythm without her.
"Not yet" she said breathless and sharp, voice shaking with restraint even as her nails stayed buried in his scalp like a threat she hadn’t decided whether to follow through on, her chest rising fast, eyes wild, the tremble in her arms belying the command in her voice.
Jungkook’s mouth curled into something that wasn’t a smile, wasn’t safe, just teeth bared in a grin too defiant to be anything but a warning, and his voice came low and rough and shredded:
"You think you can hold me off forever?" it wasn’t a question, not really, it was a promise crouched behind the words, a threat wrapped in velvet, and she felt it like heat, like challenge, like something old and familiar rearing its head in a new, dangerous shape.
Her answer hit like a spark.
"Try me" Yn hissed, her own breath shaking, her eyes fierce and bright as she stared at him down.
For a moment neither of them moved and the silence was alive, thick, stretching between them like a drawn bowstring, the room holding its breath alongside them as if the walls themselves were waiting to see who would break first, their breathing ragged and heavy, crashing uneven in the air between them, sweat sticking to their skin in a sheen of effort and heat, her thighs still glistening where he’d left her soaked, his mouth wet and red from the way he’d devoured her like he couldn’t stop, and the space between them pulsed, tight with friction, her control holding steady and sharp as a blade while his defiance coiled beneath the surface, hot and restless and aching to erupt, and for a breath it felt like balance, a knife edge between surrender and something wilder than either of them had planned for.
"Lay down"
Her command snapped through the air, crisp and final.
Jungkook’s chest heaved once, hard, his mouth glistened, still shiny with her taste, a shiver ran through him from his shoulders down to his stomach, his pupils dark with adrenaline and lust, but he obeyed instantly.
Jungkook lowered himself onto his back, limbs shaking, his arms twitched like he wanted to reach for her but he forced them down, fists curling tight against the sheets, his cock stood up, flushed a deep red, leaking, twitching with every shallow breath.
Yn climbed onto him, the fabric of her dress brushing his thighs as she moved, it was still bunched up around her hips, stubborn, damp, when she sank down onto him, both of them cried out, her sound broke in the middle, sharp and breathless, his ripped out from his throat, hoarse and raw.
"Fuck- " he gasped as his head jerked back, lips parting wide, the veins in his neck strained as if he was fighting the instinct to buck up into her too hard,his eyes squeezed shut for a second, then snapped open, glazed and frantic, locking onto her face like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.
But Jungkook didn’t stay still, he couldn’t, his body was already moving, overflowing with the need to take her deeper.
His hands shot to her hips, gripping hard enough to make her gasp, he dragged her down onto him, thrusting up with sharp, relentless force, the slap of their bodies echoed loud in the room, wet and messy, echoing with every movement.
Yn’s nails dug into his jaw, forcing his face up toward hers "Look at me" she hissed.
Jungkook did, his eyes were wide, pupils dark, sweat dripping down his temples, his lips twisted into the faintest grin, cocky, reckless even as a raw groan tore from him, the look he gave her was defiant.
A dare.
Yn saw the grin and felt herself waver, felt the tension between them stretch to breaking, both of them shaking at the edge of too much, too far, and still, fucking still, she couldn’t give it up, couldn’t let him win, not now, not when she’d held him this long, so she swallowed the tremble in her chest and reminded herself who was in charge, because if one of them had to break, it wouldn’t be her.
Her palm flew before she even realized she’d moved.
The slap cracked across his cheek, loud and sharp.
Jungkook’s head jerked to the side, a red flush immediately spread across his skin.
And he laughed.
A wild, breathless sound tumbled out of him, not mocking…thrilled. Jungkook closed his eyes for a second as if savoring the sting, chest shaking with the force of it.
Yn’s anger just grew. She slapped him again, the other cheek, harder than before.
His eyes snapped open. Dark. Hungry. he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back, his lips parted on a shaky exhale like he’d been waiting for it, his tongue flicked out to wet his lip, he panted hard, chest rising fast.
The dare was right there in his expression. Do it again. See what I do.
Yn lifted her hand.
She never got the chance.
Jungkook surged up like something inside him broke free, he flipped them both in one desperate motion, pinning her beneath him, Yn’s gasp cut off into a sharp inhale as he grabbed her, turning her onto her hands and knees, his breath hit her ear, hot and ragged, then he entered with force.
"Jungkoo—"
Her protest exploded into a scream as he thrust into her, brutal and deep, the wet slap of their bodies filled the room, each thrust hit her hard enough that her arms trembled, shockwaves running up her spine.
"Fuck- fuck-" Jungkook groaned, voice shredded, his sweat dripped from his forehead onto Yn’s back,his mouth hung open on broken gasps as he drove into her without slowing, hips snapping so hard the bedframe rattled.
Yn clawed at the sheets, fingers slipping, her arms shaking, her hair stuck to her cheeks, damp with sweat, every thrust dragged a cry straight from her throat, raw and unfiltered, her body bowed forward under the force of him.
His hand slapped hard against her ass, the sound sharp and mean, and before the sting had even settled, his fingers stayed, clung, digging into the heat he left behind like he couldn’t let go, and she barely moved, barely breathed, too much crashing through her all at once to know what to react to first
He groaned low in his chest, the sound almost animal.
"Mine" Jungkook spanked her again, harder this time "You hear me? Fucking mine"
Her answer was a choked, shaking moan, her face pressed into the sheets, tears pricked her eyes with the intensity of it all.
Jungkook leaned over her, his forehead dropping to her shoulder, his hair was soaked with sweat, sticking to her skin, his voice cracked every time he breathed.
"I love you- I love you so much -Yn- fuck- I-" His words broke apart into guttural groans. Jungkook didn’t stop thrusting, not for a second, his voice strained, raw and desperate "I fucking love you, Yn"
Jungkook’s face twisted like the words hurt, his cheeks flushed deep red, his teeth clenched, his brows drew tight together, his eyes glistened when they caught hers in the corner of her vision.
Desperate, just as much as her.
Yn moans rose with his. Higher. Shakier. The rhythm was brutal, relentless, grinding through her until her voice cracked.
He looked nothing like the man who begged earlier, Yn realized it between one breath and the next, she had never seen him like this.
Abruptly, Jungkook shifted, the movement sharp and fueled by something that felt too intense to hold in. His grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging into her skin, before Yn could catch her breath, he put her onto her back, the change wasn’t clumsy or rushed It was desperate in a way that made heat spark through her chest.
Jungkook slid into her in one smooth, hungry push, settling into missionary, his body hovered over hers for a split second, his shadow falling across her face before he dropped his weight, pressing his chest to hers like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space, her breath punched out of her, she can hear his heart hammering against her sternum, wild and uneven.
Jungkook buried himself impossibly deep, grinding his hips down, each thrust dragging their bodies together in a hot, relentless rhythm, his moans were raw and broken, falling out of him in a way that sounded almost painful and his eyes never left hers, they were blown wide, frantic, like he was searching her face for something he couldn’t name, something he needed more than air.
The tension accumulated in him fast, too fast, his muscles trembled with the strain of holding back, his breathing stuttered against her mouth.
Just as the pressure started to snap inside him, Yn’s hand shot up, grabbing his face hard, she yanked him down until their foreheads slammed together, sweat mixing between them, their noses brushing, her breath hit his lips, hot and sharp.
Her voice was a command "Who do you belong to? Tell me now"
His answer ripped out of him before he could even think, torn from somewhere deep in his chest. "You, Yn only you. Always you. Forever."
The last word barely left his mouth before something inside him gave out.
His hips slammed into her with a force that knocked the breath from both of them, their bodies meeting with a wet slap, slap, slap that echoed in the room.
Jungkook came with a guttural groan, the sound ripped raw from his chest, his voice breaking around her name like he couldn’t hold it in, breath stuttering in ragged gasps as his face twisted with the force of it, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, muscles tight and trembling as he spilled into her, hot and thick, pulse after pulse, and she felt it all, every warm rush filling her deep and slow, her walls clenching around him involuntarily like her body refused to let go, milking him, holding him there, drawing out every last wave of it as he kept releasing and releasing, helpless against it, lost in it, his hands gripping her like she was the only solid thing in the world.
She held his face with both hands, refusing to let him pull away, forcing him to stay close their foreheads stayed pressed together while the aftershocks ripped through him.
Their bodies clung, chests rising unevenly, sweat sliding between them, the room filled with their breathing, louder than the storm slamming against the window outside.
When the intensity finally began to fade, real silence didn’t return, only a thick, charged hush their slick skin stuck together, peeling apart with soft, wet sounds every time he shifted.
Jungkook collapsed halfway on top of her, still inside, trembling all over his breath shook against her neck but even before his lungs steadied, something hot flickered in him again.
Hunger.
His hands moved without thought, roaming her body like he needed to feel every inch, his fingers tugged at the stubborn fabric clinging to her sides.
"I need to see you…" he whispered, his voice was raspy already, a mix of begging and demanding "All of you. Now. Please"
Yn’s lips curved, breathless and proud at how undone he looked, she got up lifted her arms slowly, offering herself up to him.
Jungkook sucked in a shaky breath as he grabbed her dress, pulling it up with a frantic kind of reverence, he bared her inch by inch, drinking in the sight like it hurt him not to look, Yn’s breasts rose with her breath, flushed and soft, her skin glowed with sweat, marked everywhere he had touched her, her thighs quivered open, the sheen between them catching the light.
He ripped the dress the rest of the way off and tossed it aside, not caring where it landed then he sat back on his heels, chest heaving, staring down at her like a starving man who couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He put her back down and his hands slid to her thighs, thumbs pressing gently as he spread her open even wider, his gaze dropped between her legs, he didn’t touch her at first.
He just stared.
Mesmerized.
her entrance twitched, still fluttering from the aftershocks, his release spilled out in creamy streaks, wetting her folds and inner thighs, it was messy, obscene , and he looked at it like it was holy, his eyes softened and burned all at once, awe carving his face into something unguarded and reverent.
He touched her carefully, thumbs spreading her lips wider, watching another thick bead squeeze out of her,his breath hitched, the fascination on his face was so intense it made her cheeks heat , as if he were seeing something forbidden.
He stared,a reverent “ahh…” leaving his lips before he bent down and then, shameless and mischievous, he licked.
A wet slurp echoed, vulgar in the quiet, followed by his groan , deep, guttural, vibrating against her, he licked again, slower this time, dragging his tongue upward with a sound so messy it made Yn gasp, her thighs jerking tight around his shoulders.
The obscene wetness filled her ears: his tongue lapping, his lips smacking faintly as he swallowed. It was unexpected, filthy, but when she looked down, the gleam in his eyes made her body shiver, he licked a third time, more playful than reverent now, ending with a noisy suck at her folds before pulling back with his lips shining, when he glanced up at her, his eyes were glinting with mischief.
“Jungkook…” Yn breathed, half scandalized, half melting.
He only laughed, soft and dizzy, licking his lips noisily like he was tasting a treat he couldn’t resist, the sound of his laugh, husky and boyish at once, filled the room.
He didn’t care how it looked, didn’t care how messy it was,for him, it was devotion.
And then he climbed back up, crawling over her body with a hunger that had gentled into joy, He curled himself around her, chest to chest, one arm sliding under her shoulders to pull her tight against him. His mouth found hers, kissing her deeply, unhurried and sticky with shared breath, and this time he couldn’t stop smiling against her lips.
The kiss was slow, but every few seconds he broke it with a breathless laugh, pressing his forehead to hers, whispering nonsense between kisses. “You’re… fuck… you’re everything.” Another kiss, softer. “I can’t believe-” a laugh, “-that you let me…” another kiss, “God, I’m so happy right now.”
Yn brushed his damp hair back, her own lips curving as his joy turned into hers, he was kissing her sloppily, too happy to care about finesse, but it felt like home.
He whispered it finally, voice low, hoarse with truth: “I feel like I’m home again”
And he stayed wrapped around her, burying his face against her neck, kissing her skin with soft, endless presses of his lips, smiling so wide he couldn’t stop, not even when sleep finally began to tug at him.
Jungkook was completely spent, the moment Yn curled into him, her warmth fitting perfectly beneath his chin, something in him just collapsed, the exhaustion in his limbs dragged him under fast, his hand dropped heavy on her hip, fingers splayed wide in a loose, instinctive claim, like even asleep he needed to keep her close, his breathing slowed, smoothing out into soft, steady pulls of air until a faint little snore threatened at the back of his throat.
The tension he always carried, the tight line between his brows, the sharpness in his jaw melted away as sleep took him, his lips parted slightly,his lashes rested heavy against his cheeks, he looked younger, softer, almost boyish, like the world outside the two of them had disappeared, peeled away piece by piece until only she remained.
Yn hadn’t expected him to fall asleep that fast, not after the fire they had just poured into each other but as soon as she felt the slow, warm rise and fall of his chest against her, she understood and it made her heart soften in her ribs.
She stayed with him like that, watching him. The low light brushed over his skin, catching the sheen of sweat still drying on his temples, his damp hair stuck to his forehead, and she lifted her hand to smooth it back gently, her fingers traced the line of his brow, the relaxed slope of his cheekbone, memorizing every softened detail.
He looked completely undone and completely hers.
She leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, her lips lingering for a heartbeat. A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth at the sight he made, Jungkook, powerful and stubborn and intense, surrendered so easily in her arms, a surrender he never gave to anyone but her.
Eventually, the ache in her muscles made her stand from that position, she slipped quietly from the bed, feet touching the cool floor, her body still humming from everything they had done.
In the bathroom, the soft light revealed the marks he’d left on her: the faint bruises blooming like slow roses on her thighs, the red imprints of his nails at her waist, the faint trace of his teeth along her collarbone. She lifted her fingers to them, brushing lightly, and her skin warmed under the touch,her body hummed again, a mix of sore and want.
She turned on the shower, the hiss filled the room as steam curled up around her, fogging the mirror, the water hit her skin, hot and steady, and she felt the ache in her muscles melt into something softer, something sweet. By the time she stepped out, her mind had quieted.
she tugged one of his shirts over her head, the fabric worn soft and oversized, brushing her elbows and falling loose around her bare legs, and it smelled like him, warm and a little musky, familiar in the way her body always recognized first, like comfort, like home, and she wanted, badly, to crawl back into bed, curl against his chest, breathe him in until her thoughts stopped racing, but the wedding was still a week away and there were lists to finish, calls to make, a thousand tiny things waiting for her attention and she couldn’t afford to let the quiet swallow her completely.
She walked barefoot into the living room, laptop tucked under one arm, a mug of tea warming her hands, the storm outside tapped steadily at the windows, but inside, there was only the gentle click of keys and the occasional soft clink when she set her cup down.
It was fully dark when Jungkook stirred, his eyes snapped open fast, the cold side of the bed hit him all at once, a shock straight to his chest for a moment he couldn’t breathe, he sat up too quickly, sheets tangling around his waist as panic surged sharp and wild through him. His gaze whipped around the dim bedroom, searching, frantic, the leftover stormlight making everything look strange and empty without her beside him.
The room felt wrong without her warmth, wrong in a way that made his stomach drop, he dragged a hand through his hair, fingers trembling, chest rising in fast, uneven bursts.
Then he froze.
There it was, the faint sound of typing down the hall.
Relief crashed into him so hard his shoulders sagged, the tension draining from his body in one long exhale.
Jungkook didn’t stop to think, didn’t even glance at the pile of clothes on the floor,he just moved fast and single‑minded as if the fear of not seeing her again was still clawing at his ribs, he walked out of the bedroom completely naked, not caring in the slightest, his only thought fixed on her,his hair stuck up in wild directions, his chest still flushed from sleep and leftover panic.
He found her curled on the couch, the soft blue glow of the screen lighting her skin, her legs were tucked beneath her, one of his shirts slipping loose across one shoulder, exposing the soft line of her collarbone, her lips were pursed in focus, her brow slightly creased.
The crease disappeared the moment she sensed him.
Jungkook didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to, he crossed the room and collapsed beside her, stretching along the cushions until his head landed in her lap, then the rest of him sprawled out, loose and lazy, like a cat claiming its favorite spot.
Yn startled at the sudden weight, then laughed, soft and fond, she closed the laptop, setting it aside, her fingers moved straight to his hair, brushing through the messy strands. Jungkook let out a warm, low sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted into her touch. She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple.
"Hey," she murmured, smiling. "Why don’t you take a shower? Then we can grab something for dinner."
He hummed, deep and content, but didn’t budge, his cheek pressed deeper into her thigh, his arm wrapped loosely around her knees, for a while, he just stayed there, soaking in her warmth, the faint scent of her tea, the soft storm tapping against the glass of the window.
"Five more minutes" he muttered, voice thick with sleep and happiness.
Yn shook her head, still smiling "You’re impossible"
"Mmm" he mumbled, lips curling even with his eyes closed "But I’m yours"
Her chest warmed, she bent forward and kissed his cheek quickly, catching the tiny smile he tried to hide.
She smoothed her hand through his hair, slow and gentle, for those five minutes, neither of them moved, the room filled with nothing but his soft breathing, the distant tap of the storm.
Finally, Jungkook let out a long groan and pushed himself upright, he stretched, hair falling into his eyes. Still naked, still grinning, he walked toward the bathroom.
Yn watched him go, shaking her head at his shamelessness but her smile stayed, soft and private. This, this was what happiness felt like. Not the ceremony. Not the storm. Not even the sex.
This. His head heavy in her lap. Her hands in his hair. The two of them tucked into the quiet rhythm of an ordinary night.
And the ring, cool against her finger, pressed into her skin like a secret.
the one where you're the ultimate little prankster and your boyfriend doesn't find you very funny
PAIRING toxic au [ rich ! jk x brat gf ! reader ]
GENRE fluff & smut i think [ mdni / 1.3k ]
CONTENT based on this ask, can be read as a standalone, oc does the 'my current bf' tiktok trend on jk and he does not likey, mutually possessive red flag couple btw, cursing, sexual language, brief overview of oc getting absolutely fawked raw at the end, yet another one of my couples makes a sex tape, is god trying to tell me something
A/N hello my angels… this is my formal apology for lying about the toxic 5 drop 😭 i'm saur sorry omfg but she's still on her way, i promise!!!! love you <3
you’re laying in your boyfriend’s bed after a long day, his body curled around you from behind, eyes closed and sleepy after a shower and a couple rounds. tiktok’s open on low volume, your phone resting against the pillow as you scroll aimlessly.
jungkook’s warm chest is pressed to your back, arm draped over your waist, face tucked into your neck like a big baby while he rests in your scent. every so often you giggle at a video you find particularly funny, lifting a hand to scratch his messy hair when he kisses your throat at the sound.
before you both decide to turn in, you take it upon yourself to initiate your little prank, oh so sneakily opening your camera app. “baby,” you whisper sweetly as you start the recording, “we’re gonna do this cute tiktok trend livi sent me.”
he just hums, doesn’t open his eyes. you lift a hand to pat his warm cheek, then tilt your head and kiss it. your eyes flick to the camera, nose scrunching at how hot you two look together.
but then you notice your nipple’s kinda poking out of your bra from when he lazily shoved it back up earlier after sucking on them for a little. oop. you adjust it slightly, aim the camera a bit higher, and keep the recording going.
“hiiii guys,” you bite your lip to stop from laughing at how stupid you sound, “today my current boyfriend and i are going to do the ‘guess what i’m thinking’ challenge-”
you feel him tense behind you before his eyes even open. in the reflection of the screen, his expression is puzzled, but then he blinks and realises you’re filming. so you quickly go into salvage mode, chucking the phone down on the blanket and pretending to struggle.
“oh, fuck.. i don’t- what, um, let me restart, sorry baby-”
jungkook shifts behind you, a frown now forming on his pretty face. “the fuck,” he mumbles, pulling back slightly. “what?”
you shake your head quickly. “baby, i accidentally- i don’t know what that was, uh... i think i saw something earlier… let me just-”
you reach for the phone, but he instanly covers it with his bigger hand. you glance down and see it’s still recording, very pleased and still trying to bite back a giggle.
“current boyfriend?” he repeats incredulously, moving to sit up properly now. the blanket slides down his big, yummy torso, and you almost bite your lip at the delicious sight before remembering the task at hand.
“baby, no, i didn’t- uh- i-” you pull your best fake stutter, and god, it even sounds fake to your ears... but somebody hand you your fucking oscar, because your boyfriend doesn’t seem to recognise that right now.
“current boyfriend.” he laughs under his breath. a low, dark kind of laugh, a delectable mixture of amusement and anger.
he reaches for the phone to delete the video, and that’s when you all but launch forward, grabbing it first and leaning back out of his reach. you’re just trying to keep it recording, but your furious man interprets the action as you attempting to hide your phone from him. and now, he’s fucking pissed.
his jaw locks. “y/n,” he says like he doesnt know your passcode and the passwords to all your socials. “give me your phone.”
you pout, shake your head, turn slightly away from him. you can feel him fuming behind you while you try not to laugh, the edge of the camera still catching his hard face as he glares.
he presses his chest to your back again and reaches for the phone once more causing you to squeal and switch hands, hanging it off the bed like a menace.
“no baby!!! you’re not going through my phone! i just misspoke-”
“i wasn’t even going to,” jungkook spits, scoffing as he grabs your bare stomach and easily drags you right back into his grasp. “but now i fucking am.”
he’s still cussing behind you while you wiggle and giggle like a lunatic, stretching as far as possible with your arm off the bed. he grabs your wrist and now you’re both wrestling, your ass grinding against his very much now-present dick through his briefs while you cling stubbornly to the device.
“give it to me,” he growls. “give me the phone before i fucking smash it, y/n.”
you can’t stop laughing. you know he’s mad - like mad mad - because even when you turn in a last ditch attempt to distraact him by smushing your lips together (which always works...) he barely lets your tongue slide into his mouth for half a second before pulling away. oh how rude.
he flips you onto your back with a scoff and snatches the phone from your hand like its a loaded gun. you grunt into the mattress as you flop over, hair a mess, bralette twisted and boob nearly out again.
he sits back against the headboard with the phone, about to scroll through it like a sexy psycho.
and you know there’s no fucking way you can get it back from him. his strength is fucked. and when he’s mad? unearthly fucked. so you try your final card… because if he deletes it, your entire struggle was for nothing!
“wait, baby!” you cry. “wait, tigerlily!!”
your boyfriend freezes instantly, thumb hovering over the X button before his head turns to you in confusion. you’ve had sex one thousand and fifty-seven times, and you’ve only used your safe word once before.
you exhale when you see the video still intact. “it was a prank, baby...” you say, voice soft as you crawl into his lap.
your bralette is still misaligned and giving him a full show, but you’re too focused on defusing the nuke in his hand. “don’t delete it, pleasee baby. i wanna watch it back. you were so sexy, my love...”
he just shakes his head at you slowly, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek while you gently pull the phone from his grip. once you see it’s still recording, you grin happily and climb over to prop it up against the bedside lamp so you’re both in frame.
then you mount his big, beefy body again, hands sliding up his warm chest. “or...” you whisper sultrily, leaning down to rub your nose against his pretty one, “we could take the video in a different direction?”
his hands come to your ass, gripping both cheeks over your little panties with those inky hands. he’s pulling you against his now half hard length - honestly, jungkook’s default state whenever you guys are in bed - and his eyes haven’t left yours. they’re still searching, still confirming whether or not he believes you.
you hum and brush your pouty lips down his jaw, letting them trail to his neck as your big bratty eyes flit to the camera. “can show them how good my current boyfriend fucks m—”
you don’t quite get to finish your sentence.
your forever boyfriend has you on your back instantly, panties torn off like wrapping paper, his black briefs shoved down just enough to reveal your forever cock.
you grin merrily through the hard fucking in missionary, through the getting flipped onto your tummy and both asscheeks spanked raw while drilled doggystyle, through the cumming twice on his dick before he makes you beg him for his load, punching your abused g-spot with every snap of his big hips.
when he barks at you to tell him who the fuck this pussy belongs to, you cry out his name with a capital J. when he orders you to tell him who the fuck he is - and because you are nothing if not a little brat - you cry out my fucking husband...
you relish in the loud grunt he lets out at your words, savour the hot cum he instantly paints your inner walls with, moan in dazed delight as your greedy pussy sucks up the reward she so desperately yearns for.
and best of all, the recording stays on for the entire thing.
a/n: this is my first jk fic SO BE NICE M’KAY? . . . now pls enjoy
synopsis: out of impulse, jungkook gets his tongue pierced, but totally forgot the part that for the next two weeks he’s not allowed to kiss his adorable, oh so desirable gf.
wc: 15.8k (mind you this was supposed to be 5k at the MOST . . .)
cw include: black fem!reader was in mind when written but picture her anyway you’d like <3, literally porn with a smidge of plot, unprotected sex, needy!reader, even needier!jungkook, lots of nasty kisses, tongue sucking, creampie, squirting, choking, oral both receiving, some biting, so much dirty talk omg, jungkook is a major perv, he uses her panties to masturbate and does . . . other things with them, he eats it through her panties, slow & rough sex, prone bone position, riding, sex in front of a mirror, backshots, spit, body worship, jungkook is so in love . . . whew i think that’s it—oh wait, he eats in while they shower together!
“are you nervous, honey?”
“mmhm?”
the corner your lips lifted into a giggle, gold bracelets on your wrists jangling as you reached over to squeeze your spaced out boyfriends firm bicep. this caught his attention, his doe-like, brown eyes flicking over to meet yours.
“ah, sorry. my mind was elsewhere. what did you say, baby?” jungkook grinned, leaning over until his shoulder was bumping into yours. you wanted to ask him what had his mind so preoccupied, but knowing jungkook, he’d most likely already forgotten.
you let out a low hum, slyly maneuvering your fingers into his lap to interlock with his. “i asked if you were nervous. s’probably gonna hurt getting your tongue pierced.”
jungkook shrugged, “mm . . . not really. if i can handle getting my lip—or even my eyebrow pierced, i think i can handle this. pain will only last a couple days anyway, yeah?”
you were about to answer, but suddenly a voice to your left caught both of your attention.
a bulky man covered in tattoos, and multiple facial piercings approached the two of you, a friendly smile on his face. “which one of you is here for a tongue piercing?”
jungkook gripped your hand softly and stood, bringing you up with him. “that would be me, she’s just here for support,” he gave your hand a tender squeeze, not bothered by the pda he was showing you in the slightest.
that was one of the things you loved about jungkook.
he was never afraid to show his affection for you no matter who happened to be in the room. friends, colleagues, strangers—it didn’t matter who it was. jungkook was still gonna kiss, touch, and hold you to his hearts content. and who were you to even complain about such a thing?
so he held your hand the entire time.
he held your hand while the piercer perfected the placement, while he rinsed his mouth out with a minty mouthwash, and once the needle finally went through his tongue, he held on even tighter.
he preened at your praise, his heart rate increasing tenfold when you whispered a sweet, ‘you’re doing so good, babe!’
jungkook winced as the piercer screwed in the tiny, silver balls on the bar, but you just squeezed his hand in reassurance. before he knew it, he was finished.
“how do you like it? placement okay and everything?” the man had asked, and with three slow blinks, jungkook nodded. the feeling of it in his mouth was foreign, but that was to be expected, and as for the way it looked? he loved it.
“s’great. thank you, thank you so much!”
you watched in complete adoration as your boyfriend admired his fresh piercing in the handheld mirror he was given. those big, brown boba eyes of his were so wide in awe you were sure they’d pop out if his skull. he was too cute.
“here, rinse your mouth with this again,” the piercer instructed jungkook, handing him another small cup of mouthwash. as jungkook swished the liquid in his mouth the man went over a few, simple instructions on how to properly care for the piercing.
“i would recommend soft foods the next couple of days, nothing too spicy or else it’ll get irritated, and this’ll probably be the hardest rule to follow but absolutely no kissing. swapping spit with someone, even your girlfriend, is the quickest way for it to get infected and reject, but other than that you should be good, man.”
jungkooks lips parted then shut. fuck.
the thought of not being able to kiss you whenever and wherever he wanted hadn’t crossed his mind. not even once. fuck. fuck. fuck.
“how—um, h-how long am i gonna have to do all that for?” and as soon as the words ‘ten to fifteen days’ left the piercers mouth, you could see jungkooks shoulders visibly deflate.
how will he ever go over a week without kissing your soft, pretty lips? your cherry gloss was like heroine to him. he loved swiping it off with his tongue, and letting the subtle cherry taste coat his tastebuds. and not to boast, but jungkook was the biggest munch he knew! how on gods green earth is supposed to go a whole fifteen days without tasting your cu—!
“hey, you alright? feeling lightheaded?”
jungkook blinked rapidly, and with a low hum he shook his head no.
“don’t know how i’m gonna go so long without kissing her . . . or eating spicy foods,” he chuckled, throwing his his back so dramatically you didn’t know whether to laugh or scoff.
“please excuse him. now pay this poor man so we can go get you some ice chips for your tongue,” you smirked, linking your arm around his muscular one. he glanced down at you, and fuck. he already wanted to give you a smooch.
you looked so cute in your pink, oversized sweater and miniskirt. not to mention you were trying out a new blush and lip combo that just made you look so sweet, he could’ve ruined you right then and there.
“why don’t you go hangout over there while i pay him, hm? maybe one of those pieces you see will inspire your next tattoo” he spoke lowly in your ear, giving your side a soft squeeze before sending you on your way.
as jungkook talked to the man about his form of payment, you stood to the side, wrapped up in your own little world. you nibbled on your bottom lip, manicured fingers playing with the hem of your skirt as you thought about how much of a pain in the ass jungkook will be for the next two weeks.
your sweet bunny of a boyfriend required physical touch on a daily basis, so to take out such a key part of it left both of you feeling less than thrilled. at least you had a tad of self control, jungkook on the other hand . . . need i say more?
he was the most impulsive person you’ve ever met, not to mention the neediest boy in the fucking world. underneath the leather jackets, tattoos, and piercings—jungkook was as soft as the strawberry crème cakes you made him on a daily when it came to you.
a hand squeezing your hip broke you out of your thoughts, “you ready to go, sugar?”
when you nodded, jungkook laced his tatted fingers with yours, bidding everyone in the shop a farewell before leading you out the exit and to his car.
it was a beautiful day out; a cool seventy eight degrees and the sun shone brightly above you. a perfect day for running errands and a late lunch!!
a little squeal slipped past your lips when jungkook lightly pushed you against the side of his car, his front pushing ever so softly against yours. “so what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day, hm?” he spoke softly, encasing your hips in his large hands.
you placed your hands on his hard stomach, blindly tracing the ridges of his abs over his shirt. he was so manly . . so masculine . . . and so all yours.
“well . . .” your voice trailed off, head innocently cocking to the side, “i wanna go to t.j. maxx, and get that hello kitty vanity chair. i also wanna head to that herb store and get more raspberry leaf—if i run out before my period comes i’m a goner!”
jungkook’s smile only faltered slightly at the mention of your awful period cramps. sometimes during that time of the month for you, he’d find you in your shared bathroom, head tucked between your knees as your body racked with sobs. he never minds it truly, but it shatters his heart every time he kisses those little tears streaming down your puffy cheeks away.
he tenderly rubbed your lower belly, forehead knocking against your gently as he nodded. “mm, don’t worry. we’ll get your herbs n’ your chair. maybe something to eat too?”
he was absolutely speaking your language.
“yes, that sounds perfect,” you grinned, scratching lightly at the hairs on the nape of his neck. jungkook practically purred at the contact, damn near forgetting you were out in the open. not that he really cared.
he wanted to swoop in for a kiss. just a tiny, little kiss. but the moment his head ducked down, his lips were met with the smooth skin of your palm.
he frowned, a noise of disapproval rumbling in his chest that was soon hushed by little kisses on his jaw. the feeling of your lips running over his hot skin had him shivering, brain nearly short circuiting.
you looked up at him through your freshly done lashes, “m’sorry for doin’ that, but you heard that man in there! no kisses for kookie for at least ten days.”
jungkook wanted to just collapse to his knees, and cry, and be as dramatic as possible—but chairs nodded to be bought, and herbs needed to be collected so he’d have to save the dramatics for another time.
he let out a small puff of air from his cheeks, his tongue already starting to sting from swelling, “you’re right. you’re always right, my smart girl.” he squeezed your sides gently, and nudged his nose against yours, “let’s go get that chair.”
after a short trip, and lots of lingering touches later, your chair and raspberry leaf were secured, and so was your hunger. on the way back home jungkook had made a surprise stop at your favorite taco spot—a small truck ran by two older women who absolutely adored the two of you.
the way home was pretty quiet. while you bashed on your three carne asada tacos with extra lime and salsa, jungkook casually sipped on a small horchata, the cool liquid bringing some relief to his sore tongue.
“it’ll always shock me how you make no mess,” he chuckled, putting his car in park. you dabbed the corners of your lips with a napkin, and did a quick check in the mirror to make sure no cilantro was in your teeth before giving him a small smile. “only because i know i’ll get an earful from you if i do.”
and right you were!! jungkooks mercedes amg was his pride and joy (right after you).
“need me to carry anything, honey?” you hummed, watching as jungkook balanced your bags and the small box containing the parts to your new vanity chair in his arms. he, of course, shook his head no, and instead gave you the job of unlocking the door.
before you even set your purse down, jungkook was already kicking his shoes off and ripping at the box, an obnoxious tearing sound echoing throughout your apartment. building furniture was a random favorite hobby of his, and he always looked damn good doing it.
“lemme get these outside clothes off,” you muttered, using your socks as little skates to slide into your shared room, little giggles slipping past your lips as you did so.
“you’re going to bust your behind one of these days if you keep doing that. hardwood floors hurt y’know!” jungkook called out to you, his boyfriend voice turned all the way on.
“yeah, yeah, whatever. are you gonna need your tools?” you called back, slipping off your skirt and sweater. your bra was the next thing to go, and after little to no thought, you settled on wearing one of jungkooks t-shirts.
the fabric smelt just like him. a citrusy, vanilla scent that made you sleepy every time you smelt it for too long. it also made your cunt feel tingly, but due to certain circumstances, you decided to keep your horniness at bay for jungkooks sake.
you’d be lying if the urge to kiss him hasn’t hit you once or twice, but who could blame you? your boyfriend had the most kissable lips ever, and the two lip rings that adorned the left side made you want them against yours even more!
but unfortunately it’d have to wait.
you brought the collar of his shirt to your nose one last time, inhaling deeply before getting on your knees and shimmying over to jungkooks side of the bed. now he did say which tools he needed, but you weren’t exactly a handy woman, so you just decided to bring his entire tool box.
when he heard the obnoxious sound of metal clanking together his eyes darted to the direction of the sound. his lips broke into a smirk when he saw you carrying his entire toolbox. you were so precious without even having to try.
you wearing little to nothing around your place wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. in fact, you did it so much that jungkook almost found it odd whenever he would come home from work and see you still fully clothed.
yes, you prancing around in just your panties and a top all the time was pretty distracting, but it was the best distraction a man could ever ask for. you have the prettiest, phattest pussy he’s ever seen, and she looks even more enticing hidden behind the soft cotton of your panties.
with a small grunt you set the metal box down, “here ya go.”
when your hands found purchase on your hips, your his shirt rose up, giving him a nice, close up view of your panty clad cunt. the pair you had on today were hot pink, with ‘juicy’ written in black cursive right on the part where your mound was.
‘i’ll fuckin’ say’ he thought to himself, teeth tugging on his lip ring to surpress the urge to pull you closer to him. it didn’t help. like at all, because three seconds later jungkook was pulling you two steps closer by the backs of your thighs.
your nose scrunched up, a giggling bubbling in your chest. “you know . . . you could at least try to be a little more discreet with your staring.”
jungkook groaned at your words, nosing at the inside of your petal soft thigh. “nothing fun about being discreet, babe,” he sighed giving your thigh a light peck.
you were out of his grasp a millisecond later, your head cocking back and forth. “watch those lips mister!”
“it was just a peck, it won’t do any harm, babe!” he pleaded, pulling you closer. his ring clad fingers held rather tightly onto your flesh, preventing you from moving an inch.
“mm, sure, but a peck with you always leads to something more,” you spoke softly, ruffling his jet black locs.
a drag of air got caught in your throat when his nose nudged against your cunt. “h-hey, that’s enough, mister! get back to work before i thump you.”
and with that, jungkook released his hold on your body. his fingers lingered for a second or two before letting go completely, his lips jutting into his signature pout.
“mean . . . very mean,” he muttered, turning his back to you to give your unbuilt chair his undivided attention. he knew he was being unfair, but shit, this entire thing this was unfair!!
it was dumb to say aloud, but truly, the thought of not being able to kiss you or any part of you didn’t cross his mind in the thought process for getting his tongue pierced—not even once! it was a cruel, sick, joke that was one hundred percent preventable, and now you both had to deal with it :(
you let out a little puff of air from your cheeks, and knelt behind your pouting boyfriend. “you say mean . . . i say responsible,” you whispered in his ear, kissing the shell of it before placing another soft kiss on his neck.
“don’t be sad, ‘kay? it’ll go by before you know it.” you knew your man, and you knew him well. you knew if he was challenged to do something, he’d do it and he’d do it well.
he whined at your words, thick brows scrunching together, “it can’t go by fast enoughhhh.”
seven hours later . . . .
jungkook felt as if he was going to combust into a million pieces. the urge to have his lips on yours didn’t curve in the slightest, and to make things even more difficult, he was now sporting a painful boner.
you were sound asleep on his chest, little snores leaving your slightly parted lips every so often. you were still wearing what you had on earlier, the only difference being a lavender colored, silk scarf wrapped securely around your head.
‘hells paradise’ played quietly on the tv, and the ac was on full blast giving jungkook the perfect background noise to fall asleep to. but he couldn’t. his mind was racing.
his legs felt stiff, begging to be stretched, but he knew if he moved even a muscle, you’d stir in your sleep and switch positions. when he held you like this he could feel the heat from your pussy right against his thigh, and as sick it sounded it made him feel so at ease.
with the way his tongue throbbed in pain, jungkook could use all the comfort he could get.
he slowly craned his neck to look down at your sleeping form, and fuck. you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. even when you were deep in sleep.
the semi-bright glow from the tv gave him just enough light to see that your eyes were moving every so often. he wondered to himself what you could possibly be dreaming about. selfishly enough, he hoped it was him.
“aish . . .” he muttered, shifting his leg the tiniest bit. you made a small noise in your sleep, and this had jungkook freezing in his spot. his heart pounded against his ribcage as you nuzzled closer into his side. and then you moved again . . . and again . . . and again, until jungkook was questioning if you were really asleep or not.
the dull throb against his thigh had his pierced brow twitching.
should he wake you? should he leave you be? should he just cut his losses and jerk off in the bathroom?
a gentle squeeze pulled jungkook out of his thoughts, and when he looked down, he was met with the sight of his sleepy girlfriends’ scrunched up face.
“mm, kook . .”
your voice was whiny, and laced with sleep. if only he was able to kiss away that tiny furrow between your brows.
“what’s up, baby?” he spoke softly, pulling your body impossibly closer to his. you breathed out a small hum when he cupped your ass, gentle fingers gripping the soft flesh.
goosebumps rose on the dark haired mans skin when you nuzzled your face in his neck. your lips brushed against the sensitive spot below his ear, “can’t fall back asleep . . . need your help, please.”
and there it was.
jungkooks hands shook as they ran up and down your body, squeezing and fondling any part of you that he could. “y-yeah? what do you need me to do for you, baby—i know you’re sleepy, but try to use your words for me.”
he heard a small sniffle and then, “fuck me back t’sleep, kook. pleaseee.” your hand lazily rubbed along the length of his covered cock, saliva pooling on your tongue at the thought of having him inside you.
without a second thought, jungkook maneuvered your body on top of his with ease. his dick was pressed snugly against your pussy—hot, hard, and ready to put you tf back to sleep!
jungkook’s breath fanned over your face, still minty from when he brushed his teeth. “really wish i could kiss you right now,” he grunted, lifting your body up just enough to pull his briefs down.
“i-i wish you could kiss me too,” you whined, back arching when he rubbed his leaking tip over your panties.
he didn’t take your panties off, instead he just pulled them to the side with two fingers, and slipped his cock right between your soaked folds. wet was an understatement—you were drenched. small pearls of your essence began to drip down his cock, already creating a mess between your bodies.
“ngh—put it in please,” you sniffled, bottom half slowly moving up and down the length of his dick. jungkook didn’t need to be told twice. he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, tatted hand gripping the base of his cock before slowly pushing the tip through that tight ring of muscle that greeted him so sweetly every time.
his free hand cupped the back of your neck, smushing your forehead against his. “so wet, princess. slipped right in like you were made for me,” he groaned, planting his feet in the bed to push more of his cock into your tight heat.
with a sloppy kiss to the corner of his lips you whispered, “because i was.” this nearly killed jungkook of course, his hips stuttering the tiniest bit.
he throbbed all around you. every protruding vein caressed your sensitive walls, and it didn’t make things better when his spongy tip started knocking obnoxiously against that spot deep inside you that had your toes curling.
you mewled at the stretch, grabbing onto his shoulders as you found your place in his neck once again. every moan, whine, every hitch of your breath—he heard it all, and it was driving him fucking nuts.
he wanted to talk you through it, whisper dirty praises and promises in your ear, but alas his tongue was just too fucking sore. he knew you liked him to be vocal, so he settled with matching your volume in moans.
jungkook’s hands roamed all along the expanse of your back. your skin was hot to the touch, his cold hands bringing you some sweet relief.
you wanted to melt into him. let your minds and bodies become one forever, but for now this would have to do.
“lemme take this off,” you muttered, sitting up to remove his shirt from your trembling from. the new angle had his cock hitting deeper, and this had you tightening up, forcing a hiss from the man below you.
he wasted no time fondling your breasts, a whine bubbling in his throat from lack of them in his mouth. you always made the prettiest noises when he sucked on your nipples. they were always so sensitive—even as he softly ran his thumbs over them.
“k-kook—”
“i know—shit, i know.” his voice was raspy from lack of speaking. his throat felt so dry, like someone had stuffed cotton down it. jungkook had a thirst, but not for a beverage of any kind.
as you began a steady rhythm moving back and forth, jungkook thumbed at your swollen clit. his jaw clenched, a groan rumbling in his chest at how wet you actually were.
sucking your clit into his mouth would definitely fix him right now—why, oh why did he have to get this stupid fucking piercing.
your hips stuttered slightly when he pulled his thumb away, and without a second thought he brought the digit to your lips. it wasn’t hard to find his eyes in the darkness of the room, and once you did you sucked the digit between your lips, humming at the sweet, yet tart taste that coated your tongue.
all your nerve endings felt as if they have been set ablaze. you could feel everything. you didn’t know what it was, but these intimate moments with jungkook always made you so beside yourself.
“what’s it taste like, hm? describe it for me,” he rasped out, pressing down lightly on your tongue before removing his thumb entirely.
your movements halted, but not for long, because jungkook’s hands were on your hips seconds later, resuming your slow paced grinding. “don’t make me say it, babe,” you whimpered, feeling your cheeks get hotter than they already were.
he couldn’t help but chuckle. you were still so bashful—even when getting split open by his thick cock.
it was silent for a few beats, and then without warning, jungkook cupped the back of your neck and pulled you back down to his level. his feet planted into the bed, and with that he began a slow, steady rhythm of thrusts.
“was is it sweet? i bet it was, you’re always so fuckin’—ngh, sweet,” he panted against your lips, making you whine veryyyy loudly.
your cunt started to became rather noisy, an obscene squelching sound becoming louder and louder as the minutes went by. but it wasn’t quite loud enough for your boyfriend.
your once warm body was suddenly met with a chill, goosebumps rising over the entire expense of your back. jungkook had also taken this as an opportunity to go faster—harder. the sound of his balls slapping against your ass echoed noisily throughout the room.
“love that sound,” he grunted, tucking your face in the warmth of his neck to shush your whines. between being overly drowsy, and jungkook fucking you like his own personal toy, your brain had turned into a complete pile of mush.
not a sentence, nor thought could be formed in your head. the only thing you could even think to do was kiss him—well kiss his neck specifically since his lips were off limits.
your lips latched onto the spot below his ear, sucking feverishly until he was squeezing the back of your neck in sensitivity.
“y-yeah, mhmm. keep kissing me. i need it,” he whispered the last part directly in your ear while also delivering a particularly harsh thrust. you made a noise between a sob and a gasp, and for a second you could’ve sworn you saw white.
both of his hands gripped your ass cheeks, spreading them only slightly so he was able to fuck you deeper.
a never ending chorus of ‘ah ah ah’s left your drooly lips, and soon, it wasn’t long before you were whining in jungkook’s ear about how you were about to cum.
you lifted your head slightly, “i’m *pant* i-i’m—!”
jungkook shoved your face back in his neck, the pace of his thrusts increasing to a speed so fast it had you seeing spots.
“i know, baby. i know. fucking do it.”
your ears started to ring, and your back arched, a beautiful symphony of moans following seconds later. jungkook fucked you through it all with one hand still securely on the back of your neck, and the other now grabbing onto your hip so roughly you were sure to feel it in the morning.
his toes curled when he felt you gush around him. your pussy was practically suffocating his cock, convulsing around him so harshly it was almost difficult to continue moving.
you heard a few curses in korean, follow by one more hard thrust before a sudden warmth flooded your lower belly. jungkook ground into you from below, milking his orgasm for all it was worth—which was a lot.
without even thinking he pressed a quick peck to your shoulder, his lips lingering for a few seconds before pulling away.
“ . . . you okay? was i good?” he whispered into your ear, but the only response he was met with was a small snore. your body was completely limp, occasionally twitching in his arms.
jungkook hummed contently, nosing at your cheek. his hands ran slowly up and down your back, tracing random hearts and shapes as he did so.
he was gonna have to wake you up soon so you could pee, but for now that would wait. he just wanted to bask in this moment for as long as he could.
it’s been nine days since then, and you two have been fucking like rabbits everrrr since.
morning, afternoon, midday, the middle of the night—it didn’t matter what time it was. if jungkook was in the mood, he had to have you.
the urge to kiss you hasn’t lessened. in fact it only grew stronger and more unbearable as the days went by. his cock leaked pathetically with pre every time he thought about your lips against his. he craved the feeling of biting into the plushness of your bottom lip, and tugging just enough to have you whimpering.
when his tongue became less swole the first thing he tried to do was kiss you, only to be met with the petal soft skin of your cheek. ‘it’s only been three days, kook!’ you had scolded him, breaking his heart for what felt like the hundredth time that week.
you being the sweet, amazing girlfriend you were, fucked the sadness out of him every single time though hehe.
the situation always ended up the same way. jungkook would be underneath you, brown eyes the size of saucers while you rode him into a blissful oblivion. you rewarded his restraint to kiss you with sloppy pecks across his neck and throat, your tongue tracing random shapes and lines into the sweaty skin.
he felt like a fucking teenager with the way he was so quick to jump your bones.
it was now day ten, and jungkook has surely lost his mind by now.
he was currently home alone, scrolling mindlessly on his phone as he waited to hear the familiar click! of the door unlocking.
you weren’t home, obviously. you had picked up an extra shift at the bakery you worked at, leaving jungkook all by his lonesome.
you’d been gone for seven whole hours, and to make things worse, you only texted kookie a handful of times before it was silence on your end.
he thought about going up there to visit you—maybe even partake in a sweet treat, but that would only end up doing him more harm than good. so here he sat, scrolling through your social medias for the umpteenth time.
fuck, you were so pretty. how did he end up with such a gorgeous girlfriend, hm? how did he manage to have the literal embodiment of perfection land in his lap?
he usually asked himself these questions when he was missing you really bad, or while he watched you sleep. is that creepy? eh, maybe, but who even really cares?
his eyes flicked up to the corner of the screen reading the time. it was fifteen minutes till five, and he still hadn’t heard from you since you last texted at noon.
“hope she isn’t working herself too hard . . .” he sighed, slumping back against the plush, gray couch cushions.
you were a bit of a perfectionist, and although he admired how much time and effort you put into your craft, he didn’t particularly care for how hard you were on yourself if the outcome wasn’t exactly what you wanted.
when you told jungkook baking was a ‘fun hobby’ of yours, he expected you to laugh off your minuscule mistakes, and enjoy the sweet treat. boy was he fucking wrong.
* cue super cute flashback *
“one more, one more!” jungkook chuckled, his tatted fingers gripping onto your chin to bring you in for another slow, nasty kiss. before you could even protest, his lips were against yours—soft and swollen from your previous kisses.
you giggled against his lips, a small gasp getting caught in your throat when he grabbed a handful of your ass over your pajama shorts. “mm, babe. i gotta get the cookies out before they burn,” you hummed, cunt clenching around nothing when he tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth.
the sweet smell of brown sugar and chocolate wafted into your nose, and you knew soon enough the enticing smell would soon turn burnt and bitter if you didn’t act quickly.
jungkook gave you one last peck before releasing his grip on you, a lazy smirk lifting at the corner of his lips. “alright, alright. i’ll leave you alone . . . for now. now lets go check on those cookies,” he grinned, showcasing those oh so cute dimples that made you swoon every time you saw them.
he let you lead the way to the kitchen— why you ask? so he could fondle and smack your ass to his hearts content. you didn’t bother to say anything, allowing the giggling man behind you to continue his antics.
when you opened the oven your lips pulled into a thin line, already dissatisfied with the slightly burnt smell that greeted you.
while you were screaming in your mind twenty seven different ways, jungkook was behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for you to pull the tray out. he was so blissfully unaware of how homicidal you were over these damn brown butter cookies.
he leant over the pan, taking a deep inhale of the sweet treat. “shit, these look incredible, baby,” he muttered, mouth now beginning to water.
all you could do was sigh, your brows pulling together in a deep frown. jungkook noticed this and it had the cogs in his brain turning. what could possibly be so wrong? these were the most perfectly baked cookies he’s ever seen!
without saying a word you slowly lifted up a cookie with a thin spatula. just as you thought—they were burnt. the bottom was entirely too dark for your liking. once they cooled they were going to be hard instead of soft. this just broke your heart.
jungkook noticed the cloudy look in your eyes and stood up straight. he turned your body towards his quickly, but gently. “hey, hey, what’s wrong? why do you look like you’re about to cr—i mean, um—”
it was too late. two fat tears were already rolling down cheeks, waiting to be wiped away by jungkook.
“ugh, why would you ask me thatttt? you know i always cry when you ask me that,” you sniffled, blinking away more tears. jungkook puffed air through his cheeks, and cupped your face with both hands. this made you want to cry even more, but you managed to pull it together with a slow, but shaky breath.
you tried to look everywhere besides in front of you, but it was painfully hard to avoid your boyfriends’ intense gaze.
“why are you crying? your cookies look perfect . . . i’m sorry, but i don’t—i don’t understand,” he spoke softly, sliding his hands from your jaw to your shoulders.
your eyes flicked to the tray beside you, and then to the floor. “i’ve . . . made these cookies so many times . . but the one time i wanna make them for you, i fucking burn them. what kinda sick joke is that?”
“but baby they look perfectly fine to—”
“uhn uhn!” you grabbed one of the now cooled cookies, and showed him the dark brown bottom. “they’re not moist! they’ll be hard—inedible soon enough,” you sighed, pulling apart the cookie to reveal the steaming inside.
jungkook was completely stumped. burnt cookies were a very dark brown, blackish color, and they usually left a foul stench in the air . . . yet these were a perfect golden brown, and smelt so sweet he could’ve gotten a tooth ache. was he missing something?
“hmph, i don’t know what went wrong. maybe i cooked the butter too long? maybe they weren’t cold enough? i don’t know . . . will you try, please?” you pouted, holding one half of the cookie in front of him. without a second thought, jungkook scarfed down the entire thing, along with the other half.
the still warm chocolate chips melted on his tongue, making him hum in content. you watched with an intense glint in your eyes, waiting for any sign that he disliked the cookie.
his tongue slowly ran over his bottom lip, and without saying a word he grabbed another cookie, devouring it in only two bites. your eyes softened, tear stained cheeks now feeling extra hot from embarrassment.
“shut up . . there’s no way they’re that good,” you muttered, hiding your face in his obscenely large pecs. jungkook only chuckled, his hand coming up to pet at your hair softly.
“i think you’re being entirely too hard on yourself, no? they may not be as soft as you want them, but they’re certainly edible, babe.” his words were so sweet, and so gentle, it made you want to start crying all over again.
when you didn’t say anything he continued, “you could serve me flour on a paper plate, and i’d still eat it because it was made by you, and i’m so serious.”
when he heard you giggling into his chest it made his heart clench, but in a good way! your laugh sounded like the finest of symphonies to him, a sound he could hear on repeat for all his days to come.
“there she is, there’s my girl. no more crying, ‘kay? makes my heart hurt to see you so sad,” he spoke lowly, giving the crown of your head three gentle kisses.
your eyes slowly shut, the sound of his heartbeat making you drowsier by the minute. you could’ve fallen asleep right there, standing and all, but the sudden smell warm brown sugar had your eyes fluttering back open.
“try it,” you heard him ask, although it sounded more like a demand. your lips parted, and with a little hesitation, you took a bite of the cookie. the taste of brown butter and vanilla had you humming in delight, and this brought a smirk to jungkook’s lips.
“good, right?”
you hummed a small ‘mhm’ in response, and took another bite. “still kinda dry. they’re decent at best, and i’ll never get hired at ‘the sweet spot’ with decent cookies.”
your body went stiff when you heard jungkook let out a particularly loud sigh.
he wasn’t bothered that you were talking about working at your dream job again, no, never that. what bothered him so damn much was that you really didn’t believe your baking was good enough to get the job.
jungkook cupped your jaw firmly, forcing you to look up at him. he muttered ‘stop that’ in korean. two words that you were very familiar with (due to you being a massive brat), and like every other time it made your cunt feel tingly.
“stop what . . .” you murmured, clearly acting clueless to what he was talking about.
he breathed out a small laugh, and tongued at the inside of his cheek, already caught on to your little game. “i believe my girl is smart enough to know what i’m talking about—”
with little to no strength he lifted you by the backs of your thighs, and set you on the counter. the cold marble had goosebumps rising all over your skin, and you’d be squealing right now if his lips weren’t smushed against yours to keep you quiet.
he kissed the corner of your mouth, and then your jaw, and then the shell of your ear before whispering, “but if you need me to help spell it out for you, i really don’t mind.”
jungkook could’ve popped a boner right then and there at the way your pupils blew out at his words.
that’s how you ended up on the couch, knees pushed allll the way to your shoulders while jungkook edged you with his mouth. his tongue caressed your clit for what felt like hours, and you weren’t allowed to cum, let alone even move out of his grip, until you were screaming out affirmations about how you were going to get that job at the bakery.
two days later you woke up bright and early to prepare some sample pastries for your interview, and to no ones surprise (not even your own) you got the job! that same night you rewarded jungkook with his favorite apple and brown sugar strudels, and some mean head to thank him for encouraging you so much. <3
* end of cute flashback *
when jungkook had zoned back in from reminiscing, his jeans felt five times tighter than they did before, and his hands felt clammy. he needed you. all of you.
he needed to feel the soft bud of your nipple graze his tongue as he sucked on it. he needed to feel the pressure of your thighs squeezing against his head as he devoured you like you were his last meal. and most importantly; he needed a fucking kiss god dammit!!
he could barely even remember what it felt like to suck your tongue into his mouth. shit, he could hardly even remember the taste of your cherry gloss!
damn, that lip gloss you wore always looked so pretty—especially when you would suck him off and leave remnants of it all along the base of his cock.
“aish . . .” the frustrated man huffed out, giving his cock a quick palm over his sweats. his nose twitched, much like a bunny, when a shot of pleasure rushed down his spine at the contact.
his dick throbbed, almost painfully, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he would cave and help himself. he was only human after all!
before he could even process what he was doing, jungkook clicked the phone icon right above your name, and pressed the phone against his ear. as the line rung he was internally pleading for you to answer the phone. all he wanted to do was hear your voice.
suddenly he heard a click on the other line—
“hello?”
“o-oh!” jungkook sat up straight, his lips breaking into a dopey half-smile at the sound of your voice. “i didn’t expect you to answer . . . you never answered my texts—not that that’s a problem. i know you’re busy being the best pastry chef in the world.”
he could hear the smile on your face as you talked about the ups and downs of your day, and shamefully enough, it was making him harder.
god, he hated himself right now. why has this temporary ban on kisses made him to beside himself?
“an’ now i’m just hanging out in the office to take a break. i think i’m gonna head out soon, though. i’ve been so spaced out today.”
“mm, what have you been thinking about?”
jungkook didn’t mean to have that oh so familiar seductive tone in his voice, but unfortunately for him, he practically purred out the question.
there was silence, and then—
“honestly? . . . you giving me head.”
jungkook almost moaned aloud at that, but instead let out a sound that was a mix of a whine and a gasp.
this is why you were made for him, why you were his girl. you both craved each other so much. its always been an ongoing match of who’s the biggest yearner between the two of you.
“you there, babe? too crude for the workplace?”
your sweet laugh only fueled the fire in his lower belly. jungkook was so horny it was almost difficult for him to speak.
“n-no . . no, not at all. i’ve been thinking about the same thing actually. remember that day when you baked those cookies?”
he heard a small, barely audible noise that sounded a lot like a whimper. “mhm.”
with a shaky hand, jungkook pushed himself up using the armrest of the couch. everything was entirely too hot, he needed to feel some kind of relief.
“i remember how you couldn’t stop shaking when i was done. you came for, like, a whole minute. i couldn’t believe it.” as jungkook dumbly babbled about eating you out, he was also making his way to the bedroom.
the first thing that caught his attention when he walked in the room was your discarded panties from that morning. it felt like the peach colored garment was calling out to him. begging to be fucked n’ soiled by his sticky cum.
he was broken out of his thoughts when he heard the airy sound of your voice. “c’monnnn. don’t say stuff like that, or else i’ll look like a total mess in front of everyone.”
“mm, and what if i want that to happen?” he breathily chuckled, swiping your panties off the floor in one swift movement. he tucked the phone between his cheek and shoulder, and pulled his sweats down mid thigh before taking a seat at the edge of your shared bed.
“i think you look pretty cute all flustered and shy. i’m sure everyone else will think so, no?” jungkooks tone was very teasing, which was funny because he was honestly one stroke away from combusting into bits.
“mmcht. it might be cute to you, but i doubt my bosses will think it is.”
“hah—yeah . . . yeah, maybe you’re right,” jungkooks head tilted back when he finally wrapped the soft fabric of your panties over his swollen cock. it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy him like you ever could, but it would have to do for now.
an attempt to stay neutral, and quiet was never even made because your man knew just how much you liked to hear him.
“k-kook, c’mon—”
“just fucking come home already, y/n. i don’t mean to rush you at all, baby, but—fuck. just—just listen,” his slurred sentenced trailed off with a moan, and suddenly your ears were met blessed with a wet shlicking sound.
“please—”
“i’m using your panties. the ones you left on the floor this morning to be—ngh, specific.”
jungkook knew he was being sooo mean, and sooo unfair, but unfortunately my mans was fresh out of self control.
“hurry up, and come home so we can ruin each other,” he rasped, letting out one last moan to break you even more.
the dark haired mans eyes fluttered shut, and the first image that popped in his head was you; stark naked, and spread out for him, ready to have your pussy eaten until you cried.
he brought your panties to his nose, and took a deep inhale, while his other hand steadily pumped the thick base of his dick. they sorta smelled of him now, but the scent of you was still overwhelmingly there.
“mm, fuck,” he panted out, poking his tongue out to take an experimental lick at the crotch part. what he was going was disgusting, humiliating, and beyond perverted, but—
“shittt. it tastes just like her.”
his ring clad fingers squeezed harshly at the tip, and when he ran his thumb over the leaky slit, he tried his absolute best to imagine it was you.
time had seemed to go by rather fast, because just as jungkook was about to edge himself for the third time, he heard the door, followed by quick footsteps. there was no point in trying to hide what he was doing because; 1. he was too horny to give a shit and 2. he actually wanted you to see him like that.
your reaction was just as he pictured in his head only moments ago—flustered and intrigued. “oh . . . you’re here. i missed you, baby. so much.”
the evidence of his confession was leaking obscenely in front of you, and all you could do was stand there with parted lips, and clenched thighs.
with a low grunt, jungkook released his firm grip on his cock. “c’mere. ‘wanna touch you.”
your bag was the first to go, the designer accessory hitting the carpet with a soft thud. it was like your feet had a mind of their own, one taking a step after the other until you were nearly in your boyfriends’ grasp.
the moment you were in reach, he was tugging you closer by your flour stained shirt, and burying his face between your covered breasts. “h-hey!” you gasped, hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders. “this shirt is all dirty, honey, c’mon.”
“then take it off,” jungkook grunted below you, lifting up your shirt to finally kiss at your skin. he just didn’t give a shit anymore about the piercing rejecting, and if he kept this up, you were going to soon stop caring as well.
he kissed around the curves of your hips, making sure to give each side a cheeky little nibble, before tracing his tongue around your tummy.
“i’ll never get over how cute this is . . . suits you so well, sugar,” he spoke lowly, referring to the baby pink hello kitty jewelry that was pierced through your naval.
a purr rumbled in jungkooks chest when you scratched lightly at his scalp, murmuring a small, but sweet ‘thank you.’
“just—just lemme get these yucky clothes off, and take a shower before we get down to . . um, to business.” words that you were barely able to get out in the first place were quickly washed away, and long forgotten as jungkook suckled at your hip bone.
“you took a shower this morning, i’m sure you’re fine.”
this earned him a scoff, followed by a weak push to his shoulders. “i just worked for almost ten hours. not so sure i’m at my freshest.”
suddenly jungkooks nose was pressed against your lower tummy, “and yet you smell like sugar and . . . mm, strawberries?”
“close,” you whispered, taking his chin between your fingers. jungkook preened at the physical contact, leaning into your touch even further. his eyes widened slightly, patiently waiting for you to finish what you were saying.
“that’s cherries you’re actually smelling. i made a batch of cherry strudels before i left,” you finally spoke, scratching at his chin.
his lips parted, but you were quick to interrupt him, “i already know what you’re going to ask, and yes, there’s some in the kitchen waiting for you. ‘could never make some strudels without bringing one home for my kookie.”
fuck. you were just so sweet, and considerate, it made jungkook feel feral. his neglected cock twitched, begging for some kind of attention.
his fingers fiddled with the button to your jeans, and with those wide doe of his, he silently asked for permission to undo it. you bit your lip, hesitant at first, but after a little thought you slowly nodded.
his eyes stayed on yours, never once breaking contact as he undid the button of your jeans, the zipper soon following. “love you so much,” he whispered into your skin, slowly pulling them down.
you didn’t know what to expect during this very intense moment with your man, but what you certainly didn’t expect was for him to just start eating it through your panties!
his nose nudged against your clit as his tongue caressed the crotch area of your strawberry patterned panties. he could taste you. barely, but just enough. he could’ve passed away right then and there, and would’ve died happy, and content.
you were still standing, knees knocking together as you tried to keep yourself up. “babe, i really should freshen up f-first. h-hah, what about your piercing?”
suddenly a rush of pleasure shot down your back, making your body jolt forward. the sensation felt . . . foreign. this was odd, because jungkook has eaten you out through your panties plenty of times before.
“did you like the way that felt?” you heard the man below you speak, a cheeky smile spreading across his features. “want me to do it again? here—”
that same feeling returned, except it was more sloppy, more wet. it had your head tilting back, and if it weren’t for jungkook holding you up by the backs of your thighs, you surely would’ve collapsed.
you were absolutely speechless. your cunt was doing more of the talking than you were at this point, dripping into your panties, and creating an even bigger mess.
when you didn’t say anything, too wrapped in your own head, he spoke once more. “you like that, huh? like the way it feels on your pussy?”
your eyes fluttered rapidly, and when you peeked down, jungkook’s tongue was shallowly sticking out, giving you a nice view of the silver ball in the center. his tongue cupped your clit over your panties, slowly moving side to side.
jungkook was genuinely surprised he was keeping it together so well, and taking his time with you. before you arrived, the only thing he could think about was tearing these same panties he was kissing and licking on into two.
all you could do was watch in awe, the inside of your mind sounding like nothing but static. jungkook nipped at the inside of your thigh, regaining your attention.
“just a little taste, cutie. i can rinse with mouthwash after *kiss kiss* to make sure it doesn’t get infected.” you could practically feel your heartbeat in your clit as jungkook kissed over your clothed mound.
his fingers looped in the lacy waistband of your panties, and with a gentle tug, he pulled them down low enough just to get a peek at the fat of your pussy. he could see your clit peeking out from between your slicked folds, swollen and looking as tempting as ever.
“before you do that,” you whispered, carefully stepping out of your jeans, “i want a kiss.”
your man wasted no time pulling you into his lap, and it felt heavenly to be able to feel his dick press against your clothed pussy.
his tatted hand cupped the side of your face, “i just might die, and i’m not even kidding.”
this made you laugh, and although he was pleased to have made you smile, he was deadly serious. being denied your kisses had him nearly climbing up the walls!
“mm, you’re so dramatic—”
and that was the last thing that was said before jungkook’s lips were smushed against yours.
soft. that was the first word that popped in his mind. your lips, your skin, the little noises you made as he deepened the kiss—it was all just so soft.
you could tell he was trying to be gentle, and take his time, but it wasn’t long before his thumb was pushing down on your chin to part your lips wider.
the kiss was slow, deep, everything that he had imagined for the past ten days. feverishly, he sucked your tongue into his mouth, and the faint taste of cherry compote had him moaning into the kiss.
you could feel his piercing slide against your tongue. it had you shaking, like it was your first time kissing him all over again.
“hah—shit,” jungkook moaned, greedily kissing his way down to your neck. your skin was a bit sweaty from working so hard, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. “need to taste you now.”
you squeaked, eyes squeezing shut as he flipped you on your back with ease. his face burrowed into your neck, and while he whined apologies into your ear about the sudden roughness, his bottom half was also rutting pitifully into yours.
“oh my . . .” your lips parted in a dreamy sigh, lashes fluttering when you felt his swollen tip rub directly onto your clit. “p-please do something, kook.”
your shirt was pushed up, along with your bra, and seconds later you felt a pair of lips wrap around your left nipple. jungkook wasn’t pretty with it—he slobbered and licked all around your breast, making sure to swirl his piercing around your nipple in between licks.
“i am, baby. i am,” he gave your neglected nipple a wet kiss, “i got you, don’t worry.”
while you made quick work to rid your shirt and bra, jungkook kissed his way down your body, leaving a glistening trail behind him. when he reached your pussy, your thighs twitched making him smirk.
“you may be crying by the time i’m done with you,” he spoke softly, giving you clit one last kiss over your panties. “so i wanna apologize beforehand.”
he took his time removing your panties, his eyes zeroing in at the way your essence clung to the soaked cotton.
the second his tongue swiped between your sopping folds, he was greeted with a taste sweeter than anything you have ever baked for him. there was a slight tang that had him salivating for more, but the sweetness overpowered everything.
you knew jungkook was bound to have his dramatics turnt all the way up given the circumstances, but you definitely didn’t expect him to let out the loudest, most whiniest pornographic moan you’ve ever heard!
“babe,” you breathily giggled, combing your fingers through his hair. you tugged lightly on the strands when he sucked your swollen button into his mouth, the tip of his tongue caressing the pearl ever so gently. “p-pace yourself now, we have all the time in the world.”
jungkook hummed, but you honestly couldn’t even tell if he had heard a word you just said.
with a low grunt he pushed the backs of your knees up, and used his entire mouth to cup your pussy. his tongue slithered all between your folds before the infamous piercing finally swiped against your clit.
your stomach clenched when he did it again, and when he did it a third time, his ears were rewarded with you moaning out his name oh so sweetly.
“mm, you like that, baby? how does it feel? describe it for me,” he purred, circling his tongue around your clit. a shudder ran down your spine, and your cheeks felt as if someone placed hot coals on them.
“babe p-please—”
“do it.”
your lower half thrusted into nothing as jungkook spit directly on your clit. you could feel the saliva trickle between your folds, creating a wetter, even bigger mess between your thighs.
the center of of his tongue circled figure eights onto your clit, and you could feel the silver ball with every movement. your boyfriend was slowly, but surely, pushing you to your limit.
“it feels . . . u-um, like, different?”
“different in what way, baby? c’mon, i know that pretty head can come up with some smart words. you got the smartest mouth i know.” you could feel his smirk in your skin when he finished his sentence.
jungkook cupped your clit with his lips, and dragged his tongue all around the nub. his eyes fluttered shut at the symphony of moans that spilled past your kiss bitten lips.
the more he licked, the more your mind became a muddled mess. “kook—please slow down. i can’t thinkkk!” you whined, weakly pushing at his forehead.
your pleas only made him more feral for you, unfortunately.
the back of your head flew into the mattress when he hiked your thighs over his shoulders, bringing his face impossibly closer to your cunt. the grip he had on your thighs was kinda fucking ridiculous. you couldn’t move an inch!!
he has been hitting the gym a little harder to deal with all his pent up frustration, but jesus, you didn’t think he’d bulk up so quickly. if you were to compare your head to his biceps, you were sure they’d be bigger.
after ogling his physique from above, a pinch to your thigh brought you back to reality.
“i believe i asked you a question some time ago, and you still haven’t answered it.” his words were muffled into your thigh, and once he was done speaking he nipped at the skin just to hear you whine again.
“u-um, it feels hard . . weird, n’ makes her feel extra—ngh,” you tried to shut your thighs around his head from sensitivity, the word you were trying to say before you were interrupted, but jungkook was not letting up.
the sudden intrusion of his tongue in your clenching hole had tears springing to your eyes, but as soon as the feeling was there, it was gone just as quick.
“oh . . did you like that? maybe you should finish what you were saying, and i’ll reward you for it.” his tone was teasing, and just when you were gonna snap back at him, he was slurping obscenely at your cunt.
“i—”
with one final lick to your throbbing clit, you were cumming all over jungkooks tongue with a weak cry.
you couldn’t form a word, nor thought. all you could do was go limp, and let him have his way with you. he didn’t even mind that you came without permission—frankly, you could do anything you wanted, as long as he got to remain between your soaked thighs.
your essence coated his tongue like dribbles of honey, and he drank up every drop until your thighs were twitching against his reddened ears.
with a deep groan, jungkook pushed your knees alllll the way back, and when you wrapped your hands around your ankles to keep them in place, his chest swelled with pride.
jungkook latched on your clit, and hollowed his cheeks, earning a squeak from you. when his head shook back and forth, that’s when the tears in your eyes started free falling.
“o-ohh my,” you cried out, thighs now beginning to shake.
jungkook stopped, and only stopped, when he felt your finger tips tap repeatedly at his shoulders. something you only did when you were way past your limits.
he nosed at your clit, and gave her one more sloppy kiss before pulling away, but only by an inch. he didn’t want to stray too far from he wanted to be most.
it was silent for a few minutes; the only thing being heard were your shaky breaths, and the occasional whimper.
his lips brushed against your thigh, and when he started covering the dewy skin in kisses, you were mewling in protest. “i can’t, kook,” he heard you sniffle from above him.
“ngh—you’re lucky i’m so hard. otherwise i’d make you do it again,” he growled, slapping your pussy with his palm. your body jolted, and when you attempted to push yourself away from him, you were surprised to see you were out of his iron grip.
there you laid at the top of bed; chest heaving and legs shaking, meanwhile jungkook stayed knelt at the edge, eyeing you very intensely.
you felt your heart begin to hammer against your ribcage when he stood at his full height. the new addition to his sleeve tattoo that he had gotten a few weeks prior had him looking intimidating as ever.
he was silent as he removed his shirt, and he was still quiet as he shed his sweats and briefs. his cock was now an angry red shade, and leaking like a damn faucet. it had saliva pooling on your tongue.
“you gonna come down here, and take it? gonna come take what’s yours?” he spoke lowly, brown eyes never once leaving yours as he spit in his hand. he used that same hand to pump his twitching cock, slowly and teasingly.
your lips pushed into a pout, but you nodded, completely disregarding the throbbing between your legs. you needed him in your mouth immediately. even if it was just a taste.
his nostrils flared when you crawled over to him on all fours, and once you were finally in reach, his thumb hooked into your mouth, forcing you to look up at him.
“mm, you want some don’t you?”
his thumb was pushing down on your tongue, preventing you from speaking, so you just nodded. to drive him even crazier, you started sucking on the digit, even going as far as to moan around it.
“baby please,” your boyfriend panted above you, his cock twitching wildly at the action. he was so close to busting a nut, but he had to keep it together so you could have your fun with him.
he truly had you so spoiled.
he took the throbbing muscle in his hand once more, and slapped it against your cheek. “can’t do this for long. i’m already close enough as it is,” he warned, tracing the dribbling tip over your lips.
your eyes flicked from his cock to those big, brown boba eyes, and with a slow lick to your lips, you nodded.
when your lips wrapped around his cock, jungkooks jaw went completely slack. you gave him the same treatment he gave you; wet and messy.
thanks to copious amounts of throat training, you were able to take more than half of his cock in your mouth with ease. when the tip brushed against the back of your throat, his hips stuttered. “shitttt.”
you tried not to get carried away, but the nosies he was making were so pretty :(( you never wanted them to end.
your hand cupped his balls, and this earned you a nice, strained groan from him.
“geumanhae,” he muttered, yanking you back by your hair until only the tip remained between your lips. a shiver ran down his spine when he felt you exhale through your nose, and with one last trace around the head, you were pulling back completely.
you looked at him through your lashes, batting them softly. “stop what?”
jungkook chuckled softly, running a tatted hand through his slightly damp hair. “stop trying to make me cum. you’re not that slick.”
you fake pouted, and leant forward, messily kissing all across his thighs and lower abdomen. “what gave me away?” you spoke softly, trailing your kisses higher up his body.
when you reached his lips, jungkook gave in and gave you a single, slow kiss. “was too wrapped in it to realize anything . . . until you started moaning too. you know that shit makes me cum quick,” he chuckled, bumping his nose against yours.
“pfft, whatever. now gimme another kiss.”
jungkook didn’t need to be told twice. he squished your cheeks together, and slithered his tongue into your mouth. when you started sucking on his tongue, his chest deflated in a deep breath he didn’t even know he was holding.
you both were as physically close as two people could be, but it just wasn’t enough for him. god, he just wanted to live in your skin all day, everyday.
“how do you want it?” he hummed, kissing his way down to your neck. your chest arched into his, and with a dreamy sigh you said, “on my stomach.”
you heard a small ‘mhm’ and then you were turnt around, and pushed to your tummy. your lashes fluttered weakly, trying to process jungkook’s quickness. you shimmied further up the bed to rest your head on the mountain of pillows at the top.
“oh, baby. you don’t need those,” you heard your man chuckle behind you. you felt the bed dip, and then a sudden warmth against your back. jungkook lifted your head up gently, and slid him arm underneath with ease, allowing your head to rest prettily on his bicep. “not when you can lay right here.”
his bicep was nice n’ strong, but soft enough to rest against. the perfect pillow.
you used whatever strength you had left to spread your thighs apart, you didn’t stop until your knees knocked against his muscly thighs. “please put it in.”
jungkook rubbed the fat tip of his dick between your swollen folds, his nose twitching at the intense warmth that greeted him.
“hah—i’ll try to go slow . . can’t guarantee anything after that.”
he circled his tip around your clit, relishing in the wet noises that he heard, and with a shallow inhale, he finally pushed the first couple of inches inside your pussy.
he heard you let out a tiny gasp, and your body tensed slightly at the intrusion. “d-don’t clench so hard, baby,” he panted in your ear, “s’just me. ease up.”
the warmth that you felt on your back suddenly spread all along your body. jungkook covered you like a blanket, not letting a single sliver of your skin go untouched by him.
that sweet, citrusy smell of his wafted into your nose, and that’s when you finally eased up, allowing him to push more of his cock inside your tight heat. jungkook was careful with it at first; slowly sliding in and out until he was pumping into you with ease.
your brows scrunched together in pleasure, “oh fuck.”
jungkook made a noise in his chest so low at you cursing, it sent shivers down your spine. his free hand snaked underneath your bodies, and pinched at your clit. “w-watch that fuckin’—ngh, mouth.”
“s-sorry, sorry! can you go faster, please?”
you could feel jungkooks cock twitch inside you at your request, and without saying a word, he pulled alllll the way out before slamming back inside you. he moaned into your shoulder when your ass shimmied against his front. “what’re you doing, baby?” his voice was raspy, and strained as if he’d been hurt.
“need—need all of it in me,” you slurred out, too cockdrunk to even care about how stupid his dick has made you already. all you knew in this moment was that you needed every. single. inch of him.
“don’t worry, you got it all. just focus on feeling good for me,” jungkook whispered in your ear, now starting a steady rhythm of deep thrusts. you didn’t need to be told twice, and just completely went limp, allowing him to have his way with you once more.
his rough fingers grabbed at the fat of your hips, pulling you more into him, so he could fuck you harder.
“you like that? like when i fuck you like this?” he growled, wrapping his tatted bicep around your neck. your chin was resting on his forearm, and soon enough drool was dribbling from between your plush lips and onto his skin.
the loud moan you let out was more than enough of a response for him.
being trapped in his arms like this always made you excited, and a little scared. he was just sooo much bigger compared to you, and the fact that he was able to keep you in place or manhandle into any position he wanted didn’t make the obsession any better.
“ah ah ah! o-oh my goddd,” your baby pink, sock covered feet kicked wildly against the bed when his cock hit a spongy spot particularly deep inside of you. “gon—gonna cum soon,” you wept into his skin, the coil in your tummy getting tighter and tighter as the seconds passed.
“i-i know. i can feel it.”
and he wasn’t lying. your walls pulsed around him like crazy, warning him of your nearing orgasm. the loud squelching that happened each time he pushed into you was also a dead giveaway.
jungkooks hand snaked beneath your bodies once more, stopping at your lower tummy. he used three fingers to push down, hard.
this had your eyes crossing, your back arching into his scorching hot chest.
“j-jeonnn—!” you squealed out, limbs having a mind of their own as they twitched and shook violently underneath him.
jungkook tightened his grip around your neck, and fucked into you even harder, milking your orgasm for all it was worth.
“uhn, shit. squeezin’ me so tight, baby. who’s fucking you so good like this, huh?” he grit out, lowering his head to smush the side of his against your own. his tongue darted out to lick at a stray tear falling down your temple.
you couldn’t speak. your entire mind sounded like static, completely useless. that definitely wasn’t sitting right with your man.
“a-ah! jung—jungkook!” you sobbed out, the nerve endings on you shoulder going crazy from being bitten by him. it hurt, like a lot, but it also felt fucking amazing.
jungkooks tongue lolled out to soothe the bite, and each time his piercing swiped across the sensitive flesh you shivered. “there you go, baby. that’s all i wanted to hear.”
his heavy, brutal thrusts were no more, instead he settled for shallow grinding. god, he was so close to cumming, but he couldn’t. not now at least.
“c’mon. wanna— *huff* wanna fuck in front of the mirror.”
you whined at this, shaking your head weakly in protest. jungkook chuckled, sitting back on his knees, cock still nestled snugly inside of you. he spread your ass cheeks, teeth clamping onto his bottom lip at the sight of your cunt hugging his length so nicely.
“ugh, babe. m’so sensitive, please,” you sniffled, brows scrunching together in pleasure once more. this fucker had the audacity to flex his cock inside you, not even bothering to hide the grin on his face.
“pleaseee? i’ll be extra gentle i promise.”
you let out a small sigh when his rough hands began to massage at your lower back, careful not to press too hard.
“you’re such a liar. as soon as you have me bent over, you’ll be rough again,” you giggled, arousal starting slowly to pool in your belly once again.
you could feel the way his cock twitched, the way the thick veins wrapped around the base thrummed against your walls. fuck, you really wanted to feel the warmth of him nutting inside you.
jungkook mumbled a small apology as he slowly pulled his cock out, and wow. you had his shit glistening. streaks of your cream coated the base, and if you weren’t feeling so tired, he’d make you clean up your mess.
“turn around for me, pretty girl. wanna see your face.”
it took a minute, or three, but you finally managed to turn over with a loud huff. jungkook was still sitting back on his knees, eyes now glued to your swollen cunt.
you were so wet.
dribbles of your cum trailed down your ass cheeks and onto the bed, soaking the black cotton sheets even further. he chuckled, “guess i’m gonna have to do laundry . . . again. what a sloppy pussy you got, princess.”
he slapped your pussy once, twice, and when he did it a third time your thighs were closing in sensitivity.
“what’s wrong? thought you liked when i slapped her like that?” he tongued at the inside of his cheek, admiring how phat your pussy looked with your thighs closed the way they were.
“mm, i do. just extra sensitive right now,” you giggled hugging your knees to your chest.
jungkook slowly got off the bed, and with little to no strength, he pulled you down to the edge by your thighs. your arms reached out for him, and he was happy to lean down to let you wrap your arms around his thick neck.
“gonna let me have my way with you again, cutie?” he smirked, lifting your body off the bed. his rough hands cupped your ass, keeping you flush against his chest. the tip of his cock bumped against your cunt, and if he wasn’t so bent on taking you in front of the long mirror against the bedroom wall, you knew he’d fuck you right here, standing and all.
“you may . . . but you better be gentle. i have work tomorrow, n’ don’t wanna be sore,” your nails scratched at the nape of his neck, making him sigh contently. “you’re the best, baby.”
your legs slowly unwinded from around his waist, allowing him to set you down. you heard a giggle, and whipped your head around. “you laughin’ at me?” you smirked, getting on your knee in front of the mirror.
jungkook joined you on the floor, his lips breaking into an even bigger smile. “yes, yes, a little. your legs are shaking so much, i can’t help it.” and there he went showcasing those two, front bunny teeth that had you falling in love with him all over again every time you saw them.
you shifted towards him, your eyes sparkling like the finest of diamonds. “you’re so handsome,” you whispered, resting your hands on his thick thighs. “gimme a kiss.”
it was so nice to kiss your man again, it really was. his lips were always so soft, and plush. he did things with his tongue during kisses that you didn’t even know were possible!
“s-so obsessed with you,” jungkook moaned into your mouth, his hands gripping onto the fat of your hips so harshly, you were sure to feel it for the next couple hours.
your hand wrapped around his leaky, neglected dick, giving it a few slow pumps. jungkooks abs clenched, and his mouth parted, allowing you to suck his tongue into your mouth.
you let out a small squeak when he smacked your ass, tatted hand grabbing onto the soft, jiggly flesh afterwards. “you’re—heh, y-you’re distracting me,” he moaned softly, giving your ass another quick slap.
“m’sorry, baby. just can’t help myself, i missed your kisses so much.”
jungkook could’ve fucking cried. he was so turned on, and in love right now, the shit nearly brought him to tears.
“no, no, don’t be sorry. never be sorry, especially when it comes to men, remember?” he whined into the kiss, sloppily making his way down your jaw, and into the crook of your neck. “you’re everything—a fucking goddess. everyone should be kissing the ground you walk on.”
jungkook wasn’t even sure what he was saying at this point, too drunk on you and your body to even care what was coming out of his mouth.
your head tilted back in a moan, giving jungkook more access to your neck. “don’ say stuff like that. gonna make me an even bigger brat than i already am.”
jungkook didn’t mind that honestly. yes, you can be the biggest, poutiest brat he’s ever met, but you were his brat.
his brat to punish and reward as he see fit. his to fuck, and then take care of afterwards. his to spoil.
and spoiled you were!
after many failed relationships/situationships, jungkook became your first real boyfriend when you reached your early twenties. he took care of you financially, and loved you in ways you didn’t even know were possible, ruining you for any man or woman that could potentially come after him. (there will be no one that comes after him.)
“i don’t give a fuck about that. gotta keep you bratty so you need me all the time. all i wanna do is be needed by you, y/n.”
with one final kiss to your sweaty skin, jungkook removed his face from that oh so comfortable crook in your neck. “now turn around, and arch for me.”
you didn’t say anything. you just peered at him through your lashes, and gave him that look. the look that silently told him you wanted him to fuck you sooo good, and fill you up with his kids.
you turned around, now facing the mirror. you looked completely spent; the light eye makeup you wore to work was now streaky and smudged. the cherry gloss you were once wearing was now nothing but a memory—jungkook made sure of that.
your eyes found his in the mirror, and never left them as you got on all fours. your back arched, and that’s when jungkook was the first to break eye contact, his eyes immediately falling on your pussy.
you looked very enticing from this angle to say the least.
“remember,” you spoke softly, regaining his attention, “go slow.”
he didn’t want to go slow, like at all. his balls felt so heavy, ready to fill up your soft walls. going slow was the last thing jungkook wanted to do.
but you were his princess, his special girl, his reason for still having hope in this crazy world—so instead of fucking you into you floor like he hated you, jungkook took his time. well sorta.
he used no hands to push himself back inside your warmth, something you both very much enjoyed to watch, and slammed all the way in without warning.
you made a noise between a sob and a moan, completely taken aback by the action. your face fell into the plush carpet, your arch deepened, and jungkook could tell you were going to lay into him by the pout on your lips, but he was quick to shush your whines with a few soft kisses on the small of your back.
“so deep like this . .” your voice was light and airy, brain totally convinced that jungkook was almost in your tummy. a whine bubbled in your chest when he pulled your head up by your hair, forcing you to look at him once more.
“keep your head up. ‘wanna see your face while i fuck you.”
sigh, he had such a way with words.
a small, dopey smile formed on your lips, and he could see the hearts forming in your eyes at the demand. “i’ll keep my head up. promise.”
jungkook offered you a small smile in the mirror, and then his eyes slowly trailed to the sight of your cunt swallowing up his dick. your ass was pressed nice n’ tight against his pelvis, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel the heat from your pussy against his balls.
he tongued at his lip piercing, nostrils flaring as he slowly pulled out an inch, and then pushed himself back in. he just kept repeating to himself ‘need to go slow. need to go slow. need to go slow for her.’
while jungkook was having an internal battle to keep his composure, you were having your own challenges trying to keep your head up. each time he pushed back in, he went all the way in to the hilt, letting his fat tip knock against sensitive, spongy spot deep inside you.
a pearl colored ring of cream was now forming on the base of his cock, and that just made it all the more harder to keep his slow, steady rhythm going.
“love taking you like this,” he groaned, grabbing a handful of your peachy ass. when he glanced your reflection in the mirror; your head was still surprisingly up, but your eyes were low lidded, and your teeth were clamped onto your bottom lip so hard it looked like you were on the verge of drawing blood.
thankfully you released the plump flesh to respond to him, “y-yeah, me too.”
although you couldn’t see what he did, you could certainly hear it. the sound of his thick cock splitting open your creamy folds was deafening. you were so wet that at some points, jungkook was afraid his dick would slip right out of you.
“stop clenching s-so much,” he huffed, pulling you back by the fat of your ass to fuck into you not faster, but harder.
each time he was a little more than halfway out, you would clench your cunt around his tip, like you were afraid he’d pull out, and leave you high and dry.
“sorry i just—hah! n-need you to go a little faster? please?” you tried to make it sound like a demand, but under your boyfriends’ hungry stare, it was hard to give him any kind of orders. he made you feel so helpless when he got like this.
“yeah? like this?” the pace of his hips increased slightly, but not enough to satiate you. your eyes met his in the mirror again, “um, more like this—”
you pulled your hips forward, and slammed them back. you repeated this action until jungkook began to match your pace while also maintaining how hard his cock was pumping into you.
you thought he was deep before, but this was entirely new—you could feel him in your chest! it hurt a little, but it hurt so good.
“y-yeah—mm, just like that.” your head was starting to droop, obstructing his view of your pretty, fucked out face. this simply wouldn’t do—not when you’ve reached being peak cockdrunk.
your head was yanked up by your hair, and kept in place by jungkooks hand, his grip not loosening in the slightest. “do you even know what your name is right now?” he chuckled, swatting at your ass before gripping the jiggling flesh.
you whined, lips pushing into a pout as you shook your head ‘no’. this made his smile grow wider, and his balls tighten—he needed you cum inside you now.
his hand moved from your hair to your throat, and with a gentle tug, he finally relieved you of holding yourself up by keeping you pressed tightly against his sweaty chest.
“i’m so fucking cl-ose, god. please tell me you’re close, baby,” his words came out slurred from him mouthing at your shoulder.
you wanted to answer him, please him, but you simply couldn’t find the worlds—let alone move your lips to say them. that was until jungkook threatened to pull out if you didn’t.
you knew he wasn’t bluffing by the way his hips started to slow, and you’d be damned if they came to a complete stop.
you turned your head towards him, and jungkooks lips caught yours in a nasty kiss. tongues were sucked, teeth clashed together, and while he sucked on your bottom lip, you muttered out a breathy, ‘i’m close, kook.’
“i love you so much.”
“i love you m-more.”
several bruising thrusts later, and jungkook was cumming inside you with a loud whine, his hand closing around the sides of your throat a bit tighter to keep you in place. he shoved his free hand between your dripping thighs, and with three thick fingers, he rubbed fast circles on your clit.
“o-oh shittt!” your hand wrapped around his tatted wrist tightly, fingernails digging into his heated skin in a weak attempt to stop him.
“i told you to watch your fucking mouth,” he moaned out, pushing your head into the carpet, hard. you barely noticed though, too wrapped up in your quickly approaching orgasm.
he propped one knee up, and began delivering mean strokes. “you’re kinda struggling to listen today *huff* guess i can’t blame you though,” he chuckled, briefly slowing his thrusts so he could let a glob of spit fall into the already excessively wet mess between your bodies.
his cock as completely covered in your essence and his cum, and fuck, he felt so sensitive and raw, but he just couldn’t stop. in this moment, he truly believed that fucking your creamed pussy like this was the closest he’d get to feeling nirvana.
you were completely taken aback by how rough he was being with you. you loved it. you wanted more.
just as you were about to cum you moaned out ‘oh fuck!’ so loud, you were sure your neighbors heard. this only made jungkook smush your face harder into the carpet, his body hunching almost completely over yours as he fucked you at a speed so quick it had you seeing white.
you could suddenly feel puffs of air against your ear.
“if you wanted to get fucked harder all you had to do was ask—don’t gotta disobey me to get me to do it,” you heard him growl into your ear, and that’s what had you cumming with a squeal, your back arching completely into the floor.
jungkook fucked you through the entire thing, and then some more.
“y-yeah, that’s right. get it out for me—f-fuck, you sound so hot,” he whined into your hair, his pace never once faltering. he pressed a kiss to your sweaty shoulder, and straightened up his back. he bit down roughly on his bottom lip as he admired the erotic sight before him.
“p-pull out!” you moaned out, and when your cunt clenched tightly around his cock, he knew what was coming.
jungkook pulled out completely, and a clear stream of your cum followed, soaking the carpet beneath you. your body went limp, slowly slumping into a pile of mush.
you whimpered, tears free falling down your cheeks as jungkook massaged your ass and lower back. you could hear him mumbling praises, but you were entirely too spent to respond.
“c’mon, lets get you off the floor, and into the shower,” he spoke softly, earning a whine of disapproval from you. “you’re all messy, baby. plus, you need to pee,” he said matter of factly. he never failed to wake you up out a blissful post-fuck catnap to pee.
“fine, but you’re gonna have to carry me.”
“don’t i always, pretty girl?”
fifteen minutes later, you found yourself in the shower with jungkook, steaming water cascading down your sore bodies. jungkook had wrapped your hair up for you before you got in, allowing you to enjoy this quiet time with no worries.
he held you tightly against his chest, and hummed lowly, rocking your bodies side to side. after a few moments he whispered, “you think you can stand by yourself while i wash you?”
he was always such an intimate, sweet man.
you pressed a gentle kiss to his pec and nodded. “wanna wash you too when you’re done,” you mumbled, immediately missing his warmth as you detached your arms from around his slim waist.
jungkook was quick to squirt your favorite hemp rose soap into a loofa, and with careful hands, he scrubbed your body. first was your shoulders, and then your breasts where he took his sweet time, and as he scrubbed over your tummy and lower abdomen, a certain feeling had your lower half tingling.
“turn around, baby,” he hummed, adding more soap onto the loofa. he washed over your back carefully, afraid that if he added too much pressure, you’d shatter right in front of him.
he had you turn towards him once again, and got on his knees so he could wash your legs. he was very thorough. not a an inch of skin gone untouched by him.
he was eye level with your still messy pussy, and he’d be lying if he said taking a lick or two didn’t cross his perverted mind.
he looked up at you through his dripping lashes, “could you hand me your washcloth, please? gotta, um, clean up between your thighs.”
you brushed dark, wet strands of hair out of his face, allowing you to see those oh so tempting big, brown eyes of his.
“how about . . you use your tongue?” your voice came out tiny at the end, embarrassment flooding your system. you weren’t the best at dirty talk like this freak was.
he smirked at you, “yeah? want me to clean you up?”
he kissed at the insides of your thighs, nipping at the petal soft skin every now again to hear you gasp. your back fell against the cool tiles of the shower wall when you felt his tongue ghost over your slit.
he swiftly, yet calmly lifted your leg up by the back of your knee, and set it carefully over his shoulder. his tongue flattened, and slowly licked between your folds. the taste that greeted him was nothing less than sweet.
because of his great diet, jungkooks cum was on the sweeter side, so he never minded eating it out your pussy, especially when yours was mixed with it.
“keep going s-slow like that,” you huffed out, bucking your hips up. jungkook hummed and continued slowly stroking your clit, with his tongue. when his piercing brushed over it you mewled like a kitten, brows scrunching in pleasure.
his hand caressed the thigh that was on his shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps with each touch.
“good pussy,” he mumbled into your cunt, circling your hole with his tongue before slowly pushing it inside. your stomach caved in in sensitivity, a broken moan slipping past your kiss bitten lips.
his tongue massaged your sensitive walls, curling up just enough to have your thighs twitching. his nose nudged against your clit with each movement, bringing you closer and closer to your umpteenth orgasm of the night. you’d lost count long ago.
you nearly collapsed when you felt a finger prod at your entrance, and jungkook was quick to kiss your whines away with small pecks to your clit. “just one, baby. just wanna get you to where you need to be,” he groaned into your cunt, sucking your clit between his plump lips.
your thighs started to shake, and it wasn’t love before you were creaming all over jungkooks tongue with a high whimper. he laved his tongue sloppily over your swollen button, making you ride out your orgasm for as long as possible.
he licked your pussy clean, not leaving a drop behind to be wasted. “always so sweet for me,” he grinned, kissing the mound of your pussy before standing.
“now let me actually clean you up, needy girl,” he smirked, reaching for your lilac colored washcloth. he was gentle as ever as he slide the cloth over your gooey folds. he would mumble sweet apologies anytime he brushed over your raw clit, and each apology was followed by a kiss.
he was next to be washed down, and trust you took your sweet time running the navy blue loofa over his slicked skin. when you reached his lower half, he just smirked at you the entire time.
“my eyes are up here, pretty,” he chortled, regaining your attention that was previously on his soft cock. even when he wasn’t aroused his cock still looked so enticing.
once out of the shower, jungkook did all the work; meaning he dried you off, covered your body in shea butter, and ‘dressed you’ which was just him putting one of his shirts on you with nothing underneath.
all that fucking made him work up quite the appetite, so you weren’t entirely surprised when he started complaining of a rumbling stomach.
you settled on whipping him up his favorite spicy instant ramen with a fried egg. his body was glued to yours the entire time you cooked, lips occasionally pressing a kiss to your clothed shoulder.
“mm, kook,” you giggled, craning your neck away from his eager lips, “go sit, i’m almost finished. i’ll heat up the strudels while you eat.”
“but you’re so warmmm.”
“well, you should’ve put on a shirt. not my fault you wanna walk around and flaunt your muscles,” you grinned, pouring the steaming noodles into his favorite bowl to eat ramen out of.
it was a red, ceramic bowl that you had made during a pottery class you took with your friend. you were insistent on throwing it away because, lets face it, it could’ve been prettier, but jungkook refused to toss it. he insisted it was one of the most beautiful ceramic dishes he’s ever seen. a lie, but a sweet one.
with a huff, jungkook released his hold on you, and slowly made his way to the small table in the corner of the kitchen. he sat in one of the two chairs, and propped his chin on his elbow, admiring the view of you bustling around the small kitchen.
“there, all finished,” you said to yourself, carefully placing the fried egg on top of the noodles. “here you go, baby. careful, its super hot.”
jungkook didn’t head your words, of course, and took a big bite after blowing on the steaming bowl a handful of times. “s’hot . . . but s’good,” he said with a mouthful of food, brows furrowing together almost angrily.
“i’m glad you like them. i tried to eat some, but they were entirely too spicy for me,” you snickered, placing the strudels on a baking sheet.
“oh come onnn, they can’t be that spicy to you. c’mere give them another tryyyy.” even though you knew you were gonna regret your decision to indulge in the spicy food, you didn’t mind in the slightest knowing it would make jungkook happy.
begrudgingly, you stalked over to where he was sitting, your hands glued to your sides. “come here, pretty girl. got a small bite right here for you,” he smirked, holding up his chopsticks.
you made a small noise that sounded like a whine, and bent down, taking his chopsticks between your lips. sure enough, they were too hot for your tastebuds, leaving behind a painful sting as you swallowed them.
“ack! see, kook! too spicyyyy,” you panted out, shuffling your way over to the fridge.
as you downed a glass of ice cold cranberry juice to soothe the ache in your mouth, jungkook just watched with hearts in his eyes.
synopsis. after breaking up with jungkook, she’s keeping her distance. he shows
up, patient, careful, letting her set the pace. with her friends around, she decides if she can trust him again.
pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader
genre. ANGST!! (i love it!), slow burn, smut, exes to lovers, fluff if u squint ig
warnings. smut! (mdni) ‘good girl’, multiple orgasms (f), fingering (one, two fingers), doggy, use of the word slut, dominant jk! dirty talking, foul language, bit of overstimulation, its angsty!!
wc. 14.3k
your friends don’t ask if you want to go. megan is already sitting on the edge of your bed when you come out of the bathroom, scrolling through her phone like this plan was agreed on without you. jimin is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you the way he does when he knows you’re about to say no and he’s already prepared to ignore it.
“you’re coming,” megan says, casual but final.
you sigh, slow and tired, like the air has personally offended you. “i really don’t want to.”
“you haven’t wanted to do anything since the breakup,” jimin says. not unkind. just honest. “and somehow that hasn’t fixed it.”
you want to tell them you’re fine. that you’re just busy (you’re not.) that staying in is easier than pretending you’re okay in public. what you don’t say is that you’re scared. scared of running into him. scared of confirming what your worst thoughts have been whispering to you at night—that he’s moved on cleanly, and you’re the only one still bleeding.
megan finally looks up. her voice softens. “you don’t have to have fun,” she says. “just… don’t be alone tonight. okay?”
that’s how they win.
you get dressed slowly, choosing something simple, something that doesn’t look like effort. the fabric feels cool against your skin. you tell yourself you’re not dressing for him. you tell yourself you won’t even see him. downtown is big. clubs are crowded. coincidence isn’t guaranteed.
you repeat that lie the entire drive.
the club hits you the second you step inside. noise first, then light, then bodies packed too close together. the bass rattles your ribs like it’s trying to shake something loose in your chest. jimin looks immediately more alive, already nodding along to the music. megan grabs your hand so you don’t disappear into the crowd.
you try to anchor yourself in small details. the cold glass against your palm. the tang of alcohol and expensive perfume mixed with smoke. megan shouting something in your ear you don’t fully hear. jimin laughing too loud at his own joke. you smile when you’re supposed to. you nod when it’s expected.
and then you hear his name.
it’s casual. careless. said by someone behind you like it doesn’t rearrange your organs.
your stomach drops. your chest tightens. you turn slowly, already knowing what you’re going to see and still hoping you’re wrong.
you’re not.
he’s at the bar.
one hand around a glass. shoulders loose. laughing like this place belongs to him. he looks comfortable in a way you don’t recognize anymore, like the version of him you knew stopped existing the moment he left.
he always said he hated crowds. said bars were too loud, too chaotic, too much. you remember nights you stayed in because he didn’t want to go out, nights you didn’t mind because you were with him and that was enough.
apparently, that rule never applied when you weren’t around.
the thought settles heavy in your chest. you don’t mean to stare, but you do anyway, your brain cataloging proof that he’s fine. that he’s lighter. that whatever you were to him didn’t slow him down the way he slowed you.
“hey,” megan says quietly. “do you want to leave?”
you shake your head too fast. “no. it’s fine.”
jimin follows your gaze and goes still for half a second. “we can move,” he offers. “different side.”
“no,” you say again, firmer now. “don’t make it weird.”
what you don’t say is that part of you wants him to see you. not falling apart. not begging. just existing. still here.
as if the thought summons him, he turns.
this time, it’s not just a glance. his eyes find you across the room, and you know immediately that he recognizes you. his smile fades— not disappears, just pauses, like his brain stutters trying to catch up to what his eyes are telling him. his posture shifts. his hand tightens slightly around the glass.
he doesn’t look away right away. he looks… surprised. not happy. not upset. just caught. like he wasn’t prepared to see you standing there, breathing, real, instead of as a memory he keeps buried.
your heart stumbles. you hate that it does.
for a moment, the noise around you feels distant, like the room has narrowed to just the two of you and the space between. you wonder what he’s thinking. if he’s remembering the same things you are. if he’s counting how long it’s been. if he feels even a fraction of the ache sitting heavy in your chest.
then someone says his name. touches his arm. pulls his attention away.
and just like that, you’re not the most important thing in the room anymore.
you look down at your phone before he can look back at you again. the screen is dark. no message. no missed call. nothing to explain why your chest feels so tight.
you hate that you’re disappointed.
the music swells. jimin pulls you toward the dance floor, and you go because standing still feels worse. lights blur. bodies move around you. megan dances like she’s trying to forget something of her own.
but your mind stays fixed on one thing.
you wonder if he’s thinking about you the way you’re thinking about him. if, later tonight, when the noise dies down and he’s alone again, your name will surface like a bruise he didn’t know was still tender.
you tell yourself you wouldn’t answer if he texted. that you’ve grown past that. that you’re stronger now.
but deep down, you know the truth.
if your phone lit up with his name—right now, in this crowded room—you’d pick it up without thinking.
because you might be over him.
but you’re not over what you were.
he doesn’t come over right away.
you notice that first. the hesitation. the way he keeps glancing in your direction like he’s arguing with himself. you dance with megan and jimin, let the music pull you into something that almost looks like fun, even though your attention keeps drifting back to the bar. every time you look, he’s still there. watching when he thinks you won’t notice. looking away the second you do.
eventually, he finishes his drink.
that’s when you know.
you feel him before you see him — a shift in the air, a familiar presence sliding into your peripheral vision. when you turn, he’s closer than you expect, standing just to your left, close enough that you can hear him over the music without him having to shout.
“hey,” he says.
just that. casual. like you didn’t unlearn each other the hard way.
your chest tightens, but your voice doesn’t betray you. “hey.”
up close, he looks the same and different in all the ways that matter. familiar features. unfamiliar ease. his eyes flick over you quickly — the black dress, the lace at your neckline, the boots, the way your hair falls loose down your back. he doesn’t stare, but you can tell he notices. something in his expression shifts, subtle but real, like he wasn’t prepared for you to look like this. like you didn’t freeze in time the way he expected.
“i didn’t know you’d be here,” he says.
you shrug. “neither did i.”
he lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “yeah. guess that tracks.”
there’s an awkward pause, the kind that didn’t used to exist between you. the music fills it in, heavy and relentless. you wonder if he can hear your heart over the bass.
“you look…” he starts, then stops. recalibrates. “you look good.”
it’s careful. safer than what he really means.
“thanks,” you say. after a beat, “you too. thought you hated places like this.”
his mouth twitches. “turns out i hate a lot of things less now.”
you don’t ask what changed. you already know the answer, and you don’t trust yourself to hear it out loud.
he shifts his weight, glances over your shoulder at megan and jimin pretending very badly not to watch. “i didn’t want to make it weird,” he says.
“then why did you come over?”
he looks back at you, expression unreadable. “because pretending you’re not here felt worse.”
that lands heavier than you expect.
you nod once, like you’re accepting a fact instead of a feeling. “okay.”
another pause. thicker this time.
“are you… okay?” he asks.
you almost laugh. not because it’s funny — because of the timing. because of how much that question used to mean when it came from him.
“i’m fine,” you say. not convincingly. but you don’t owe him honesty anymore.
he studies you like he knows that too. “right.”
someone bumps into him from behind. the moment cracks. the room rushes back in.
“i should—” he gestures vaguely. “yeah.”
“yeah,” you echo.
for a second, it feels like he might say something else. something important. he doesn’t.
he steps back. disappears into the crowd.
even though you expected it, it still hurts more than you want it to.
later, when you’re back home, shoes kicked off, makeup half-wiped, the quiet feels louder than the club ever did. you sit on your bed with your phone face up, telling yourself you’re not waiting.
you’re lying.
your screen lights up.
jungkook:
you home?
you:
yeah
jungkook:
sorry if i was weird tonight
you:
you weren’t
jungkook:
i was drunk
still am a little
jungkook:
seeing you caught me a bit off guard
you:
same
jungkook:
you look happy
you:
because i stopped waiting for you
jungkook:
what the fuck does that mean
you:
you didn’t show up when it mattered.
and when you wanted me, it was only on your terms
jungkook:
i see
you:
that’s why it ended
jungkook:
i messed up
you:
yeah, you did
the phone goes quiet. your chest is still tight. you don’t say you miss him. you don’t say you wish it was different. you just leave everything out in the open.
you push the cafe door open and step inside. the warm smell of coffee hits you first, the low murmur of conversation and the clink of mugs against wood. you glance around, half-expecting an empty seat, half-expecting him.
he’s there. jungkook. at the corner booth you two used to favor, hunched over a steaming mug, hair messily falling into his eyes. he looks up as you approach. the way he freezes for a split second, just long enough for your chest to tighten, tells you how pretty you look, as he recognizes the gravity of the moment.
“hey,” he says, soft, careful.
“hey,” you reply. the word feels heavier than you thought it would.
he slides the chair across from you before you can stop him. you don’t protest. not because you want to be here, not because it feels safe, but because part of you needs this. part of you wants to see if he’s really changed.
the pause stretches. the hum of the college students hammering away on their keyboards fills it, but it doesn’t distract either of you. you notice the subtle shift in him— his hands wrapped around the mug, the way he keeps his shoulders slightly hunched, like he’s bracing for judgment.
“can we talk?” he asks. not casual, not easy. deliberate. the weight of the months, of everything unsaid, packed into that single line.
you nod once. you don’t trust your voice yet.
he exhales slowly. “i… i want us back. but i know it’s not that simple.”
your chest tightens. memories press against your ribs: waiting, disappointment, lonely nights filled with his absence. you look down at the table. your fingers trace a circle around the mug, feeling the heat seep into your skin. “it’s never simple with us.”
“i know,” he says. the words aren’t excuses. they’re acknowledgment. he leans forward slightly, eyes locking on yours. “and i don’t expect you to just say yes. i don’t want you to. i want to earn it.”
you lift your gaze. “earn it?”
“yeah.” his voice is steady. “i want to prove that i can be the person you needed me to be before. i’ll start however you want. small. patient. if you’ll let me.”
you study him. every line of his jaw, the tilt of his shoulder. every pause. every hesitation. part of you wants to scoff. part of you wants to reach across the table and pull him close.
“and if you fail?” you ask. low. careful. testing.
“then i’ll accept it,” he says. “i’ll walk away. again. and i’ll deserve it.”
the honesty, that bare acknowledgment, hits harder than you expected. he’s not asking — he’s admitting. he’s letting you hold the control.
your throat tightens. you remember the nights you waited, the empty messages, the silence that stretched between you. the ache of all those times he chose convenience over you.
“fine,” you whisper finally. “start small.”
relief softens his expression, just slightly. he doesn’t reach for your hand. he doesn’t dare. he knows the rules now.
“small,” he repeats. not a question. a promise.
you look down at the mug, feeling the warmth seep through your fingers. the cafe feels quieter now. the hum of voices fades a little, the smell of coffee and sugar and worn wood grounding you.
he watches you. studies you. and for the first time in months, you feel seen without being invaded.
the conversation drifts to safer territory: work, mundane updates, things neither of you really care about. it’s a shield, and you both use it. every now and then, your eyes meet, and the air thickens. every laugh is measured, every smile tentative, but alive.
at some point, he notices your fingers tracing a faint scar along your wrist, left over from weeks you’d rather forget. he doesn’t comment. he doesn’t reach. he just lets you notice that he noticed.
small victories. earned awareness. that’s what this is going to be.
he slides his hand closer across the table, not touching, just resting his fingers near yours. your pulse jumps. you don’t pull away.
“i didn’t realize how much i missed… this,” he says quietly.
you raise an eyebrow. “this?”
“you. being here. like this. with you. not pretending, not distracted.”
you swallow. the truth of it presses heavy. you want to pull back. you want to test him. to see if he can stay consistent.
“we’ll see,” you say. restrained. measured. not a promise.
“i’ll take that,” he murmurs, leaning forward slightly, the air between you charged but contained.
the conversation slows. the pauses stretch. your chest aches with the weight of months you didn’t speak, months of avoidance, months of longing disguised as indifference.
and then his knee brushes yours. accidental? deliberate? doesn’t matter. your stomach flips. the tension coiled in your chest tightens.
you look at him. he doesn’t pull away. he waits.
“i want to prove it,” he says. “every day, if you’ll let me.”
you nod once. barely. it’s enough for now.
the first brush of his hand against yours on purpose comes next. slow. tentative. electric. your chest clenches, your stomach twists.
the cafe seems to shrink. the world outside pauses. all the months, the distance, the hesitation — they’re still there, but for the first time, they feel bridgeable.
he doesn’t kiss you yet. he won’t. not until this is earned. not until the tension, the hesitation, the small tests, all bend in your favor.
but when he leans forward slightly, eyes locked on yours, fingers grazing yours just long enough to make you shiver, the unspoken promise hangs between you: if he keeps proving himself, if you keep letting him, eventually, the restraint will snap.
and you know, deep down, when it does, it’s going to hit harder than anything either of you have felt in months.
it’s a wednesday, gray and steady. rain streaks the windows, sliding down in slow rivers, blurring the city outside. the office feels quieter than usual, but the fluorescent lights hum low, almost drowning out the sound of your own thoughts. you’re hunched over your desk, scanning spreadsheets, trying to convince yourself work is enough.
then your phone buzzes. a name you weren’t expecting lights up the screen.
jungkook
your chest tightens. thumb hovering. part of you wants to ignore it. part of you wants to delete the message and pretend it doesn’t matter.
jungkook:
hey. i’m nearby. can i bring you lunch?
you hesitate. maybe is dangerous. but your fingers move.
you:
sure
he replies instantly.
jungkook:
perfect. 15 mins at max
thirteen minutes later, the elevator dings. he’s there, rain dripping from the hood of his dark jacket, hair damp at the edges, framing his face perfectly — soft strands falling just over his forehead, falling just right to make you notice everything you’ve missed. his jeans are dark, slightly worn, sneakers scuffed but clean. his hands peek out from the sleeves, and you catch a glimpse of ink on his forearm, a small pattern curling around his wrist.
he sets the brown paper bag and thermos on your desk before you can react. the smell hits first— fresh soup, a sandwich, cut fruit. he didn’t forget.
“hey,” he says softly, shaking off a few droplets of rain from his hair.
“hey,” you murmur, voice tighter than you mean.
he slides the chair across, sits carefully beside you. not too close, not crowding, just present. he opens the thermos, pours the soup into your cup, letting the steam curl up between you. the warmth seeps into your hands.
“how’s your day?” he asks, quietly. not idle. intentional.
“busy,” you say. the spreadsheets and emails blur in your mind because you’re aware of him, aware of the way the damp strands cling to his jawline, the way his tattooed hands rest on the table, relaxed but deliberate.
he watches you eat, silent, noticing every little movement — the tilt of your head when the steam rises, the way your fingers wrap around the cup, the quiet tension in your shoulders.
“you look tired,” he says finally, voice low, careful.
“long week,” you murmur.
he doesn’t push. he reaches into the bag, setting the rest of the lunch neatly on the desk. every sandwich wrapped just so, fruit cut neatly, a small container for soup — deliberate, careful, like he wants nothing to fall out of place.
you eat slowly, noticing him noticing, the faint scent of rain clinging to his jacket, the ink on his hand catching a flicker of light from the window. he doesn’t touch you, doesn’t prod, just observes, waits.
“you didn’t have to do this,” you say finally.
“i know,” he says simply. “i wanted to.”
no theatrics, no excuses. just presence.
he sets a napkin beside your hand, aligns the utensils. small, nearly invisible, but your chest tightens anyway.
you sip the soup. the warmth, the quiet office, the sound of rain against the windows — all of it grounding, protective.
the phone buzzes. work. you glance at it, sigh. he notices.
“let me handle it,” he says before you can protest. he picks up the phone, resolves the minor issue politely and efficiently, sets it down. “all done.”
you look at him. chest tight. months of waiting, absence, and distance pressing against your ribs. now replaced with this: deliberate care, attention, quiet focus.
he watches while you finish your lunch, hands near yours but not touching, letting you move freely.
“i’ll… leave you to work after this,” he says quietly, leaning back.
“you don’t have to,” you murmur.
“i want to,” he says. “just thought i’d make it easier. let you focus.”
the office hums low, rain tapping against the windows. the warmth from your cup seeps through your fingers. the subtle tattoos on his wrist, the damp strands of hair sticking to his face, the careful alignment of everything on your desk — it all presses into you like a quiet promise.
you finish, push your chair back. he mirrors you, just a few feet away, letting you lead.
“thanks,” you murmur.
“always,” he says softly. steady. no demand, no plea.
and as you gather your things, you realize it: it’s not grand gestures, it’s not drama. it’s him being here. noticing. being patient. showing up.
the rain streaks the window behind him, blurring the city into gray streaks. he watches you, letting you decide the pace. and in that quiet, in that patient presence, you realize slowly that maybe— just maybe— you’ll let him in again.
for now, it’s soup, careful hands, the faint scent of rain, and jungkook sitting beside you.
you’re curled into the couch, blanket pulled tight, oversized hoodie swallowing your shoulders. cocoa steams in your hands, the smell of chocolate and warmth grounding you. the TV flickers faintly, harry and ron arguing over the map, the movie already familiar but comforting.
jungkook sits on the floor across from you, legs crossed, a bag of snacks open between you two. he’s careful with everything, setting each piece neatly, occasionally brushing your fingers when he hands you a snack. you notice the small gestures — the way his damp hair falls into his eyes, the slight curl of ink peeking from the cuff of his sleeve. it’s subtle, deliberate, but it presses against your chest in ways you can’t quite name.
“you’re barely touching the chips,” he says, grabbing a handful and eating one deliberately slow, watching you.
“i am,” you reply, not looking at him.
he smirks. “ruthless. saving all the good ones for yourself?”
“maybe i am,” you mutter, letting your gaze flick to the TV.
he leans back on his hands, observing, teasing quietly. small comments, not overwhelming: “look at his face,” “did you see that?” — just enough to make you notice him.
he reaches for the cocoa, handing it to you across the blanket. fingers brush yours lightly. you stiffen, then let it happen. it’s brief, almost accidental, but it lingers in your mind far longer than it should.
minutes pass. he nudges the blanket toward you with his foot, adjusting it so it wraps tighter around your knees. “there,” he says, voice casual, as if he’s done nothing extraordinary.
“thanks,” you murmur.
the movie plays. the light from the TV flickers across his face, and for a moment, you study him without realizing it. the damp strands of hair framing his eyes, the slight curve of his jaw, the way his shoulders move easily when he laughs softly at the movie. it’s calm. it’s him. it’s… comforting.
he stretches across the floor, almost leaning into your space, and bumps your knee lightly with his. “oops,” he says, not moving back. he’s testing the space, seeing how close he can get.
“careful,” you say, half-grinning.
he tilts his head, smirk tugging at his lips. “you like it.”
you roll your eyes, but the tightness in your chest doesn’t lie.
the movie continues. you reach for a snack, and he pretends to swipe one first, holding it up teasingly. “not so fast,” he says. “you’re supposed to earn it.”
“earn it?” you snap, mock indignation. “i’ve been here longer than you.”
“exactly,” he says, leaning back slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. “i know exactly how long to push you without breaking you.”
you glare but laugh quietly, shaking your head. he chuckles, low and warm.
he reaches over to hand you the cocoa again, fingers brushing yours deliberately this time. you flinch slightly, and he catches it, eyes softening for the briefest moment.
“you okay?” he murmurs.
“i’m fine,” you mutter. not a lie, but not the whole truth either.
he nods, then leans back again, letting the quiet stretch between you. the room is filled with the soft glow of the TV, the smell of chocolate and snacks, the comfort of routine. he doesn’t push further. he doesn’t demand anything from you. he just shows up, stays, and notices.
later, during a quieter scene in the movie, he nudges the blanket over your shoulders again. “you’re wrapped like a burrito,” he says.
“better than freezing,” you reply.
“i could fix that,” he says, just low enough to make you look at him, and then he smirks and sits back, pretending it’s a joke.
you steal a glance at him, and he catches it, smirking wider. the tension is thick, subtle, in the little things: the brushes of hands, the way he leans a little too close when reaching for snacks, the way his gaze lingers when you laugh quietly.
the movie rolls on, credits coming up. he yawns, stretching across the floor lazily. “so, how was the night?”
you shrug, sipping your cocoa. “good. relaxing.”
“good,” he repeats, softer now, quieter, like he means more than just the words. “i’m glad i came.”
you glance at him, the silence stretching comfortably between you.
you’re finishing up at work, tired, hair loose, hoodie over your shoulders. your phone buzzes.
jeon: wanna get dinner tonight? i know a place that won’t make you regret leaving your couch.
you blink at the message. part of you wants to say no, part of you wants to see what he’s like now.
you: why not
jeon: perfect. i’m twenty minutes away. be ready.
twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at your door. he’s there— messy hair falling just right over his forehead, sleeves rolled up to show his tattoos, jeans and jacket casual but sharp. he leans slightly in the doorway, smirk tugging at his lips.
“you look… easier to handle than i expected,” he says, eyes glinting.
“funny,” you mutter, “i could say the same about you.”
he laughs softly. “touché. get in the car, princess.”
the drive is playful. he hums along to the music, occasionally reaching over to bump your knee, tease you about the song choices. “i can’t believe you listen to this,” he says, mock horror in his voice.
“shut up,” you snap, but the corner of your mouth twitches anyway.
he leans a little closer. “nope. i’m not stopping. your turn— what’s your excuse for looking at me like that?”
you glance at him, eyebrows raised. “like what?”
“like you can’t decide whether to roll your eyes or laugh.”
“maybe i’m both,” you reply.
the small touches, the teasing, make your chest tighten. it’s familiar, but new — like he’s deliberately walking the line between fun and dangerous, reminding you of the pull he’s always had.
dinner is intimate, casual. he keeps the teasing alive, brushing your hand lightly when reaching for the napkin, leaning closer than necessary when making a joke.
“you always order the smallest portion,” he says, mock disbelief. “are you trying to starve me?”
“i just… don’t want you stealing it,” you fire back.
“steal it?” he leans closer, grin dangerous. “don’t worry. if i wanted it, i’d take it anyway.”
every glance across the table, every laugh, every accidental brush of hands makes your chest tighten. your stomach flips at how deliberate he is, the way he knows exactly what to do to get under your skin while making it feel effortless.
he watches you as you eat, eyes flicking from your face to your hands, lingering for just a beat too long. it’s impossible to ignore.
“stop staring,” you murmur, though your voice betrays a hint of something else.
“staring?” he says, mock innocence, leaning slightly across the table. “i prefer the term appreciating.”
you huff but can’t hide your smile. he leans back, satisfied with the effect.
after dinner, the drive back is quieter. he points out city lights you’ve driven past a hundred times but suddenly feel new. he hums under his breath, nudging your shoulder occasionally, fingers brushing yours when he passes something.
“you’re quiet,” he observes, voice low, teasing. “thinking about me already?”
“shut up,” you mutter, warmth creeping into your chest.
he smirks, not letting it go. “maybe i like it when you try to act tough. makes the moments when you don’t even better.”
when you reach his apartment, he doesn’t rush you. “you coming in, or are we just doing the staring game out here?” he teases, smirk wide.
you roll your eyes but step inside. the apartment is warm, soft light casting shadows. he leans casually against the counter, eyes fixed on you.
“you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, almost dangerous.
you swallow, heart pounding. “waiting for what?”
“this,” he says, stepping closer, smirk fading into something sharper, more intense. “you. right here.”
he moves closer still, hands brushing your arms lightly, giving you just enough contact to make your pulse race.
“jeon…” you start, voice soft, but he shakes his head slightly, leaning closer.
“no words,” he murmurs, playful, dangerous. “i just need this. need you.”
before you can call him out on that being corny, he’s on you, lips pressing to yours— harsh, urgent, demanding. months of distance, frustration, desire collide in that kiss. hands grip your waist, your shoulders, pulling you into him with a force that leaves no room for hesitation.
he pulls back slightly, forehead against yours, breath ragged. grin returns, softer now. “see? i told you it was worth it.”
“maybe,” you murmur, breathless, chest tight.
he laughs, quiet, satisfied, leaning close again. “maybe? princess, i’ll take that ‘maybe.’”he nudges your shoulder lightly, smirk playful once more, letting the tension linger. “i’m not done tonight. not by a long shot.”
"please," you begin to say quietly, as if he's not already clattering around with his belt buckle, starting to undress. "don't leave." he has no intentions of leaving what-so-ever.
Its a crazy sight really– the two of you, fumbling around undressing each other. moaning once he hits the sweet spot behind your neck. the pads of his fingers sink into your soft flesh, squeezes your ass once, groans when you reach for the hem of his shirt pulling it over his head.
you swipe your nails over his abs, “holy shit your jacked,” you whimper out. imagining sucking and licking each individual ab, leaving marks. he shrugs leaning into your neck “i’ve always been like this, just noticing now huh?” he purrs.
you roll your eyes, a soft smile forming, and sigh. It's soft and melodic to jungkooks ears. there's a dominant assertion to the way he moves you. you've seen this side of him a few times, but it never fails to take your breath away.
hands pinned above your head all rather suddenly, a single one of his palms can keep both of your wrists suspended. It's always driven you wild. the hand that isn’t wrapped around your hands clamps around your throat, and you can’t help to let out an uncharacteristic whimper, “not so chatty now are you baby?” he says deep, low, sending a shiver down your spine.
his knee dips down to your thighs spreading them, before seeing how soiled your panties were. he lets out a chuckle, hands dipping under the lace, digits sliding through your folds– a sharp strangled intake of air leaves your mouth, whimpering once he slides two of his long, slender digits into your slicken pussy. He keeps it shallow. just the first two knuckles. enough for you to know he’s there. you could see the ink peaking out as he thrusted into your gummy walls.
“feels s’good koo.” you moan out.
the moan you exhale is desperate. needy. gets him all proud and smug. “you're so wet,” he husks against your earlobe. fingers now working against your clit, harsh rough circles– has you mewling out curse words. your high very clearly approaching. smirks once your whimpers begin to build. his nose nestles into your hair, lips against your ear. "gonna cum pretty?"
how your hands reach down and grab at his much larger hands, should be indication enough that your orgasm was approaching.
“shit.” you groan out, "right there. right there. fuck." you whimper. “i know baby,” he coos. he's watching your face, how your eyes are glued shut, how your dewy lips are resting ajar, soft moans escaping, an occasional swear or two at times. “feel good angel?” he whispers into your ear. almost like he coaxed an orgasm out of you.
“holy shit,” you whimper out, head dipping back against the pillows. gaze fully opening eyes brimming with tears, lips puffy, harshly inhaling air. “did s’good baby.” he groans out. his cock rock solid underneath his calvin klein boxers.
hes panting now.
quickly discards his boxers somewhere in the room, he holds his rock solid cock by the base and runs it between your folds, mutters something about how good you feel,
you whine a little, full of need, whenever he reaches a spot you like. “give me your worse, lover boy.” he just shakes his head. lines himself u. you gasp as you feel his tip graze your entrance. jungkook groans once he pushes in. watches how your soaked cunt accommodates his size.
the way he thrusts is sin, oh-so-slow, stretching you out inch by inch, “such a good girl f’me aren’t you baby?” he grunts
a small whine escapes your throat once he hits that sweet spot, “faster.” you mewl out.
"shit," he husks, his pace increasing, hips slamming up against your ass. the sound of spanks echo into the room. "so desperate for my cock, huh? desperate and needy slut, taking me so well." he grunts.
fuck.
can’t even think coherent thoughts, while his cock was thrusting into you at such a bruising pace. his pace slows a little. head falls into the crook of your neck. teeth digging biting. leaving marks.
his hand dips down to toy with your pussy. rubbing fast circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
"koo, I'm gonna-"
"what?" he cuts you off. “are you gonna cum?” he coos, hands wrapping around your throat. his pace increases, the hand that was toying with your pussy rubbing faster– harsher circles. your second orgasm hits you harder, you swore you saw the gates of heaven open, stars and all. blinding white.
jungkook groans, feeling your gummy walls constrict his cock.
“i’m close,” he grunts out.
he lets out a pornographic moan as he cums, bites down on his bottom lip. chest heaving, the muscles in his stomach beginning to tense in the way they always do. painting your walls white.
“you were s’good f’me baby.” he coos, dropping down to lay next to you. he studies you for a second, thumb brushing your cheek. “i love you,” he says, quiet, barely a whisper.
the room is quiet in a way it wasn’t before.
not tense. not heavy. just… settled.
he doesn’t move right away. neither do you. the city hums faintly through the window, distant traffic, a siren far enough away to feel unreal. he reaches for his hoodie from the back of the chair and drapes it over you without asking, like it’s instinct.
“you cold?” he asks.
you shake your head. “no.”
he leaves it there anyway.
he sits back against the headboard, knees bent, forearm resting loosely across them. for a second, he just watches you— not intense, not hungry. observant. like he’s recalibrating.
“you always do that,” he says finally.
“do what?”
“go quiet after.” a pause. “not in a bad way.”
you shrug, pulling the hoodie closer. “i don’t know what i’m supposed to say.”
“good,” he replies. “means you’re not forcing it.”
that earns a look from you. he catches it, smirks faintly.
“what?”
“you acting emotionally mature is new.”
he laughs under his breath. “don’t get used to it.”
silence again— easier this time.
he reaches out, thumb brushing your cheek once, brief and unceremonious, then drops his hand like he didn’t mean to linger. “i’m not asking you anything tonight,” he says. “before you think i am.”
you glance at him. “asking what?”
“anything,” he repeats. “answers, promises. whatever.” you study him for a moment, trying to decide if you believe him. “okay,” you say.
“okay,” he echoes.
he leans over to grab his phone from the nightstand, checks the time, then sets it face down again. deliberately. “you hungry?” he asks. “i have cereal. or… cereal.”
you snort despite yourself. “you’re terrible.”
“i know.” a beat. “stay?”
you don’t answer right away. he doesn’t push. doesn’t fill the space. just waits.
“yeah,” you say eventually. “i’ll stay.”
his shoulders loosen like he didn’t realize they were tight.
“cool,” he says, casual again. “then you’re picking the movie. no judging.”
“i’m absolutely judging.”
he grins. “wouldn’t expect anything less.”
you wake up to sunlight first— not bright, not warm enough to feel kind, just thin light slipping through the gap in the curtains, dust hanging in it. the room smells faintly like detergent and him. the couch is uncomfortable in the specific way couches are when you fall asleep without meaning to. your neck is stiff, one leg half numb, and it takes a second to realize you’re not alone.
jungkook is still asleep beside you, slouched at an awkward angle, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, the other resting close to your waist without touching. close, but careful. like even asleep, he knows better now. the tv is still on, netflix glowing softly in the dim room, the screen frozen on a question that feels a little too aware of itself— are you still watching?
you stay still, breathing quietly, listening to the low hum of the city starting its morning and the steady rhythm of his breathing. he looks different like this. not softer, exactly — just unguarded. hair messy, falling into his eyes, a faint crease between his brows like he frowned sometime in the night and never quite let it go. you don’t stare for long. you’ve learned what staring leads to.
when you shift, the couch creaks. his eyes open almost immediately, alert but not startled, like he never fully shut off. “morning,” he says, voice rough. “hey,” you reply, just as quiet. neither of you moves right away. the night sits between you— not heavy, not awkward, just present. his gaze flicks to the tv, then the window, then back to you. “guess we didn’t finish the movie,” he says. “guess not,” you answer, and he hums like that explains something.
he sits up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face and then through his hair, sleeve riding up just enough for his tattoos to flash before disappearing again. you look away before he notices. “you sleep okay?” he asks. “yeah. as okay as the couch allows.” a corner of his mouth lifts. “yeah. she’s unforgiving.” he reaches forward and turns the tv off. the screen goes dark, the room instantly quieter, more real, sunlight creeping further across the floor.
neither of you brings up last night. not what happened. not what it meant. he stands and stretches, then glances at you like he’s checking something he can’t name. “i’m gonna make coffee,” he says. “unless you hate coffee now.” you snort softly. “i don’t change that fast.” “good,” he replies. “that’d be concerning.”
the coffee machine fills the space with noise. normal, grounding. he moves easily through the kitchen, mugs clinking, water running, not asking how you take it because he remembers. when he comes back, he sets a mug down in front of you. no ceremony. “careful,” he says. “it’s hot.” “thanks.” he leans against the counter instead of sitting back down— distance, intentional. for a moment, it almost feels like nothing happened at all. like this is just a morning.
then he checks his phone. once. “i should head out soon,” he says, casual. your chest tightens anyway. “okay.” another pause. he watches you over the rim of his mug. “last night doesn’t have to be anything,” he says. not dismissive. not defensive. “unless you want it to be.” you meet his gaze. “and if i don’t?” he shrugs lightly. “then it isn’t.” you nod. you appreciate that more than you say.
he finishes his coffee, grabs his jacket from the back of the chair, slips it on like it’s just another morning. at the door, he hesitates— not long, just enough. “text me when you get home,” he says, then adds, “or don’t. either’s fine.” you roll your eyes. “i’ll text.” he smiles, small and real. “figured.”
the door closes quietly behind him. the apartment feels rearranged, not empty. you glance back at the couch, the blanket, the dark tv screen— are you still watching? you exhale, grab your phone, and move toward the door. whatever this is now, it isn’t over. but it isn’t settled either. and for the first time, that feels okay. it doesn’t hang over your chest like a looming dark cloud.
the day feels longer than it should.
you notice it first when you’re brushing your teeth, standing barefoot on cold tile, phone face-up on the counter where you left it last night. no notifications. no name lighting up the screen. you tell yourself it’s fine. that you expected this. that he said he wasn’t making it mean anything.
still, you check the time.
8:14 a.m.
you shower, get dressed, choose something neutral without thinking about why. coffee tastes a little burnt. the hoodie you wore home last night is folded over the back of a chair. you don’t put it on. you don’t move it either.
on the walk to work, the city feels sharper than usual. louder. people move with purpose around you, all of them seemingly very sure about where they’re going. you keep replaying small things instead of the big ones— the way he turned the tv off, the way he didn’t sit back down, the way he left without lingering. it didn’t feel like rejection. it felt like restraint.
that might be worse.
at your desk, you open your laptop, scan emails, answer the ones that need answering. you do your job well. you always do. coworkers stop by, ask normal questions, make normal jokes. you laugh when it’s expected. no one can tell anything shifted last night.
your phone stays quiet.
by ten, you’ve stopped checking every few minutes. by eleven, you’ve convinced yourself this is good. healthy. by noon, the space where his name would normally be feels louder than any text ever did.
lunch comes and goes. you eat half of it. the other half sits untouched while you scroll aimlessly, not looking for him but somehow still expecting him to appear.
nothing.
you think about the old version of this— the one where silence meant you’d done something wrong. the one where you’d already be drafting a message, something casual that wasn’t casual at all. hey, hope your day’s good dressed up as confidence.
you don’t send anything.
that’s new.
mid-afternoon, a meeting runs long. you take notes, nod along, contribute when needed. your phone vibrates once and your heart jumps before you can stop it.
it’s not him.
by the time you’re done, you feel tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix. the kind that comes from holding something in your chest all day and pretending it weighs nothing.
on the way home, you pass the coffee place he likes. you don’t go in. you think about how, once, he would’ve texted you by now. something stupid. a photo. a comment about his day. you wonder if he’s thinking about you at all, or if this is what moving on actually looks like— not disappearing, just not reaching.
when you get home, the apartment feels too quiet. you drop your bag, kick off your shoes, sit on the edge of the couch like you’re waiting for instructions that never come. the tv stays off. the silence presses in.
you tell yourself you’re proud of him.
you’re not sure how you feel about that.
it’s nearly seven when your phone lights up.
not a long message. not dramatic.
jungkook: made it through the day?
you stare at it. just that. no apology for the silence. no explanation. not pretending nothing happened either.
your thumbs hover.
you type yeah. delete it. type i did. delete that too.
finally:
you: yeah. you?
the reply doesn’t come instantly. you notice that too. you set your phone down, stand up, busy yourself with nothing— rinsing a mug that’s already clean, straightening a cushion that doesn’t need it.
your phone buzzes again.
jungkook: same. work was a lot.
simple. honest. no pressure.
you sit back down.
you: figures.
a pause.
jungkook: i didn’t want to crowd you today.
there it is.
your chest tightens, not unpleasantly. just… aware.
you: i noticed.
jungkook: yeah. i figured you would.
you exhale, leaning back into the couch.
you: i didn’t hate it.
the typing bubble appears. disappears. comes back.
jungkook: good. i was hoping for that.
the conversation doesn’t stretch. it doesn’t spiral. it ends naturally, get some rest, you too. when the screen goes dark, you don’t feel abandoned.
you feel… considered.
later, when you finally head home for real, the hallway is quiet. you unlock your door expecting the same stillness you left that morning.
instead, you smell something faint and warm— candle wax, flowers, something cooked not too long ago.
you pause, keys still in your hand.
the lights are low when you step inside. not dim. deliberate. the table is set for two. nothing extravagant. just clean plates, real cutlery, two candles burning steady like they’ve been waiting. a small vase of roses sits between them— trimmed, intentional, not trying to impress anyone but you.
and jungkook is there.
standing near the counter, jacket off, sleeves pushed up, inked hand resting against the edge like he wasn’t sure whether to sit or stay standing. his hair falls the way it always does when he hasn’t overthought it, framing his face soft enough to make you pause.
he looks up when he hears you.
doesn’t smile right away.
“hey,” he says, quiet. “i wasn’t sure what time you’d be back.”
you swallow. “you… waited.”
he nods once. “yeah.”
no big explanation. no speech about intentions. just presence.
you close the door behind you, the click echoing softly through the apartment. the day finally exhales out of you, all at once.
“i didn’t want today to end like it meant nothing,” he adds, after a beat. not defensive. not pleading. just honest.
you look at the table again. the candles. the roses. then back at him.
“…okay,” you say.
dinner doesn’t feel like a performance.
that’s the first thing you notice.
he doesn’t hover or watch your reactions too closely. doesn’t ask if it’s good every two minutes. you sit across from each other, knees brushing under the table, the candles burning lower as you eat. conversation drifts instead of pushes— work, something stupid he overheard on the train, a story about a coworker that makes you laugh more than it should.
at some point, you realize your shoulders have dropped. your phone hasn’t moved from where you set it down. you’re not waiting for the moment to end.
he clears the plates without asking. you let him. when he comes back, he leans against the counter instead of sitting again, watching you in that way that isn’t hungry, just attentive.
“you’re quieter tonight,” he says.
you shrug. “long day.”
“yeah,” he nods. “i figured.”
there’s space after that. not awkward. just open.
you stand eventually, drawn to the window. city lights blink on one by one, the sky already darkening. he joins you without comment, stopping close enough that his arm brushes yours.
“i almost didn’t do this,” he admits, voice low.
you don’t look at him. “the dinner?”
“coming at all.”
that gets your attention. you turn slightly, searching his face.
“why?”
he exhales through his nose, thoughtful. “because i didn’t want to mess it up by acting like nothing changed. and i didn’t want to mess it up by acting like everything did.”
you swallow. “so you chose… candles.”
a corner of his mouth lifts. “i chose effort.”
you don’t reply, but something settles in your chest. not relief. not certainty. just… steadiness.
later, you end up back on the couch. not tangled. not distant. just close enough that your legs touch, his arm resting along the back cushion behind you. something plays on the tv that neither of you is really watching.
your head tips back against the couch. his fingers drum once, absently, like he’s resisting the urge to touch.
“can i ask you something?” he says.
“depends,” you answer.
he glances down at you. “are you going to disappear if i do?”
you meet his eyes. “no.”
that seems to matter. he nods, then looks back at the screen.
“did last night make things harder for you?”
you think about it. really think.
“no,” you say finally. “it made things clearer.”
he shifts, turning toward you now. “in a good way?”
you hesitate just long enough for him to notice.
“in a good way,” you respond.
after a while, you feel his hand settle against your knee. not possessive. just there. you don’t move it away.
“i’m not asking for anything tonight,” he says quietly. “i just wanted you to know that i’m not trying to slip back into your life unnoticed.”
you breathe in slowly. “i see that.”
his thumb brushes once, light, like punctuation.
the episode ends. netflix asks if you’re still watching. neither of you answers it.
eventually, he stands. grabs his jacket.
you follow him to the door.
this is the moment that used to unravel you— the leaving. the not knowing.
he pauses with his hand on the handle, turns back to you.
“i’ll text you tomorrow,” he says. not a question. not a promise dressed up as one. just information.
you nod. “okay.”
he hesitates, then leans in and presses a brief kiss to your temple. careful. intentional.
“sleep,” he murmurs.
when the door closes behind him, the apartment doesn’t feel empty.
the week settles into something almost normal. almost.
you see jimin and megan on friday because that’s what you do when life starts getting too quiet—you return to the people who know how to fill the space without asking too many questions. megan texts first, something vague about drinks and “needing human interaction before i start beefing with my plants.” jimin follows it up with a thumbs up and a location pin like it’s already decided.
you don’t mention jungkook in the group chat. they don’t mention him either.
the bar is smaller than the club from before. warmer. low ceilings, amber lights, music that stays just under loud enough to shout over. megan slides into the booth first, immediately kicking off her heels and tucking her feet under her. jimin orders for the table without asking because he remembers. he always does.
“you look less haunted,” megan says after your first sip.
you snort. “that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”
“i mean it,” she insists. “still tired. but not… hollow.”
jimin watches you over the rim of his glass. “you sleeping?”
“yeah,” you say. then, after a beat, “mostly.”
that earns you a look. not judgmental. just knowing.
“he text you again?” megan asks, casual but sharp.
you nod. “not a lot. just… checking in.”
jimin hums. “better than disappearing.”
“lower bar than i’d like,” you mutter.
“fair,” he says. “but still.”
you don’t defend jungkook. you don’t criticize him either. the silence between those choices feels deliberate, like you’re holding something fragile and don’t want to test how strong it is yet.
megan reaches across the table, squeezes your hand once. “we’re not gonna jump you,” she says. “but we are watching.”
“i would expect nothing less.”
the conversation drifts—work gossip, a disastrous date megan went on, jimin complaining about his manager like it’s a sport. you laugh. really laugh. it surprises you every time, how easily it still comes when you’re with them.
you’re halfway through your second drink when jimin’s gaze flicks past you. then back. then past you again.
“don’t,” you say quietly.
he winces. “i wasn’t gonna say anything.”
“you were,” megan counters, already turning.
you don’t have to look. you feel it before you see it—that subtle shift in the air, the way your shoulders tighten on instinct.
jungkook stands near the bar, jacket slung over one shoulder, hair falling into his eyes like it always does when he hasn’t bothered fixing it. he looks relaxed. not smug. not searching. just… present. like he didn’t come here for you, but he’s not surprised you’re here either.
his eyes find yours anyway. they soften. just a fraction.
he doesn’t come over. that’s the first thing you notice.
“wow,” megan mutters. “growth.”
jimin lets out a slow breath. “i’ll give him that.”
you hold his gaze for a second longer than you mean to. then you look back at your drink.
“i’m okay,” you say, before either of them can ask.
“we know,” jimin says. “we’re just deciding how fast we’d tackle him if you weren’t.”
that pulls a smile out of you.
ten minutes pass. maybe fifteen. you talk. you sip. your phone stays in your bag. you don’t check it.
then there’s a presence at the edge of the table. not looming. not intrusive. just… there.
“hey,” jungkook says.
his voice is softer than the room. he looks at you first, then at jimin and megan, respectful. careful.
“hi,” you say.
megan raises a brow. jimin crosses his arms. neither of them move.
jungkook clears his throat. “i didn’t wanna interrupt. just—” he gestures vaguely. “wanted to say hi. see how you were.”
jimin tilts his head. “she’s alive.”
“good,” jungkook says, and you know he means it. “that was my main concern.”
megan studies him for a long second, then sighs. “fine. pull up a chair. but if you say anything stupid, i reserve the right to kick you.”
“fair,” he says easily.
he sits—not next to you, but across. it’s deliberate. you notice.
the dynamic is strange at first. jimin asks pointed questions. megan watches body language like she’s taking notes. jungkook answers honestly, doesn’t overdo it, doesn’t perform. he laughs at the right moments. he doesn’t touch you.
that might be the loudest thing he does.
eventually, jimin exhales, some of the tension bleeding out of him. “so,” he says, “what is this?”
jungkook doesn’t look at you when he answers. “it’s me trying to do better without asking for credit.”
you swallow.
megan leans back. “and what does ‘better’ look like to you?”
he thinks about it. actually thinks. “showing up. not crowding. not assuming i get access just because i want it.”
jimin nods once. approval, whether he means to give it or not.
conversation resumes, lighter now. jungkook tells a story about work. megan roasts him for it. jimin adds commentary like a narrator. you find yourself relaxed in a way you didn’t expect—not because everything’s fixed, but because nothing is being pushed.
after a while, jimin checks his phone. “i gotta bounce,” he says. “early morning.”
megan groans. “traitor.”
“text me when you get home,” he tells you, pointed.
“always.”
megan follows a few minutes later, hugging you tight before whispering, “call me if you need rescuing.”
you roll your eyes. “go.”
suddenly, it’s just you and jungkook again. not alone—but close enough.
he shifts in his seat. “i can head out too.”
you study him. the way his inked fingers fidget with the edge of the table. the way he’s waiting, not assuming.
“you don’t have to,” you say.
his shoulders relax, just a little. “okay.”
you sit there, sharing space. not filling it.
“they don’t hate me,” he says eventually.
“they’re cautious,” you correct. “which is fair.”
“yeah,” he agrees. “i earned that.”
you meet his eyes. “you did.”
he doesn’t flinch. that matters.
when you leave, it’s not dramatic. he walks you to the door—not your car. not your place. just the door.
“i had a good time,” he says.
“me too.”
megan doesn’t say anything until she and jimin are halfway down the block.
then, “okay.”
just that.
jimin snorts. “that’s never a good sign.”
“i’m deciding how honest to be,” she says, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. “because i have thoughts.”
“oh, same,” he says. “i’ve been holding them back like i’m in court.”
they walk in silence for a beat, the city buzzing around them, late-night traffic and laughter spilling out of bars they don’t feel like entering. megan finally exhales, long and sharp.
“he’s trying,” she says.
jimin nods. “yeah.”
“and that annoys me.”
“also yeah.”
she shoots him a look. “don’t agree with me unless you mean it.”
“i do,” he says. “i just also think it matters.”
megan stops walking. jimin takes two more steps before realizing and turning back. she’s facing him now, expression tight but not angry--focused.
“trying doesn’t undo damage,” she says. “it doesn’t rewrite how she spent months feeling like she was optional.”
“i don’t trust him,” she continues. “not because he’s evil. because he’s inconsistent. and inconsistency is worse than being shitty outright.”
jimin hums. “yeah. because you can’t brace for it.”
“exactly.”
they cross the street. a car honks somewhere. the night smells like asphalt and something fried.
“but,” jimin says after a moment, “i didn’t see him pushing tonight.”
megan scoffs. “bare minimum.”
“no,” he says. “that’s new minimum. his old minimum was showing up late and acting like it was charming.”
she grimaces. “don’t remind me.”
jimin glances back toward the bar out of habit, like he expects to see you standing there. you’re not.
“she looked lighter,” he says.
megan doesn’t answer right away. when she does, her voice is quieter. “yeah. she did.”
that bothers her more than she wants to admit.
“because what if this is enough?” she asks. “what if a few good weeks make her forget how bad it felt?”
jimin stops again, gentler this time. “she’s not stupid.”
“i know,” megan snaps. then softens. “i know. but she loves deeply. and he knows how to hit that soft spot without meaning to.”
“i don’t think he’s doing it without meaning to,” jimin says. “i think that’s the difference.”
megan rolls her eyes. “oh great. intentional mediocrity. inspiring.”
he shrugs. “intentional effort.”
they walk again. slower now.
“did you notice,” jimin says, “how he didn’t sit next to her?”
“yes,” megan says immediately. “and how he didn’t touch her. not once.”
“and how he looked at her like he was waiting for permission to breathe.”
she groans. “don’t romanticize it.”
“i’m not,” he says. “i’m observing.”
megan kicks a pebble down the sidewalk. “i hate that part of me wants to believe him.”
“same,” jimin admits. “which is why we can’t.”
she smirks. “there it is.”
“we don’t interfere,” he continues. “but we don’t soften either. if he messes up, we say it. if she starts shrinking again, we call it.”
megan nods slowly. “agreed.”
they reach her building. she stops at the entrance, keys in hand.
“if he hurts her again,” she says, very calmly, “i will ruin his life.”
jimin smiles. “i’ll help.”
she pauses. looks at him. “you always do.”
he shrugs. “someone’s gotta be the scary one with manners.”
she laughs, finally, and pulls him into a quick hug.
“text me when you get home,” she says.
“always.”
as he walks away, megan glances back down the street once more, toward the bar, toward the night you’re still inside of even though you’ve left it.
“don’t fuck this up,” she mutters to no one
the next time you see him, it’s unplanned.
not accidental—not really—just unannounced.
you’re home early for once, shoes kicked off, hair damp from a rushed shower, dinner something simple you’re eating straight out of the container because you don’t feel like pretending it’s a night worth plating. the windows are open. the city hums softly beneath you. the sunlight is long gone, replaced by the pale glow of streetlamps and the faint neon flicker from the building across the street.
your phone is sitting on the counter, silent. you aren’t expecting him. and yet, when there’s a soft knock, your chest jumps anyway.
you set the fork down, hands trembling just slightly, and move to the door. he’s there—standing like he always knows where to be, calm but impossible to ignore. in his hand, a small bouquet of roses, red, not overdone, not too perfect. his eyes lift to yours, and something unspoken passes between you—a balance of anticipation and warning.
“hey,” he says, voice low but warm.
“hi,” you murmur. your throat feels thick.
he doesn’t push. doesn’t step inside without permission. he just waits, shifting the weight from one foot to the other. the sleeves of his jacket are rolled up, tattoos showing, hair falling in the perfect way across his forehead, framing his face. it’s casual. sharp. dangerous in a way that makes your stomach twist.
“uh…” he begins, hesitating, then smiles. “i brought dinner.”
you raise an eyebrow. “you didn’t have to—”
“i know,” he interrupts softly. “but i wanted to. just… thought we could do it here.”
you step aside, letting him in. he sets the roses on the counter, brushing a finger over the petals like he’s memorizing the way they feel. then he opens the bag and starts laying out containers carefully on the small kitchen table, setting candles in between, lighting them with meticulous care.
you watch him, quiet. there’s a patience there, a stillness that hasn’t been here before. he moves deliberately, but not stiffly. he hums under his breath, a tune you don’t recognize. he glances up, catching your gaze, and smirks.
“you look tired,” he says, leaning against the counter. “but… approachable.”
you roll your eyes but the corners of your lips twitch. “thanks, i think.”
he shrugs. “take it however you want. i meant it as a compliment.”
the room smells faintly of vanilla and food. the candles flicker, casting soft shadows over the walls. he’s hovering near the table, waiting for you to sit, but he doesn’t insist.
finally, you slide into the chair across from him. he sits too, close enough that your knees almost brush. the conversation starts small—what you did today, what he did, what you watched, what’s coming up. he listens, really listens, not just waiting to reply or tease. and sometimes, he’s still flirty—light touches, playful remarks—but nothing forceful, nothing testing boundaries.
“you always pick the weirdest music,” he says, reaching over to adjust a napkin. “i swear, you have a soundtrack for every mood.”
“maybe i like you hearing it,” you say, smirk tugging at your mouth.
“oh, i like it,” he whispers.
the air between you tightens without either of you doing anything. he leans slightly closer, just enough that his presence presses against your senses, but he doesn’t cross the line. he’s learning restraint. he’s learning that showing up, waiting, and being here without demanding anything is part of the work he owes you.
dinner is quiet but comfortable. you eat, talk, laugh occasionally. he tells stories from work—embarrassing moments, victories he’s proud of—and you listen. you notice the little things: how he twitches his tattooed fingers when he’s thinking, the way his hair falls into his eyes when he smiles, the soft warmth in his voice when he mentions something that matters to him.
after a while, he leans back, fingers lacing together, eyes on yours. “i wasn’t sure if you’d let me do this,” he admits.
“do what?” you ask, careful.
“show up,” he says simply. “make you dinner. sit here, talk, not fuck it up. i wanted to be here… and not ruin it.”
you stare at him. the honesty isn’t flashy.
“you’re… doing okay,” you say finally. “better than i expected.”
he shrugs, just slightly, and that small motion carries pride and relief at once. “good. i’m trying. every day.”
the rest of the evening stretches, slow and deliberate. he doesn’t overtalk. he doesn’t overflirt. he makes subtle gestures—pouring your drink without asking, handing you the last bite of food with a small smirk, catching your gaze and holding it a second longer than necessary.
at some point, the conversation dies naturally. you both just sit there, watching the candlelight flicker, listening to the city hum outside the window. it’s comfortable, almost domestic, in a way that doesn’t feel forced.
then he shifts slightly, elbow on the table, leaning closer. “i know i haven’t been… reliable,” he says. “and i know that’s earned your wariness.”
you nod. “earned it,” you echo.
“i want to do better,” he says. “not words, not promises. just… this. showing up, being present, respecting you, letting you lead the pace. if you let me.”
you swallow. the room feels smaller somehow, warmer, quieter. the distance of months, the tension of everything that’s happened, condenses into this single moment.
“i’ll let you try,” you say finally. “but it’s not a reset. it’s a test.”
his smile is quiet, soft, and honest. “that’s fair. i’ll take it.”
he reaches across the table, not to touch you unless you want him to, but just close enough that his fingers hover over yours. you notice, but you don’t move. he waits. waits for your permission. waits because he knows that now, it isn’t just about desire—it’s about trust.
“so,” he says, finally, teasing just a touch, “dinner went okay, or am i still redeeming myself?”
“you’re… redeeming yourself,” you admit. “slowly.”
he chuckles, fingers still hovering. “slowly is fine. i’ll take slowly. i’ll do slowly as long as you let me.”
the rest of the night passes in fragments—movies you half-watch, music soft in the background, candlelight, long pauses where neither of you needs to fill the space. it isn’t about rushing. it’s about being. together.
and when the night winds down, when the plates are cleared and the candles are nearly burned out, he doesn’t push for more. he just sits there, steady, a presence that doesn’t demand, doesn’t question, just is.
you glance at him, tired but calm, and realize that for the first time in months, the idea of him doesn’t make your chest ache. it makes it beat a little differently—attentive, alert, hopeful in a cautious way.
he catches your gaze and offers a small, patient smile. “goodnight, then?”
“goodnight,” you reply.
authors note. I fucking hated formatting this shit, i based this off of lexi jaydes song "drunk text me' (im fucking obsessed) butttt anyway thank you for reading <33
Genre: lovers to exes to exes to lovers, Mostly crack, fluff, and smut but a little bit of angst because I'm a bitch.
Words : 17.6k
Summary: "Show you what devotion is, deeper than the ocean is".... You broke up with your boyfriend because he couldn't let go of his fuckboy antiques now he's gonna win you back whatever it takes.
Warnings: Toxic relationships, Jungkook is the biggest red flag but we love him, SMUT [ ITS FILTHYYY, FINGERING, ORAL SEX (Both receiving), PENETRATIVE SEX ( Vaginal), UNPROTECTED SEX (Don't be stupid like Jungkook, please)].
A/n: This is unedited, no proof reading done.
*******
For the thousandth time this evening, you couldn't help but roll your eyes as you witnessed your boyfriend, once again, openly flirting with another girl in your presence. It wasn't as if he was unaware of your presence, and he wasn't doing it secretly behind your back either. He knew very well that you were right there, and the irony was that he was supposed to fetch you a drink when he stumbled upon a pair of boobs on the way.
'Baby, it will be fun,' he had said when he insisted on taking you to this party. Yet now, you found yourself sitting awkwardly on a filthy couch, uncomfortably witnessing two guys passionately making out while your so-called boyfriend indulged in flirting with the brunette, who had her hands all over his biceps. You could bet a million dollars that he was flexing them right now.
When you first met Jungkook in your college, he had the title of the biggest fuckboy of the campus and a snap score of 3 million, yes 3 million and if that's not the biggest red flag then what is? But despite the fuckboy behaviour he was a decent person. After trying (and succeeding) to get in your pants at the frat party you first met, he asked you out on a date. And of course you said yes. He gave you the full date experience, in fact it was one of the best dates you had in a while.
He took you to the movies and was respectful, keeping his hands to himself throughout the outing. During the date, he took care of you, ensuring you were well-fed and enjoyed yourself. Afterward, he even made the extra effort to drive you home in his own car, instead of that death ride he usually brings to college. He was so determined to show you that it wasn't just about sex that he didn't even insist on kissing you at your door, it was you who dragged him inside by his collar to fuck you senseless.
Jungkook surprised you, everyone else and himself when he asked you to be his girlfriend only after three dates. And he was really really sweet so you said yes. To show you how devoted he was to you and how he only had eyes for you he didn't even look at other girls let alone flirt with. But that only lasted for two months. Yes, once a fuckboy always a fuckboy. Although Jungkook remained faithful and never slept with anyone else or outright cheated on you, he still indulged in flirting and entertaining any other woman he found even remotely attractive.
Initially, you tried to dismiss it as harmless flirting, but as time went on, the situation became increasingly unbearable. The only thing preventing you from ending the relationship was the fact that he genuinely loved you. Jungkook proclaimed his love for you just three months into the relationship, whereas it took you more than six months to reciprocate those feelings.
You knew Jungkook loved you because he never failed to show you. God, the extremities that boy has gone to show you how much he loves you. One time he ran 12 miles to get to you because you sprained your ankle and was in the hospital and his car was stuck in traffic. Later he ended up fainting from exertion and you found yourself taking care of him instead. It was still really sweet gesture from him.
Once Jungkook managed to free himself from the other girl's company and arrived with a big smile and your favorite beer in hand, you promptly got up and headed towards the front door, leaving your boyfriend behind in confusion.
"Where are you going?" Jungkook asked, following you outside.
"Home." You were already ordering an uber.
"We are leaving already?"
"No, Jungkook. I am leaving already."
"But why? We were having fun."
"Again, no. You were having fun, I was just asked by two guys if I wanted to have a threesome."
"What guys?" Oh the hypocrisy.
"That's not the point JK," you finally snapped, turning to confront your boyfriend. "You're the one who dragged me to this pathetic party, and instead of being there with me, you spent 20 minutes flirting with some random chick."
"Baby, you know that was harmless."
"Again with that FUCKING EXCUSE."
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry, ok? You know I only have eyes for you. I don't even remember her name."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better? I'm leaving."
"Let me take you home, ok?"
"I already booked a ride."
"No, those things are dangerous at night. I'm not letting you leave in a cab," he insisted, without waiting for your reply he led you to the parking lot where his Harley was parked. Without any further protests, you let him firmly place your helmet on your head. Within just a month of dating, Jungkook had already arranged customised helmets for both of you as a couple. Though it might have seemed a bit tacky to some, it was his way of expressing a significant commitment, almost like a symbol of marriage in his eyes.
The ride was silent. Only him rubbing your thighs once in a while. You had time to think the whole ride. Contemplate every situation till now that has led up to this moment. Every time that he had flirted with other women and made you feel like shit, invisible. Every time he says 'oh but baby, at the end of the day I come back to you.' You have decided. You were done feeling like shit.
As the motorcycle came to a halt, you realized he had brought you to his place instead of your own. While you hadn't officially moved in together, it felt like you practically had, given the amount of time you spent there and the belongings you had at his place. The fact that he took you there didn't even surprise you; it was a place that felt like 'home' to both of you.
"Jungkook why'd you take me to your place. I said take me home."
"This is home, baby." He said helping you off his bike and taking off both of your helmets. "Let's just go upstairs and talk this out, then I'll make you cum and we'll go to sleep."
The short elevator ride to the upstairs apartment felt much longer, with neither of you uttering a word. As you entered and took off your jackets, you let out a sigh. The impending conversation was something you had been dreading, but you knew there was no other option; it had to be done. The atmosphere was heavy with tension as you prepared to address the issues that had been bothering you.
"Jungkook."
"Baby." He mocked your tone.
"Sit down." You pointed at the couch.
"Is this an intervention?" He asked with a grin.
"Just sit." He followed your order and stared at you with those big doe eyes that stopped you from breaking up with him until now. "I love this POV. Your tits look amazing."
"Jungkook, be serious."
"Why, do you keep calling me Jungkook. It's Koo and Baby for you."
Ignoring the comment you continued with your speech.
"Jungkook... I, I don't think this is working anymore." You said.
"What is not working? Baby, we're fine."
"No we're not. I've been waiting for you to grow out of this...fuckboy phase but it's been three years, Jungkook and you still haven't changed. It's even worse now."
"Come on, is this about Ally?"
"So you do remember her name."
"Does it matter? It was just some harmless flirting, I swear. I even told her I have a girlfriend."
"Oh, I'm so flattered," you retorted, the sarcasm evident in your voice, which seemed to annoy him slightly. Your frustration and displeasure were clear, as you couldn't overlook the impact of his behavior on your feelings.
"Look, what am I supposed to do? Stop talking to women? Is that what you want?"
"Oh my god, do you not see?" you exclaimed, your emotions pouring out. "You entertain them and flirt with them, and it makes me feel terrible, Jungkook. I'm your girlfriend, yet you don't even bother to introduce me to these women. And you call it harmless flirting? What about this?" You pulled out a piece of paper from his front pocket, confronting him with evidence of his actions.
"I had no idea she slipped it in my pocket."
"I saw you take it from her."
"But I was not going to call. I swear, baby. You know I would never. I only took that so-"
"So what? So she would wait around the whole night for you to call? That's even worse."
"Babe, look. I'm sorry. I'll do anything you want me to do. I made a mistake and I won't do it again, I promise. I swear on it."
"You don't have to. You can call her if you want to. We are done here," you declared firmly, your decision made. His eyes widened in response to your decisive words, realizing the gravity of the situation.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I'm breaking up with you, Jungkook. It's just not working for me anymore. I'm so tired of your behavior," you expressed with a heavy heart. He was now on his knees before you, tears welling up in his eyes but not yet streaming down his cheeks. Despite the pain, you knew that ending the relationship was the best decision for your well-being and emotional health.
"No no, baby, no. We are not breaking up."
"No. Jungkook we're done."
"No."
"What do you mean no? This is not how it works."
"I'll be better, ok? I promise. Please don't break up with me. I can't live without you. Please. I'll do anything you want. I'll prove it to you." The tears were falling down now. And as much as it hurt to watch him cry you were going to stand firm on your decision. "Let me make it up to you, baby. Please." When his shaking lips made contact with yours you couldn't push him away. One last time wouldn't hurt right? Maybe you'll give him this one last time. God knows he needed this. You needed this.
So you let him. Didn't stop him when he picked you up and took you to yo- his bedroom, Laid you down on his bed, undressed you. You didn't stop him when he kissed down your body, brought you to your high with his mouth. You let him love you one last time.
******
Breaking up with Jungkook had been difficult, and it's been a week since then. The impact of the breakup weighed heavily on you as well, despite your decision being the right one. You cared deeply for him, though maybe not to the same extreme extent as he did for you, it seemed his love for you bordered on being overly intense and possibly unhealthy.
The breakup had also left you feeling deeply saddened and missing him greatly. However, the impact on Jungkook was even more profound, and describing it as devastating would be an understatement. The next day, as you began getting ready to leave, you noticed Jungkook gazing at you with a lost and vulnerable expression, like a bewildered bunny. It was heartbreaking to witness, and you had to gently remind him that you had broken up with him the night before. The pain of the breakup was evident in his eyes, and it made the situation even more challenging for both of you.
"But, baby we had sex."
"Sex doesn't fix everything, Jungkook. I'm still breaking up with you. It was goodbye sex."
Jungkook was frantic when he realised you were serious about the breakup. Begged you to stay but you had already made up your mind.
Seeing the overwhelming number of missed calls and text messages from your ex-boyfriend, you let out a sigh. Despite the breakup, he was persistently trying to reach out to you, with all the messages saying almost the same thing. While you believed that blocking someone was immature and didn't want to stoop to that level, his relentless badgering was becoming too much to handle. If he continued this behavior, you might eventually have no choice but to block him on your contacts and social media platforms.
As your phone blared for the 58th time, your coworkers shot glares in your direction, clearly annoyed by the constant interruptions. Feeling apologetic, you flashed them a smile and finally picked up the phone.
"I swear to god, Jungkook. I will block you if you don't stop calling me."
"Baby-"
"No, Jungkook. No baby. We broke up remember?"
"You broke up with me, I never accepted it. You're still my baby."
"Jungkook I'm serious. Stop calling me. I will block you."
"You won't."
"Try me."
"Come outside?"
"What? Kook, I'm not home."
"I know. I'm outside your office. They won't let me in."
"Yes I told them not to. What are you doing here? Jungkook you have a job too, you know that right?"
"I know. But it's not important right now."
"Not important right now? That's your only source of income." You reminded him, resting your forehead on your hand.
"I don't care. What will I do with the money if you're not with me?"
"Pay your bills?"
"Come outside. I wanna see you."
"I can't. I already had my lunch break. Look, Jungkook, just go back home, ok? Don't do this to yourself. I'm hanging up. Don't call me again or I will block you." You ended the call without waiting for a reply, and the calls finally stopped, but the messages persisted. Deciding it was necessary for your peace of mind, you muted his contact to temporarily shield yourself from the continuous messages.
It was 4 hours later you were exiting the office building with your coworkers when one of them pointed something out.
"Is that Jungkook?" Sherry said and you turned your attention to where she was pointing, and to your surprise, there was Jungkook sitting on one of the benches just outside the building. He stood up with a hopeful smile and waved at you as you approached. His unexpected appearance caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions at seeing him again after the breakup.
"You guys go. I'll talk to him."
As your coworkers questioned if you were okay, you gave a simple nod to reassure them. However, you couldn't hide the glare in your eyes as Jungkook approached you. The mix of emotions inside you was evident, but you tried your best to maintain composure in front of your colleagues.
"What are you still doing here, Kook?"
"Well you told me not to call you again and your guard wouldn't let me in so I had no other option."
"Yes you did. You had the option to go home."
"But I wanted to see you." Oh god it was frustrating. You are not even surprised that he's acting like a child. He has always been like this, nagging and pestering until you give him what he wants. You are actually more surprised by the fact that he waited a whole week before showing up at your workplace.
"So what you just wait here for 4 hours?"
"No .. 8 hours. I've been here since morning."
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"
"No. Ask your guards. We are friends now." You closed your eyes to calm yourself.
You spoke with concern in your voice, realizing that Jungkook's actions were not healthy for him. "Jungkook, this is not healthy… Why are you doing this to yourself?" you asked, genuinely worried about the toll the breakup was taking on him. You understood that he was struggling with the situation, but his continuous attempts to contact you were not helping anybody.
"Baby, I'll do anything to prove to you that I want you back."
You expressed firmly, "That's not going to change anything. We are not getting back together." You reiterated your stance, hoping he would come to accept it and eventually find a way to move forward.
"You're saying that now."
"No. My answer is not going to change." He looked unconvinced. "At least tell me you ate something?" a small smile crept across your face as you heard his stomach loudly grumble in response to your question. You decided to set aside your differences momentarily and focus on making sure he was okay in the present moment.
"You still care about me?" Of course you still cared about him. You didn't break up with him because you don't love him anymore, you broke up because he was an asshole and you realised he was never going to change. And you have to keep reminding yourself that. He's never going to change.
"Where's your bike?"
"I didn't bring it. I don't like riding without you holding me."
"Did you bring your car at least?"
"I walked."
"You walked?"
"I figured that when you come back to me, we'd have to deal with the hassle of taking both of our cars back home and riding separately, which I didn't want to go through. So, I decided to walk instead."
"You're unbelievable." He just smiled at you as if it was a compliment. All you wanted was to go home, miss him to death and cry yourself to sleep while holding his old shirt. Was it too much to ask?
His stomach grumbled again. As if asking you to feed him. Jungkook knew he was not only torturing himself but you as well. Was this his strategy? Annoy you back in his arms?
"Fine. Let's go?"
"Are you taking me home?"
"No. I'm taking you to eat something."
"Then you're taking me home so I can fuck some sense into you and we can get past this?"
"You know what? I'm leaving. Die starving."
"No I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please feed me."
Despite your current feelings of frustration and hurt towards Jungkook, you chose to bring him to your home that night. It wasn't for any romantic reasons or to give in to his demands. Instead, you prepared a home-cooked meal for him, knowing that he likely hadn't been eating well, surviving on ramen, cereal, and a whole lot of alcohol. And you couldn't let him go to sleep hungry, so you set aside your emotions and cared for him, making sure he had a satisfying and enjoyable meal.
*******
"You know you can't take him back right? He's very toxic for you."
On that Sunday evening, you and your best friend, Jimin, had a movie night planned to lift your spirits. The hot topic of discussion was none other than Jeon Jungkook. Unlike the rest of your friends from college who always cheered for your relationship with Jungkook, Jimin was the only one who never rooted for you two. He had always expressed his concerns about Jungkook, labeling him as toxic, and reminding you that you deserved better. Back in college, you used to get upset with him, feeling he was always negative. Ironically, as time passed, you realized that Jimin was the only one who consistently stuck by your side, while your other friends became distant.
"I know I know. But you should have seen his face, Jimin. I felt like I kicked a puppy."
"So you just took him back to your place?"
"Only to feed him, I kicked him out after, I swear."
"Really?" Jimin asked, keenly observing the guilty expression on your face. He had an uncanny ability to detect when you were lying, almost like a human lie detector. You knew you couldn't hide anything from him, and in this moment, you couldn't escape his discerning gaze.
"Ok, fine, He did stay longer than I initially said," you admitted, knowing that Jimin could see through your attempt to hide the whole truth. His raised eyebrow made it clear that he was onto you. You confessed, knowing you couldn't keep anything from your perceptive friend. "We might have had sex on the kitchen counter... And the couch... And my bedroom. But I swear that's it. I'm not lying, I kicked him out and told him it was a mistake right after. Didn't even wait till morning."
The way Jimin said your name almost made you hide out of shame. "You can't retaliate. What happened to 'we are never getting back together'? Taylor Swift will be very disappointed in you."
"I know. I know, it was wrong. It was just a moment of weakness. I swear to god it won't happen again."
Feeling guilty and conflicted after Jungkook left, you realized he might have misunderstood, thinking there was still a chance but you were still determined to not give him another one. You knew you shouldn't have done what you did that night but God did it feel good. You knew for a fact that Jungkook had already ruined you sexually for any other men or your hands or even your vibrator. You tried doing it three times after breaking up with him but not once could you bring yourself to orgasm. You just gave up after the third time, just accepted the fact that you're not going to have an orgasm ever again. People live without having orgasms right?
That is why, when Jungkook stood so close to you last night, your body seemed to betray your intentions, and you found it hard to resist him. The lingering emotions and history between you both created a pull that was difficult to ignore.
As you cleaned up the kitchen after feeding Jungkook, you hoped he would leave soon. Knowing his tendencies, you knew he would try to sneak into your bed if you went to sleep while he was still there. So, you waited for the right moment to gather enough courage to kick him out. However, Jungkook had different plans in mind. Sneaking up behind you, he cornered you against the kitchen island, catching you by surprise. The close proximity left you heavy breathed and questioning your own decision.
In the heat of the moment, everything felt like a blur, and you couldn't recall who initiated the first move or who kissed whom first. It all happened so quickly. One second he was thanking you for the dinner, and the next, he was kissing you passionately, pulling you into the moment so deeply that you momentarily forgot about the complexities of your situation. You only remember how you were so desperate that neither of you even bothered undressing completely before he thrusted deep into you on that kitchen counter. You only remember cumming as he carried you to the couch and you rode him there. You only remember him slowly laying you down on your bed and making love to you.
"You're right, Jimin. I need to be stronger. I can't let him get to me like this. You know what? Next time, I'm not even going to look at his way if he shows up."
"Yes, that's the spirit. Ignore him like all those times he ignored you while flirting with that girl from the boba place." The expression of your face immediately turned sour after hearing his words. "I'm sorry. Too soon?" You only nodded in response.
"I can't believe I kept giving him chances after chances for so long. I should've listened to you in the first place; guys like Jungkook never change," you admitted, feeling regretful for not heeding Jimin's advice earlier. Reflecting on the past, you realized that you had been hopeful that Jungkook would change, but now you understood that some people's behaviors remain consistent despite the chances they are given.
"It's still not too late." As if on cue, there were a series of knocks on your front door, and you knew all too well who it was. The familiarity of Jungkook's knocking left you feeling a mix of emotions. Gosh, was it pathetic that you could tell Jungkook from the way he knocks? "Did you order something?" Jimin asked, raising an eyebrow as he noticed the look on your face.
"No. It's Jungkook."
"How do you know."
"I know." The knocks grew more impatient.
"Should we not open the door?"
"No. Let's ignore him." You said turning up the volume of your tv.
"Baby, did you change the locks? My key's not working." Instead of asking Jungkook to give back your keys you had settled for the less agonizing option and got your locks changed.
"Let's just pretend that we're not home," you suggested to your best friend. Hoping to avoid any confrontation, you both waited until the knocks finally stopped after what seemed like five minutes. Relieved, you thought your plan had worked, and you both resumed watching the movie. Unbeknownst to you, your ex-boyfriend had other plans and was determined to come inside some other way if you didn't let him in.
Jungkook had never been one to give up easily, whether it was in sports, academics, or winning back his girlfriend. He was determined to do whatever it took to have you back in his arms. Realizing his mistakes, he was now ready to redeem himself. Jungkook had heard about grand romantic gestures that people used to prove their love, and he was determined to do the same for you. Some people run through airports to stop the love of their life, while others write a hundred letters to confess their love. In Jungkook's case, he was willing to risk his life and climb seven floors to reach you, showing the depth of his determination to make things right.
Both you and Jimin were startled as the silence was broken by loud knocks on your bedroom window. The sudden sound startled both you and Jimin as you looked at each other thinking the other might have the answer.
"Is that-?" Jimin couldn't even finish his sentence before you swiftly got up and ran towards your bedroom. It was indeed Jungkook hanging outside your bedroom window.
"Oh my god, Jungkook, are you fucking kidding me?" You quickly opened the windows, concerned that he might fall and get seriously hurt. Jimin followed you to your bedroom and raised his eyebrows at the scene in front of him. You were screaming at Jungkook while he tried to explain himself, hanging from the window.
"This is what I've always been talking about," you continued in frustration, "You always act like a fucking child, doing ridiculous things to get your way. It's just ridiculous. You can't always get whatever you want by pulling stunts like this. You could seriously get injured, you seem to have no regard for yourself or anyone else. I'm so fuc-"
"Dude, what the hell are you doing?"
"None of your business. I want to talk to my girlfriend."
"Ex girlfriend."
"I said none of your business."
"Seriously, what the hell are you doing?" This time it was you asking, exasperated, as Jungkook continued to hang from the flimsy pipe outside your window. The precarious situation he put himself in only added to your frustration and concern.
"You weren't opening the door, what was I supposed to do?"
"NOT CLIMB UP THE FUCKING WALL LIKE A CREEP?"
"Can I please come in now? I don't think I can hold on to this pipe much longer." You and Jimin quickly helped the boy inside.
"Chim, can you please wait outside? I need to talk to him," you requested, and Jimin obliged, but not before warning Jungkook not to try anything or he would kick his ass. Jimin might have been smaller than your ex in size but damn that man can fight. With Jimin gone, you turned your attention back to Jungkook, ready to confront him about his reckless behavior and demand some answers.
"Care to explain yourself?"
"Baby, I miss you. So fucking much. You have no idea."
"This is insane. You have to know you're crossing a line, Jungkook. Not only are you acting like a fucking child, you're also putting your own life in danger."
"I know, I know I'm acting crazy. But how else do I show you how much you mean to me."
"Jungkook, if I meant to you that much you wouldn't make me feel like a shit in the first place."
"And I am sorry about that. I promise to be better, I wouldn't look at another woman ever again."
"Do you realize how many times we've had this conversation? It's too many, Jungkook," you expressed, "You always say the same things, but then you repeat the same mistakes all over again. I can't keep going back to you; it's just not healthy for either of us," you firmly stated, making it clear that you were determined to break this cycle and move on from the relationship.
"Baby, pl-" he walked closer to you only for you to back away.
"And you need to stop acting like this. You can't always act on impulse, you could've seriously hurt yourself."
"It's nothing. It's not that high anyway."
"It's seven floors."
"Actually, 8. I miscalculated, and well, you might wanna avoid Mrs. Katz for a while," Jungkook admitted with a hint of amusement in his voice. Despite the seriousness of the situation, you couldn't help but laugh a little at his confession. Oh how much he had missed your laugh, he has always told you that you have the most beautiful laugh he has ever heard and to go without hearing it for more than a week? It's just torture.
"You have to leave."
"At least let-"
"No. Jungkook please, I can't do this. Not right now. You have to go," you said running your hands through your hair. "I miss you too, I really do. You have to understand that this is hard for me as well. And you doing all these things is not making anything easier. So please, for me, just leave." A single drop of tear fell down your left eye, you didn't have it in you anymore to back away as he walked toward you.
"Fine, I'll go now. But I won't stop," he declared, stopping right in front of you. "I won't stop until you realize that you're the one that I want. I won't stop until I convince you that you're the one for me, and I love you more than anything in this world. I'm not giving up on you, on us, baby. I don't care how long it takes, I'll beg you every day if I have to, but I won't stop until you come back to me."
His words were sincere, and you could see the determination in his eyes. A part of you desperately wanted to give in, to feel his embrace again, but you were also afraid. Afraid of going through the same cycle, afraid of getting hurt again. The conflict between your heart and mind was tearing you apart as you stood there, facing the man you still loved, but uncertain of what to do next.
He leaned closer, and you instinctively closed your eyes, expecting a kiss, but instead, you felt a light brush of his lips against your forehead. His touch was gentle, his thumbs wiping away your tears, and his lips seemingly kissing the tension away. He stayed like that for a few seconds, leaving you with mixed emotions as he showered you with affection. And with that, he left, not sparing a glance at the man in your living room. As he walked away, you couldn't help but feel a whirlwind of emotions, torn between the love you still held for him and the need to protect yourself from potential heartache.
Like a good friend, Park Jimin didn't ask you any questions. He simply held you close, providing a comforting embrace as you sniffed against his chest all night.
*******
It's been almost a week since that conversation you had with Jungkook in your bedroom, and it's now apparent that you have a stalker. He's been following you around like a lost puppy for the better part of the week. At first, it was annoying, and you had frequent arguments with him about his behavior. But as the days passed, you've grown somewhat accustomed to his presence. Now, you mostly ignore him as he follows you around the city, giving him only the occasional side-eye before continuing with your daily routine.
Jungkook's constant presence has become both annoying and puzzling. You're not sure how he manages to track your every move or who leaked your information to him, but he seems to be everywhere. If you were riding the subway he was there sitting across you, if you were in a bar with your friends he was there scaring away all the guys that approached you, even when you were on office lunches he was sitting two tables away smiling at you. If it was anyone else it would have been creepy and you would hand them to the police but with Jungkook, sure it was annoying but also... Cute?
Sometimes he approaches you to say something or brings you flowers, while other times he simply waves at you from a distance or quietly observes you while you talk to your friends at a restaurant, much like he is doing now.
"Not to alarm you or anything but there's a really really hot but kinda creepy guy has been following us for 20 minutes now, I'm guessing more but I have only noticed him for 20," Mia was new in the city and in your office, she was also one of your only colleagues who has never seen Jungkook or didn't know who he was. Today you have taken Mia out for lunch and to show her around the city like she so politely asked you a few days ago.
"Don't look right now, but he's standing across the street, and he's looking right at you," Mia whispered, her tone laced with concern. "Should we lead him to the police station?"
Her words of concern brought a chuckle from you, which seemed to confuse Mia. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on you, as Jungkook's persistent presence had become a bizarre and somewhat amusing part of your daily life. While Mia saw him as a potential threat, you couldn't help but find his actions, however creepy they might be, somewhat endearing. You assured Mia that you could handle the situation and that there was no need to involve the police.
You turned around to see Jungkook holding a roughly wrapped bundle of sunflowers and waving at you as soon as your eyes met. Of course you didn't bother to wave back.
"Don't worry, he's... he's harmless."
"Do you know that guy?"
"Yeah... Well it wouldn't sound very good if I say it. He's my ex boyfriend."
"Oh my god. Is he stalking you? Shouldn't you report him or something?"
"Oh no, no. Like I said, Jungkook is very harmless. To others… Very harmful for himself, though," you added with a mix of concern and amusement as Jungkook clumsily ran to cross the street, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a car in the process.
As you and Mia continued walking, she looked back and forth between you and Jungkook, clearly unsure of how to react in this unusual situation. You could understand her confusion, as dealing with Jungkook's persistent presence was not something you had ever expected to be a part of your daily routine.
Jungkook finally spoke up when he got closer, saying, "I know you saw me."
"Then you must know that I'm ignoring you."
"You look gorgeous." The simple compliment caused a blush to creep up from your neck, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of warmth in response to Jungkook's words.
"I know."
"Babe, talk to me. Then I won't bother you the whole day. I promise." Jungkook's plea made you stop in your tracks, and even the girl beside you seemed surprised by your response, as you decided to give him a moment to talk.
"Fine. Talk," you said, crossing your arms over your chest, clearly signaling your skepticism but still willing to hear him out.
"Uhhh..." Jungkook hesitated, caught off guard by your willingness to listen. He struggled to find the right words, unsure of what to say beyond the usual apologies and expressions of missing you.
"These are for you." He said offering you the sunflowers. "You love them."
"You remember that?" It was surprising honestly, you weren't expecting Jungkook to remember some minute detail you mentioned in the passing.
What's more surprising is that Jungkook's eyes not once has drifted to the girl standing awkwardly beside you. To simply say that Mia was beautiful would be the understatement of the century. She was one of the most gorgeous women you've ever laid eyes on and had the body of a goddess. Honestly she made you doubt your sexuality for a second so the fact that Jungkook didn't even spare a glance at her was really surprising. Probably because he knows you'd be watching him like a hawk if he did but still, it's progress right?
"I do."
"By the way, this is Mia. My new colleague. Mia, this is Jungkook, my boyfrie...ex-boyfriend," you corrected yourself, catching Jungkook's reaction as his face seemed to brighten momentarily at your slip.
"I would say nice to meet you if you weren't being creepy and stalking us."
"He wasn't stalking us," you said, feeling a sudden urge to defend Jungkook, even though you were trying to keep your distance from him. "Stalking is a form of harassment, and I do not feel even slightly harassed by this man. He knows me and he wanted to talk to me, so he followed me here. You have no right to call him a stalker." Both Jungkook and Mia seemed taken aback by your strong defense of him.
"Oh I'm sorry. I didn't know-"
"It's okay. Actually, there's the restaurant. I already made a reservation under my name. You should go in; I'll catch up with you in a sec," you said and Mia gave you a polite smile before walking towards the restaurant. As she left, you turned back to Jungkook and noticed his gaze fixed on you. There was no ogling of her ass as she walked away. Progress, you thought to yourself.
"What are you smiling at?"
"I love you." He said giving you those lovestruck puppy eyes.
"Shut up."
"You really do look gorgeous today," Jungkook said, and you couldn't help but look down at your simple outfit—a plain beige shirt and brown work pants. He thinks you look gorgeous in this boring ass outfit? You didn't think there was anything special about it. "You really do," he insisted. "I'm not just saying it to kiss up to you."
"What do you wanted to talk about?" you asked, brushing off his compliment and getting back to the point.
"You left some stuff at the apartment. They seem important. If you want I can bring them back to your place... or you can come by. Anytime." Your heart did drop a little. He wants you to pick your stuff up from his apartment? What happened to I'll try as long as it takes? Sure you're planning on getting those back anyway but hearing him say that... hurts a little.
"I can come pick them up. If you're around tonight. I'll also bring your key, I still have it." Why did saying it felt so official?
"Yeah cool..."
*******
Oh god it was so not cool. Jungkook was freaking the fuck out. The reality was sinking in, and it was not cool at all. You were going to pick up your stuff, and it felt like the official end was approaching. Until now, it felt like a temporary fight, where he could apologize and you'd come back to him. But now, it felt like a real breakup, and it was hitting him hard.
"Why the fuck did I have to say that? WHY THE FUCK? I'm such a fucking tool. I could have said anything, literally anything and what did I say? Pick your stuff up from my apartment. Why the fuck didn't I just get hit by that damn car instead?"
"Kook, calm down."
"What the fuck you mean calm down? She's gonna be here in two hours or something and she's gonna take the last pieces of her from this apartment and my miserable life and then she's gonna move on while I'll probably die alone because I can't ever love anybody as much as I love her." By the end of his rant all three of his hyungs were looking at him with mouth hung open.
"Bro, you've got issues."
"You think?" Jungkook sarcastically asked as he paused his pacing around the living room for a moment. Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok, Jungkook's best friends, were gathered around him in the living room as the youngest ranted to them for an hour. Jungkook had called them as soon as he got back to his apartment, seeking their help to salvage the remaining pieces of his love life. True to their friendship, they all showed up within an hour. However, so far, none of them had been even slightly helpful, and Jungkook was now two bottles of wine down.
"Here's an idea," Hoseok offered. "Don't open the door when she comes here, she's gonna think you invited her and forgot, hence she can't take her stuff." All three men looked at Hoseok.
"Yes, Kook. And punch her dog while you're at it." Namjoon scoffed.
"At least I'm giving some advice. You guys are useless."
"Yes, Hobi hyung. And I appreciate that. But she already has a key she's just gonna get in and take her stuff and leave."
Yoongi finally broke his silence, offering his perspective. "You know what, JK? If she can't already see the efforts, maybe she's not worth it. You already spent a week following her around like a puppy, and she doesn't have the decency to acknowledge your efforts?" His words held a hint of frustration, clearly disappointed in your lack of response to Jungkook's attempts to win you back.
"She has every right to be mad at me. I was a horrible boyfriend. A week is nothing, even if it takes a year I'm still gonna try to do everything I can. And what efforts? All I've done is stalk her around, probably even made her uncomfortable."
"I agree with Yoongi, Jungkook. Maybe it's a sign that you should consider moving on," Namjoon gently suggested, feeling sympathy for his young friend. He had never seen Jungkook so frustrated and heartbroken before; usually, he has always been the life of the party, bringing joy to everyone around him. Witnessing him like this was truly disheartening.
"No, you guys don't understand. I love her. You know why I was always carefree about the future? Because I always knew it was her, I don't care what I do or what I am as long as its with her. She's it for me and I want her by my side for my whole life. I want to be hers more than I want to be anything. I want children, I want a dog, I want a marriage, I want everything with her and if she's not in the future I don't know what I am anymore. I don't know who I am without her." Jungkook's monologue has left everyone speechless and in awe.
"Dude you wanna get married? I never pegged you to be the one to get married?"
"Not right away but in the future, yes. Only if it's to her tho. I don't want anyone else."
"Wow... Never thought Jeon Jungkook would have children in his future." Yoongi knew him the longest and all through his fuckboy phase so it was hardest to digest for Yoongi.
"Well not anymore. The mother of my children wants a divorce."
"Did you say all that to her?" asked Namjoon.
"What?"
"That little speech you just gave? Does she know all that?"
"No... I guess we never got to talk about all those things. I realised all this after the break up anyway."
"Then tell her. Tell her everything you just said, exactly how you said it."
It was easier said than done. You arrived with a knock on his door an hour after the boys left. An hour which Jungkook spent cleaning every surface of his apartment so you wouldn't notice how pathetic his life has gotten after you left.
Upon seeing you walk into his apartment, Jungkook's mouth went dry. He couldn't help but notice how effortlessly beautiful you looked, even in the simplest of outfits. He still has no idea how you manage to look so beautiful in the dullest outfits ever. Your dress modestly covered your legs, and your top had a conservative neckline, not even a hint of cleavage was seen yet you still managed to radiate a captivating charm.
You were also wearing little to no makeup. He did not want to be one of those boyfriends who bragged about their girlfriends looking pretty without makeup but if it was a compitition he'd win. If situations was different he would have made a joke about you going to the church but he stops himself.
"You want some wine?" Jungkook asked.
"Sure. Did you clean the place?"
"Uh...oh yeah. Just a little." He replied pouring wine in two glasses and brought them out to you. You had to mentally remind yourself that this wasn't a romantic date; you were just here to pick up your belongings. Being back in his apartment after such a long time stirred up mixed emotions, and you couldn't help but feel your heart racing.
You took a sip of the wine, only to find it tasted terrible, and you immediately spit it out, making a disgusted face.
"Oh my god, is this the wine we tried making at home?"
"Yes."
"It's awful," you said, both of you bursting into laughter. "Oh my god, why do you still have this? Throw it out, it's literally trash."
"Nah… I like it sometimes… it goes well with that cheese you tried making," he said with a playful grin, recalling a failed culinary experiment from your past. The two of you shared a knowing look, the memories of your shared moments flooding back.
"Noooo that's disgusting... I can't believe you still eat that." You continued laughing. Ok focus, you're not here to have fun.
"Only sometimes... when I miss you." He said and your laughs stopped. "Baby I-"
"So? Where is all my thing?" You ask, completely ignoring the nickname.
"I'm sorry I didn't pack anything." Because I don't want to let you go. "Some of your clothes are still in the laundry room. We can start there." You headed to the compact laundry room, which was conveniently connected to his bathroom. Jungkook trailed behind you in silence as you began sifting through the sizable laundry baskets, searching for your clothes among the various items.
The atmosphere was a mix of awkwardness and nostalgia. Memories of the times you spent together flooded your mind as you touched the familiar fabrics. You tried your best to focus on the task at hand and not get lost in emotions that might cloud your judgment.
"Koo, you mixed up the dirty and clean basket again," you said, using the old nickname almost instinctively. Jungkook's ears perked up, and he couldn't help but notice the fondness in your voice as you gently pointed out his little mistake.
"Did I?"
"Yeah. Blue one is for the dirty laundry, and the white one is for the washed clothes. You mixed them all up, and now you'll have to wash 'em again," you said, teasingly holding up a definitely used Calvin Klein underwear from the clean laundry basket. It felt oddly domestic, and a sense of nostalgia washed over you. Part of you wanted to spend a little more time just doing this with him, the way you used to when you were together.
"Did you try washing my clothes?" You asked picking up your white, well now pink t shirt with your hands.
"I wanted to do something nice."
"That's sweet of you, but there's a reason I told you not to do the laundries. I do the laundries and you do…" You paused, catching yourself before you continued talking as if you were still a couple. It was a slip, and you needed to remind yourself of the reality. You were here to pack your clothes and leave, not to discuss how to divide chores between couples.
"Well you're not here anymore. So I do the laundries and I do the dishes."
"Right... I'll seperate my clothes and then pack them." As you started sorting through the clothes, memories flooded back when your hands grabbed a certain grey t-shirt. Tears welled up in your eyes, that t-shirt held significant meaning in your relationship. It was the first time you stayed at Jungkook's place, and he had given you that t-shirt to wear. You loved it so fucking much that you still wore it often. It represented a sweet and intimate moment between the two of you. Despite the emotions it stirred, you simply placed the t-shirt in his pile of clothes.
"What are you doing? That's your t shirt." He picked it up to put it back in your pile.
"No, it's yours."
"Yes but I gave it to you because you love it."
"Well we're not a couple anymore so I'm giving it back. How are we supposed to move on if-"
"Why are you so fixated on that?"
"On what?"
"On moving on." This was the first time after the break up you were seeing a glimmer of anger in Jungkook's eyes as he walked around the counter to come to your side.
"Well we have to move on, don't we? We can't keep living in the past."
"It's not the past yet. I still love you and you still love me. And don't you fucking say that you don't. Because you do."
"Well it doesn't matter. Love is not enough to work a relationship, Jungkook. We are not compatible."
"And who decided that? You? You suddenly know everything about compatibility?"
"Can't you see? We are fucking fighting over a fucking t shirt."
"No it's not about a t-shirt, we are fighting over the fact that you're giving up on our 3 years relationship so easily like it meant nothing to you."
"Easily? Do you think any of this is easy for me, Jungkook? Do you think I just want to fucking break your heart because I just want to give up? Do you have any idea how much courage it took for me to fucking walk into this apartment just to walk out for your life?"
"Well you could have fooled me. It sure as hell look like you don't give a flying fuck about us right now?"
"I don't give a fuck? How dare you say that? I have given the most fucks about this relationship out of the two of us." Your voices raised in intensity as you found yourselves in close proximity, chests nearly touching, and only a few inches of space between your faces. Despite the heated argument, you couldn't help but notice how his chest was heaving from all the emotions, and how strikingly handsome he looked tonight.
Jungkook was so angry that he had no idea what he was saying anymore. He was just venting his frustration and shouting whatever came to mind in the heat of the moment. But your mind had drifted away from deciphering his words. Instead, you found yourself fixated on his lips, the way the little freckle moved up and down with his lips, and how his hands gestured frantically as he tried to make his point. The intensity of the moment seemed to fade away, and you were lost in the small details that had once been so familiar to you.
"You know what? You're such a hypocrite. You've nagged me all this time for not making efforts, and now you don't even acknowledge any of them. Do you have any idea how cruel you are-?" Unlike last time, this time you remember who made the first move. You took him by surprise, grabbing his gray hoodie to pull him closer. It was you who pulled him down and pressed his lips against your own. The kiss was intense, filled with a mixture of frustration, love, and longing. In that moment, all the pent-up emotions seemed to find release, and you found yourself melting into each other's embrace, at least for a brief moment.
Jungkook doesn't know what the hell took over you, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining. No. It only took him a mere second to acknowledge the situation, but once he did, his arms were already around your waist, pulling you closer than physically possible. The intensity of the moment, the rush of emotions, it all felt overwhelming and right at the same time. The world seemed to fade away as you both embraced, holding on tightly to each other as if afraid to let go. It was a moment of surrender, a moment of pure vulnerability, and for that moment, everything else ceased to exist.
The silent laundry room filled up with the sound of lips smacking each other. And both of you trying to breath between your kisses. Kissing Jungkook has always been a treat in itself, you have had your fair share of lovers before Jungkook but none of them had ever kissed you like he did. Kissing with them was always sort of a task that you would have to go through until both of your clothes were off but not with him. With him kissing itself was such an amazing experience, you could and you had spent hours just kissing those lips, that's how good of a kisser Jungkook was.
Jungkook didn't only kiss with his lips; he kissed with his whole body. His hands explored every inch of your skin that was available to him. One hand was tracing the curve of your hips while the other moved up your back, sending shivers down your spine. The gentle squeeze of his hand on your ass elicited soft moans from you, and you felt your body responding to his touch in all the ways it used to when you were together. The physical connection between you two was undeniable, and it was as if no time had passed since your last intimate encounter.
Without breaking your kisses for a second, Jungkook swiftly picked you up and placed you on the counter, not caring that the laundry baskets fell to the floor. The kisses became more desperate and fervent, his tongue demanding authority inside your mouth. It was as if all the pent-up emotions and desires from the past week were being unleashed in this passionate moment, and neither of you could resist the pull of each other's lips and bodies.
"Wait, wait," You pulled away, panting with droopy eyes from the intensity of the moment. Your small hands gently pushed against his chest when he tried to lean in again. "What are we doing?" you asked, seeking clarity amidst the intoxicating rush of emotions and desire.
"I think, I think we are making out."
"No I mean... I'm not here to do this. This is not right."
"Who cares?" Jungkook shrugged, capturing your lips in another kiss. One much shorter than the previous.
"I do."
"Do you want this?"
"I do...but-" you were cut off by his plump lips.
"Let's talk about it later then... I miss you."
"I miss you too," you whispered, giving in to the overwhelming emotions and desires that filled the air between you both. With those words, you granted Jungkook the permission he needed to take things further. In that moment, you embraced the vulnerability of being human, unable to resist the pull of his charm and the way his body ignited your own.
His hands eagerly roamed along your back, searching for the zipper that must be hidden somewhere on the dress. His touch sent shivers down your spine, and your breath hitched as you felt his fingers deftly find the zipper's pull. The anticipation of what was to come next filled the air, and time seemed to slow down as he slowly, teasingly, pulled the zipper down.
"How was the meeting with the reverend?" He finally made the joke he had been dying to say all evening, making you smack his chest slightly
"Shut up. I thought if I didn't look hot, I'd make it easy on you." you playfully responded, justifying your choice of the dark green dress that covered most of your body.
"Are you kidding me? You can never not look hot. You are feeding my sexy liberarian fantasies." Ignoring his comment you started unzipping his gray hoodie revealing the white wife beater underneath.
"Meals you can skip, gym you can't?" You commented admiring the muscles adorning his shoulders chest and biceps. You shivered when his hand suddenly reached under your dress to caress your bare thighs. Close to your core which you were sure was practically drenched now.
"Can I take this off?" All you could do was nod in response and he ripped your dress off of you in mere seconds. "Gosh, baby, you're so beautiful." Jungkook whispered looking at your mismatched pair of cotton underwear. "Look at you... dripping already. You got this wet just with my kisses?" You shook your head in agreement as he gaped at your clothed pussy. A very noticeable and big patch of wetness covering your panties right at the centre. "I missed playing with your pussy so much. Did it miss me too, Baby?" Once again all you could do was nod when his fingers slowly started tracing shape on your clit. "Words, sweetheart."
"Yes... it missed you. Please do something, Koo." The way you mewled out the words sent blood rushing towards his already hard cock. That was all the encouragement he needed to push your panties to the side. His face lit up at the sight of your dewy folds. Slick dripping between the slit.
"What do you want first?"
"Fingers. I want your fingers." Jungkook quickly moved to take off his rings but you stopped him. "Fuck me with them." Jungkook almost came at your words, you never told him before that you liked getting off with his rings.
"You like the cold metal?" You couldn't answer the question as he started playing with the bundle of nerves, pinching it occasionally. All your words turned into whimpers. "Look your pussy baby. Begging of my fingers." He smirked before slowly entering your folds with his middle fingers.
"Ah... baby." You shakily reach out with your hand to bring his face near your chest. He seemed to understand the assignment as he quickly started nibbling at the skin of your breast, pulling down the cups to release your nipples which were now hard like pebbles.
Jungkook had a way of eliciting reactions from you as if it were the first time every time, despite having experienced it countless times over the past three years. It amazed you how he could still have such an impact on you after all this time.
"I missed having your tits on my face." Jungkook murmured before quickly taking one in his mouth. You moaned out incoherent words when his ring finger joined his middle finger inside your cunt. Thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit. Your hands found solace in Jungkook's hair as he continued leaving kisses all across your chest.
You let out a tiny whimper in protest when his fingers pulled out from you. He brought them up to his lips and gave them a suck, eyes looking deeply in your half closed once.
"Shhh don't worry, baby. I just want more access." You understood what he meant when he pulled you up easily with one hand to take off your panties and throwing it somewhere in the laundry room. "You know, you taste just as sweet as day one." He picked up some of your slick on his fingers and brought them closer to your lips. "Taste baby, taste how devine you are." You took his fingers in your mouth and sucked them clean. Jungkook's cock was now as hard as a rock. He quickly took one of your hands and guided them to his clothed boner in order to get some relief. Like muscle memory your your hands quickly started working on his crotch. Squeezing it just the right amount.
"Wanna suck your cock." You quickly said.
"Later. Let me have this cunt for now." He quickly bent down on his knees to swipe his tongue up your slit pulling out a sudden loud moan from you. "Yes baby. Keep screaming." He said before leaning forward and getting to work, lapping at your juices like a dog dying from thirst.
His two long fingers went back inside your seeping hole as his tongue started flicking your clit. His free hand grabbed your thigh and put it on his shoulder. You were halfway hanging from the counter and practically sitting on Jungkook's face. Jungkook on the other hand was in his heaven right now. Imagine two of the most favourite things to mankind, ass and pussy and then imagine being buried in them, Jungkook thought if he died right now right here, it would be the best death.
Your hips started moving in circular motion as you ground your pussy against his face. Hands tugging at his raven locks. His nose occasionally bumped against your clit. You looked down at the scene in front of you, Jungkook's eyes looking up at you and his mouth ate away at your pussy. The look of his face trapped between your thighs was so filthy that you almost came from it only.
His tongue had now replaced your fingers in poking and prodding inside your walls. His hand came around your hips to rub at your clit.
Jungkook loved eating your pussy and it showed. The way his eyes closed in pleasure only by bringing you close to your orgasm. He was a very selfless lover, he found pleasure in pleasing you and he could spend days licking your juices and playing with your pussy. Right now his goal was to make you cum, if you squirt then it would be a bonus.
"I'm close, Koo. Lick my clit please." And like the always obedient lover, he did. Fingers parting your pussy lips and tongue getting back to licking the bundle of nerves, lips wrapping around it to give it a suck now and then. The sounds you were making were pornographic to say the least. You were sure you sounded like one of those girls making high pitched noises in the porn videos but you couldn't help it. Jungkook made you behave like a whore and you loved it. You loved screaming his name and you loved making these obscene sounds, and Jungkook loved it even more.
"Koo, I'm cumming." You cried out. He started licking even faster at your words, helping you reach the high faster. His heart jumped with joy when he saw the juices coming out of you. He did it, he made you squirt. Your legs quivered around him as you came down from his high. He didn't stop there. He licked you until you were clean and drank every single droplet of your arousal. You were shaking from the orgasm and the oversensitivity you felt in your pussy.
With one last kiss to the hood of your clit Jungkook came up and you immediately pulled him in for a kiss. You were determined to pleasure him like he did you. Shaking hands fidgeting with his clothes as you tugged at his lip ring with your teeth.
"Slow down baby." He helped you take of his wife beater.
"Can't. Want your cock." You were once again drunk on arousal. Your hands worked as quick as they could after that earth shattering orgasm to pull out his cock from his sweatpants. Mouth watering at the sight once it finally did.
Jungkook had the most beautiful and delicious cock you have ever seen. It was long and thick with just the perfect mushroom tip, which was now swollen and red and leaking from precum. The veins in his cock were imitating the veins on his arms, ready to pop any minute. Your thumb already started doing its job by spreading the precum all over his tip.
The groan he let out as your hand played with his cock was very loud. Almost as if giving you a warning.
"Is baby a cockslut?" He asked, reaching out to trace your lips with his tumba. The same thumb that was rubbing your clit only a minute ago.
"Only for you."
"Yes. Only mine."
"Wanna suck your cock." You pleaded once again.
"Go ahead, babygirl. Do whatever you want." You took that as permission to sink down on your knees and come face to face with his throbbing penis which was begging for your attention. Your hands stroked him slowly up and down and tongue came out to tease the top. "Don't tease, baby." You giggles once he used his heavy tip slap you slightly.
You looked up at him, making the most innocent face as you collected some spit in your mouth and then spit on his cock to lather it up with some slick. You slowly took the warm tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it like a lollipop.
"Just like that, babe." Jungkook sighed out and his words arrange you to take him in inch by inch until he was in your throat. One of your hands came up to play with his balls. His moans were now louder working as your inspiration to please him more. You loved the way he said your name. Moaned your name like you were some goddess that he was praying to.
Your head started bobbing up and down as you took him in and out of your mouth. Tongue continuously playing with the warm slit on tip of his cock.
"Fuck my mouth." You said once you took him out completely.
"You sure?" You only responded with a nod and that was all the answer that he needed to grab the back of your head and start thrusting in your mouth. You angled your teeth in a way you knew he loved. In a way that they grazed his shaft enough to feel but not enough to hurt. His tip was bumping at the back of your throat as one of your hand kept playing with his balls.
He pulled out of your mouth too soon to your liking and you gave him a questioning look.
"I'll cum if we kept going. I wanna cum in your pussy." Jungkook did not take one more second to pull you up and bend you against the counter. Fingers once again playing with your entrence to make sure you were wet enough to enter. "Look at you. You are wet again already, baby. Such a fucking whore." Although his words might have offended you naturally but right now they just added to your arousal. "My little whore wants to get fucked?" His hands digging in the flesh of your ass, slapping it to make it jiggle.
"Yes, Kookie. Please, fuck me." You begged, splayed out on your front on the cold counter. His cock was running along your pussy, poking in your slit but not really entering. "Stop teasing me you, asshole." You screamed earning a chuckle from the man behind you.
"This is what you get for being so mean to me." The loud smack that came at the flesh of your ass was very unexpected. "Tell me you forgive me and I'll fuck you." He bargained.
"No." Another smack making you yelp out from pleasure and pain. Your cunt once again was dripping from your arousal and this asshole was doing absolutely nothing about it. Wasn't he turned on too?
"Say or I won't fuck you."
"You're an asshole"
"That's not the answer."
"Fine. I forgive you. Just fuck me, please." Jungkook laughed at the way you begged.
"See. It wasn't that hard." He finally sink into you. A synchronised moan escaped the both of you once he was completely inside. "So warm and tight, baby. The best pussy ever."
"Jungkook, faster." You moaned and he obliged instantly. Your ass jiggling as he started snapping into you in a fast rhythm. His cock was hitting you in all the right places, he had found your g-spot instantly. One of his hands sneaked to the front to rub your clit as the other pulled you back and held you against his chest.
You hiked one of your legs up on the counter to get better angle and feel all of him in all the right places. Jungkook kept grunting in your ear, letting out words of encouragement, telling you how good you were holding up and how wonderful your pussy was.
Your breast bounced up and down as he pulled out of you and pushed in with equal force. His fingers kept rubbing and flicking your clit side to side and soon you were close to your climax.
"Jungkook I'm close."
"Hold it."
"Can't," you were cut off by your own moan at another hit against your g spot. "Can't hold it for long."
"Just for a little, baby. I'm close too." His hand turns your jaw sideways to capture your lips, drinking all of your moans. Just a few thrusts of his later he was almost there. "On the count of 3, ok baby?" You nodded against his lips.
"One." He slapped your clit, earning a loud moan from you.
"Two." His hand tucked and pinched at your nipples.
"Three." With one final thrust the both of you came down from your climax with a loud scream.
"Oh god I love you. I love you so much baby." Jungkook said as his seeds filled your pussy up to the brim.
*******
"What are you doing?" Jungkook looked at you confusingly as you pulled on your clothes 15 minutes after having sex with him. Although he did clean you up there was still some of his cum inside you right now.
"I can't go out naked."
"Why do you have to go out?"
"Because I don't live here? We are still broken up, Jungkook." Your words hit him like a ton of bricks.
"What? But we... we just had sex... you said you forgave me."
"Don't act like you never said anything to get whatever you want." You said looking for your panties. "Where the fuck are my panties?"
"What do you m- did you just say that to have sex with me?" He said as you looked for another pair of panties in the laundry basket. "I feel so used right now."
"Don't be dramatic."
"But baby... I thought we made up. Please don't leave now."
"Jungkook... You want to win me back? Do it without sex. The sex was amazing but I'm sorry it did not solve anything. I still feel the same and you still haven't gave me any assurance."
"So we're still broken up?"
"Yes. I'll pickup my things some other time. I'm leaving." He sighed knowing there was no point in arguing. You were nothing if not stubborn.
"At least let me drop you off. It's getting late."
"It's ok. I called Taehyung when you were in the bathroom. He's already outside probably." You said, checking the time in you wrist watch.
"Fucking Taehyung." Jungkook muttered under his breath.
"Bye, Jungkook. Don't torture yourself, please."
*******
"Oh the walk of shame." Taehyung teased you when you walked out of a certain apartment building to his awaiting car.
"Shut up, Tae. If I wanted to be judged, I'd have called Jimin." Taehyung was your other best friend, and although you hadn't known each other for long, he quickly warmed his way into your heart. Ironically, you met Taehyung through Jungkook; he was Namjoon's cousin. However, now he was closer to you and Jimin than he was to Jungkook. You first met Taehyung at a club where Jungkook had dragged you with his office friends. Despite hitting on you initially, he politely backed off when you declined, and you both ended up spending the rest of the night talking and bonding over feeling neglected by the people who dragged you to the club.
"He's going to have field day with this." Taehyung chuckled as he drove away from the building.
"That's why we're not telling him."
"Fine by me, if you think you can lie to him."
"Oh god. What did I do?"
"Look, babe. I don't know what to say, you clearly still love him and he's clearly still obsessed with you. You are only torturing yourself by trying to stay away from him."
"I just... It's not enough you know. I know he loves me, more than anything but if I get back with him who's to say a week later he just won't go back to his usual self? I'm just scared Taehyung, I just don't want to get hurt. I don't want to be one of those women in the future who just sits at home and waits for her husband while he's out their flirting with a waitress or something."
"I just hope you'd stop hurting. Nothing else." He gave you a sympathetic smile and held your hand for the whole drive.
*******
Life can be cruel, and it seemed like the universe wasn't on your side. You want something so much and when you'd finally have it, you don't want it anymore. You had wanted space from Jungkook and asked for it repeatedly, but now that he had given you that space for the past six days, you couldn't shake the feeling that something significant was missing from your life. It was as if a big piece of your heart was absent, and you found yourself longing for his presence once again.
Six days had passed since you left Jungkook's place in Taehyung's car, and during that time, he hadn't reached out to you even once. There were no phone calls, no text messages, and no unexpected appearances at random places. It felt strange and unfamiliar not having him actively pursuing you, and it only added to the confusion and uncertainty swirling in your mind.
Every time you made a turn or entered a cafe, a part of you half-expected Jungkook to be there, waving at you with that familiar, endearing smile on his face. But each time, you found yourself disappointed as there was no sign of him. The absence of his constant presence was both a relief and a pang of longing, leaving you torn between wanting to move on and wanting him to come back into your life.
Wasn't this what you wanted? For him to stop obsessing over you and move on with his life? However, now that he had seemingly taken a step back, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. A part of you wanted him to fight for you, to prove that he was willing to change and make things work. Another part of you longed for his familiar presence and the comfort that came with it.
"Did you hear any of the words I just said?" Mia asked you and you gave her a guilty smile.
"I'm sorry, I'm a little preoccupied today."
"Is this about Jungkook again?"
"I'm so sorry... I think this is a very bad idea. I really don't want to disrespect your friend." When Mia suggested the double date with her boyfriend and their friend a few days ago you were very skeptical about it. You didn't want to get into anything right now with the mess that your head was but after discussing it with Jimin and Taehyung, they convinced you that you should go, to take your mind off of things for a bit. Double dates are nothing serious, it was just a way to lighten up your mood. Although now you were regretting the whole ordeal. You shouldn't have come here. Not only was your mood very sour but it was also very evident on your face.
"Oh no. You wouldn't. Trust me. Actually the thing is Chris is going through a bad breakup as well and Jisung and I thought you could, you know help each other out or something."
"That's very sweet of you, Mia. But you sure I wouldn't ruin the whole thing?"
"Oh don't worry at all. And even if it does not go well nothing will be ruined between us. We'll laugh about it later." You gave her a grateful smile when she rubbed your hands.
A few seconds later, the bell of the restaurant rang, and two very attractive men walked in. As the woman beside you stood up, you realized that they were your dates. Mia quickly introduced you to her boyfriend Jisung and your date Chris. You were relieved that Chris wasn't at least horrible looking, and you hoped you could get through this one date.
"Wow, they did not mention how beautiful you are," Chris said as he shook your hand and took the seat in front of you. You couldn't help but wonder how many times he used this line, but then you reminded yourself that not every guy is a player. For all you know, Chris could be a very sweet guy who was genuinely complimenting you.
"Thank you, that's very kind of you," you replied with a polite smile. "You don't look so bad yourself."
As the conversation flowed, you found yourself getting more comfortable around Chris. He was easy to talk to, which helped lighten your mood. But despite being a genuinely sweet guy, you couldn't help but compare Chris to Jungkook. Whether it was the way he spoke, sat, or even called for the waiter, Chris lacked the same level of confidence that Jungkook possessed. Even on your first date, Jungkook had a way of making you feel like you had known him forever.
You observed that Chris couldn't hold a candle to Jungkook when it came to a sense of humor. While Jungkook was effortlessly funny, Chris tended to build up to a joke too much, and it often fell flat, leaving you with no choice but to give him pity laughs.
You had to consciously remind yourself to stop comparing this man to your ex boyfriend. Chris might not be as funny, or confident, or curious, or smart, or handsome, or cute, or witty, or energetic, or adventurous, or a good wine orderer as Jungkook but he was still a decent person. Perhaps, if you gave him a chance, things could potentially go well. It was essential to keep an open mind and not let your past experiences cloud your judgment.
The mention of your name from the man in front of you snapped you out of your train of thoughts. "So, tell me something about yourself," he said, and you suddenly realized that all three pairs of eyes were expectantly on you. Not knowing exactly what to say, you started talking about your work. With Jungkook, this was never an issue; conversation always flowed effortlessly, even in the early stages of your relationship.
"Oh… um well, I recently got promoted to a junior copywriter in our advertising company," you replied, giving him a small smile.
"No none of the boring work stuff. Tell me about yourself. What are your interests?" he asked, and you were slightly surprised by his directness. Didn't Mia mention he was going through a breakup as well? Must have been one happy breakup if he was still so cheerful.
"I... I like horror movies."
"Oh, I can't stand horror movies," Chris replied. Jungkook, on the other hand, loved horror movies. Every weekend, the two of you would go watch horror films or shows and then mock the scary scenes together. He adored seeing you jump at the jump scares and relished the opportunity to hold you close in his arms to "console" you.
"Then what kind of movies do you like?"
"I'm more into non-fiction and political cinema, and occasionally documentaries," he said. His response didn't exactly excite you, and you wondered if he was just trying to impress you or if his taste in movies was genuinely that dull. If it was the former he was doing a very bad job.
"Prude," Mia's boyfriend, Jisung, let out a cough, and it actually made you laugh, realizing it might be the first time you've genuinely laughed during this date. Normally, Jungkook would have already… No, no more thinking about Jungkook.
"I think it's adorable that Chris gets his jollies from 'our planet'." You laughed again, finding some amusement in the conversation. This date might end up being a little more bearable after all.
Finding an opening, you slipped into a conversation with Mia and Jisung instead of focusing solely on Chris. You couldn't help but awe at how adorable of a couple Mia and Jisung were. They recently celebrated their 1-year anniversary. Jisung was much younger but despite the age difference, they seemed so happy and in love. They reminded you so much of you and Jungkook. While Jungkook might not have been younger than you, he was definitely the more mischievous and playful one in the relationship, while you tended to be more responsible and level-headed.
"Do you happen to know the guy sitting behind you? Because he has been glaring at me like I just stole his kids and traded them for wool," Chris said, catching Mia's attention first. She turned around, and you followed suit, curious to see who was giving Chris such a fierce look.
To your surprise, it was none other than Jeon Jungkook sitting at the table behind you, and he wasn't alone. Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon were with him. Your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met his, and a myriad of emotions surged through you, but one was the most overwhelming of them all. Guilt.
Regret washed over you as you realized the impact your decision to go on this date had on Jungkook. His hurt expression tugged at your heartstrings, and you couldn't help but feel guilty for putting yourself in this situation. It was clear that this double date was a mistake, and you were left grappling with your emotions and the consequences of your choices.
Feeling overwhelmed and needing a moment alone, you excused yourself from the table without waiting for any response from the others. You rushed through the restaurant, trying to find a washroom where you could collect your thoughts and emotions. The encounter with Jungkook had caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had intentionally come here like he did that past week or if it was just actually a coincidence.
"So we're dating other people now?" He sounded hurt when he stepped in behind you in the restroom.
"Kook, this is not what it looks like."
"I'm not mad. I'm just surprised."
"You're not?"
"Maybe a little."
"Where were you for the past six days?" You turned the question on him.
"So I disappear for a week and you start dating someone else. Thought it would take at least 30 days to move on from a 3 year relationship." His remark was bitter but you knew where he came from.
"Kook, it's not what it looks like," you said, stepping closer to him, feeling the need to explain yourself even though you knew you didn't owe him anything. After all, you were not together anymore, and it had been almost three weeks since the breakup.
"By the way I didn't disappear because I was giving up on us. I was just trying to give you some space. Our friends forced me to give you some space," He said "I wouldn't have if I knew..."
"Jungkook,"
"What's his name?"
"Don't do this to yourself."
"What does he do? I mean we can still be friends right? I know it-" you cut of his words by pressing your lips against his in a very soft kiss.
"Koo, you presence was not so insignificant in my life that I'd forget you in a week." Your words brought a hint of smile on his lips. He let out a sigh in relief.
"Oh thank God, I thought I lost you to that leprechaun."
"Hey," you scolded him. "I swear to god if you pick a fight with him on the way out, I'll whoop your ass."
"That would be so hot." There he was. Your precious Jungkook.
"But we're still not back together." The smile left his face as soon as it came. "Kook... I'm still not yours but... Make me. I'm willing to give you another chance but... You have to assure me that it will be worth it. Win me back and I'm yours."
"I will, baby. I'll show you how devoted I am." With one last kiss on your lips he left the restroom.
As Jungkook left the restroom with a newfound sense of hope and determination, you couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he was ready to face the challenge of winning you back with all his heart.
As you returned to the table, Mia and Chris looked at you curiously. "Is everything okay?" Mia asked with concern.
You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just had a little chat."
Chris raised an eyebrow playfully. "A little chat, huh? Well, I hope it was a good one."
You glanced back at the restroom door, feeling a mix of emotions inside you. "Yeah, it was," you replied, your heart a little lighter than before.
*******
And the cycle began anew on the following day. The affectionate text messages resumed, starting from the sweet 'good morning' greetings to heartfelt 'I love you's. You received a bouquet of a 100 sunflowers on your desk with a note that only read 'because roses are cliche'. He sent boba at your office because you hated coffee and he sent you sushi's from your favourite restaurant.
It was like a cycle. Once again he was following you around the city but this time you didn't roll your eyes at him, didn't cuss him out or ask him to leave you alone. You even heard from Jimin and Taehyung that Jungkook deleted his Snapchat and Instagram. Jimin was the most shocked one at the news. 'Oh my god is Jungkook actually trying to redeem himself?'
You laughed as Jungkook ran after your subway because he was a minute too late and couldn't get in as it left the station. But like the lovely ex-girlfriend you were you decided to get off on the next station to wait for him. And like you expected 10 minutes later a you saw Jungkook running down the stairs, eyes looking for you. Quickly running up to you when he found you.
"Did you run here?" He didn't answer you but only because he was too busy catching his breath.
"There are trains only two minutes apart."
"I...I know that" He said between catching his breath. "But that... would not... have been very romantic."
"And what if I didn't get off at this station."
"I would run to your office."
"You're crazy."
"Only for you."
One more week goes by with Jungkook showing you in every way how much you mean to him. You were finally starting to get the assurance and security that you have always craved for your relationship. You were finally starting to see the depths of Jungkook's devotion. The smile on your face now was just a constant. And there were only two reasons for it, Jungkook and thoughts of Jungkook.
"So, how's everything going with your crazy stalker ex?" One night Jimin playfully commented when you him and Taehyung were spending it at your place.
"Don't call him crazy."
"Fine. How's your completely sane stalker ex?" You only roll your eyes but soon started smiling widely. "Oh my god guys... He's the sweetest. I don't think I've seen him putting this much efforts in to anything like ever."
"Yeah, Namjoon says he's so whipped for you that it's disgusting." Taehyung's comment makes you blush. "So? When are you getting back together with him."
"I don't know. I mean I know. But, I don't know, should I initiate it? Should I wait for him to ask me again? Should I ask him to ask me again?"
"Don't think too much about it. If you wanna be with him, be with him." Taehyung being the ever level headed one said.
"I say make him work some more. That man had you going crazy for three years, the least jail time he deserves is three months." Jimin said sipping on his margarita.
"Don't listen to, Jimin. In fact call him right now."
"No, don't call him right now. This is our night. Don't be a simp."
"Did you guys bet against me and Jungkook?" You asked looking between both of your friends who looked like deers caught in a headlight. "Who else?"
"Just Jimin and I... and Namjoon and Yoongi and Hoseok." You gasped dramatically at your unbelievable friends.
"If either of you win, I want my cut."
The next day you were surprised to not see the usual series of morning texts that you get from Jungkook. There were no flowers outside your doorstep or your desk. Nobody sent you boba or lunch and you could say that you were having a very Jungkook less day today. The lack of your cute stalker ex has taken a toll on your mood and you found yourself becoming increasingly snappy and cranky with others, unable to shake off the disappointment and longing for his attention. This made you realise how much accustomed you have become to Jungkook.
You looked longingly at your phone but there was nothing, still no text, no calls. You could always be the mature one and call him to see what was the matter but a part of you hesitated, not wanting to appear too eager or like you were desperately missing him. After all, he had been the one pursuing you, and you didn't want to reverse those roles.
Soon it was time to get off from work, and with a series of goodbyes and good evenings you quickly left your office, You couldn't help but wonder if Jungkook would be waiting for you outside, just like he used to do. However, as you stepped out, there was no sign of him, and the reality sank in that he wasn't there. Still holding onto a glimmer of hope, you decided to wait for a little while, thinking he might show up a bit late. You stood there, keeping an eye out for any sign of him, and time seemed to slow down. Every passing minute felt like an eternity, and you were torn between staying and leaving.
Soon the guard to the building adviced you to leave saying that their was a big storm on the way. You quickly looked up the weather forecast to realise that he was right indeed. You looked up at the sky to see the angry black clouds had started to gather around.
Searching for his contact you finally decided to give him a call. You were seriously getting worried about Jungkook now. As the call went straight to voicemail, your worry for Jungkook intensified.
Deciding it was the only choice, you headed towards Jungkook's place instead of your own, opting for a cab over the subway to reach him quickly.
Your excitement soared when your phone finally rang after a long day of silence. But, it quickly turned to disappointment as you noticed an unknown number instead of the one you had been eagerly waiting for. Despite the uncertainty, you chose to answer the call, just in case it was something important.
The voice asking for you on the other side was definitely unknown.
"Yes this is she." You replied.
"I'm speaking from Hope Memorial Hospital. You are listed as an emergency contact for a Jeon Jungkook. He has been involved in a motorcycle crash, and it's a very serious accident. We urgently need a guardian. Are you able to assist, or could you direct us to someone else?" The voice on the other end was serious and panicked, but you found it hard to accept the gravity of the situation. Your heart pounded in your chest, and tears streamed down your face, hoping that it wasn't as critical as it sounded.
"No, it's okay. I'll be there in... 10 minutes," you replied, your voice shaky but determined. You swiftly instructed the cab driver to change the route, urging him to go faster as you anxiously bit your nails in anticipation.
During the ride, you tried to stay strong and reassure yourself that it might not be as critical as you feared. Your mind couldn't help but drift to the worst-case scenario. What if he was already... No, no, no, you couldn't bear to think that way. You pushed those thoughts aside, trying to stay positive and hopeful as you rushed towards the hospital.
The driver observed you with sympathy as you quietly wept in the back seat. Regret filled your heart as you realized you should have called him. You blamed yourself, thinking that it was all your fault, and if anything happened to him, it would be on you.
As the car came to a stop, you hastily tossed all the remaining cash at the driver and rushed inside the hospital. Your must have looked frantic as you ran around, sobbing and calling out Jungkook's name. Thankfully, a compassionate nurse came to your aid and calmly checked the hospital charts for the name you managed to utter amidst your sobs.
"Come with me, dear. He's in the ER," you swiftly followed the nurse to a bustling room. As the nurse drew back the curtain, you braced yourself for the worst—expecting to see Jungkook badly injured, bleeding, or worse. However, what you did not anticipate was finding Jungkook sitting there, looking.... perfectly fine?
You stared at the man sitting there, feeling a mix of confusion and relief. He was laughing at something the blond girl standing beside him had said. It was unexpected, given the seriousness of the call you received earlier. You couldn't help but wonder if there had been a mistake or if he had recovered miraculously.
"Baby, you came." His eyes lit up as soon as he saw you, there was not even a single scratch on Jeon Jungkook, maybe beside the scratched leather jacket. Now not to get you wrong, you were very happy that he was okay. You were just very confused. What was happening? You had stopped sobbing breathlessly but the tears were still flowing.
"I don't understand... Somebody called, they said... That something happened and it was serious." You tried explaining.
"I did get into a crash but it was nothing. They thought it was internal bleeding but that wasn't the case either. That's why I was here all afternoon, doing tests an all. But now I'm fine."
"Then why did they say that?"
"It was just a prank. I'm sorry it was Sua's Idea." He said pointing at the blond girl standing there. Your blood was boiling so fucking much that you didn't even care asking who this bitch even was let alone what she was doing with your boyfriend.
"A prank? You think this is funny?" Jungkook finally grasped the seriousness of the situation when he saw the mortified look on your face, realizing the impact of the prank. Your makeup was ruined from all the crying, and you looked exhausted.
"Baby, calm down it was just a joke." His hands came forward but you slapped it away.
"Do not Fucking touch me." You glared at him. "Do you seriously think that was funny? I almost had a heart attack, Jungkook. Do you know how fucking scared I was?" Jungkook didn't like when your voice did that. He could handle you yelling, screaming, and even calling him names, but seeing you speak with that dead serious look on your face was something he couldn't bear. It made him feel like he wanted to disappear. Jungkook wanted to jump off a cliff.
"You know what? I can't believe I even thought about giving you another chance. We are seriously done this time." You didn't even look back as you walked away as Jungkook struggled to get that IV out of his hand and run after you.
"Baby, stop I'm sorry. It was Sua's Idea, I swear."
The thunderstorm had finally hit your city with full blast. It was raining cats and dogs. In the midst of it all, everyone ran to sought shelter. However, that didn't stop you from sprinting out of the hospital. The storm didn't concern you; what mattered most was that you couldn't even bare the thought of being near Jeon Jungkook at that moment.
As you dwelled on everything that had happened, your anger intensified. You felt a surge of anger directed at Jungkook, the thunderstorm, and that stupid blond woman who played the prank. But, the strongest force of anger was aimed at yourself, for even thinking that he can take anything seriously. Why did you even bother believing he could change? He was and will always be a man-child.
"Babe, it's really dangerous outside."
"THEN STOP FOLLOWING ME."
"I'm not leaving you alone," he insisted, stepping out into the heavy rain to follow you. As you walked, you had no clear destination or plan in mind. All you knew was that you were so angry with Jeon Jungkook that you couldn't bear to look at his face.
After just a few minutes of walking in the worst thunderstorm you've experienced in years, you came to the realization that this was a reckless idea. Your emotions had driven you to act impulsively, and now you saw the potential danger not only for yourself but for the idiot following you as well. While you knew Jungkook seemed to have little to no regard for his own life and safety, you cared about him.
Recognizing the need to be level-headed and responsible, you decided to find shelter, a place where both of you could wait out the thunderstorm safely. You understood that even in moments of anger, you needed to prioritize the safety of both of you. You began searching for a suitable place where you could find refuge from the harsh weather.
Ignoring the constant pleas from the man behind to listen to him, you led him to a nearby subway station. The station provided shelter from the heavy rain and the strong winds that accompanied the thunderstorm. Inside, the noise of the rain was muffled, creating a more peaceful atmosphere.
"Babe, I'm so sorry, please talk to me," seeing your silence he continued "I messed up, and I'm really sorry. I should have never gone along with that prank."
"Yes you shouldn't have." you snapped making him jump a little. Taking a deep breath to calm your anger and clear your thoughts, you finally addressed the question that had been gnawing at you. "Who was that woman anyway?"
"Just some girl, she was in the bed beside mine and we got to talking but I swear to god, I did not flirt with her once. When I told her about you she came up with the prank and I should not have gone along with it. I'm sorry."
"I just feel that you can't take anything seriously. It's like everything is a joke to you. How do I know that you'll take me seriously? That you'll take this relationship seriously?"
"No... I know I've been a little childish," watching you raise an eyebrow he corrected himself "A lot childish. But I swear, babe. This is the most serious thing in my life. I've made many mistakes in the past but I swear I'll start redeeming everything. I'll prove how serious I am about us. You are everything for me, baby. Everything. You're it for me. I want to spend my whole life with you, __." The way he said your name sent shivers down your body. The way he looked at your eyes eased your mind a little. "I want to have a future with you. I want to marry you, I want to have a home with you, I want to grow old with you, that's how serious I am. I love you more than anything in this entire world and I'll prove it to you." You only realised that you were crying when he wiped a year from your eyes.
"You mean it?"
"Every word."
"Fine then. Let's go." You held out your and he quickly grabbed it. When you dragged him out of the subway station you realised that the storm had stopped. The universe was on your side for once.
Jungkook did not utter another word the whole way that you led him to your house. The silence was thick when you closed the door behind you. He still didn't know what it meant for you both, your silence did not give him any answer and he was scared to ask.
"I swear to god, Jeon Jungkook" You finally began after the painful silence and his heart skipped a beat in anticipation. "If I see you entertaining another women ever again, I'm walking out of your life. And this time it would be for good. I will not come back no matter how much you beg me to." It took him a couple seconds to take in your words.
"Does that mean-"
"Yes. I'm giving you another chance. But you mess it up and I'm dumping your ass." The next thing you know Jungkook is showering your whole face in kisses and he finally let go of the tears. Crying happily as he held you close.
"Thank you, baby. Thank you so much. I will not disappoint you, I promise."
"I hope so too." The both of you stood in the middle of your living room, soaking into each other's warmth.
"Now let me fuck you right." He said, making you yelp as he picked you up all of a sudden and rushed toward your bedroom. Your kisses soon turned heated and desperate. Both of you panting as he started taking off your wet clothes.
You were wet in more ways than one. His kisses traveled down your face along with each piece of garment he removed from you. Lips not sparing a single inch of skin as he spent the whole night showing you how much he loves you.
The next morning your wakeup call was none other than Jungkook's tongue swiping away at your center. You woke up with a gasp when the sun was yet to come out. You glanced down to find the mop of raven hair between your thighs.
"Oh god, koo yes." You moaned out loud when his plump lips wrapped around your clit and started sucking. His hands pushing down on your hips, keeping them from arching up on the bed.
His tongue swiped up from your opening as your juices trickled down to your posterior hole. It was too early for your head to comprehend whatever was happening. Your finger started tugging on his curls when he pulled you close to your orgasm. Agressively lapping at your pussy. The pleasure you felt was tremendous. Too much to handle.
Jungkook ate you out like he had rent to pay and this was his job. His tongue playing with you as you came down from your high screaming his name louder than ever. After pulling two more orgasms from you in the next 15 minutes Jungkook was finally satisfied and he kissed up his way to your lips.
"Jungkook, we had sex like, 7 times last night. It wasn't enough?" You giggled when you felt his hard boner pressing against your ass.
"It's never enough with you. Seven times is nothing, baby," he said as he slowly entered you, pulling out a moan from your lips. "I wanna fuck you seven days a week." He added between his lazy thrusts. "Every hour." He lands a gentle kiss on your lips. "Every minute." Fingers intertwining with your own. "Every second."
Bachelor party.
Jeon Jungkook is halfway there, halfway gone.
drinks, confusion, sex in the air.
A stripper in his lap.
A moment he doesn’t stop fast enough.
And when his fiancée finds out?
She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream.
She tells him to sit down and talk.
Then she shows him exactly where the line is and what it feels like to cross it.
♡Trigger warnings: sexual explicit acts depicted and substance consumption.
♡ a/n: I got a hint of inspiration and i had to wrote it down.
The club was a fucking zoo. Music too loud, lights too bright, air too heavy. Smelled like smoke, sweat, spilled soju, and God knows what else.
Jungkook sat stiff in the booth like he was waiting for someone to shoot him.
His shirt clung to his back, sweat dripping in his neck. His drink was warm in his hand, untouched. He’d already had enough to stop thinking clearly.
Shots. Weed. That mystery pill that Hobi gave him. The edges of the world were blurry now and those fucking flashing lights that made his pulse feel like it was pounding behind his eyes.
The youngest in his friend group. He was still Kookie, still the one who could be teased into anything. This night above all others teasing was a given.
“Why do you look like you’re about to get executed?” Taehyung asked, tipping back his whiskey and smiling at the dancer on the pole.
“You’d think he was at a funeral, not a strip club,” Jimin added with a laugh. “You good, Kook?”
“I’m fine,” Jungkook said, voice tight. He wasn’t. He needed some noodles and his bed, not the drink Jimin placed in his hand.
Namjoon slid back into the booth beside him, clapping him hard on the shoulder. “This is the part where you stop being a monk and enjoy your goddamn bachelor party.”
Jungkook blinked at him, eyes wide, too wide, ike a deer caught in headlights.
“Guy’s acting like he’s never seen tits before,” Hobi said, laughing.
“Didn’t he used to be the horniest little shit alive?” Jimin added. “Back in the day? Before Yn?”
“Oh yeah,” Taehyung chimed in. “Dude used to hook up off just eye contact.”
“Legend,” Namjoon smirked, raising his glass. “RIP to Jungkook’s long conquest list.”
Jungkook tried to laugh, but he chugged the rest of his drink.
They didn’t know about the celibacy vow. They didn’t know he hadn’t touched himself in four weeks. That he and Yn made a whole promise about coming into marriage clean, raw, and ready for an explosive honeymoon. That he was holding onto that like it was oxygen.
All they saw was a quiet version of Jungkook trying to keep it clean.
He looked around the club, at the bodies moving, women dancing, tits bouncing, asses grinding.
Everything was a hazy pulse of energy. Every flash of skin sparked heat down his spine.
His cock was already half hard just from existing in the room.
He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Don’t be that guy,” he told himself under his breath. “Don’t think with your dick. Just breathe.”
A dancer passed close. Namjoon shoved a bill in Jungkook’s hand and nodded toward her.
“Go on. Make it rain.”
Jungkook looked down at the cash, then up at the woman. She was covered in tattoos, curvy and her eyes locked on his. She spun and arched her back. Her thong shifted.
He hesitated.
Then reached up with the bill, fingers shaking so bad it took him two tries to slip it into the strap of her thong.
She smiled at him, sweet and condescending, then moved on, no time to waste.
Jungkook’s ears burned. His hand dropped to his lap, he felt like a loser.
He needed air.
Instead, the music changed, slower now, dirtier.
And she appeared.
Tan skin. Long legs. Barely covered tits. A face like doll and a body like a fucking video game mod.
She moved straight for him, smiling her way through. Not like he was special, just like she’d already picked her target.
“You’re the groom?” she asked, her voice high pitched.
He opened his mouth. Nodded.
She climbed into his lap.
Just like that.
His whole body tensed. Her skin was hot and damp against his pants. Her thighs gripped his hips. He didn’t know where to put his hands, so he didn’t.
She started to move. Grind. Pressure. Rhythm.
“Relax, baby,” she said. “Let me take care of you.”
Jungkook’s eyes darted around like he was waiting for Yn to walk in and catch him in 4K.
He should’ve pushed her off.
Instead, he stayed frozen, jaw clenched.
“You’re tense,” she whispered, lips brushing his ear. “Haven’t had any lately?”
He inhaled sharply, pulse surging through his dick.
the guys started cheering from the next booth.
“Let’s GOOOO!”
“There he is! There’s the Kook we remember!”
The dancer pressed harder. Her pussy dragged over the thickening bulge in his pants.
“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth.
Her hands slid under his shirt. her nails brushing abs. She leaned in, licking the edge of his jaw. “You’re rock hard already. Poor thing.”
His hips bucked up once, quick, animalistic. He couldn’t help it.
She gasped, soft and perfect. Moaned right into his neck. “Mmm, you wanna fuck me so bad, don’t you?”
His throat closed.
He was sweating. Hard as hell. Dizzy.
Every nerve in his body was screaming yes, even as his heart beat out no with every pulse.
“You wanna go to the back?” she asked, voice tempting and slow. “I’ll ride you until you forget your name.”
His hands finally moved to her waist. Not to pull her closer. To stop her.
“Don’t,” he said, voice hoarse.
She blinked down at him with her long lashes. “What?”
“Get off. I’m done. Please.”
She stared, then laughed. “What a waste.”
She slid off his lap and walked away, her heels clicking on the floor.
Jungkook just sat there. Still hard. Still sweating. Still shaking.
Namjoon leaned over the booth divider, squinting at him. “Bro. You alright?”
He couldn’t answer. He just stood, legs unsteady, and pushed through the crowd to the bathroom.
Locked the door.
He gripped the sink.
Looked at himself.
Hair a mess. Face red. Lips swollen. Eyes wide.
His dick was still hard.
“I didn’t do anything,” he muttered. “I stopped it. I didn’t cheat.”
His breathing got faster. His chest tightened.
Water. Cold. Splash it. Again.
Did he want it?
Was that cheating?
Was thinking about it cheating?
He pulled out his phone with trembling hands. Thumbs fumbling.
Something happened tonight. Can we talk?
He pressed send. Then stared at his own reflection like it might judge him too.
The screen says 3:58 when he hits call.
He’s outside the club now. Alley behind the parking lot. Cold air dragging sweat off his neck, smoke curling off the second cigarette clenched between his teeth. His hands won’t stop shaking. He’s been pacing this same twenty feet of asphalt for ten minutes, heart slamming like a bass drum.
The worst part is—
He’s still hard.
Still throbbing.
It hurts now. Unspent, swollen against the front of his jeans. Makes him sick.
He nearly drops the phone when she picks up.
“Hello?” Yn said, her voice raspy and a little tipsy.
He winces at the sound of her voice. She’s still drunk, maybe half-asleep. His baby. His fiancé. Somewhere in a hotel bed in Bangkok, on her bachelorette weekend. And here he is. Sweating. Shaking. Full of shame and panic and someone else’s perfume.
He presses the phone tighter to his ear.
“Baby, are you alone? Please, just…don’t hang up, okay? Please, just…just listen to me for a second ” Jungkook rushes out, breathless, almost pleading.
There’s a pause. Distant music.
“I’m alone,” Yn said softly, voice low now. “I’m listening.”
The words land like a safety net, and somehow make it worse.
His head tips back against the brick. He squeezes his eyes shut.
“Fuck. Okay,” Jungkook choked. “Something happened. Nothing happened, but…fuck…I need to say it out loud. I need you to hear it from me first.”
“I’m here,” she replied.
Her voice is clear now. Not warm. Just… present.
“They paid for a dance. the guys…,” Jungkook said. “I didn’t ask for it. You know I didn’t fucking want that shit, I didn’t-”
He cuts himself off, dragging a breath through his teeth.
“She sat on me,” he continued. “Full grind. Body to body. I didn’t stop her. Not right away.”
His jaw clenches. Throat raw. His hand curls in his jacket like he’s holding his own guts in.
“She was almost naked” he admitted.
“She was bouncing on me and I-I got hard. I got fucking hard.”
There’s a silence on the line. He swears he can hear her blink then adjust herself in the sofa.
“Not because I wanted her” he added quickly.
“My body just…it reacted.
And I hated it. I hated it, Yn”
His voice cracks again, pitched too high for how he usually talks. He sounds like a fucking idiot. Like a scared little boy who got caught doing something he didn’t even want to do.
“I pushed her off. I didn’t touch her after that. I walked straight to the bathroom and stayed there. Washed my fucking hands five times,” Jungkook said, voice shaking.
He presses the heel of his hand into his chest. The pain there is physical. Real.
“Okay,” Yn replied, level and calm.
It’s not judgmental. But it’s not soft either.
He stares at the dark sky like it might give him an answer.
“I know I didn’t cheat, I know that,” Jungkook rambled. “But my dick was fucking throbbing under her and everyone was watching and laughing like it was nothing, like I’m just one of the guys…”
He grits his teeth. Swallows.
“-But I’m not. I’m yours. I’ve been good. You know that. I haven’t cum in three weeks. I don’t even jerk off anymore. I miss you so bad it makes my stomach hurt and then this- this fucking thing happened and I-”
“You stopped it,” Yn said.
“Yeah, but my body wanted it,” Jungkook said quietly.
“Even just for a second.”
“And then you called me,” she replied evenly.
He exhales hard, like he’s been punched in the gut.
“Because I needed you to hear it. I didn’t want to sit on this and rot with it,” he said.
“I needed you to know before I got home, I couldn’t lie to you. I couldn’t.”
There’s a pause.
“I appreciate that,” Yn said.
Her tone hasn’t changed. That’s what’s killing him. It’s like she’s holding back the fire, and he doesn’t know if it’s because she’s calm or a storm is coming.
“Do you hate me?” Jungkook whispered.
“No,” she said firmly.
Another pause.
“I’m not happy. But I’m not judging either” she continued.
“I need time to process. That’s all.”
He presses the phone tighter, feels the static in his ear.
“When do you land tomorrow?” he asked.
“Afternoon,” Yn said.
“I’ll pick you up,” he offered.
“No, its fine” she said.
“…What?” he asked.
“I’ll take a cab. You don’t have to come” she told him.
His stomach turns.
“Babe, please, let me at least see you…” Jungkook started.
“We’ll talk when I’m home. Not at the airport,” she said.
She says it gently but it’s firm, non negotiable. Jungkook leans into the wall, jaw tight, he’s blinking too fast.
“Okay,” he murmured. “I just-okay.”
There’s a silence between them but neither hangs up.
“I still love you. Nothing changed that,” Jungkook said quietly.
“I know,” Yn replied like a fact “Sleep well, shower and cleanse that dirty club smell off of you”
“Yeah. I will,” he said with a broken laugh.
“Goodnight, Jungkook” she said, soft but distant.
He closes his eyes.
“Goodnight, baby” he whispered.
The call ends.
He stares at the black screen for a long time, then walks home alone, zipper biting into the bulge he hasn’t dealt with, cold sweat on his skin. His chest is full of something he can’t name yet.
He doesn’t cry but he want to.
He showers with the lights off, cums in his hand just to get rid of it. He oesn’t feel better after.
The only thing he does right is leave his phone face up on the nightstand.
Waiting for her.
4:00pm
Yn: “Landed. I’ll take a cab, meet you at home in 40.”
He stares at the text like for a few seconds.
Reads it again. Then again.
Doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even move.
I’m not happy. But I’m not judging either
He keeps hearing that over and over again, its playing it like a loop in his head, like it might start to mean something better the tenth time through. It doesn’t.
He can’t sit still.
He paces around their apartment, floor to window, back to the kitchen, back again, Every time a car drives past, his body flinches, his neck snaps, his heart jumps, he wipes his hands on his pants for no reason.
when the 40 minutes hit he’s already downstairs standing in the entrance of their building like a stray dog.
Hood up in good old hoodie, sleeves stretched. He couldn’t decide what shoes so he just threw on the first ones he found .
A yellow cab slows to a stop.
He almost drops his phone.
She steps out and his head goes blank.
Her dress is flowy in that light blue color he always liked is short enough that when she moves, it shows just a little on her thigh, she has her sunglasses still on and her hair in a messy bun, No jewelry, she has a tiny bag and a suitcase behind her, rolling quiet on the pavement.
She looks like the version of her he missed so bad it physically hurt.
And Yn doesn’t look at him.
Not right away.
He jogs the steps, heart in his throat, grabs the suitcase before she can continue, his fingers brush hers on the handle and he nearly flinches.
She glances up and her expression is unreadable.
Then she tips her head, she says with dry, deadpan tone:
“Don’t you want to greet me properly?”
Jungkook chokes on relief. He takes steps forward fast with his arms around her in an instant. he hugs tight. Desperate. His face in her shoulder, her scent grounding him like nothing else could. Gosh she always smells amazing.
She’s Airplane cold when her cheek presses to his collarbone she hears his heart beats going faster.
She breaks the hug first.
“Let’s go inside,” she says, already turning.
He nods. Quiet. Pulls the suitcase behind her.
Yn doesn’t speak, Jungkook doesn’t breathe.
When they reach their door, Yn steps out first then reaches back and grabs his hand.
Just to pull him along his body just goes with it like inertia.
The kettle’s on steaming, Jungkook just stares at it like it might tell him what to say he needs to be doing something. Anything. He grabs two mugs, swaps them, picks different ones then fills the wrong one first. Starts over. Keeps wiping his hands on his thighs.
He can’t stop glancing at her.
She’s on the couch now, bare feet as usual, Yn seems to be texting on her phone completely unaware of her what her presence is causing on Jungkook.
eventually he goes to her side and give her a mug.
She looks at him still unreadable, then she made a gestures beside her, he goes to her side like a grounded puppy.
Yn takes a long sip of her tea, then said with her voice is measured:
“Jungkook. I don’t care about the rest. I need to know exactly what happened when that stripper got on your lap. Every single detail. Don’t skip anything just because it’s embarrassing. Okay?”
He can’t look at her, his fingers clench around the mug, he doesn’t bring it to his lips.
“Okay,” he says with his voice thin.
He stares at a spot just over her shoulder.
“She just walked up. No music cue, no show, just, right in front of me she picked me, sat down, she was almost completely naked”
He swallows.
“She straddled me , full weight, her thighs spread over mine, and I could feel everything. Sweat. Heat. Like body heat, not sexy heat. Just… hot. She pressed down hard like she knew.”
His jaw tightens. Breath shallow.
“Her hands went around my neck then she leaned in and her tits were in my face even her hair got in my mouth…”
He wets his lips.
“She started moving. FIrst slowly, rolling her hips, grinding…My dick-it reacted, like, fast. I wasn’t even thinking. It just was heat and pressure and I got hard. She smiled when she felt it then she moved slower.”
His voice is cracking already.
“She bent down, whispered in my ear, said she wanted to take me to the back said she’d ride me till I cried.”
He chokes on the next breath.
“ i could hear the guys screaming and laughing , i could hear the bass also my own blood in my ears.”
Jungkook tries to drink the tea but can’t. Sets it down on the table.
“My hips moved, Yn, without thinking, i was thrusting up into her, barely but it happened. She moaned I think on purpose tried to make me feel like i was making her flushed”
He swallows hard.
“ I didn’t kiss her, I swear, Yn, but it was close. I think I wanted to just for a second. It was like i wasn’t in my body anymore like my body was betraying me.”
Jungkook hands are shaking now he doesn’t hide it.
“Then I panicked, I grabbed her hips , pushed her off and told her no said I was getting married, of course she didn’t care she just smiled slid off and moved on.”
He drops his face into his hands. Then rubs hard, trying to get something off his skin that won’t come off.
“I sat there douldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. I was still hard. It fucking hurt. My pants were damp. I felt like a freak. Like I’d ruined something I couldn’t fix. I ran to the bathroom. Scrubbed my hands. My face. Almost puked.”
Jungkook finally looks at Yn. His voice barely a whisper.
“I texted you right after that…I just couldn’t hold it in, I didn’t want her, I didn’t want any of it. I just froze then I panicked and then I left.”
Silence.
Not a breath in the room.
He watches her. Waits for anything, any reaction: Disgust. Anger. Sadness.
But she’s still.
Just… still.
And then:
“Wow,” she says “That actually sounds… kind of hot, honestly.”
He blinks.
The world stutters.
She leans back slightly, arms still folded, watching him.
“The way you tell it?” she almost smiles “I’m surprised you didn’t lose control for real.”
His body locks.
For a second, everything inside him just…malfunctions.
His breath catches in his throat, his spine goes rigid while his chest floods with heat. It hits ike whiplash. Like she just slapped him and whispered more.
He stares at her. Literally doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t even know how to breathe right.
What the fuck kind of response is that?
His ears burn and his thighs twitch.
What is she doing?
Is she joking?
Is she punishing him?
Is she…turned on?
No. That can’t be it. That would be insane. That would be…
His stomach turns. His face is on fire. He’s flushed to his chest now, skin prickling like she just undressed him with her eyes, but didn’t touch him. Didn't have to.
His tongue moves in his mouth but no sound comes out.
She doesn’t say anything else. Just sits there. Still. Watching him.
Not smiling. Not explaining.
Just letting it hang.
Like a hook in his ribs.
And he…he has no idea what the fuck to do with it.
in which jungkook's sleepless night leads to an intimate shower with his girlfriend, where tender washing and lovemaking takes place.
pairing — dom!jungkook x sub!femreader
genre — established relationship, slice of life, domestic vibes, slight angst, smut, fluff
warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, mentions of insomnia, mental health struggles, emotional conflict and vulnerability, smoking as a coping mechanism, hurt and comfort, love confessions, tattoo descriptions, intimate washing, late night sex, shower sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), eating out, face riding, tongue fucking, clit stimulation, cum eating, breast play, nipple play, making out, hickies/marking, mentions of bruising, rough sex, hair fisting and pulling, oral sex (m. receiving), cock palming, fist fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, sex from behind against the shower wall, creampie, loving aftercare, they love each other so muchh
wc — 5.1k
a/n — this one is requested by darling @cuntygguk !! <3
masterlist
the night felt heavy with the moonlight slipping through the curtains of your shared apartment.
the clock on the nightstand read 2:50 am.
jungkook felt restless, proof of the grip of insomnia that won't leave him.
the room was quiet except for the occasional noises of the city outside.
jungkook laid beside you, his body taut with too much energy, eyes were fixed on the ceiling above.
his hair messily clung to his forehead, damp with slight sweat and he breathed shakily.
each exhale felt exhausting from the sleeplessness he was facing.
night after night.
he was facing this.
you were curled up beside him, body comfy inside the warm blanket. the small light highlighted your features, the pink flush on your cheeks.
the way your lips parted slightly as you breathed.
deep in sleep.
jungkook's eyes softened, landing on you, heart swelling with all the adoration he had for you.
you were his light in the darkness.
the only person who made the world feel bearable for him.
his deep love for you scared him sometimes—he loved the way your laughter comforted him in his worst days, your touch and your entire presence made it worth it for him.
you saw him for who he was truly, flaws and all and you still chose to stay.
you were his only girl.
forever.
and he didn’t have the heart to wake you up now that you slept so peacefully beside him, looking so cozy.
he would do anything to protect your sleep.
never wanting to wake you.
you always had a way of trying to help him, soothing him in your own ways—making chamomile tea with honey exactly how he liked and trying to make the bed softer for him to sleep in.
anything for him to get sleep.
you would also wrap your arms around him at night, your warmth helping him, whispering words of comfort to him.
late night talks about nothing and everything.
you’d tried everything.
but his insomnia was stubbornly there, always clawing at him no matter how much you tried.
it rarely let go.
jungkook hated the idea of pulling you into this sleeplessness of his, of stealing the rest you deserved.
so he struggled alone.
he always did, trying to shield you from his problems.
with a quiet sigh, he slid out of bed.
he moved carefully, not wanting to disturb the stillness of your sleep.
he slowly walked to the nightstand table, broad shoulders hunched slightly with tiredness.
he reached for the pack of cigarettes on the dresser, fingers trembling faintly as he pulled one out.
smoking was very rare for him.
he only went for it at night when the insomnia was too deep, his chest feeling heavy.
he stepped onto the small balcony.
the city beneath him felt distant, almost unreal.
he lit the cigarette using a lighter before he inhaled deeply, smoke burning his throat as he exhaled.
the nicotine did little to quiet his mind.
but it gave his hands something to do, a momentary distraction from all his thoughts.
back inside, he paced the room.
he stopped by the bed soon, eyes drawn to you.
like a magnet.
he could watch you sleep for hours, memorize every detail of yours.
your chest rising and falling, a rhythm that grounded him.
even now.
a piece of hair fell on your face and he resisted the urge to reach out, tuck it behind your ear.
you were so damn beautiful.
so perfect in your vulnerability.
and his chest felt tight, aching with a love that bordered on pain.
he wanted to crawl back into the bed, wrap himself around you and to let your warmth chase away all the demons he was facing.
but he knew it wouldn’t help.
not tonight.
instead he decided to shower, hoping the water might help his racing mind.
he moved to the bathroom, the door clicking behind him.
he stripped off his sweatpants, since he was shirtless already.
his eyes falling on his reflection in the mirror, his body sculpted by several tattoos, eyes falling on his most favorite one—a tattoo with your initials hidden in it.
a secret only he knew.
all his tattoos told stories of his struggles, his passion and his love for you.
the shower turned on and the water fell like rainfall from the showerhead.
jungkook stepped under the spray, water streaming down his body and all his hard muscles.
he tilted his head back, a sigh escaping his mouth, pushing his wet hair back from his forehead.
sharpening his features.
the warm water helped in loosening the tension in his shoulders but his chest still felt tight.
something that wouldn’t go away.
back in the bedroom, the muffled sound of the shower stirred you from sleep.
your eyes fluttered open, half lidded.
immediately noticing jungkook’s absence even before you saw that he was gone.
whenever his warm large frame wasn’t around you.
you just knew.
like your body had a mind of its own.
the bed felt emptier without jungkook's presence, the sheets cool beside you.
where his body should have been.
a pang of worry hit you, heart aching at the thought of him facing insomnia once again.
you sat up.
the sound of the shower confirmed where he was and the realization that he hadn’t woken you.
hadn’t reached for you.
made your throat tighten with sadness
you slid out of bed, bare feet hitting the floor.
you approached the bathroom, the door was ajar and you pushed it open, immediately being greeted by the steamy air.
the mirror was fogged with the condensation.
jungkook stood under the shower, back to you, water cascading over his shoulders.
the sight of him infront of you.
his naked beauty stole your breath.
the bare body you have seen and touched countless times in your relationship, yet he always makes your heart flutter.
tall, strong.
yet so exposed—your heart hurting, a furrow in your eyebrows from pain.
“kookie…”
you breathe.
barely audible over the water.
he turned, dark eyes widening slightly.
a mix of surprise and guilt flickering across his face.
“baby, what are you doing up?”
his voice rough with exhaustion but also with tenderness.
reserved for you only.
“you should be sleeping.” he said.
“i heard the shower.”
you step inside the bathroom.
“why didn’t you wake me? you’re struggling again aren’t you?”
he looked away, jaw clenching tightly as he ran a hand through his wet hair.
“i didn’t wanna bother you,” he admitted.
“you were sleeping so peacefully and i... i... hate dragging you into this.”
his eyes meeting yours, filled with emotions and vulnerability.
“i can handle it baby, you know i always do.”
your heart broke at his words.
at the way he tried to hide his pain just to protect you.
you stepped closer.
“you’re not a burden, jungkook.”
you said, voice steady, eyes searching his.
“you never are. i wanna be there for you just like you're always there for me.”
“it hurts me when you shut me out.” you croaked.
he reached for you, wet hand brushing your cheek, leaving a trail of wetness on your skin and your eyes closed at his touch.
“i’m sorry, sweet girl.”
his voice breaking slightly.
“i just… i don’t want you to see me like this… so fucking troubled. you deserve better than that, hm?”
“you’re not a trouble.”
you said fiercely, stepping closer but still away from the water.
“you’re human and it’s okay to not be okay all the time, koo… and please don’t say that. i love every part of you no matter what.”
his gaze softened.
“you’re too good to me.” he murmured.
his thumb brushing over your lower lip, jaw clenched tight.
“i don’t know what i did to deserve you but i thank god every day that you’re mine.”
your heart swelled, tears welling in your eyes as you reached for him, fingers brushing his wet chest.
“let me take care of you tonight… please.”
he nodded, eyes intense on you and you didn’t hesitate.
you pulled off the t-shirt you were wearing, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.
your body bare beneath it.
jungkook's breath hitched, nostrils flaring, dark eyes roaming all over you, taking in the curve of your hips.
your soft full breasts and the way your nipples hardened under his stare.
you blushed softly under his gaze, not used to being so confident and direct, so you looked away, biting your lower lip.
the steam surrounded you as well as you stepped in the shower.
water soaking you now and your hair clings to you.
“can i wash you?” you ask, softly.
reaching for the shampoo bottle. the vanilla scent filled the air as you poured it into your hands.
he didn’t protest.
his eyes locking on yours, never losing eye contact, like they can read all of your secrets.
a mix of gratitude and desire in them.
you reached up, standing on your tiptoes, fingers running through his wet hair, massaging the shampoo there with slow gentle movements.
he was so tall, his frame towering over you, making it harder for you to reach him.
he sank to his knees for you, a gasp leaving you.
the sight of him kneeling before you, his head tilted, eyes half closed in relaxation, sent a rush of warmth through you.
your heart raced but your fingers continued working, massaging his scalp and the soap ran over his shoulders, down his muscled back.
his face was in level with your hips, eyes falling to the space between your thighs.
your pussy was wet—not just from the water but from his intense stare.
and the intimacy of the moment.
his hands rested on your thighs, thumb brushing the sensitive skin and a shiver ran down your spine.
“fuck,” he hums.
“you’re so fucking beautiful. look at this pussy right here, so wet and pretty for me.”
he says, huskily.
your cheeks flush, lips parting at his lewd words, your thighs squeezed together instinctively wanting to take his gaze away, but it stayed locked there.
“koo…” you whimper.
your hands shook as you tried to focus on rinsing the shampoo from his hair.
“you’re supposed to be relaxing.”
“i am.” he said.
his lips curling into a smirk, hands slid higher, thumbs brushing closer to your swollen folds.
“but how am i supposed to relax when you are standing here looking like this, pretty girl?”
“this pussy—it’s all mine, isn’t it, hmmm?” he asks
“yes”
a whine leaves your mouth, struggling to focus on washing away the soap suds from his hair.
“all yours.”
he groans, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, fingers almost bruising your skin.
“i wanna bury my face in you, taste you until you’re screaming my name... god, you’re killing me.”
you giggled softly, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, heart pounding as you reached for the conditioner next, pouring it into your hands.
you worked it through his hair, detangling it with care as you applied gentle scratches to his scalp with your nails because you knew he always liked it.
he sighed, gulping, shoulders relaxing under your ministrations.
“feels so good, baby,” he mutters.
“you always know how to take care of me.”
“you deserve it.” you huff.
voice thickening with emotion.
he looked up at you, hands cupping your ass, making you let out a small squeak.
a warm, deep chuckle vibrated from his chest.
“i don't know how i got so lucky... i'd be lost without you.” his voice breaks.
your heart swells, a tear slipping down your cheeks, unknowingly and you lean down to kiss his forehead.
“i’m not going anywhere.” you whisper.
finalizing it.
he remains quiet after that, letting you focus on him.
you finished rinsing the conditioner, leaving his hair shiny and soft.
“my turn.” he rasps.
his voice authoritative and commanding and the sudden shift in his demeanor sends a thrill through you.
he gets back to his feet.
reached for the body wash, pouring it into his hands, a scent he loves on you so much.
a floral smell that clings to your body.
he starts at your shoulders, calloused hands gliding over your skin and you lean onto him.
he washed your arms with concentration, fingers tracing each and every curve.
he moved to your back, hands cupping your waist as his thumb pressed gently into the knots of tension he found there.
“oh, mhmm.”
your head falls back, breasts heaving with your pants.
“you’re so tense, princess,” he murmurs.
lust and care in his voice
“gonna make you feel good.”
you sighed, arching into him, resting your head against his chest.
his hands and the water soothing you in too many ways.
his hands trailed upward, slowing as they reached your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples.
you gasped, body arching into his touch as you clutched his shoulder.
he didn’t stop.
he circles them, teasing them, the soap making his fingers glide easily.
and the sensation of his calloused, slick fingers from the body wash felt too much.
and your nipples felt overly sensitive, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through you.
“hahh… koo.” you called out.
“mm fuck, look at these tits,” he growls.
“you’re squirming already and i’ve barely started.”
a rumble vibrates from his chest against you, making your clit pulse at the same time with your heartbeat.
“jungkook…” you whimpered.
your nails digging into his skin, trying to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensation.
“it’s too much.”
a pout on your lips.
“too much?” he teased.
his lips brushed your earlobe, fingers continuing their slow, torturous circles.
“you’re such a good girl… letting me play with your tits.”
“look at how hard they are, always begging for more huh?” he grumbles
you moaned, water falling over both of you as he continued to wash your body.
his hands were slow, taking his time worshipping your body.
as if memorizing every inch of you.
he washes your hips, hold strong and possessive as he also applied subtle massages whenever he wanted.
he then moved to your hips, fingers kneading the muscles, the soap making his movements easier.
almost obscene in a way that even the innocent touches cause wetness to pool in your cunt.
he knelt, face inches away from your core once again.
you felt your breath catch as he looks up at you, eyes wild with hunger.
“spread your legs for me, baby.”
his deep, gravelly voice make your thighs tremble.
“let me see that little pussy.” he hums.
you obeyed, breaths shaky, parting your thighs.
his hands slid up your inner thighs and you felt your pussy clench in anticipation.
“goddamn, you're so wet.” he grunts.
fingers brushing closer to your folds.
teasing but not touching
not yet.
“not just from the water, are you? you're dripping for me... aren't you pretty girl?”
“yes.” you gasp.
hands bracing against the shower wall for support, your voice needy and choked.
he groans, eyes fixed on your quivering heat, his hands gripping your thighs as he leaned forward, breath hot against you.
your clit pulsing as his breath hits it, making your hips buck.
he parted your folds using his thumbs, tongue darting out, licking a slow stripe through your folds, collecting your arousal and you let out a startled cry.
hips rocking into his mouth.
“so good i could eat this pussy all night baby”
his voice muffled against you as he went on with his torturing motions, tongue flicking at your clit.
his hands kept your thighs spread to give him better access.
not letting you any space to move anywhere.
completely submitting to him.
no escape from his delicious torture.
the heat of his mouth, the warmth of the water and the slickness of the soap—it was too much.
sensory overload.
you tremble, letting out uncontrollable noises.
he grabbed one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder, supporting your weight since your legs were getting weak.
and it gave him the upper hand to control you better.
“jungkook, oh my god.” you moaned.
your hands tangling in his wet hair, pulling him closer.
“don’t stop. pease. please.”
you begged, mindless.
“never.” he exclaims.
the vibration has you letting out a shaky cry, his lips closing around your clit, sucking it hard and you pulled his hair.
your hips thrusting on his mouth, almost riding his tongue.
“come for me, baby… let me feel you fall apart on my tongue.”
the pressure built quickly and the coil tightened in your belly so fast, tears glistened in your eyes.
“ahh gosh, koo!”
your moans echoed in the small shower.
“jungkook i'm gonna—oh fuck, i’m coming.”
your body shuddering as orgasm crashed through you so suddenly you almost fell over.
jungkook held you upright as he licked you through it, drawing out the pleasure until you were panting and mumbling.
you pushed his head away, gasping, covering your mouth trying to control yourself.
he stood, lips glistening with your arousal and some dripping on his chin.
the sight of you so wrecked turned him on like crazy.
he snarls, pulling you into him in a rough hungry kiss, tongue tangling with yours as you taste yourself, making you mewl on his mouth.
“i love you so much, my baby… you have no idea.” he whispers.
against your lips.
hands cupping your ass and you clutched onto his chest, heart thudding.
“love you too, kookie.”
lips swollen from his kiss.
as you still struggle to get back from your orgasm.
“continue taking care of me…” he rasps.
a lazy grin on his lips as he so obviously takes enjoyment from teasing you.
making you wait.
you flush and a scoff leaves you.
him knowing that you won't ever resist or deny taking care of him even if you're aching.
you reached for the body wash he used on you a few moments ago, pouring some on his body.
beginning to wash him in return.
your hands slide over his chest, tracing all of his tattoos, lingering on the ink as your fingers traced the patterns.
a habit of yours from countless nights before.
he exhales, satisfied, loving your hands on his body.
there was a small design on his chest your initials hidden there.
a secret he’d shown you one night.
his voice soft and loving as he confessed it was for you.
“you’re inked in my body forever.”
he’d said then.
the memory still makes your heart swell.
your hands move lower, washing his abs, taking advantage of the moment and groping him and touching his skin.
you can tell his enjoyment by the way his muscles flex underneath your touch, the deep rumbles from his chest.
a grunt leaving his lips as you get near his hips.
when you reached for his cock, he was already hard and heavy.
your soap coated hand wrapping around his thick bulge, fingers barely meeting from his sheer size
“baby.” he hisses.
hips bucking into your hand.
the soap and water makes your touch smooth and you begin to stroke him slowly, thumb circling the tip.
your eyes stay focused on his and his intense dark bedroom eyes make your pussy clench, despite the hard orgasm you faced moments ago.
his nostrils flared, jaw clenching and you knew he was holding back for your sake.
letting you take things at your own pace.
a rare moment.
you lean in, pressing loving kisses on his chest, lips brushing over his tattoos.
“mmm, you’re so hard, kookie…”
“shit, princess.”
his hands grip your hips tight, thrusting into your hand.
“you keep talking like that and i’m gonna lose it.”
“good.” you breathe.
smiling shyly against his skin as you continue to stroke him, the other hand helping wash away the soap suds from his body.
taking care of every inch of him.
his hands slide up your body, cupping your breasts again, weighing them in his hands as he kisses you again.
desperate and hurried.
“i need to be inside you,”
he rushes out.
“now.”
“then take me.” you whispered.
all your restraint faded, bottom lip quivering in want as you looked at him with teary eyes.
he didn’t hesitate.
he spun you around in a fast motion, pinning you against the shower wall.
his rough manhandling knocking the breath out of you.
your breasts press on the wet tiles, nipples brushing against them, making you ache with a mix of pain and pleasure.
but he keeps you pressed there, not letting you move.
the water still falls over you both like rain, making the moment more sensual and comforting for both of you.
he grips your hips, tilting them to position himself behind you.
“you want this cock, hm?”
voice rough with need as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your folds.
teasing but not entering.
making you pant and clutch the wall tightly.
“want me to fuck this cunt until you’re coming?”
“yes, pleaseee.”
your body trembling with anticipation.
his eyes fixed on how your earlier release still leaks out of your slit.
the sight so naughty and obscene and he was running out of patience.
“i need you so bad.”
you begged, voice pitched.
he doesn’t make you wait longer.
he enters into you in one smooth thrust, cock stretching you and filling you so completely.
it felt like he reached your stomach in one go, the position allowing him to go deeper.
leaving you in a very vulnerable and exposed position.
“oh gosh… gahhh.” you cry out.
he doesn’t give you a moment to adjust as he begins to move, hips rolling.
almost like he was taking his frustrations out on you.
you loved it when he was like this, rough and taking what he needs.
like an unrestrained animal.
ready to devour you.
“koo! nghh, you’re so big—ohh gosh.”
“you’re so tight and warm around me… you love this fat cock, don’t you?”
he asked, voice gruff, hips moving faster.
“mhmm?” he grits out.
when you don’t answer and you know he doesn’t like it when you remain quiet, not voicing your answers.
but the pleasure was too much, you couldn’t keep track of everything.
“yes. yes.” you whined.
head falling forward as he thrusts harder and faster.
the sound of skin slapping against skin mixes with the sound of the water falling.
creating a lewd music.
your own cries and his grunts mixing with it.
each of his thrusts hitting that spot inside you again and again.
“right there! there—”
a sob leaves you.
“right there? you like it there baby?”
he hums out a deep chuckle.
his voice almost predatory and dark, hips going in the same rhythm, hitting that exact spot like the expert he was.
and you were a squirming mess on the wall, clawing at the tiles.
your mouth remain parted.
drool trickling down your mouth.
you were seeing stars at this point.
“you’re mine.”
he says huskily, a moan leaving him when you clench on his cock.
“my only girl… my everything, gonna make you come so hard… mmm.”
he was trying to prove a point, almost like he wanted to reward you for always being there for him.
taking such good care of him.
“jungkook. jungkook. jungkook”
you were only capable of chanting his name.
each of his thrusts sends your body sliding on the wall due to the wetness.
his hands holding your hips, the constant brush of the tiles on your nipple.
was causing a dual stimulation
and it was too much all at once.
“ohs” and “ahs” left your mouth at each of his thrusts.
“i’m gonna come ahh—”
a broken sob leaves you, struggling to hold onto the wall, nails scratching it.
needing something to hold onto.
he reached around, never giving you a break.
his fingers find your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts.
“come on,” he hisses.
“let me feel this pussy squeeze my cock… come for me.”
his hands fisting your hair, pulling you back to meet his brutal thrusts.
your orgasm came crashing over you and you let out a loud scream that ended in a sob.
“ohh, kookie!” you cried.
your walls clenching around him as painful pleasure ripped through you.
your moans fill the shower, raw and desperate as he fucked you through it.
your throat aching from all the noises.
he breathes shakily, thrusts faltering, chasing his own release and you can feel each of his throbs inside you.
your pussy clenching on him repetitively, overstimulating both of you in the process until you both were letting out broken moans.
“gonna fill you, sweetheart.” he grits out.
“hnnn, do it, please. jungkook, come inside me.”
you gasp, trembling, whimpers spilling out of your mouth.
he thrusts one last time, deep and hard and then he comes, his release hot and intense.
he spurts inside you and groans your name.
you feel the warmth of his release, he reaches such deep parts of you and you groan.
body still pressed against the wall as he holds you close.
you both pant, tangled together.
after a few moments he pulls out slowly, making you gasp at the emptiness.
both your arousal mixed together leaks out of your pussy.
your legs no longer supporting your weight, completely defeated.
he turns you around to face him, picking you up and you wrap your legs around his waist.
supporting your weight.
he kisses you this time gently with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.
his tongue exploring your mouth, coaxing small whimpers from you.
he pulls back, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily.
he holds you close to him, your arms encircling him as he buries his head on your neck, leaving small open mouthed kisses.
his lips sucking gently at first then harder, leaving marks.
claiming you as his.
in every way.
your voice tremble, running your fingers through his wet hair as he faces you, your lips brushing his.
both of you breathing the same air.
“you know i’m always here for you… right koo?”
he leans down, pressing a delicate kiss on your shoulder, lips lingering, sucking another hickey there.
you can feel his shoulders shake from the weight of his emotions, from hearing your words and you clutch him to you tighter.
you place soft kisses beneath his ear.
each kiss a mark of his love.
his need for you.
“i don’t deserve you,” he says.
voice strained.
“but i'll spend every day trying to be worthy of you.”
you sign, nuzzling onto him, bodies were still warm from the water, the steam around you both.
“you’re more than enough, koo,” you coo.
“always, you’re my home.”
he was your safe place.
you both eventually step out of the shower, movements slow and intimate.
he helps you dry off, wrapping a towel around you.
he helps himself by wrapping one around his waist.
you tell him to wait in bed.
he protests as he wants you in his arms, but your request makes him let you go.
reluctantly.
you go to the kitchen and make his favorite chamomile tea, a drink that's his favorite.
you know it comforts him.
and you don’t forget to add honey to it.
back in the bedroom, you hand him the mug, fingers brushing against his.
his heart full with how much you cherish him, he pulls you in his arms.
wanting you close to him as he sips on it slowly.
his eyes never leaving you.
the love and gratefulness in them were so intense, your chest pained.
he guides you closer to him until his head rests on your bare breasts.
an act that always comforted him.
he loved to do it.
he would tell you to get naked and he would rest on your chest like that.
it wasn’t always sexual, just a loving act you both shared.
you ran your fingers through his damp hair, a contented hum leaving him.
the faint brushes of his hair on your taut nipples still send tremors through you, but you focus on him.
hoping and praying he can finally get some sleep.
he deserves it.
the room was quiet now and you soon felt his body relax against yours.
the tension of the night finally easing.
the sex, love, your presence—it was enough to quiet the restlessness in him.
his breathing slowed, arms wrapped around you, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.
you buried your face in his hair, breathing the fresh smell of the shampoo.
he soon drifted off from your tender touches.
his face peaceful at last.
his lips slightly parting, a sign that he was in deep sleep and was actually resting.
the usual frown on his face when he cannot sleep was gone.
now replaced with restfulness.
his breath warm against your skin and your eyes traced all the details of his handsome features—his lips, the curve of his jaw, the small scar on his cheekbone.
your thumb brushing over the tiny mole beneath his lips.
you adored it so much.
he looks so much younger in sleep.
the weight of the world finally lifted off his shoulders.
tears filling your eyes, finding happiness from the sight of your man finally resting.
you lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
“sleep well, baby…”
you ran your fingers through his hair, warmth and joy in your chest from seeing him like this.
note: the kinks aren’t too crazy but there are some that individuals may not like so you don’t have to read them as they’re not connected— they just revolve around the same couple. Each one will have its own warnings too !
taglist: open rn - don’t hesitate to ask !
synopsis :
your older, much more experienced boyfriend coaxes you into a month full of experimenting and delving outside of your comfort zone. are you willing to survive 31 days of pure filth inflicted on you from your boyfriend’s body and tongue?
| when a whole month with older bf jk consists of :
Golden (Jungkook Social Media AU): Chapter Two - Friend or Foe?
Golden Masterlist | Chapter One - Galas and Glances | Say hi/send a request
Chapter Summary: Y/N takes the stage with Cha Eunwoo at the 2020 Melon Music Awards. A subtle reaction from Jungkook ignites an online frenzy because on the internet, nothing stays quiet for long.
Genre: Romance, Social Media AU
Rating: Mature Content (18+) Minors do not engage!
Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Idol!Reader
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. I do not claim ownership of the people, photos, and events mentioned.
Author's Note: Ooooo this chapter had no business being this lengthy, what the hell 😭 But I hope you are with me still! Also, a little cheat sheet on the names mentioned. But I might do an extended character profile for everyone's sake:
Y/N, Jungkook, and the rest of the BTS members as themselves
VXYN members: Haeun/Bia, Soyun/Vani, Eunchae (expanded more here)
Lee Kisun - chaebol heir, family friend of Y/N
Shin Minjung - Y/N's manager
Yang Hyunsuk - Starhit Entertainment's CEO
Mrs. Kim Junghee - Y/N's Eomma
Next chapter, we'll have a bit more lovey-dovey moments, I promise! I also want to do a couple of drabbles highlighting their history, but that will come after the context Chapter Three will provide. Hoping I don't get too busy next week so I can try to maybe do a double update (no promises tho pls don't kill me 🧍♀️) in celebration of Festa and the four members' discharge. I hope to do the same for Yoongi's discharge too. Happy June, loves ♥️ Can't put into words the joy I'm feeling rn and I hope you feel the same.
ALSO, some of the parts may be historically inaccurate (e.g. El*n M*sk's presence on Twitter in 2020, Twitter being called X blah blah) pls cut me some slack I thought it's funny ok
Again, if you want to be added to the taglist or have any feedback or suggestions, leave a comment or an ask any time. Please like, comment, reblog. Ciao!
Credits to the rightful owner of the pictures used above @jung-koook, I hope I have it correct.
Summary: The last thing you expected after coming back from Brazil was finding Jungkook in your kitchen like nothing had ever happened. Fresh out of the military, he’s determined to prove he’s changed and that he wants more than a situationship this time. You swore you wouldn’t let him back in after the silence he left you with, but when he asks for a second chance, the walls around your heart start to crack.He’s doing everything to win you over again, and you’re starting to realize resisting him—especially when he smiles and looks at you like that—might be impossible.
Warnings: idol!jk x poc!singer/songwriter!oc, smut! MDNI!, oral (f.rec), unprotected sex, jk is a simp and a munch with no shame about it, jk calls her noona but it’s mainly teasing or when he wants to get his way, jk is lowkey a little menace but you love it, kinda dom/sub/switch dynamics but it’s not explicitly mentioned, aftercare, more to come in the other parts but let me know if I missed anything.
W.C: 11.6k
The last thing you expected to see when you returned home from your trip to Brazil was your ex-situationship in your kitchen like it was a normal thing. Jungkook had been discharged from the military almost a month ago and one of the first persons he wanted to see was you. You’d gone silent on him and he understood why but he needed you to know that you were both on the same track. He just lagged a bit and it gave you the wrong impression.
“Yahh, Jeon Jungkook!! What the fuck are you doing?”
Jungkook doesn’t even flinch at your outburst. He turns from where he’s comfortably leaned against your kitchen counter, a glass of iced water in his hand like he owns the place or like he used to.
“Nice to see you too,” he says with a casual smile, like your heart hadn’t once split open over the silence he left you in.
You drop your duffel a little too hard on the floor, the thud echoing in the apartment. “How the hell did you get in here?”
“I still had the code,” he says simply, lifting his glass in a mock toast before taking a sip. “You never changed it.”
You blink, stunned. The audacity of this man. “So you thought that was an invitation? Jungkook, are you insane?”
Jungkook shrugs, setting the glass down like this is a conversation he’s had a hundred times in his head and always won. “No. I thought it meant there was still a chance.”
His voice is soft, but firm. Honest in that maddening, Jungkook way that used to make you feel like the whole world stopped when he looked at you like that. Like this.
You cross your arms, jaw clenched so tight it’s a miracle your teeth haven’t cracked. “You ghosted me, Jungkook. You disappeared without a word after everything we—”
“I didn’t ghost you.” He steps closer, cautiously, like you’re a frightened animal he doesn’t want to spook. “I’ll admit I lagged a bit and freaked out but ghosting wasn’t my intention.”
“Same difference whether it was intentional or not.”
That shuts him up.
For a moment, the silence is heavier than your suitcase. He stares at you, something flickering in his eyes guilt, maybe, or regret. Maybe even love, but you’re not stupid enough to let that sway you. Not again.
“I didn’t know how to say what I wanted without screwing everything up,” he finally says. “But I see now that going quiet just did that anyway.”
You scoff. “Took you two months and a break in to figure that out?”
“I didn’t break in,” he mutters, almost pouting. “And I called and texted you multiple times before and once I got discharged. You just never answered.”
Your heart lurches because you did get the calls and the texts and you never responded because you were hurt.
You hadn’t known what to do with them. Didn’t want to know if they were full of promises or apologies or some convoluted explanation that would only reopen wounds you’d spent the past two months learning how to live with.
“Why are you really here?” you ask, quieter now. “What do you want from me?”
He looks at you then, not past you, not through you, but at you. Like you’re still the person he used to call at 2 a.m. just to hear your voice. Like he still knows you.
“I want a second chance,” Jungkook says. “No situationship, let me be your boyfriend.”
You stare at him like he’d grown another head because that isn’t what you expected to hear.
You laugh sharp and disbelieving. “Boyfriend? Now you want to be my boyfriend?”
Jungkook doesn’t flinch. “Yes.”
“After two months of silence and one rogue visit to my apartment?” You shake your head, pressing your palms into your temples. “You seriously think that’s how this works?”
“No,” he says quietly. “But I’m hoping you’ll let me try anyway.”
The room is still. The air feels heavier now, the kind of weight that’s not just emotional but lived-in—like the ghost of your shared past decided to sit on your couch and watch this all play out. You look at him again, really look at him, and it’s both painfully familiar and impossibly foreign.
His hair is a little longer than before. He’s filled out a little, posture more grounded, more deliberate. But it’s his eyes—still soft, still maddeningly earnest—that threaten to undo the carefully stacked bricks you’ve built around your heart.
“You don’t get to just show up here like no time has passed and pick up where we left off.”
“I know,” he nods, stepping closer again, slow enough to let you stop him if you want. “And I’m not asking you to forget what happened. I’m asking you to give me a chance to show you that I mean it this time.”
You fold your arms tighter around yourself. “And what exactly changed that makes this time different?”
“I did,” he says. “The military gave me a lot of time to think and for the first time in my life, I stopped running from things that scared me.”
“And I was one of those things?” you ask, voice low.
“You were everything,” he says simply. “And that terrified me.”
The silence stretches again, this time not sharp, but uncertain.
You should kick him out. You want to kick him out. But instead, you say, “You’ve got five minutes to explain everything. No bullshit. No vague excuses.”
Jungkook straightens, hopeful, like five minutes is more time than he thought he’d get. “Deal.”
And for some reason, despite every hurt, despite the voice in your head screaming at you to shut the door on him and never look back—you sit down. Not because he deserves it yet but because maybe, just maybe,you want to believe he could.
“You better not make me regret this Jeon.”
“I won’t, promise.” He says as you leave your bags in the hallway and move towards your living room.
“First things first, how’d you know to be here at this exact time?” You question.
“Gyu told me you were coming back today and I calculated everything else on my own.”
“You’re actually insane.”
“You wouldn’t answer my calls or texts, I got desperate okay?!”
“I tell you I like you and you ghost me…”you pause for a moment.“…then you break into my apartment like we’re in some shitty romcom,” you finish with a bitter laugh, collapsing onto the edge of your couch.
Jungkook follows, hovering by the armrest like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to sit yet. “I didn’t break in,” he says again, more sheepishly this time. “And it’s not like I forgot what you said.”
“You sure about that?” you snap. “Because the night I told you how I felt, you looked me in the eyes, kissed me like it meant something and then disappeared.”
He winces. “I know. I know how bad that was.”
“Do you?” You glare at him. “Because while you were off in the mountains or wherever, trying to ‘find yourself,’ I was here thinking I’d made everything up in my head. That I’d read too much into it. That I scared you off.”
“You didn’t scare me,” he says softly, finally sitting down. “You made me realize how real it all was and yeah, maybe that did freak me out. But not because I didn’t want it.”
“Then why leave me hanging?”
“Because I didn’t know how to handle someone who actually saw me. Who wanted me. Not just Jungkook the idol, not the guy everyone thinks they know. Me.” He swallows, looking down at his hands. “You were the first person who made me feel like I could be that version of myself and still be loved.”
The room quiets again. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears.
He glances at you then, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I wasn’t ready before. But I am now. And if you still want me—”
“You’re lucky I even let you talk,” you interrupt, but your voice has lost its bite. “One more vanishing act and I will change the code. And possibly throw a something at your head.”
“That’s fair,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I deserve that.”
“You deserve worse,” you mutter, and then softer, “but maybe…we can start over.”
His eyes brighten, like that one line is the sun cracking through storm clouds. “Start over,” he repeats, nodding. “I can work with that.”
You sigh, rubbing your temples again. “God, I must be out of my damn mind.”
Jungkook grins. “But you missed me.”
“Shut up and get me a drink before I change my mind.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He’s already up and heading to the kitchen.
And just like that, the door you’d sworn to keep closed,cracks open, just a little.
That was three weeks ago and now it’s like that two month period of silence between you had never really happened. Jungkook had been doing everything he could to make it up to you and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t working or that you weren’t developing even bigger heart eyes for him than you already have, which brings you to now.
You’d seen Jungkook shirtless numerous times throughout the years you’ve known each other but it’s the first time you’re seeing it since his discharge and you wonder if he’s trying to send you crazy.
He called you over earlier insisting on a movie night, he ordered all the food and bought snacks and was fresh out of the shower when you arrived. What you didn’t expect was the new ink that spanned almost across his chest from the previous one or the new ink on his once bare left arm.
You’re staring as you sit on the edge of his bed and if he notices then he says nothing, at least, not at first.
Jungkook hums to himself as he rifles through his drawers for a shirt, towel slung low around his hips, completely unbothered by the fact that he looks like a walking thirst trap. Your eyes flick from the still-damp curls clinging to his forehead to the ink blooming across his chest, bold and black and unfairly sexy, and then lower—to the newer piece coiled along his left arm, delicate lines and sharp edges, intricate enough to make you forget how to breathe for a second.
You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring until he turns around, shirt finally in hand, and catches your expression.
His lips twitch. “You good over there?”
You blink, looking up like you’d been snapped out of a trance—which, in a way, you had.
“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, voice a little higher than usual. You clear your throat and try again. “You got more tattoos.”
He grins then, cocky and sweet, tossing the shirt on the bed beside you instead of putting it on. “Noticed, huh?”
“Kind of hard not to when you’re standing there like a Calvin Klein ad.”
He laughs, and god, you really wish he’d stop doing that because now you’re not just thinking about the tattoos.You’re thinking about tracing them, about how warm he probably still is from the shower, about how close he is and how unfair it is that he looks this good and knows what to do with it.
“Come closer if you want a better look,” he says, teasing, like he hadn’t just weaponized his body against your willpower.
You roll your eyes, but your legs move before your pride can stop them. You stand, stepping into his space slowly, gaze trailing over the ink as if it might tell you something he hasn’t said yet.
“This one’s new,” you murmur, lightly brushing your fingers near the chest piece—near, not on, because you’re not sure you’d recover if you actually touched him right now.
“Finished it last week,” he says, voice softer now. “Didn’t want to show you until it healed properly.”
You glance up at him then, eyes meeting his, and for a second the air feels thick between you. Not tense,just charged.
“Looks good on you,” you say, because it’s the truth. “You always pull them off.”
“I was hoping you’d like it,” he replies, gaze dropping to your mouth for the briefest second.
You should move. Say something smart. Tease him, maybe but all you manage is a quiet, “I do.”
Neither of you move away and then Jungkook speaks again, lower this time. “You know… movie night can start a little late.”
And if you lean in after that, it’s definitely not just because of the tattoos. His towel hits the floor as both his hands find your waist walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed and he’s pushing you down onto it immediately crowding your space.
“Missed you,” he whispers against your lips, hands gripping your thighs and wrapping them around his hips as he presses closer.
You gasp against his mouth, fingers curling into his damp hair as he settles between your legs like he belongs there, because he does or at least, that’s what it feels like in this moment; when every part of him is pressed to you like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent away.
“Jungkook…” you breathe, and it’s not a protest,it never was. It’s a warning, maybe a plea or just the only thing you can manage to say with your heart thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to catch up to his.
“I know,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, the soft spot below your ear. “I know, baby. I’ll go slow.”
And he does, despite the urgency in the way his hands move—palming your waist, mapping your skin like he’s memorizing you all over again. His kisses trail down your throat and linger there, like he’s trying to make you feel safe and wanted in the same breath.
Your hips roll up instinctively, seeking more, and he groans low in his chest like the sound is pulled straight from the pit of his stomach. One of his hands grips your thigh tighter, the other slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing over the bare skin of your stomach.
“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he mutters against your collarbone. “Three weeks of pretending I wasn’t dying to touch you like this,longer than that, really.”
You tangle your fingers into the back of his neck, dragging him back up to kiss you again, slower and deeper this time. He hums into it, hips grinding down once, and you both break the kiss with matching, shaky breaths.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours.
“I don’t,” you whisper back, and that’s all he needs because this time, when he kisses you, it’s not just want but a promise.One that says he’s here now and that he plans to stay.
He grips the hem of your t-shirt and you lift your arms for him to pull it up and over your head, you think he’s going for your bra next but his eyes are locked on your right shoulder.
“Kook, what’re you—”
“That’s new…” he mumbles and you’re about to ask what he’s talking about when you remember the branch of sakura blossoms you’d gotten done the second week after you hadn’t heard from him.
Your breath catches, and not just because he’s half-naked and straddling you, but because of the way his fingers reach out—slow, reverent—and lightly trace over the ink on your shoulder like it’s sacred.
He doesn’t say anything for a beat, just follows the curve of the branch, the blossoms that trail over your skin. His thumb brushes the edge of one petal, and it’s so gentle it nearly makes you shiver.
“You got this while I was gone,” he says quietly, not a question but like he already knows.
You swallow, heart suddenly louder than it was a minute ago. “Second week after you stopped calling.”
His eyes flick to yours, guilt heavy in his expression, but also something else—curiosity, awe, maybe a bit of sadness.
“Why sakura?” he asks, voice low.
You shrug a little, feeling strangely vulnerable under the weight of his gaze. “They’re short-lived. Beautiful, but fleeting.”
Something flashes across his face then, like your answer stung a little, like it cut deeper than you intended as his hand cups your shoulder, thumb still brushing over the blossoms.
“I hate that I gave you a reason to pick that,” he murmurs.
You look up at him, chest tight. “I didn’t do it to spite you, Jungkook. I did it because I needed to remember that something beautiful could still come out of something that hurt.”
He nods slowly, lips pressed together like he’s chewing on every word.
“I want to be something that lasts,” he says suddenly, and it’s so earnest you nearly forget how to breathe.
You search his face, your voice softer now. “That why you didn’t put the shirt on? Wanted me to see your ink and think the same thing?”
He smirks, a little bashful now. “Maybe. Figured if we’re starting over, you should see what’s changed.”
You smile then, brushing a thumb over the new lines on his arm. “Guess we both changed.”
His gaze lingers on yours. “Yeah. But I’m still yours, if you want me.”
Your heart does that stupid flutter thing again, but this time you let it. Because the sakura on your shoulder might’ve been born from pain but right now, with his hands on your skin and that look in his eyes, you feel something blooming again.
“Y’know they also mean new beginnings right? They bloom in the spring when life is being given to the earth again.”
Jungkook’s eyes soften as he takes that in, thumb still grazing the edge of one blossom like it means something sacred. Maybe it does now.
“Yeah?” he says quietly, gaze flicking from your shoulder to your face. “I didn’t know that.”
You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It felt fitting. I was trying to remind myself that something good could still come out of everything—even if it looked different than what I imagined.”
He leans in then, pressing a kiss to your shoulder just beneath the flowers, lingering there like he’s trying to apologize through touch alone.
“I want to be part of that new beginning,” he murmurs against your skin. “If you’ll let me.”
You tilt his chin up, looking him dead in the eye. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“If you’re gonna disappear again the second things get scary.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “I won’t. I’ve already been through losing you once,don’t need a second reminder.”
His fingers slide up your ribs, warm and grounding. You sigh, leaning into him, the weight of everything that came before slowly peeling off in layers.
“Okay,” you whisper. “New beginning.”
A grin spreads across his face, soft and just a little smug. “New beginning,” he echoes, pressing his forehead to yours. “And this time, I’m not going anywhere.”
Outside, the wind rattles the window just enough to remind you it’s still summer but on your shoulder, spring’s already started again.
“Is it weird that it doesn’t feel like we’ve been apart?” You ask, he’s still between your legs, lips trailing kisses across the ink and up the side of your neck
“I don’t think so, we’ve always been in sync since we met. I don’t think any amount of time apart can undo that, at least for me anyways.”
His voice is warm against your skin, roughened slightly from emotion and the low, lazy rhythm of his kisses. You shiver as his lips reach the space just beneath your ear again, that spot he always seemed to remember without being told.
You smile, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I thought I imagined that,” you murmur. “Like maybe it was just one-sided. I felt everything too much and you didn’t feel it at all.”
Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes searching your face like he’s trying to memorize every piece of it. “No,” he says, firmly. “You didn’t imagine a damn thing.”
Your breath hitches.
“I felt it from the beginning,” he continues, voice quieter now, almost like a confession. “I just… just didn’t know how to handle it. You weren’t something casual for me. Never were.”
You study him, the vulnerability in his expression, the way he’s holding you like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll vanish. And maybe it’s a little crazy how easily things have fallen back into place, how his touch still feels like a home you never stopped missing but it’s not scary. Not anymore.
“You’re still a dumbass for leaving without saying anything,” you say, though there’s no heat in your voice.
He nods, solemn. “Biggest mistake of my life.”
“And showing up in my apartment like that?”
“Now that, I don’t regret.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Idiot.”
“Your idiot,” he says with a smirk, leaning down to kiss you again and this time, it’s unhurried, full of something deep and certain.
You let yourself melt into it, arms around his shoulders, legs still curled around his hips. It doesn’t feel like starting over, not really. It feels like picking up a book you loved and finding you still remember all the words by heart.
And if your tattoo means new beginnings, maybe this one—this version of you and him—is finally the one that sticks.
“You knew what you were doing coming over here in this skirt” he mumbles.
“You told me not to go home after I met with the girls. It’s not like you gave me a choice to go home and shower.”
Jungkook chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your neck as his fingers skim the hem of your skirt, bunching it slightly. “You say that like I’m complaining.”
You arch a brow at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “You kind of are, accusing me of seduction when I was just following orders.”
He leans in, lips brushing your jawline. “Don’t play innocent. You knew what that skirt would do to me.”
You laugh, breath catching as he kisses behind your ear again. “It’s not my fault you’ve developed a thing for short skirts and oversized shirts.”
“Oh no, that’s your fault entirely,” he groans, sliding a hand beneath the fabric now, palm warm against your thigh. “You wore this knowing damn well I haven’t seen you since Monday.”
“And you could’ve waited until after the movie,” you say, voice thinner now, more breath than words.
“Why would I do that,” he murmurs, “when you walked in smelling like warm vanilla and trouble, legs out like you wanted me to lose my mind?”
You gasp as his hand grazes higher. “Kook…”
He kisses you again, hot and full of intent. “You came over here like a walking fantasy and expected me to behave? That’s cute.”
You grin against his mouth. “I am cute.”
“You’re unfair,” he counters, finally lifting your skirt all the way and settling back between your legs like he’s found his favorite place in the world. “And mine.”
You don’t argue because you know he’s right and you want to be his problem. Again and again.
Your back arches slightly as his hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider with an ease that sends a pulse straight through your core. There’s something in the way he looks at you—like he’s starving, like you’re the only thing he’s ever really wanted—and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you ache.
“You keep looking at me like that,” you murmur, fingers threading into the strands of his hair, “and we’re not making it through even ten minutes of this so-called movie night.”
Jungkook laughs softly against your skin, but it’s low and rough, like his restraint is hanging by a thread. “Sweetheart, the second you walked through that door, movie night was already canceled.”
His lips find yours again, this time more desperate, more demanding. Like he’s making up for every single day he had to pretend he was okay not touching you like this. You match his pace, hands roaming his back, nails grazing skin and muscle like muscle memory and in a way, it is.
It’s familiar and electric all at once.
You break the kiss just enough to whisper, breathless, “You always this greedy when you miss me?”
He grins, pupils blown wide. “Only when you show up in my bed like a dream I’m scared I’m about to wake up from.”
You reach up, thumb tracing his bottom lip. “Then you better hold on, Jeon.”
His grin fades into something more serious then—something full of want and reverence and a little bit of awe.
“Already am,” he says, and when he kisses you this time, it’s deeper. Slower. Like he’s not just trying to have you but like he’s trying to keep you.
He presses down on you, his hard length pressing against the shorts you wore under your skirt to avoid flashing anyone in public and you moan into his mouth.
“Tease,” you mumble.
Jungkook chuckles against your lips, the sound rich and smug, like he’s thriving off the way your body reacts to his—off the way your thighs tighten around his waist, the way your hands clutch at his back like you need something to ground you.
“Me?” he breathes, nipping gently at your bottom lip. “You’re the one who showed up in a skirt that short and booty shorts this tight acting like I wasn’t gonna lose my mind.”
You huff a laugh, gasping again when he rolls his hips, grinding into the pressure point he knows drives you crazy. “I wore them so I wouldn’t flash strangers, not to make you feral.”
“Well,” he grins, dragging his mouth down to your neck again, “you accomplished both.”
You arch into him, toes curling as his hand sneaks under the band of your shorts, fingers skimming along skin that’s suddenly way too hot. “You really have no self-control, huh?”
“Not when it comes to you,” he murmurs, kissing just beneath your jaw, voice rough with want. “Not when you’re laid out under me like this,already moaning, already mine.”
Your breath hitches at that, the heat in your belly twisting tighter. “You keep saying that.”
He lifts his head, eyes dark and focused entirely on you. “Because it’s true.”
And when he kisses you again, slow but devastating, you realize you don’t want him to stop saying it.
Because with the way you’re wrapped around him—how your body fits against his like it was made for this—you’re his and he’s very much yours.
“Take it off,” you say as you reach behind you and easily unhook your bra and toss it somewhere on his bed.
Now, Jungkook would usually consider himself an ass man but when it came to you he suddenly became an everything man and your boobs were his favorite pillows and stress balls of all time.
Jungkook lets out a low, reverent groan the second your bra hits the bed, his eyes dropping like gravity’s got a hold on him and all he can do is follow.
“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, palms immediately finding their way to your chest like muscle memory. He squeezes gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and the smirk that curls onto his face is downright sinful when he hears the way you gasp.
“You do this on purpose,” he says, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses across the tops of your breasts. “Wear this little outfit… toss that bra like you’re not trying to kill me.”
“I was just trying to get comfortable,” you lie, breathless, and he huffs a disbelieving laugh against your skin.
“Comfortable?” He closes his mouth around one nipple, sucking just hard enough to pull another moan from you. “Baby, this is the opposite of comfort. This is suffering. Beautiful, slow, brain-melting suffering.”
Your back arches into his touch, hands threading back into his hair again as his mouth works you over like he’s found religion in the curve of your body.
“Not my fault your self-control’s hanging by a thread,” you murmur, but your voice is uneven now, every word laced with the kind of heat that matches the way he’s touching you like he can’t decide between worship and ruin.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips slick and eyes wild.
“Oh, it snapped the second you walked in,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “and you’re gonna pay for that.”
You grin, breathless and drunk on the way he’s looking at you. “Then shut up and collect your debt, Jeon.”
His mouth crashes into yours again, hot and greedy.And this time? There’s no teasing left,only intent.
Your shorts and underwear disappear next but he leaves your skirt on as he pushes you further up the bed and settles on his stomach. He wraps both of his arms around your waist and pulls you down until your exposed heat is right in front of his face.
Both of your legs are tossed over each of his shoulders as his head disappears beneath the pleats of your skirt.His breath fans hot against your center before he even touches you, and the anticipation alone has you clenching around nothing, your fingers twisting into the sheets above your head.
“Fuck…” he groans, more to himself than to you, like he’s witnessing something divine.
Your skirt drapes over his head like a veil, and for a moment it’s almost comical—almost—until his tongue makes its first slow, deliberate pass through your folds and you forget how to breathe.
Your hips jerk, a whimper escaping your lips, and Jungkook just tightens his grip around your waist, locking you in place like he knew you’d try to run.
“Stay still,” he mumbles under your skirt, voice muffled and wrecked with want. “Lemme taste you properly.”
And taste you he does.
He’s relentless, tongue lapping at you with a hunger that borders on obsessive like he’s been dreaming about this every night since the last time and now he’s making up for lost time. The soft drag of his tongue, the way he teases your clit with slow, purposeful flicks before switching to the kind of pressure that makes your back arch off the bed tells you that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Your thighs tremble on either side of his head, the grip you have on the sheets now white-knuckled, and all you can do is moan his name over and over like a prayer.
“God, Jungkook—”
He hums, clearly pleased, the vibration shooting straight through you.
You swear he smiles before he dives in deeper, tongue fucking you with such focus and ferocity it’s criminal. Every stroke, every sound—your skirt still hiding the sight of him but somehow making it worse—has you spiraling fast.
“You’re-fuck-you’re obsessed,” you gasp, legs shaking.
He pulls back just enough to breathe, his voice low and wrecked. “With this? With you? Baby, I’ve been starving.”
He buries himself in you again, and this time, he doesn’t stop. Not until you’re crying out his name, body shaking, pleasure crashing over you in wave after relentless wave.
Jungkook doesn’t come up for air until you’re completely undone.
“Fuck, Koo…baby I can’t. N-no more” you whine thighs shaking and threatening to close around his head.
“One more baby, just one more and I’ll fuck you. Promise.”
He groans like the sound of your voice alone could get him off, his grip around your waist tightening as he drags you impossibly closer, locking you in place like you belong to him—which, in this moment, you absolutely do.
“You can,” Jungkook says when you repeat that you can’t, voice thick with lust and unrelenting focus. “You’re doing so fucking good for me, just give me one more. Just one.”
You’re not sure if it’s the way he praises you—low and sweet and filthy all at once—or the way his tongue swirls over your clit like he’s got something to prove, but your body doesn’t listen to your mouth.
Your thighs tremble around his head as another whimper slips from your lips, your fingers tangled in the bedsheets like you’re holding on for dear life. “Kook-fuck, I-!”
He hums, lips closing around your clit and sucking gently—just enough to tip you over the edge again.
Your body convulses as you squirt,the orgasm ripping through you so fast and intense it leaves you gasping, eyes squeezed shut as your hips buck up against his face on pure instinct.
Jungkook holds you steady through it, eating you through your high like a man possessed, like he needs it, needs you, more than air.
Only once your body finally slumps into the bed—wrecked and twitching and breathless—does he emerge from beneath your skirt, lips shiny, face and chest dripping in you; eyes blown wide, pupils dark with something primal.
“Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, crawling up over you, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, your stomach, your chest like he’s trying to soothe the very fire he started. “You’re unreal.”
You blink up at him, lips parted, chest heaving, voice a broken whisper. “You said you’d fuck me after that…”
He smirks,dark, slow, and unbearably smug. “And I always keep my promises, baby.”
Then he’s reaching for your skirt, and you already know that you’re not making it through the night in one piece.
Jungkook tosses the skirt somewhere behind him without looking, too focused on you, on the way your body is still trembling beneath him, on the way your chest rises and falls like you’ve just been through something life-altering. And in a way, you have.
He leans down and kisses you, slower this time—sweet and reverent, like he’s trying to let you catch your breath before he takes it again.
“Still with me?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice all husk and honey.
You nod, dazed, fingers reaching up to frame his face, brushing damp strands of hair off his forehead. “Barely.”
His grin is pure trouble. “Good. I want you like this. Wrecked and soft and only thinking about me.”
You roll your eyes, weakly. “Cocky much?”
“Confident,” he corrects, reaching down between your bodies. And then finally, you feel the thick press of him against your slick folds, and your eyes flutter closed, a soft gasp escaping you.
“God, finally,” you breathe.
Jungkook groans, eyes locked on you like you’re the only thing that exists. “You’re still so fucking wet,” he says, almost in awe. “Gonna slide right in, baby. Gonna fuck you slow.”
He pushes in, inch by inch, and you swear you feel every second of it—your body stretching to accommodate him, still pulsing from your last orgasm. He’s big, he always is, but right now he feels like too much and just right all at once.
Your legs wrap around his waist, locking him in, and the moan that slips from your lips is more of a cry than anything else. “Koo-fuckkk-you feel…”
He kisses your neck, your cheek, your temple, anchoring you to the bed as he starts to move, slow and deep, hips rolling like he’s savoring every thrust. “I know, baby. I know. Just let go, I got you.”
And you do,you let yourself feel it all, the burn, the stretch, the ache and the bliss. The way his body fits against yours, inside yours, like he was made to be here.
Jungkook moans into your neck, pace picking up just slightly, voice low and desperate. “You don’t even know what you do to me. I missed this. Missed you.”
You hold him tighter, fingernails digging into his back, voice breaking as your pleasure builds again, unbelievably fast.
“Then don’t let go,” you whisper, kissing him like it’s a promise.
He doesn’t plan to. Not that night or ever again.
“More…please baby. Harder.” you whine as he lifts your legs higher on his hips as he drives into you. This feeling was something you couldn’t recreate with your vibrator or other toys no matter how many nights you tried. Jungkook had completely rearranged your system to his liking and god did you miss it.
Jungkook groans—deep and ragged—at the sound of your voice, at the way you beg for him like he’s the only thing that can make you feel this good. And honestly? He is,he knows it and so do you.
“Yeah?” he pants, tightening his grip beneath your knees as he shifts forward, hitting deeper, harder just like you asked. “That what you need, baby? Me splitting you open like this?”
You cry out, back arching as he pistons into you with a new, ruthless rhythm, the bed creaking beneath the force of it. “Yes, Jungkook…fuck, yes,just like that!”
He’s wrecked, sweat dripping down his temples, jaw clenched as he watches your face contort in pleasure with every thrust. “You tried to replace me, didn’t you?” he mutters, voice low and breathless. “Thought your little toys could do what I do?”
You whimper, too far gone to deny it.
“Be honest,” he growls, fucking into you harder, now leaning over you so you’re folded beneath him, your thighs pushed back near your chest. “Did they make you feel like this?”
You shake your head desperately, nails clawing down his back. “No…never,fuck…they never—”
“That’s right.” His voice is pure grit, satisfaction and possession curling around every word. “Because this pussy knows who it belongs to.”
You moan louder, words crumbling as your body trembles beneath him, every nerve ending lit on fire. The sounds are messy now—you’re messy now, reduced to nothing but sensation and need and the maddening rhythm of his body claiming yours.
“Missed this,” Jungkook grits out, eyes locked on the place where your bodies meet, where he disappears inside you over and over. “Missed the way you take me. Like you were fucking made for me.”
And maybe you were—because no one else ever felt like this, no one else ever ruined you this sweetly.
You can’t even form a warning before your climax crashes through you—hard and unforgiving—your entire body seizing around him.
Jungkook groans loud and deep, barely holding himself together. “That’s it, baby-fuck, I got you.”
He doesn’t slow down. He chases his own high through your trembling, overstimulated body—like you’re his favorite drug and he’s too far gone to stop now.
Because this isn’t just sex, not with Jungkook. It’s addiction, it’s ownership but most of all it’s home.
“Want it, baby, please.” he knows what you’re asking for and he knows he’ll give it to you but not without teasing you a bit first.
Jungkook smirks through his labored breaths, hips still rolling deep and slow, like he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion. His eyes darken as he leans in, mouth brushing your ear.
“Want what, baby?” he murmurs, all sin and silk. “Gotta be specific.”
You whine, back arching beneath him, trying to rock your hips up to meet his, but his grip on your thighs keeps you pinned. “You know what I mean,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “Don’t make me say it.”
He chuckles darkly, kissing your temple, then your cheek, lips trailing lower until they hover just above your mouth. “Oh no, sweetheart,” he whispers, “you don’t get to beg like that and then get shy on me now.”
His next thrust is sharper, making your eyes roll back as another moan rips out of you. “Say it,” he growls. “Tell me what you want.”
Your pride’s long gone, scattered somewhere between your second orgasm and the moment he told you this pussy was his, so you give him what he wants.
“Want you to come inside me,” you breathe, clutching at his back. “Want to feel it. Please, Jungkook, need it.”
He groans loud, like the words just short-circuited every nerve in his body.
“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he growls, dropping his forehead to yours as his thrusts pick up again, fast and brutal now. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come so deep…”
You tighten around him at the promise, moaning his name, and he damn near loses it on the spot.
“God, yes, baby. fuck…take it, take all of it,” he gasps, hips slamming into you with wild, desperate precision.
It only takes a few more thrusts before he’s spilling into you with a groan that sounds like your name broken apart, hips twitching as he rides it out, pressing as deep as he can go.
You feel everything—every pulse, every drop—and it sends aftershocks rolling through your body, making you gasp, legs still locked tight around him.He stays there for a long moment, chest heaving against yours, lips pressing soft, almost apologetic kisses to your collarbone, your jaw, your lips.
When he finally pulls back enough to look at you, his expression is soft, eyes dark but tender.
“Feel better now?” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
You smile, completely wrecked, thoroughly claimed, and still somehow ready for more. “I told you I missed you.”
Jungkook grins, kissing you again. “Baby… you’re never going that long without me again.”
“Yeah?” you ask. Smile on your face as you tighten your legs around him and use his distractedness to flip you both over.
Jungkook grunts in surprise, eyes going wide as his back hits the mattress and you settle on top of him, legs straddling his hips, looking like the prettiest mess he’s ever seen.
“Fuck,” he breathes, hands instinctively flying to your thighs, gripping them like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His eyes rake over you, flushed, glowing, glistening with sweat and his release. “Yeah… definitely missed this.”
You smirk, leaning down to brush your nose against his. “Want more,” you murmur, voice dripping with sugar and sin.
Jungkook groans, head falling back against the pillow as his fingers flex on your skin. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Maybe,” you whisper against his neck, kissing along the pulse hammering beneath his skin, “but what a way to go.”
You rock your hips slowly, letting the full sensitivity of him still inside you hit both of you at once and his strangled moan tells you everything you need to know.
“You’re so tight,” he hisses, fingers digging into your hips now, “still gripping me like your pussy knows I’m home.”
You hum, starting to ride him slow, deep—deliberate. “You said you wanted to stay inside me,” you whisper in his ear. “So I’m not letting you go yet.”
His whole body twitches beneath you, equal parts wrecked and obsessed. “You’re gonna make me come again,” he warns, voice breaking. “You’re insane.”
You tilt your head with a grin. “You love it.”
“I do,” he admits, hips bucking up into you, chasing the rhythm you’ve set. “God, I do.“
“Yeah?” you whisper, brushing your lips against his.
“Yeah,” he breathes, kissing you like he means it. “and I’m never letting you go again.”
You press your forehead to his, still moving on top of him, still trembling from the overstimulation and the heat between you.
“Good,” you whisper. “…cause I’m not done with you yet.”
“Fuck! Turn around for me baby,”
Jungkook’s voice is ragged, hoarse with desperation, dripping with the kind of hunger that makes your thighs tighten around him reflexively. His grip on your hips is vice-like now, holding you in place even as you try to grind down harder.
“Turn around for me,” he repeats, eyes locked on yours, nearly begging this time. “Wanna see that ass bounce, baby. Wanna watch you fuckin’ take me.”
Your smirk is slow and wicked, and it only gets deeper when you lean in and murmur right into his ear, “Didn’t even last five minutes on bottom.”
He groans—a beautiful, wrecked sound—as you pull back and slowly rise off of him, both of you gasping as you separate, just for a moment.
“Shit,” he hisses, watching you like a man possessed as you turn around, hands braced on his thighs as you slowly sink back down on his length, facing away from him now.
“Oh my god,” Jungkook chokes out, his hands immediately flying to your waist again, thumbs digging into the curves of your hips as he watches you take every inch.
“You like that, baby?” you tease, rolling your hips with intention, slow and deep, milking every sound from him.
“I love it,” he moans, thrusting up into you now, meeting your movements with an intensity that makes you cry out. “You feel fucking unreal.”
The sound of skin against skin fills the room now, lewd and loud, your breathless moans layered with his deep groans as your rhythm grows frantic.
“Look at you,” he pants, one hand sliding from your waist to your ass, gripping, guiding, loving every bounce. “This pussy was made to ride me like this.”
You’re trembling, both from overstimulation and the obscene stretch of him pounding into you from below, hitting every sweet spot like he’s got your entire body mapped out.
“I’m…fuck, I’m close again,” you gasp, barely able to hold yourself up as your thighs start to shake.
Jungkook thrusts up even harder, his pace feral now, hands pulling you back to meet each snap of his hips. “Then come on, baby,” he growls. “Give it to me. Wanna feel you fall apart again.”
You do, with a cry so loud and raw it leaves you both breathless. Your body seizes, clenching down around him so hard he curses violently and spills into you again, gripping you like he’s drowning in you.
And maybe he is because when your bodies finally collapse into each other, panting, spent, still trembling with aftershocks, Jungkook presses his lips to your spine and whispers…
“Still not done.”
He pulls you up onto your hands and knees pressing your back down to arch just the way he likes it and even though you’re tired you still find it in you to tease him by shaking your ass in his face. You both know what’s coming once he has you in this position and those dancer hips of his goes to work.
Jungkook groans the second you give that little shake, hands flying to your hips like instinct—ownership—as he stares down at you, chest heaving, eyes dark with something primal.
“You’re really gonna tease me right now?” he mutters, voice low and dangerous behind you. “After everything I just gave you?”
You laugh breathlessly, barely able to hold your weight on shaky arms, but the look you toss over your shoulder is pure sin. “Thought you said you missed this.”
He growls—actually growls—and the next second he’s pressing a firm hand between your shoulder blades, pushing your chest into the mattress until your back arches deep, presenting him with his favorite view. The sight of you like this—ass up, legs trembling, slick and swollen and still dripping from everything he’s already done—nearly sends him over the edge again.
“Stay just like that,” he grits out. “You wanna act like a brat? You’re gonna take all of it.”
And then he’s sliding back into you in one smooth, devastating thrust.
You cry out into the sheets, back arching even more as his hips slam into yours, that dancer rhythm kicking in immediately, precise, brutal, relentless.
Every stroke is deep, intentional, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing off the walls like an applause. Your nails claw at the sheets, your body rocking forward with each thrust, completely at his mercy.
“Fuck, Jungkook…baby,you’re so—”
“Loud,” he pants, smirking even through his own wrecked moans. “You’re so loud, baby. You want the whole building to know who’s fucking you like this?”
You whimper, voice raw and ragged. “Y-Yes—yes, let them hear it. I don’t care.”
He groans at that, snapping his hips faster, one hand reaching around to toy with your clit while the other keeps your hips locked against him. “That’s right,” he growls, breathing harsh against your spine. “Let them hear how good I make you feel. Let them know you’re mine.”
The pleasure is overwhelming—white-hot and consuming—and you’re coming again before you can even warn him, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as your entire body clenches around him like a vice.
He stutters in his rhythm, cursing, and buries himself deep one last time, spilling inside you for the third time with a loud, broken moan of your name.
You both collapse, tangled and shaking, breathless and coated in sweat, your body molded into the sheets, his weight heavy on your back.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room is your shared breathing—uneven, wrecked.
And then Jungkook kisses the back of your neck and whispers with a hoarse little laugh, “Still not done…”
“I have a studio session tomorrow, you menace.” you laugh trying to pull away from him. You had already lost count of how many times he made you come for the night and you knew if he continued you wouldn’t be sitting or walking right for the next few days.
Jungkook laughs against your shoulder, breath still hot on your skin, arms tightening around your waist as he keeps you locked beneath him. “And? You’ll sound better relaxed,” he mumbles, trailing kisses down your spine like he’s not the reason your legs feel like jelly.
You squirm weakly in his hold, whimpering when he grinds against your still-sensitive core, making your whole body twitch. “Koo…please,” you gasp, laughing through the overstimulation. “You’re actually insane.”
He grins against your skin, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Insane for you. You started this, showing up looking like a walking wet dream.”
“You told me not to go home first!”
“And you listened,” he chuckles darkly. “That’s on you, baby.”
You try again to wiggle free, but he’s already rolling you onto your side, pulling you flush against him like you belong there, wrapped up in his arms, bare and exhausted, skin warm and sticky from every way he’s touched you.
“You’re evil,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut.
He kisses your temple, soft now. “Yeah, but I make you come like no one else.”
You groan and shove at his chest with the strength of a wet noodle. “If I show up to the studio tomorrow and can’t hit a single note without thinking about your damn tongue—”
“Then I’ve done my job,” he says proudly, hugging you closer. “And you’ll be thinking about me every time you sit down, too.”
You laugh, face buried in his chest now. “I hate you.”
“Nah,” he says, voice low, hand stroking your back as your breathing starts to slow. “You love me. Admit it.”
You pause, letting the silence stretch between you.
Then, just loud enough for him to hear,
“…Maybe.”
He grins like you just handed him the world. “That’s all I needed.”
And as sleep starts to pull you under—sore, satisfied, and wrapped in his warmth—you feel him pulling out of you and you groan clenching around him.
“Shh, lemme clean you up baby. Maybe we should shower again and I need to change the sheets.”
You whimper at the sudden emptiness, your body twitching instinctively, oversensitive and greedy even after everything he’s given you tonight. “God, you’re gonna be the death of me,” you mumble into his chest, clenching involuntarily around him.
Jungkook groans at the feeling, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Don’t do that,” he warns, voice hoarse. “You’re already trying to suck me back in.”
You grin weakly. “Maybe I am evil.”
“Yeah?” he mutters, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder blade. “Then we deserve each other.”
He sits up with a sigh, rubbing at his face before reaching for the towel he tossed earlier. You hear the rustle of fabric, the soft shuffle of him moving around the bed, and then his gentle hands parting your thighs as he crouches between them with that same care he didn’t show while ruining you earlier.
“Hold still, baby,” he murmurs, voice tender now. “Just cleaning you up.”
You flinch slightly at the first contact, hissing through your teeth. “Still so sensitive…”
“I know.” His tone is all softness now, soothing, the towel warm and damp as he carefully wipes you down. “You took me so well tonight. So fucking good for me.”
Your eyes flutter shut at the praise, your heart blooming even as your body shudders through the afterglow.
He tosses the towel aside and leans over to kiss your belly, your hip, your thigh—little tokens of apology and affection—before crawling off the bed entirely.
“C’mon,” he says, voice playful but affectionate. “Let’s shower before I throw us both into clean sheets and ruin them all over again.”
You groan. “I won’t survive another round.”
“We’ll make it quick,” he smirks, reaching out to pull you up by the wrists, your limbs heavy and limp. “Five minutes.”
“You’re a liar.”
“A hopeful liar,” he corrects with a wink.
Still, you let him guide you off the bed, legs wobbling just like he knew they would. He catches you with a proud little sound, arms wrapping around your waist like muscle memory.
You glance back at the bed, sheets tangled and ruined, evidence of every round and every promise kept.
“Tomorrow,” you warn him as you stumble into the bathroom. “No touching.”
“We’ll see,” he grins, turning the water on. “Depends on how cute you look when you’re singing off-key thinking about my tongue.”
You don’t respond, not because you don’t have a comeback, but because your knees almost buckle again.
He sees it, of course he does and he grins like he’s already won.
“Fucking menace.” you mumble as he sits you on the toilet seat to handle your business and turns the water on for the tub instead of the shower.
“You hate baths.”
Jungkook glances over his shoulder with a lazy, smug grin as he tests the water temperature with his hand. “Yeah, I do,” he says, twisting the tap to the perfect warmth, steam already beginning to rise, “but you love them. And you can barely stand right now, so guess what? We’re compromising.”
You narrow your eyes at him, cheeks still flushed, legs still trembling from everything he put you through. “That’s not a compromise. That’s you getting what you want while pretending it’s for me.”
He raises a brow, stepping closer and leaning down to rest his hands on either side of your thighs, trapping you there. “Baby,” he murmurs, eyes dark and sticky-sweet, “I already got what I want.” His fingers brush the inside of your knee, thumb teasing gently over the bruises blooming on your skin. “Now I’m making sure you feel good. You deserve that too.”
Your sass falters for just a beat as warmth curls low in your stomach again—a different kind of warmth now, softer, more vulnerable than lust.
“Don’t get all sweet on me now,” you grumble, but your voice has lost its bite.
He smirks, brushing his nose against yours before pulling away. “Too late.”
He checks the water again, then plugs the tub and starts gathering your favorite bath products—the ones he pretends not to care about but somehow knows the exact scents of. Vanilla, soft musk, a hint of rose. He even grabs that overpriced foaming oil you only splurge on when you’re feeling emotionally wrecked.
“You’re a menace and a simp,” you say, watching him with a half-hearted pout as he pours the oil under the water.
He shrugs. “Only for you.”
When the tub is full and the scent of warm vanilla fills the air, he turns to you, arms open. “Come here.”
You groan, muscles aching, but let him scoop you up anyway like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He eases you into the tub with a gentleness that contrasts wildly with how he had you earlier, and when he climbs in behind you and pulls you back against his chest, you melt.
“This is illegal,” you mumble, sinking into the heat of the water, his arms wrapping around you, palms flat on your stomach.
“What is?”
“Being good at sex and aftercare. Pick a struggle.”
Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Nah. I’m greedy. I want all your stars, not just one.”
You hum, eyelids heavy, body warm and floating. “You already have ‘em.”
And the way his arms tighten around you, holding you just a little closer?
Yeah. He knows.
“You coming to Jin-hyung’s concert this weekend?” He asks after a moment of silence.
“Can’t, I leave for Japan on Saturday morning.”
Jungkook stills behind you for a moment, his arms pausing in their gentle strokes across your stomach.
“You didn’t tell me that,” he says softly, not accusing, just surprised, a slight shift in his voice that only someone who knows him would catch.
You tilt your head slightly, letting it rest back against his shoulder. “Didn’t really come up, what with all the…well,” you gesture vaguely to the war zone that is your shared exhaustion and the bath you’re currently soaking in.
He huffs a quiet laugh, but it’s tinged with something thoughtful. “Work trip?”
“Mmhm,” you nod. “Couple meetings, studio sessions and an interview before I fly back.”
He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “When?”
“I’ll be back Tuesday night.”
Another pause.
“You want me to pick you up from the airport?”
Your chest warms. “You don’t have to, Kook.You get caught picking me up at the airport and both our asses are in deep shit. You don’t need to be getting dragged on the internet for being seen with a girl much less me.”
You knew how people would spin it especially the media, given that you weren’t full blooded Korean.
Jungkook exhales slowly, like he’s weighing his words before letting them go. His fingers trail lightly over your skin again, thoughtful, grounding. “First of all,” he says quietly, “If it’s about you being a little bit older than me or not fully Korean,I don’t give a shit. None of that mean anything to me, and it never did.”
You open your mouth to respond, but he keeps going.
“And second…” he pauses, then dips his head to kiss the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, lingering. “Let them talk. Let them spin it. They’ve got no idea what this actually is. They don’t see you taking care of me when I’m burnt out. Or how you tell me the truth when everyone else just tells me what I want to hear.”
You go still at that, lips parting.
“They don’t see what I see,” he murmurs, voice low, tender, and just a little raw. “They never will. And honestly? I’m kind of done pretending that matters.”
Your chest tightens, throat catching on something you can’t name.
“Kook…”
“I’m serious,” he says, shifting just enough so you can see the edge of his expression. His eyes are darker now, not with lust, but with clarity. “I’m not trying to plaster us across tabloids or post some grand reveal on Weverse. But I am saying I don’t want to keep treating you like some secret I have to hide in dark rooms and back entrances.”
Your heart thuds loud in your chest.
“I want to pick you up from the airport,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Not as Jungkook from BTS, but just as your…your man. If that’s okay with you.”
You turn your head then, looking up at him. His cheeks are a little flushed, his jaw tense. But his eyes?
Completely open. No mask, no hesitation.
“I’d like that,” you whisper, voice smaller than usual.
He grins softly, a little relieved, a little smug. “Yeah?”
You smile. “Yeah.”
His arms wrap around you a little tighter, pulling you close again until there’s no space left between your bodies, water sloshing gently around you.
“Good,” he whispers, nose nudging your hair. “Because I wasn’t asking.”
And just like that—wrapped in warm water, tangled in each other, tangled in something so real—you stop worrying about who might see.
Because between you and him,you know that the love is genuine.
Matching rings and a joke—your boyfriend says you're married. What he didn’t expect is for you to play along the whole trip... And the more you pretend...the less it feels like a game.
Pairing - Jungkook x Reader
Genre - mostly fluff, established relationship au, smut (18+) MDNI
Oneshot - 7.8k words
Warnings - fluffff, sunshine energy gf, Jungkook being effortlessly bf/husband material🤭💘, Explicit smut - unprotected sex, nipple play, fingering, little handjob, creampie, marking
a/n - a quick backstory for this plot inspiration - my friend's friend went on a trip with her bf where they got matching rings n had a joke that they were married. AND EXCUSE ME?? this made such a good plot that I just couldn't resist not writing😭😭 n yeah wrote about Greece solely coz of the aesthetics (never been there tho) also also I wrote around 90% of this only listening to Blue by Yung Kai n it perfectly matches the vibe!!😭💗 ps- I feel angst writing is more of my thing bt I've tried writing fluff (a lot) for this sooo lmk if it's acceptable?🫠 n yup early update coz I cancelled out 2,3 more scenes I had in mind 🤷♀️ ok byeeee examss upcominggg
Your fingers grip Jungkook’s sleeve, barely able to contain your excitement as you glance out the plane window. Blue. Endless blue. The vast stretch of the sea sparkles below, tiny white houses dotting the cliffs in the distance.
“Jungkook,” you whisper, voice full of wonder. “Look at that.”
He chuckles, his gaze soft and amused, “Baby, we’re still on the plane.”
“I know,” you sigh dramatically, turning back to him. “But still. Greece! Our first trip together! Just you and me for seven whole days.”
Jungkook smirks, teasing, “What if I'm gonna get sick of you?”
You scoff, nudging his shoulder. “You’re stuck with me now, Jeon.”
He exhales, grinning like he wouldn’t have it any other way. The past four years had been beautiful, but between work schedules, deadlines, and life, you barely got time to just be together.
But this time? it’s just you and him. Jungkook hums, fingers lazily tracing circles over your thigh. “I think I could get used to this.”
------------------ Day 1
The moment you step inside, your eyes take in the breathtaking suite. White-washed walls, soft linen curtains swaying from the sea breeze, a private infinity pool overlooking the ocean. Jungkook watches you, arms crossed, fondness written all over his face.
“This is so nice,” you gush, spinning to face him. “I don’t think I’ll ever wanna leave.”
Jungkook sets the luggage down, smirking. “Well, we have a week.”
Your smile grows. Something in your chest feels so warm. You turn to him, eyes gleaming. “What should we do first?”
Jungkook steps closer, voice low and playful. “Hmm. I can think of a few things.”
You shove his chest, laughing, “Yah Jeon, behave.” He chuckles, arms wrapping lazily around your waist, pulling you in. “No promises, baby.”
----
You practically bounce on your feet as you slip on your sandals, the soft sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains of your hotel room. “Okay, okay, I’m ready!” you chirp, spinning to face Jungkook, who is still leaning against the doorframe, watching you with pure amusement.
His arms are crossed, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Are you sure? Because you’ve been ‘ready’ for the last fifteen minutes.”
You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag. “I am! Let’s goo”
Jungkook doesn’t move. Instead, he reaches out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into him, his nose brushing against yours.
His voice drops, teasing. “You’re really just trusting me with everything, huh?”
You nod immediately. “Of course. You’re the planner, I’m just here to have fun.” Jungkook exhales a quiet laugh, his fingers trailing lazily up your arm.
He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss against your lips. It’s warm. Sweet. Dangerously distracting.
You blink up at him, refusing to fall for it. “Jeon Jungkook, if you don’t take me outside in the next ten seconds, I’m leaving you here.”
He laughs before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him.
“Alright, alright,” dropping a quick kiss to your temple. “Let’s go.”
And with his fingers laced through yours, he leads you out, the two of you finally stepping into your first day in Greece.
The scent of fresh-baked bread, sweet honey pastries filling the air as you and Jungkook wander through the bustling market. Your fingers brush against the beautifully painted souvenirs, woven baskets, your eyes wide with excitement.
“Jungkook, look at these!” you gasp, holding up a tiny, hand-carved olive wood frog.
He chuckles, watching you with pure amusement. “You don’t even like frogs.”
You scowl. “Yeah, but look at his little face.”
Jungkook shakes his head, ruffling your hair before grabbing the frog figurine and paying for it without a second thought.
You blink. “I wasn’t actually gonna—”
“Too late,” he smirks, handing it to you. “Now it’s yours.”
Before you can respond, the scent of something sweet and buttery hits your nose, making you immediately turn toward a food stall.
You grin. “We have to try those.”
The vendor hands over a small plate, and before you can even grab a piece, Jungkook picks one up and holds it to your lips.
Your eyes narrow. “You’re feeding me now?”
“Open.”
You roll your eyes but let him feed you, the sweet layers melting on your tongue. A small hum of satisfaction escapes you before you glance at Jungkook.
“Good, huh?” he smirks.
Instead of answering, you take another piece, holding it up like you’re about to feed him.
Jungkook smirks, leaning in. “See? You like it when I—”
But before he can finish, you smirk and pop the piece into your own mouth instead. You burst out laughing, wiping a crumb from your lip. “Tastes good.”
Jungkook gapes at you, half-glaring, half-amused. “You little—”
Before he can finish, you grab his wrist and drag him toward the next stall, giggling.
“We have so much more to eat,” you sing-song.
Jungkook lets you pull him away, shaking his head with amusement.
The market fades behind you as you and Jungkook wander through the winding streets, hand in hand.
The air is warm, salt-kissed from the ocean breeze, and the soft sound of distant waves crashes below the cliffs. White-washed buildings, blue domes line the path, vibrant bougainvillea flowers spilling over terraces.
Jungkook squeezes your hand lightly. “Still trusting my planning skills?”
You grin. “So far, you’re doing great, boyfriend.”
He chuckles, his dimple peeking out, and just when you turn to admire the view—Click.
You blink. “Did you just take my picture?”
Jungkook doesn’t even try to hide it. He’s holding up his phone, looking way too pleased with himself.
“Yup.”
You narrow your eyes, stepping closer. “Lemme see.”
“Nope.” He smirks, slipping the phone into his pocket.
You gasp. “Jungkook!”
He laughs, stepping back just as you lunge for his phone.
“Oh, baby, don’t even try,” he teases, holding it high above his head, his other hand wrapping around your waist.
You huff, glaring up at him. “What if I looked bad?”
Jungkook stands confident. So annoyingly sure of himself.
“You looked perfect.”He says it so easily, like a fact, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. For a second, you forget what you were even mad about.
Jungkook grins, clearly noticing your reaction. “What? No comeback?”
You snap out of it and quickly grab your phone, flipping the camera. “Okay, if you’re gonna take pictures of me, I’m getting yours too.”
Jungkook doesn’t protest as you start clicking away, a mix of stolen shots and silly ones.
“Okay, now pose,” you instruct, biting your lip to stop your smile.
Jungkook scoffs but obeys, shoving his hands into his pockets, tilting his head slightly, looking effortlessly model-like.
You pause. “That’s unfair.”
“What?”
“You just naturally look good in every picture.”
He laughs, stepping closer. “Says you?”
Before you can argue, he pulls you in, flipping the camera to selfie mode. “Let’s take some together,” he murmurs.
And just like that, you spend the next ten minutes giggling, making faces, taking videos. Jungkook kisses your cheek in one, in another, he makes you laugh so hard your eyes disappear.
The pictures—some blurry, some too close, some candid. but when you look at them later, you realize they’re perfect in every way that matters.
----
The sun is lower in the sky now, everything's in warm shades of gold as you and Jungkook walk along the soft, white sand. Your sandals dangle from your fingers, the ocean breeze cooling your skin.
Jungkook is beside you, his hand lazily intertwined with yours, his other tucked into his pocket as he watches the tide roll in.
“Okay,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence. “This might be the prettiest place I’ve ever seen.”
Jungkook hums, glancing at you instead of the view. “Yeah. It really is.”
You turn to look at him—only to find him already looking at you.
Before you can overthink it, something catches your eye—a small wooden stall set up just a little ahead, tucked beneath the shade of a few palm trees.
“What’s that?” You tug on Jungkook’s hand, pulling him toward it.
The stall is lined with handmade jewelry, delicate silver and gold pieces glinting in the fading sunlight. Small sea-glass pendants, braided anklets, thin rings on display.
“Ohh, these are cute,” you murmur, running your fingers over the bands.
Jungkook watches as you casually slip one onto your finger, admiring how it looks before turning to him with a grin.
“Should we get matching ones?” you joke, wiggling your fingers.
Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Matching rings?”
“Yeah, why not?” you tease. “It’ll be like a little vacation memory.”
Jungkook hums, studying the rings for a moment before wordlessly picking one up. Without hesitation, he takes your hand, slipping it onto your finger himself.
Your breath catches. You glance at him, expecting a smirk, some teasing remark, but he’s quiet. Focused.
The ring fits perfectly.
Jungkook’s gaze flickers up to meet yours, and for a second, neither of you say anything.
“Guess we’re married now,” he quips, breaking the silence with a cheeky grin.
You snort, shoving his shoulder. “You’re so dumb.”
But just as you’re about to make another joke, you pause. because Jungkook is still looking at the rings.
And before you can ask, he casually grabs another one—the exact same design and slips it onto his own finger.
He lifts his hand beside yours, comparing them. “Now we match,” he hums, completely unbothered, making your heart stumble.
----
You collapse onto the bed, sighing dramatically.
Jungkook chuckles, setting his phone down before joining you, his body warm and solid beside yours.
Jungkook lifts his hand, wiggling his fingers, the ring glinting under the dim lights.
“So,” he muses, voice low and playful. “How does it feel to be my wife for seven days?"
You snort, rolling over to face him. “Delusional.”
Jungkook laughs, eyes crinkling, before pulling you into his chest. “You love it.”
You hum, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “Maybe.”
His hand finds yours, fingers absentmindedly tracing over the band on your finger.
Neither of you take the rings off.
Neither of you even think about it.
------------------- Day 2
The warm afternoon sun bathes the streets as you and Jungkook browse a small outdoor market. Small shops, displays filled with handcrafted goods and souvenirs.
You stop at a small stall, admiring intricately painted ceramic plates. An older woman, the vendor, smiles at you.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she says, her accent thick with warmth.
You nod enthusiastically. “Yes! My husband and I are visiting for the first time.”
Jungkook chokes on his water.
You hear him cough violently beside you, his hand gripping the bottle like it betrayed him.
The vendor laughs. “Ah, newlyweds?”
“Oh, yes,” you continue smoothly, holding Jungkook’s arm. “We’re having the best time. He planned everything so perfectly.”
You feel him staring at you—his entire existence malfunctioning in real-time.
The woman smiles warmly at Jungkook. “A good husband always takes care of his wife.”
Jungkook clears his throat.
“Oh—uh, yeah,” he mutters. “That’s… me.”
You beam, squeezing his arm. “He’s really amazing. Very thoughtful.”
Jungkook’s ears turn pink.
Once the woman turns away to wrap up your purchase, he leans down, voice low.
“Do you hear yourself?” he mutters.
You grin, still holding onto his arm “What? I’m just staying in character. You said we're married soo...we'll be a happy married couple throughout this trip.”
Jungkook exhales sharply, shaking his head but smiling.
“Oh my god.”
----
Jungkook immediately drops onto the bed, groaning as he stretches his arms above his head.
You plop down beside him, nudging his side. “Tired, husband?”
He groans louder, covering his face with his hands. “If you call me that one more time…”
You grin, rolling onto your stomach to face him. “What? That’s what you are.”
Jungkook peeks at you through his fingers, eyes narrowing. “You’re having too much fun with this.”
You hum, twisting your ring on your finger absentmindedly. “You should too. I mean, you’re already wearing the ring. You might as well act the part.”
Jungkook lifts his hand, inspecting the matching band on his finger. He’s silent for a moment, before—
“I should start calling you ‘wifey’ then, huh?”
Your eyes snap to his face, and—yup. He’s smirking.
“Don't you dare,” you mutter, sitting up immediately.
Jungkook grins wider, propping himself up on his elbows. “Wifey, can you get me some water?”
“I will pour it on your face.”
He laughs, absolutely loving this. “Wifey, should we get couple bathrobes too?”
You grab a pillow and smack him with it.
Jungkook wheezes, rolling away from your attack before bolting up from the bed.
“Okay, okay! I’m going for a swim,” he calls out, grabbing a towel.
You glare at him, crossing your arms. “You’re banned from speaking for the next hour.”
Jungkook grins. “That’s okay.”
With zero shame, he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion, revealing every defined muscle and tattoo.
Jungkook walks out to the pool. Leaving you sitting there, absolutely speechless.
----
The water is cool against your skin, the evening air warm, as you float lazily in the pool. The view of the twinkling lights stretches out beyond the infinity edge.
Jungkook is across from you, leaning against the pool’s edge, his arms resting on the surface, watching you with that look.
The same one from earlier. like he’s amused. Maybe a little dangerous.
You try to ignore it, focusing on the soft ripples in the water.
A small wave splashes against your stomach. Your eyes snap up. Jungkook is still there, expression unreadable. But his fingers, barely submerged, are moving.
You narrow your eyes splashing a wave back without hesitation.
Jungkook gasps, dramatically wiping his face. “Oh, you wanna play?”
Before you can react, he swiftly moves, strong, closing the space between you in seconds.
Your breath catches as his hands find your waist, pulling you against him in the water.
“You’re really pushing your luck, wifey,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing.
Your hands find his shoulders, fingers pressing into firm, wet skin. “And what are you gonna do about it, husband?”
Jungkook grins, kissing you.
The water ripples around you as he pulls you even closer, one hand firm on your hip, the other tracing up your spine. His lips move slow, consuming, his breath mixing with yours.
You let out a small gasp, fingers curling in his hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue teasing against yours, making you feel lightheaded.
He lifts you. Just enough for your legs to wrap around his waist, water dripping between you as his lips trail down your throat.
Your nails dig into his shoulders, heat pooling low, desire crashing into you like the waves beyond.
“Jungkook—”
“Shh,” he murmurs, voice rough, pressed against your skin. “Let me take care of my wife.”
-------------------- Day 3
The morning light filters softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You stir slightly, but before you can move, a strong arm tightens around your waist.
A deep grumble vibrates against your back. “Where are you going?”
You smile sleepily. “Nowhere.”
Jungkook nuzzles into your neck, his voice raspy with sleep. “Good. Stay.”
His fingers trace lazy patterns on your bare skin, warm, possessive. You hum, relaxing into his touch, “Why are you so tired?
Jungkook grunts. “Because my wife wore me out last night.”
Your face heats instantly. “Oh my god—”
He chuckles, pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder. “Mmm. You liked it.”
You turn to glare at him, but he’s already smirking.
“You’re annoying.”
“And you love it,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, his lips brushing your temple.
You pretend to protest, but honestly?
You could stay like this forever.
-------
The climb isn’t too long, but the slight incline has you huffing just a little.
“Jungkook, are we almost there?” you ask, pushing back a strand of hair as the warm breeze kisses your skin.
Jungkook, walking ahead effortlessly, doesn’t even look winded. He glances back at you with a smirk. “Tired already, wife?”
You narrow your eyes. “You dragged me up here. I should’ve just—”
You stop mid-sentence, sighing dramatically. Jungkook chuckles. Without another word, he crouches down in front of you, patting his back.
You blink. “What are you doing?”
He tilts his head. “What does it look like? Get on.”
Your lips twitch. “Are you sure? I’m not exactly—”
Jungkook turns slightly, raising a brow. “Did I stutter?”
You giggle, placing your hands on his shoulders before hopping onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck.
Jungkook adjusts his grip on your thighs, lifting you with ease.
And just like that he carries you up the trail like you weigh nothing.
You press your cheek against his, grinning. “You’re really strong, huh?”
Jungkook hums. “You’re really lucky, huh?”
Laughing, you pepper soft kisses along his jaw, his cheek, his temple.
Jungkook exhales sharply. “Y/n.”
You blink innocently. “What?”
He grins, shaking his head. “You’re distracting me.”
You laugh against his skin. “What, can’t handle a few kisses?”
Jungkook’s grip on you tightens slightly, his voice dropping just a little lower.
“Keep testing me, wifey.”
You don’t get a chance to respond because before you know it, you’ve reached the top.
And when Jungkook finally sets you down, he doesn’t let go immediately.
Instead, he lifts his phone, angling the camera before pulling you close against his side.
“Say wifeyyy.”
You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
You still say it. and when you peek at the screen—the view behind you is breathtaking. But the way Jungkook is looking at you in the frame?
His gaze holding something deep. Like he’s seeing something even more beautiful than the world around him.
---------------------- Day 4
Jungkook walks beside you, hands in his pockets, sunglasses on, looking effortlessly cool until you drag him straight into a clothing store.
“You’re making me shop?” he groans.
You grin, already browsing. “Of course.”
Jungkook exhales, resigned. “Fine. But if I’m suffering, I get to rate your choices.”
And just like that, he ends up sitting on one of those plush chairs outside the fitting room, watching you like this is some kind of mission. You try on a few outfits, twirling in front of him.
Jungkook’s commentary is pure chaos.
“Too frilly.” “Too serious.”
“That one makes you look like a cute little menace—get it.”
You laugh, shaking your head. Eventually, you pick out two dresses, and a jacket for your boyfriend.
No.
Husband.
At the counter, you pull out your card, ready to pay—only for Jungkook to casually slide his in before you can react.
“Jungkook—”
“Got it.” He says it so effortlessly, like it’s nothing.
You stare at him. “I was paying.”
Jungkook shrugs, grabbing the bags. “Not when I’m here.”
You open your mouth to protest, but before you can—
The cashier smiles warmly. “You have a very thoughtful boyfriend.”
“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend.”
The cashier’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh, I’m so sorry—”
You smile sweetly. “He’s my husband.”
The cashier relaxes, “Ohh! You two make a lovely couple.”
You squeeze Jungkook’s arm, pressing close. “Thank you! He’s the sweetest hubby, really.”
Jungkook just stands there. Blinking.
The cashier laughs. “You’re a lucky woman.”
You beam, looking up at Jungkook. “I know.”
The moment you step outside, he leans down, murmuring lowly.
“You did that on purpose.”
You grin. “And?”
Jungkook shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.
Your arms are full of shopping bags, and Jungkook is carrying even more.
“You have a problem,” he groans, adjusting the bags on his arms.
You grin, unfazed. “Correction: we have a problem.”
Jungkook exhales dramatically. “I need a refund on this marriage.”
You gasp, clutching your chest. “How dare you? After all we’ve been through?”
Jungkook rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch. “Come on, let’s find food before you convince me to adopt a souvenir shop.”
----
The night market buzzes with life. Fairy lights and lanterns glow overhead, casting a golden hue as soft music drifts through the lively streets.
You and Jungkook wander through the crowd, sharing bites of food, laughing as he tries to steal yours.
You pause by a musician playing a soft acoustic song, his voice melting into the warm night.
You turn to Jungkook immediately.
His eyes narrow. “No.”
You bat your lashes, pouting. “Please?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Jungkook,” you whine, nudging him relentlessly.
“No.”
Puppy eyes.
Jungkook groans, running a hand down his face. “Oh my god, stop looking at me like that.”
He swears under his breath before finally stepping forward. “You owe me,” he mutters.
The musician grins, strumming the guitar as Jungkook casually leans in and starts singing.
His voice melts into the night, smooth and effortless, blending perfectly with the melody. Conversations quiet, heads turn, people pause to listen.
You watch in awe, your heart tripping over itself.
Jungkook, who claimed he didn’t want to sing, looks completely in his element.
By the time the song ends, the small crowd cheers and claps. Jungkook glances at you, shaking his head with a knowing smirk.
“You’re impossible,” he mutters, but he’s smiling.
You beam, grabbing his hand. “And you’re amazing.”
Jungkook lets you pull him away, fingers intertwined, the warmth of the night wrapping around you both.
------------------- Day 5
The small cooking studio is bright and welcoming, filled with the scent of fresh, warm bread.
Jungkook snickers as you struggle with your apron. “Are you already losing?”
You glare. “Shut up.”
He grins, effortlessly tying his own. “You sure you don’t want to just let me cook?”
“Nope,” you're determined.
Jungkook just laughs, clearly amused.
The class begins, and predictably—you’re a disaster.
Your dough refuses to knead properly, your vegetables are questionably chopped.
Jungkook, of course, is thriving.
“I can’t believe I’m married to this,” he sighs dramatically, shaking his head.
You elbow him. “EXCUSE ME?”
He smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Don’t worry, wifey. I’ll make sure we don’t starve.”
You roll your eyes, but your stomach flips a little at the way he says it.
Midway through the class, Jungkook’s phone vibrates.
“Work,” he mutters, frowning. “I’ll be quick. Don’t burn the place down.”
You wave him off. “Go, go.”
With Jungkook distracted, Jay—the instructor, steps over your station to help.
“How’s it going over here?”
You laugh sheepishly, “Terrible. I think I’ve offended the cooking gods.”
Jay laughs. “You’re not that bad.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Okay, yeah, this is pretty bad,” he grins.
“Try using less force,” he suggests, guiding your hands gently.
You try again, still failing miserably.
“Okay, maybe a little more force than that.”
You groan in frustration, but it only makes him grin.
“At least you’re enjoying yourself,” he says.
You laugh, shaking your head.
Jungkook returns just in time to see you laughing easily, comfortably with the instructor.
He steps back beside you, sliding an arm around your waist effortlessly.
“You good, sweetheart?” he asks.
You blink up at him. Sweetheart?
Jay nods. “We were just fixing the dough.”
Jungkook hums, but his hand stays on you.
For the rest of the lesson, he’s suddenly way too attentive. Helping you, adjusting your apron, calling you ‘wife’ three times in five minutes.
Oh, you know exactly what’s happening.
And honestly? You love it.
----
The sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. The evening air carrying the salty scent of the ocean. Jungkook walks ahead, leading you toward a parked motorbike.
“Wait. You—”
Jungkook swings his leg over the seat effortlessly, grinning as he pats the space behind him. “Get on.”
Your eyes widen. “Jungkook. Where did you even get this?”
He smirks. “Rented it.”
You stare. “When?”
He shrugs, slipping his sunglasses on. “Had some free time.”
You cross your arms. “And you didn’t tell me?”
Jungkook chuckles, reaching for your wrist and pulling you closer. “It’s a surprise, baby. Now, come on.”
Jungkook pats the seat again, smirking. “Scared?”
You narrow your eyes. “Not even a little.”
Swinging your leg over, you settle behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist.
Jungkook hums in approval, his hands resting on yours.
“Hold on tight.”
The bike roars to life, wheels kicking up dust as he speeds down the open road.
Wind rushes through your hair, the world blurring around you in a mixture of colors and motion.
You gasp, laughing as you tighten your hold on him. “Jungkook—!”
He laughs too, a sound so free, so full of joy, that it makes your chest tighten.
“Like it?” he shouts over the wind.
You press your cheek against his back, grinning against the fabric of his shirt. “I love it!”
Jungkook grins too. And then—he speeds up.
You squeal, tightening your grip. “Jungkook, slow down!”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I thought you weren’t scared?”
You huff, smacking his stomach lightly.
Jungkook laughs, slowing just a little.
He rides for a while, taking you through winding coastal roads, past cliffs overlooking the sea, the salty air mixing with the scent of his cologne.
He leads you both to a secluded viewpoint overlooking the ocean.
The view is breathtaking. Endless ocean stretching toward the horizon, the sun dipping lower, turning the water into molten gold.
You don’t even realize you’re still holding onto him.
Jungkook turns slightly, his voice lower now. “You can let go, you know.”
You nuzzle against his shoulder. “Don’t want to.”
His fingers gently brush against yours.
Then, a whisper, almost lost in the sound of the waves.
“Then don’t.”
------------------- Day 6
You wake up expecting another fun day of exploring, but something feels different. Jungkook is way too calm. No teasing smirks. No cryptic questions.
Just casual, relaxed Jungkook, who kisses your forehead and says, “Let’s just take it easy today.”
Huh?
You squint at him. This man has been planning every second of this trip and now he suddenly wants to ‘take it easy’?
But okay, fine.
You two spend the day strolling around, checking out small shops. and every time you try to read his expression, he just smiles.
Like he knows something you don’t.
By late afternoon, you can’t take it anymore. You stop in your tracks and grab his arm. “Jungkook, what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, pretending to be clueless.
“You’re… too normal?”
He snorts. “And that’s suspicious?”
“VERY.”
Jungkook just laughs and pulls you into a hug. “Baby, relax. Just enjoy the day, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes, suspicious as ever, but decide to let it go.
As you head back to the hotel, Jungkook casually says, “Oh, by the way, be ready by 7.”
Oh. Okay??
So here you are standing in front of the mirror, holding up two dresses.
Jungkook’s lack of details has you overthinking. What exactly are you dressing for? Something fancy? Something casual?
With a sigh, you call out, “Jungkook, help me pick.”
He walks over, eyes flicking between the two options. “Try them on.”
You huff. “Can’t you just choose?”
He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “Nope. I wanna see.”
Rolling your eyes, you slip into the first dress—a soft, elegant choice. Pretty, but… safe.
You step out, twirling slightly. “This?”
Jungkook hums, tilting his head. “It’s nice.”
Nice?
You narrow your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He bites back a grin. “Try the other one.”
You sigh but change into the second dress—a sleeveless, ankle-length beauty. fitted at the top, flowing softly down your waist, hugging you in all the right places.
You step out, smoothing the fabric "This one?”
His eyes drag over you, slower this time. His lips part slightly, but no words come out.
You raise an eyebrow. “Well?”
Jungkook swallows, his voice lower. “Yeah. That one.”
You smirk, turning back to the mirror. “Thought so.”
----
Jungkook leads you outside, where a sleek, black car is already waiting.
You blink, surprised. “Wait… you booked a private car?”
Jungkook grins, opening the door for you. “Of course. Only the best for my wife.”
You roll your eyes, getting in, biting back a small smile.
As the car glides through the city, Jungkook’s hand finds yours, thumb tracing small circles.
You glance at him. “Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope.”
You huff dramatically. “I hate you.”
Jungkook just smirks, leaning closer. “No, you don’t.”
It doesn't take long when the car pulls up to the venue. He opens the door for you.
“We’re here,” he murmurs, squeezing your fingers.
You step out, and your breath catches instantly. The place is breathtaking. Not extravagant, not overwhelming. Just perfect.
The entrance is lined with soft, golden lights. Delicate floral arrangements fill the space, their scent carried by the evening breeze. The tables are set with warm candlelight, elegant yet cozy decor, the entire atmosphere radiating love.
It’s exactly what you’d love.
You turn to him, eyes wide with awe. “Jungkook…”
He watches you, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips.
“You like it?” he asks softly.
Your chest tightens. “Like it? It’s.. beautiful.”
Jungkook grins, leading you inside.
But as you take it all in, you speak softly, “You shouldn’t have spent so much..”
Jungkook stops, turning to you. His brows furrow slightly, as if he doesn’t understand. With a small chuckle, he leans in, his voice gentle.
“Baby,” he murmurs. “Do you really think I wouldn’t give you the world if I could?”
Your heart stumbles. A small smile making to your face.
Jungkook pulls out your chair, helping you settle before taking his seat across from you. The soft candlelight flickers between you, casting a golden glow over his features.
And the way he’s looking at you? Like you’re the most beautiful thing in the room.
You raise an eyebrow, smiling. “You’re staring.”
Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. “Yeah.”
Your heart stumbles.
The conversation flows easily—laughter, teasing, deep moments that make your chest tighten. And just when you think the night couldn’t get any more romantic, Jungkook stands, offering his hand.
“Dance with me?”
Your eyes widen slightly. “Here?”
He nods toward the open space, where soft music plays in the background. “Why not?”
You hesitate for half a second before slipping your hand into his. Jungkook guides you effortlessly, his touch firm yet gentle. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, swaying to the soft melody.
Your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, your cheek pressing against his chest.
“I love you,” Jungkook murmurs.
Your heart melts.
You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze. “I love you, too.”
Jungkook’s smile softens before he leans in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips.
Everything else fades.
It’s just you, him, and the feeling of being completely and utterly loved.
----
The ride back to the hotel is comfortable, with Jungkook’s fingers lazily tracing patterns on your palm as he holds your hand.
Once inside the room, you kick off your heels, sighing dramatically.
Jungkook chuckles. “Tired?”
You turn to him, smirking. “Emotionally, yes. My husband was incredibly romantic tonight. It was overwhelming.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes, but the tips of his ears turn pink. “Shut up.”
You gasp. “Oh my god, are you blushing?”
He groans, grabbing your waist and pulling you into bed with him.
You yelp, laughing as you land against his chest.
His arms lock around you, holding you close. “Stop talking.”
You grin against his skin. “Never.”
Jungkook sighs dramatically, but his grip tightens.
You shift slightly, tilting your head up to look at him softly, “Seriously, though… tonight was perfect. Thank you.”
His gaze softens. “Anything for you, baby.”
Your heart melts as you snuggle deeper into his warmth.
Jungkook presses a lazy kiss to your forehead.
------------------- Day 7
From the moment you wake up, there’s a heaviness in your chest.
It’s the last day of your trip.
Tomorrow morning, you’ll be on a flight back home, and this dream-like escape with Jungkook will be just… a memory.
You sigh, leaning into his warmth. “I don’t want this to end.”
Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We still have the whole day, baby.”
You both decide to just walk..with no specific destination in mind, hand in hand, strolling through the streets, weaving through flower stalls, sharing street food, laughing at nothing. The weather is perfect—bright, breezy, the sky painted in soft blues and wisps of white clouds.
Everywhere you turn, there are vibrant flowers in bloom, colors bursting against the golden buildings.
Jungkook squeezes your hand. “Happy?”
You look up at him, feeling the sun, the wind, the warmth of his palm against yours.
“Very.”
You don’t know how long you walk. Until, you turn a corner—
An open, breathtaking garden.
Sprawling fields of flowers in every shade imaginable. The gentle breeze carries their scent, petals dancing in the wind.
And the sunset—oh, the sunset. Burning gold, soft pinks, and deep purples, stretching endlessly into the horizon.
“...Wow.”
You step forward instinctively, tugging Jungkook’s hand, drawn to the beauty before you.
Your fingers graze the petals of a flower, eyes wide with childlike wonder.
“It’s so beautiful,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath.
Jungkook doesn’t respond.
Because he’s not looking at the flowers. He’s looking at you. The way your hair moves with the wind, strands catching the golden light. The way your lips part slightly in awe, the way your eyes shine with pure happiness.
His chest tightens, something deep and unshakable settling in his heart.
He clicks his camera. Capturing you. this moment, this feeling. The shutter sound makes you turn around, still grinning.
“Kook, this place is amazing, isn’t it?”
Jungkook steps forward, silently plucking a small flower from a nearby bush and gently tucking it behind your ear.
You laugh lightly at the gesture until you notice his expression.
He’s just… watching you.
So much love in his eyes, so much depth, like he’s seeing something more than just this moment. The laughter fades. He leans in without a word.
A soft kiss. Slow. So full of emotion that your heart aches. When he pulls away, you whisper against his lips, breathless. "What was that for?”
Jungkook’s gaze holds yours. He smiles, voice barely above a whisper.
“Just like that.”
----
As the sun lowers into the horizon you're back to the beach, golden hues, the waves lapping gently at the shore.
You and Jungkook sit side by side on the sand, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns in it.
His arm rests behind you, his presence warm and comforting. Neither of you speak much, there’s no need to. The silence is peaceful, filled only by the sound of the waves and the distant laughter of kids playing nearby.
Jungkook glances at you, softly smiling. “Feeling better?”
You hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Yeah. Today was perfect.”
He presses a kiss to your hair. “Good.”
You both sit there, soaking in the moment, something you never want to forget.
Your attention shifts to the group of kids laughing a little ways down the beach.
Something about their pure, carefree joy makes you smile.
You’re standing up, dusting the sand off your dress.
“I’ll be back.”
Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Where are you—”
But you’re already walking toward the kids.
Jungkook stays seated, watching as you crouch down to talk to them, as they giggle, as you laugh with them.
Watching as your eyes shine with excitement, your hair catching the evening light, your smile so full of warmth it makes something deep inside him ache.
His chest feels… tight, full. Happy in a way that words can’t describe.
You fully immerse yourself in the game they’re playing, running around, helping them build something in the sand, laughing like a child yourself.
Jungkook can’t take his eyes off you.
After a while, you lean down, whispering something to one of the kids.
The said kid rushes toward him, stopping right in front of him with big, excited eyes.
“Your wife wants to know if you want to play with us!”
Jungkook blinks. And then chuckles, shaking his head, completely endeared.
“Wife, huh?” he muses, standing up and dusting off his pants.
The boy nods eagerly. “She said you have to say yes.”
Jungkook sighs dramatically. “Of course she did.”
But he’s already walking toward you, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Didn’t even spare the kids, huh?” he teases, wrapping an arm around your waist playfully.
You grin up at him. “Nope.”
Jungkook shakes his head, but he’s smiling—smiling so, so much.
For the next hour, the two of you run through the sand, playing, laughing, losing yourselves in the moment.
Jungkook picks up a kid, spins them around, their giggles echoing through the air. You chase another, only to get caught yourself, falling onto the sand in a fit of laughter. And through it all, Jungkook watches you. His heart aching with love, with something deeper, something infinite.
Because this?
This is what happiness feels like.
The walk back to the hotel is quiet, peaceful, your hearts still full from the evening.
As soon as you step inside, you both head to the bathroom, washing off the sand. Jungkook runs a towel through his damp hair, watching as you step out first.
You make your way to the mirror, fingers reaching up to remove your earrings. Jungkook wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.
Your eyes fall to his hand- the matching ring on his finger. Then to yours. You chuckle softly, turning in his embrace.
"Our fake marriage ends tonight,” you tease, holding up your hand.
Jungkook’s eyes flicker, something unreadable passing through them.
He exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, lifting your hand to his lips. “We still have a few hours left.”
His voice is low, filled with something that makes your breath catch.
He kisses you, like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way you feel, the way this moment exists.
Jungkook’s hands trail down your back, feather-light, deliberate.
You feel the slow unzip of your dress. You shudder, anticipation curling in your stomach, making your breath hitch.
His lips stay on yours, teasing, soft, even as his fingers push the fabric off your shoulders. The silk slides down your arms, skimming your skin before pooling at your feet.
Jungkook leans back slightly, his darkened gaze sweeping over you. His tongue flicks over his lips, jaw tightening.
You feel warmth creep up your neck. “Jungkook…”
A small smirk tugs at his lips. “You’re shy?”
“Shut up,” you breathe.
He chuckles, shaking his head, but his hands are already lifting you effortlessly. You gasp softly as he carries you to the bed, his grip firm, steady.
Jungkook lays you down gently, hovering above you, his fingers gliding over your skin. His lips follow, trailing soft kisses from your collarbone, across your chest, moving lower. Jungkook takes his time. His mouth brushes against your skin, reverent.
His hands map every curve, every dip, every part of you that he wants to claim. You writhe beneath him, warmth spreading through your body, your fingers threading through his hair.
He looks up, his gaze locking with yours, something intense flickering in his eyes.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice husky, thick with emotion.
Heat coils in your stomach, your heart hammering.
Jungkook smirks softly. “Still shy?”
You bite your lip, refusing to answer, but he just chuckles. Jungkook’s fingers trail down your spine, teasing.
His lips find the sensitive spot on your neck, sucking lightly as his hands slide to your back, unhooking your bra with practiced ease.
The fabric falls away, and his hot mouth lashes onto your breast, tongue swirling, sucking, teasing.
A gasp escapes you, your back arching into him. His hand already trailing lower, over your stomach, between your thighs. His fingers press over your soaked panties, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm.
“So wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.
Your hips lift slightly, desperate for more. Jungkook smirks against your skin, pushing your panties aside before slipping his fingers through your folds.
His touch is gentle but firm, working you open, drawing soft, breathless moans from your lips.
Your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging. “-kook…” His name falls from your lips, breathy, desperate.
That seems to snap something in him. He pulls his fingers out slowly, making you whimper at the loss. You reach for his t-shirt, tugging at it impatiently.
Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He pulls it over his head, revealing golden skin, hard muscles, the sculpted lines of his chest.
Your hands immediately roam over his torso, feeling every ridge, every flex beneath your touch.
He kisses you again, claiming. As his lips move against yours, you lower your hand, palming him through his pants. Jungkook groans against your mouth, his hips twitching at your touch. Tugging at his waistband, you push his pants down, and he helps, kicking them off.
Your fingers wrap around his thick, heavy length, stroking slowly. Jungkook shudders, his head dropping into the crook of your neck. His hand moves between your legs again, teasing your entrance, feeling just how ready you are.
You grab him, lining him up at your entrance. Jungkook’s gaze meets yours, dark, burning. Your body stretches, molding to fit him perfectly as he pushes in.
A moan rips from your throat, but Jungkook swallows it, his lips pressing against yours. He moves slow, savoring every second, letting you feel everything.
One hand strokes your cheek, his thumb caressing your lower lip. You part your lips, taking his thumb into your mouth, sucking softly.
Jungkook’s eyes darken instantly, his jaw tightening. His pace quickens, thrusts deep and deliberate, every movement pushing you closer to the edge.
Your nails dig into his back, leaving marks that he welcomes.
“I—I'm close,” you whimper, body trembling beneath him.
Jungkook’s breath is ragged, his forehead pressed to yours. “Hold it,” he rasps, his voice raw.
Your body trembles beneath him, every nerve overwhelmed as Jungkook keeps his slow, deep thrusts steady. His breath is hot against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.
Your fingers clutch his back, nails dragging over his skin, and he groans, hips stuttering for a moment. “Jungkook-,” you gasp, legs tightening around his waist.
You whimper, toes curling, mind blurring.
Jungkook leans down, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss, swallowing your moans. His thumb trails between your bodies, finding that sensitive spot, rubbing slow, teasing circles.
You arch into him, body tightening.
“Now,” he breathes, voice low, commanding. “Come with me, baby.”
He thrusts deep, hitting exactly where you need him. Your body shatters, waves of pleasure crashing over you, moans spilling from your lips as you fall apart beneath him.
Jungkook groans deeply, burying his face in your neck as his release follows, hips jerking, his body shaking with the force of it.
He holds you so tight, as if trying to keep this moment frozen in time. Both of you pant heavily, bodies tangled together, skin sticky with sweat.
Jungkook stays inside you, his weight warm, loving.
His arms wrap snugly around your waist, pressing slow, lazy kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, anywhere he can reach.
Your fingers tangle in his damp hair, trailing softly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.
Your heart is still racing. After a moment, he lifts his head, his dark eyes finding yours, heavy with something deep, something endless.
You smile, tired but content. “What?”
Jungkook just stares, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers trace soft, absentminded patterns over your skin, the other still intertwined with yours.
He speaks, softer than a whisper, almost like an afterthought, “Do you want to marry me again after this trip?”
A soft, breathless laugh escapes you. “What?”
Jungkook doesn’t waver. His hold tightens slightly, thumb brushing against your knuckles. A little more hesitant, but still so full of love,
“Do you want to marry me, Y/N?”
The weight of his words settles over you overwhelming and all-consuming.
Your lips part slightly, heart stuttering.
But then you realize something.
You stare at him for a moment, and then, to his surprise, a soft chuckle slips past your lips.
Jungkook’s brows furrow slightly, confused.
“Jungkook…” you murmur, biting your lip, eyes twinkling. “Did you really just propose to me in this situation?”
His ears turn red instantly. A soft groan escapes him as he buries his face in your shoulder.
“Just answer,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin.
Your chest tightens filled with warmth, so full of love you can barely contain it.
Cupping his face, you bite back a bigger smile, your voice soft-
“Don’t you already know the answer?”
Jungkook’s breath catches. He murmurs, softer this time.
“I want to hear it.”
You pull him down, your lips brushing against his as you whisper,
“Yes. I’ll marry you again, husband.”
His breath shudders—something raw, something so full of love it nearly breaks you.
He's kissing you.
Slow. Endless.
Like a promise, like a vow, like something unbreakable. His hands tighten around yours, fingers lacing together.
content: some plot first, loss of virginity, age gap of 9 years (he´s 30), thigh humping, little dry humping too, cowgirl, he talks her through it, dom!jungkook, "sweet girl, baby, love", "gguk" lowkey insecure reader, praise, making out, breast play, clit play, creampie, unprotected, hickies on him, big c!ck Jungkook, small karaoke session, he´s whipped and wants to take care of her, short mention of alcohol (bc of that fucking bar he has omg), allusions to reader being short, she's very feminine
note from cherry: i tried to do justice to the people who wanted this, i hope you´re satisfied mwah! sooo sorry if it´s not giving lmao writing this was lowkey exhausting, also sorry for typos as always
────୨ৎ────
Jeon Jungkook is exactly like his preferred alcoholic beverage; whiskey. strong, rich, smooth, smells like oak and a hint of vanilla caramel. Much like your introduction to the drink, you met this man in a bar.
A real man- none of those barely twenty-year olds that paraded around in their sagged sweatpants and with a bright tap of unlimited unopened snapchats lighting up the dark corners of the bar. Jungkook is pure masculinity, a chest so full with security, so grounded in his abilities that it was practically impossible to ignore how his large, brown galaxy eyes focused on your face, zeroing in on your cupid´s bow while you licked the stinging remains of your moscow mule away- he paid for it, of course.
Once the enticing conversation that felt almost comically easy faded, you expected him to try and take you to his house- mansion, as he revealed in a sidetracked sentence. Although you were looking forward to seeing the small metal pearls below and over his eyebrow move as they crinkle in pleasure, the tight ropes of virginity had not yet been released in your 21 years of living. Shackles that keep you tied down- as promised out of your own, admittedly senseless morality, not to be opened by a stranger. The key to your cuffs belonged to a lover.
It was unforeseeable, nevertheless natural for him to droop his heavily tattooed arm around your waist while escorting you out of the establishment. The sleeve of his white button down folded up along his forearm for you to see the beauty of his skin, wondering just how many more of those carefully crafted works of art he´s hiding beneath the business casual attire.
Once engulfed in the harsh, bitter wind that itaewon possesses, his arm only drew you in closer, so near in fact, you were able to notice a small scar on his cheek, one you hadn´t been able to notice in the curse of a dimly lit place. The more your eyes adjusted to him, so grew your anger at the lighting inside your place of first meeting- it had done an injustice to the man you had already been disgustingly attracted to, stole the wholehearted, inescapable allure of such a mature presence.
The gentleman looks down into your awaiting eyes, only to ask if he may have your number, upon your agreement, he proceeded to tell you that he would be walking you home, wanting you to arrive safely since it must be dangerous for a woman to walk the streets of a party district at 2 am in the morning.
That encounter was four months ago, and only a month after that initial conversation, he had completely taken over you. Swallowed you whole in just how well he treated you.
Insistent of using his black card to buy you anything you remotely showed liking in, dedicated to communication, random flowers that showed up at your office and a constant offer of a ride in his luxurious black mercedes-benz GT63s; no matter how long it took- even if it was a inconvenience, sometimes taking longer to get to you than it would have taken you to simply retort to public transport.
"I told you i´d make it for you, didn´t I baby? hm?" his velvet smooth voice rings, from how he´s standing, with his body pressed against your back, towering over you, you could feel the hardened muscles of his torso meeting you. His large, slim hands reach to either side of your waist, to the glass filled with ice that you´re holding in between your own, gently removing them to resume the task that you were occupied with. Your eyes glance to the bulging of his bicep, that loose, casual tshirt did nothing to hide just how big he had gotten due to his newfound hobby.
you whine- almost, biting down on your lower lip to prevent just that from happening, "thank you gguk" you say, turning to peck the very muscle that´s invading your line of sight. He hums, a low, satisfied sound from the back of his throat.
"c´mere baby" patting one of his muscular thighs, his eyes drift to your figure walking towards him, iced tea in hand, just like he had made it for you. Sweet, light, refreshing, much like your presence in his life. Almost like a sign from the stars that his hearts content was somewhere, bundled in the form of a shorter girl with eyes that could entrance any sailor- far less siren like, no, wide with love and purity. Just what he had yearned for in any women he had met before you-whether tangled in meaningless sheets or involved in a month long, semi serious relationship, Jungkook was yet to cross paths with the one woman that would make him turn so desperate, he would have begged for their happiness on his knees. It might be romantic, even a tad dramatic to admit that from the very first word that left your pink glossed lips, he knew better than anyone else that he was in deep, deep trouble. Upon seeing the curve of your waist, hearing that soft, lulling voice, that embarrassingly obvious fact only intensified after finding out just how delightful you truly were, it made him want to rip his hair out- do anything in the possibility of his grip to see even a glimpse of your smile, of that lighthearted, cheerful giggle you let out regularly. He was drawn in my your feminine nature, by the way you let yourself fall into his caring embrace.
He´s quickly directed back to reality as soon as your legs make it to either side of the thigh he had patted earlier, a familiar position for this equally familiar occasion. Muscle memory sets in for him, grabbing the large karaoke remote to hand to you while he turns the microphone on. "Can you sing something to me first?" the question sets his bunny smile off, nodding instantly "Sure love, chose a song for me" he says. Your mind floods with ideas, but you settle for a song you´ve heard him hum millions of times, mindlessly going about.
"Malibu nights?", jungkook questions excitedly while the instrumental sets in, he knew the answer, but his heart swelled with joy at the notice you took to this song. After all, he loved to sing. Another layer to him that has you melting, growing into the embodiment of love that is endlessly cherishing what little fractions were revealed to your eyes in each fleeting moment. His honey voice reaches beautiful highs and lows you can only compare to something angelically otherworldly in nature.
It made you want to know just how deep he could growl, how far his sounds can drop with the dirty nothings you would love to have whispered in your ear. You felt filthy for letting your mind wander to such extends when all he did was sing, lulling you into drunken harmony with him. Still, you consciously lean back into his body, letting him wrap his arms around your waist, encircling it with his vanilla oak scent.
During the past four months, you were doomed to have to shatter his hopes, reveal the truth that somehow felt shameful ; that you´re fully untouched. Nothing further than a bad makeout had yet graced your skin, it made you feel even smaller admitting something so vulnerable to a man that carries almost an entire decade of experience more. Much to your comfort, his hands found the curve of your cheeks immediately, telling you that there is nothing to be embarrassed about, he would hand you the full control, you set the pace.
Internally, Jungkook drooled at the idea that the woman of his dreams was to have her first, the most memorable, sexual encounter with him. Your body belonged to him, devoted to only remember the touch of his lips, the curve of his cock, how he would mold you to his shape without the intrusion of another man having tried the same. Not that he would have wanted you any less if that had not been the case, but for one time in your relationship, he was oh so selfish to want you all to himself, aroused that your first person induced orgasm was going to be his and his alone. The prophecy fulfilled when on one, alcohol induced night a week ago, two of his long, tattooed digits made their entrance into your tight hole, relentlessly filling you until your soft thighs shook, until after your third high, he licked his fingers clean and let you taste yourself on his tongue.
The tunes get lost in silence, he sets the microphone down, having felt the warmth of your mound beneath the tights while you tried to subtly gain friction, scooting back on him. His palms find your thighs, tightly flushed around his muscle. They´re shamelessly wandering up and down the thin material that prevents his hot, calloused fingers from feeling up your smooth skin.
"Wanna do that again, love?" jungkook mutters, his pillowed lips latch on to your exposed neck, right at the gentle curve that paints the beginning of your shoulder, soft, faint kisses that leave a trail of barely sounding sighs behind.
"Do what?" feigning innocence to avoid internal humiliation, you ask him, knowing he wouldn´t let it go, not until you told him to. The sound of his husky chuckle sounds right on the sweetspot of your neck, he sucks a little harder, encouraging you with the constant rub to your thighs. Instinctively, the heat inside your panties grows as do the intensity of your desperate moans, your hips push back on his thigh, seeking the solidity that grants you the portion of satisfaction your needy button longed for
"that" he simply says, having found an anchor in your hips now, your plaid skirt bunches around his hands, slowly- tortuously so when met with the deliberate little humps he helps you to complete on him. You practically whimper once his tongue glides across your skin, dragging from your shoulder, up your neck, intertwined with his open mouth, loud kisses that don´t seem to stop.
"that´s it... do you even know how cute you sound?" he smiles, and you feel it, you feel the smile rise to his lips with every additional kiss, every noise you grant the hungry male. "gguk, wanna see you" you whine- the high pitched noise has him twitching in his training joggers, semi errect but about to stand stiff, just as noticeably as that night seven days ago, having formed a huge tent inside his slacks, there was no hiding his attraction, no use to conceal his utter need for you.. nor his size, not that he would be capable to anyways.
To your request, he helps you turn around, now facing that dim glow on your slightly embarrassed features, taking note of how you nibble on your lip with every grind forward, "that feel good sweet girl?" he asks, ghosting his lips over yours faintly, just enough to see how much you need it, "mhm.. really good" you mumble back, chasing after his lips that he can't deny you of any longer, the kiss is gentle, but nourishes your heat further
"wanna feel even better?" the pit in your lower abdomen grows at the tone of his voice, something much stronger is seeping through his system, something that screams dominance, you nod- naturally wanting to get lost in it. Jungkook's hands stop assisting you, instead, they take to your shirt, "can i take this off of you baby?" he waits for that little hum of yours before swiftly tugging it away from your form
It's almost frightening how quickly your mind reverts back to wanting to run away and hide, your arms fly across your chest, everything you felt so good doing stops and he stops too,
"don't hide, you're perfect, you're so fucking sexy" his eyes trace your skin, hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your arms away, revealing your chest hugged into your bra, and jungkook almost forgets how to breathe properly,
he groans- groans that delicious deep noise that makes your head spin, even more so when you feel his appreciation for your body, hands pulling you closer by the waist so can bury his head into your cleavage. "so beautiful" he mutters, darting his tongue out to lick the slit between your tits, "wanna touch all over you, make you feel so good" he says, finding the clasp on your back to open it with one hand. a silent reminder of his experience, one you did not have in the slightest but somehow, it felt even better that way
"mh.. feels good gguk" you can't help but moan at the forgein sensation, his lips wrap around your hardend nipple, groaning sweetly while he sucks on it, carefully swiping his tongue over the little nub- your other breast is securely fitted into his palm, thumb playing with it just like he does with his mouth, mirroring every little flick
"feels so good doesn't it? you smell so good baby" his lips move to do the same to your other breast, switching sides with a trail of saliva sticking to his lips,
In that moment you feel so sensitive, so lost in his secure hold and at the same time, so small in his skillful dominance that you simply relish in the feeling, grinding your soaked core into his thigh over and over, long, hasty drags over his muscle while his lips work magic on your skin, squeezing a little tighter, sucking a little harder because every stuttered whimper fuels his urge to take care of you
"that's it baby.. keep going, you're so good" your hands find his dark chocolate locs, threading through it with the need to ground yourself. it feels as though every time your clit meets him, instead of getting you closer to sensational relief it adds to the ache, feeds into your desire to take and take more of him, be consumed by his strength
"want this off please" your excited fingers fiddle with the hem of his oversized shirt, earning a smug grin from your boyfriend as he detaches from you, discarding of his top
Although you have seen him shirtless before, it's impossible not to salivate at the sight, at his toned broad torso that curves into a unfairly small waist, large arms flexing when he reaches for your tits again, massaging them once more,
"like what you see pretty?" he says, teasingly cocking his head and biting at the metal ring on the corner of his lip, you blush- the slick drools out even more between your thighs, "so hot gguk, annoyingly hot" he chuckles, joining the sound with your airy giggle, but he sucks in a breath as soon as you shift in his lap, now fully straddling him, naked chest pressed to his with your head burried in his neck, "hmm.. what are you up to baby?" his hands find your back, soothing himself not to pounce on you because the strain in his pants is staggering his breath, your errect nipples are rubbing against his skin and it´s making him shiver, desperate, oh so desperate for you
but he knows all to well not to overwhealm your sweet, virgin body, to let you take all the time you need until he can feel every breath of your submission
"wanna feel you gguk, can i?" jungkook almost purrs at how innocently you ask, suppressing the need to grind his hips into your heat from below, "of course baby, anything you want. it's all yours"
he meant it, every vein cursing through his body belongs to you, working, pumping blood through him for the sole purpose of loving you, taking care of you. "all mine?" you hum, aroused by the confidence he emitts, your hands trace up his torso, creating a small distance between your bodies to feel up the hard lines on his abdomen with laboured breath of your own, lips finding every small patch of his neck that make him hum, make his sighs of pleasure slowly turn into groans "all yours my love" the answer wasn't necessary, not when you already started to leave traces of you on his skin, faint, red bruises on his neck that he's impatiently waiting to run around with
"you feel so fucking good, need to feel more of you, will you let me sweet girl?" his words are intoxicating, washing away any doubt or fear and replacing it with a intense craving of sexual desire "please gguk i'm so wet for you" the sound reaches his ears and shuts down his entire system, his hands carelessly rip down your skirt and stockings, leaving you in those tiny grey boyshorts that he looses his mind over "baby how did you hide all this from me?" his hands caress your thighs, your hips, up your waist and to the soft flesh of your stomach with hungry, insatiable eyes that long for a taste of your every inch
"all yours" you mimic him, sounding just like him with your sultry, shy voice, already wanting to remove his own bottoms which he catches on, ridding himself of the nuisance "yeah, all mine. this is all mine" he says, smiling softly
Your drenched underwear meets his errection as he pulls you back on his lap, hands sitting on your waist, you look so vulnerable- almost fragile in his grip, shyly moaning because the curve of his cock presses into your skin like it was molded for you, needy folds clinging to your underwear and your clit throbs- throbs begging for another taste of friction
"I don't know how to do any of this" he suddenly he hears you mumble, seeing how you're playing with your fingers that sit on his lower abdomen, your head is turned to them, a slight pout decorates your features
jungkook feels the need to sob- to take away whatever is making that pretty head of yours feel so threatened even though you're the best thing he has ever felt, the only person he ever wants to lay his hands on ever again
"that's okay baby, hey, look at me for a second will you?" you comply, craving his lead, his security to catch you, most of all that gentle, masculine dominance that floods your senses effortlessly
"you're doing so so well pretty, you don't have to worry okay? i'll take you through it, make you feel so good" he says, cupping your cheeks in his palms while sitting up a little to press kisses to your nose, your forhead, your lips and cheeks,
unable to contain your smile, you nod, gaining back the heartbeat in your willing feminity to let him take care of you, "thank you baby" you say with upmost honesty, pressing your lips to his in a kiss of adoration
"mhm.. come on, let's get this off of you love" his whipers lingers on you, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear before pulling it off your lifted legs, he moans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick attached to the cloth and glistening over your feminity
"so beautiful, do you even realize how lucky i am? how thankful i am that this sweet, sweet girl is all mine to love?" he says softly, so softly that your eyes gloss a little bit, feeling so utterly vulnerable in front of him, so sexy in the most feminine way possible. blush creeps up your cheeks, his hands find your inner thigh, dancing around the sensitive skin "you're too sweet gguk"
he returns your smiles, lifting your hand to kiss it before intertwining it with his own, lacing his fingers into you because being apart from your body feels like torture in this moment. but you're eyes are busied elsewhere, locked on the large outline that stands rock solid insides of his calvins, a small, wet patch that indicates his arousal decorating the very top
"go ahead baby, take it off" not needing to be told twice, you help yourself to his boxers, tugging them down in one, slow motion that leaves him biting his bottom lip, he pushes them down to his ankles, kicking them off
both of you sit like this for a moment that feels like eternity, raw, bare and without a chance to hide in front of the other's desperate gaze, comfort, pure love that's inseparable with a pulsing you can no longer ignore, not when he´s so big, so broad and decorated with a vein alongside his curved shaft
he grabs at the flesh of your ass, pulling you to sit your gushing cunt over his stiff length, cursing at feeling how soft you are, how much arousal truly spills from your body
"you're so.. big gguk.. m'scared" your whine makes him coo, stroking your head while a possessive grip that stays on your hip, his left hand tethering to your hair in the meantime, "don't be, you were made for me sweet girl, made for it" your head falls to his shoulder, arching your torso into his body with a small hump to his leaking cock, "that's right baby, feel it, feel how hard i am for you" spurred on by his encouragement, you tighten your hands on his bicep, rolling your hips over his, his entire shaft is coated in your essence, angry pink tip meeting your swollen clit repeatedly, so much so you feel your thighs shake, feel an impending orgasm waiting to flow over your body,
Ripping yourself of that sensation, not yet- you tell yourself
"want it gguk, want it so bad" jungkook hums, kissing your neck messily, cock throbbing beneath you, "want what pretty? talk to me" he says, his own desire to claim you all to himself becomes unbareable with each passing second that you stay put
You shift forward again, whining, "please gguk" he groans, twitching at how desperate you sound, entranced with how needy you've become for him, he didn't even have to make you beg for it, you just did
effortlessly perfect for him, "come on, tell me my love" but he has to hear more, he needs to hear the dirty confession falling from your pure lips
"want your cock jungkook, please" there it is- that submissive, whiny plead for him, it makes him feel alive, throwing his head back on the black leather couch momentarily "good girl, fuck baby you're so cute" he praises, taking the base of his cock into his hand but something stalls him, "do you want me to eat you out first? make it nice and slippery?" his teeth graze your ear, kissing over the shell of it, "no gguk i want it, want it now"- another nibble, "anything for you"
Your hips lift, hovering your tight, clenching hole over his thick manhood, hands sweaty and grasping at his firm shoulders, he spots your anxiety, wishing nothing more but to ease it
"sit down on it baby, it's gonna sting okay? but you're so good, I know you can take it" more, more reassuring words that you drink in, just as you sink down on it, wincing as your brows meet in frustration
"hurts.." you mutter, fingers digging into his tanned skin- you can't bring yourself to move down further, clenching your muscle tightly around only his fat tip that feels like it's splitting your drooling pussy open. his hands find your back again, "ssh baby.. i know... but you'e such a good girl, i know you can take every inch of my cock"
It takes a couple more kisses to your shoulder for you to sink down fully on his length, painfully so- having your hands claw into him, your lips trembling in confusion of why it feels so good to have him stuffed into you so deeply you can feel it inside your tummy, stretching into every crevice of your gummy walls. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, fulfilling, deep pressure that you could get lost in- bathe in
Jungkooks feelings have synchronized with yours- he's unsure where you end or where he begins but you're clamped down on his cock, your skin already wet with sweat as it sticks to his unforgivingly, moans and shaky breaths fill in the silence, a unspoken question lingers, awaits for you to answer it
until you do, taking his large hands to your hips before pressing yours against his full pecks, a glint of confidence spites your eyes that makes jungkook want to hear you cry out his name over and over again
"oh fuck- baby you-" you whine, rolling your hips forward, mouth parted when you feel him move inside of you, slolwy, deeply "that's it my love, take your time, so sexy like this" his voice is far from stable, you moan again- the grinding becomes faster, assisted by his hands that pull you onto him just the way you like it- just like he said, you have it all, its all yours
"what- what if you can't come?" he needs to contain a laugh at that- the question is so absurd to him, so unimaginable that it makes him slightly angry why you couldn't understand that he could cum from seeing you alone, from one kiss to your chaste lips- he's already twitching at how sloppy, how loud your cunt is around him
"I almost came from seeing how needy that little pussy of yours is, you feel how hard i am don't you? all because of you baby" he mutters in response, you flourish at it, getting familiar with the grinding motion but you need more, you deserve more- so you start bouncing on him- up and down, slamming your own, curved hips down onto him. he's mesmerized by your pleasure, watching how your brows are knitted, how your lips leak with drool and airy moans, how your tits bounce- he gropes at them, cupping them greedily, his hands itch for your skin, for you to let yourself go on him
"good girl.. look at you, a natural at riding my cock- don't even need my help" you shake, exhaustion already growing in your eager hips but you cannot stop, you don´t want to stop taking every inch of his cock back into you, lifting your hips only to take him back in, "you're filling me so much" you moan into his mouth, having formed a unity with his lips that welcome you like home, "just like that pretty, little humps for me" he mumbles back, interlacing his tongue with yours
he tugs at your nipples with his inked fingers, reciprocrating the moaning, he mirrors you, throbs when you clench, explores your mouth when you part for him impatiently. it leaves you to no choice but to become his own reflection, your hips ground themselves in a stable rhythm as your fingertips roll over his own nipples, unexpectedly he whimpers, bites down into your shoulder cautiously
"That's it baby, driving me fucking crazy" he grinds his hips up into you, unlocking a feeling of bliss that leads you to errupt into pornographic moans, your hand flings to muffle them, eyes rolling back into your skull,
Jungkook is making love to you, letting you reach a state you would not have been able to imagine, not even in the slightest when all you have ever felt are your fingers hastily, uncoordinated on your bundle of nerves. still, he can feel you´re holding back, afraid to be loud- to take up space, but he's having none of it
"Dont be embarrassed sweet girl, you sound addicting, so cute, give me every little noise" sinful sensuality floods you with his encouragement, "gonna make you cum for me, deserve it don't you think?" you don't- in fact, you can't think, long gone into pleasure while his hips piston into you from below,
he slaps your clit gently, your walls clench from how good that feels, "i asked you something baby" he repeats, distracted by your droopy eyes that threaten to shut him out at any moment, "answer me sweet thing, do you deserve to cum hm?" he taunts, rutting his hips with a slower but harder motion, force that hits your g-spot- reels you back into the moment, you head moves frantically "yes, yes please i need to cum"
Jungkook groans in satisfaction, "that's right.. best little cunt, all mine" he goes back lapping at your chest, licking his way to any patch of skin that your addictive smell lurs him to- he feels all over your skin, sneaking his fingers to where your bodies morph into one so he can draw tight circles on your clit, stimulating you to cry out his name,
"Jungkook.. i- i can't stop it i-" you stutter, thighs tensing around him, the feeling is so overwhealming that you can't keep your head up, can't warn him more than that since you're already letting your dew sprinkle out- letting the shocks roll over your body
"just like that.. make a mess on my cock baby, you did so well, come for me" he rasps, his heavy balls release into your tightness at the thought that crosses his mind- the knowledge that he had made you orgasm, that your virginity belonged to him solely,
It embraces the both of you, fills you with a sense of euphoria that none of you wish to end
As the high washes over you, you break out into a small shudder, aware of his milky cum that splurts your walls white, aware of the oversensitive area between your legs that jungkook's fingers slowly stop touching, landing to your unstable and sore thighs instead.
his heavy breathing is woven into yours, contrasting how slowly, lazily he manages to caress your naked skin, finding comfort in your warm body
the small whisper of his name catches him off guard, he hums, pulling back to cup your face, "are you okay my love? feel good?" his eyes rank over your tired features, glowing before his very own eyes,
"so okay. I love you" you breathe out, pressing a kiss to his button nose,
"I love you too baby, so proud of you" his nose nuzzles against yours, "you were so so good"
your shy giggle lights up his face like it always does, "thank you.. for taking my virginity... felt so good" you mumble with your bottom lip tucked away between your teeth- it awakens his soft- still nestled cock, his hands grip your ass- feeling the flesh spill beneath his fingers "thank you for your trust baby, but god, you're gonna make me lose it" jungkook says into your neck, nose tracing the delicate line of your shoulder,
"why? is it too much?" unbeknownst to you, Jungkook rolls his eyes in annoyance, how could you be so fucking adorable?
"Let me show you why" he answers, making your head perk up a little,
"Wanna lay down for me pretty? I can give you another one, as many as you want. You deserve it, wanna spoil you, fuck i wanna give you everything you want" faintly audible as he's speaking into your skin, having already laid you down onto the cold cushions of his unreasonably expensive leather couch.
“Some scenes only happen when the lights go down.”
pairing: idol! jungkook x editor! reader
genre: smut, ex lovers, second chance au, angst with smut, toxic ex au
summary: You’ve worked too hard to become untouchable. He still knows exactly where to touch. After one night of stolen pleasure, you’re determined to walk away — but Jungkook isn’t ready to let you go again. Between silk sheets, half-spoken regrets, and a black-tie dinner where flirtation becomes revenge, your past and present spiral into something dangerous. It was supposed to be physical. But feelings don’t follow the script.
author's note: ugh, this part really broke me🖤 writing and creating stories takes a lot of time, and no matter how much i love doing this and jungkook, i would love your support and feedback 🖤 final chapter 3 is available here through donations! but it will be published here after this post gets 1k notes!
part 1 | part 2 (you're here) | final part 3 (through donation, will be here later)
You stand in front of Seo In-kyung’s office door in borrowed heels and smudged eyeliner, praying your face doesn’t betray the night carved into your body.
The morning light bleeds through the glass walls like scrutiny. Her office is pristine — sharp angles, a curved leather chair behind a white marble desk, walls lined with editorial archives and thick matte prints. A minimalist arrangement of white orchids sits perfectly still in one corner, untouched by dust or emotion.
You knock.
“Come in.”
Her voice cuts through like the heel of a Louboutin.
You step inside, clutching your tablet too tightly. Your hair is pulled back — barely — in a low twist that you smoothed with shaking fingers in the backseat of a cab thirty minutes ago. Underneath the oversized Saint Laurent blazer, your dress is the same one from last night. You're hoping it passes as intentional. It doesn’t.
Seo In-kyung is already seated.
Flawless. Impeccable. A navy Mugler blazer sharp enough to slit throats, heels lacquered, wrists bare. She doesn’t smile. She gestures to the chair opposite her without looking up.
You sit, spine straight.
For a moment, silence.
Then—
“You really outdid yourself, Y/N.”
You blink.
She’s flipping through a printed copy of the BTS campaign spread — full bleed photos, minimalist layouts, editorial perfection. The same layouts you stayed past midnight refining. The ones you pushed through legal, color, and styling approvals with nothing but caffeine and willpower.
She taps her manicured nail on the cover.
“This,” she says, “brought the entire industry back to us.”
You exhale. Just slightly.
“Thank you, Director Seo.”
“Don’t thank me,” she says, eyes still scanning the page. “Thank your instinct. You were right to strip it down. No gimmicks. No clutter. Just tension.”
She turns a page. “Even Jeon looked like a man worth remembering.”
You freeze.
But she doesn’t elaborate. Just closes the folder, places it gently beside her, and finally looks at you.
You wish she hadn’t.
Her gaze is cool. Calculating. The kind that scans and files away.
You feel it — the mess behind your eyes. The mascara you didn't have time to fully erase. The faint redness at your mouth. The scent of a man that no water could completely wash off.
She leans back in her chair.
“Fondo di Luce.”
You blink. “Sorry?”
Her fingers tap the marble. Once. Twice.
“It’s an international art and fashion initiative,” she says. “A luxury gala held annually at Villa Fioretta, Lake Como. Private guest list. Couture-only. Funded by Dante Seo’s Light Fund and Vogue’s European partners.”
A pause. “And we’ve been invited.”
Your breath stirs.
“I want you to represent Vogue Korea,” she says.
Silence blooms between you.
“Me?”
“Yes. You pitched this campaign. You shaped it. People in Milan want to meet the girl who made the cover go viral.”
You feel lightheaded. Not from panic this time — from the taste of possibility. Of respect. Of validation earned, not handed.
Your mouth opens to thank her—
But then she speaks again.
“Don’t get too comfortable.”
The room shifts. Your spine locks.
Her gaze hardens. She doesn’t blink.
“I don’t tolerate editors who sleep with clients,” she says. Voice smooth. Flat. “It’s unprofessional. It’s disgusting. It makes us look like we earned our place on our backs.”
Your blood turns to ice.
“You, Y/N, are better than that. You’ve proven yourself. Your instincts are rare.”
A pause. “It would be a shame to lose someone like you because she couldn’t keep her legs closed.”
You don’t breathe. You can’t.
You nod once, eyes fixed on a nonexistent spot on her desk.
She stands.
“That’ll be all.”
You rise mechanically. Thank her. Bow.
And walk out of the office with your pulse screaming in your ears.
The moment you step into the hallway, Kara is there.
Perched by the espresso machine in the break corner, sipping an oat milk latte with glossy lips and smug silence.
She doesn’t say anything.
She doesn’t have to.
Your fists clench. Your face burns.
You want to tear the smugness off her face and throw it back at her in headlines.
Instead, you walk past her — heels echoing like threats — and your phone buzzes in your pocket.
You check it.
Unknown Number
Still quiet, hm? Should I send someone to pick up my jacket or do I get a kiss as collateral?
Buzz.
I’ll take the kiss.
Buzz.
…or both.
You delete the thread. Turn off your notifications.
And get back to work.
You don’t cry in the hallway. You don’t clench your jaw, or turn on your heel, or demand Seo In-kyung look you in the eye when she delivers the kind of warning she never would’ve given to a man. You don’t remind her that half the board she answers to built their careers on affairs with photographers, designers, founders — powerful men who never had to answer for the women they fucked.
You just breathe.
Measured. Controlled. Counted down like pills in the morning. You walk back to your desk with your back straight, your heels clean against the tile, pretending you don’t feel the ghost of his hands still pressing into your hips. You can almost hear him still — that teasing, velvet-coated filth, low and smug against your skin. You hear it in the vibration of your phone every hour since sunrise. You hear it in Kara’s eyes every time they rake over you. You feel it in the way your own body responds when you close your eyes at night — when your fingers trail down beneath the sheets and it’s his name that sits between your teeth, no matter how hard you bite down.
You tell yourself it was just sex. A one-time indulgence. A lapse in judgment that began and ended in a penthouse no one else has to know about. You tell yourself it was closure — that there’s no gravity to the way he held your face in his hands like he still knew how to ruin you. That the ache still curling inside your chest is nothing but delayed shame.
But the problem is, it wasn’t just the sex.
It was the way he looked at you like five years hadn’t passed, like you weren’t a stranger in that room, like you were still the girl he used to know in a borrowed hoodie and scraped-up Nikes, standing in a dingy kitchen, editing your first column with red pen on a ten-thousand-won table. It was the way he kissed you with a hunger that felt older than his fame. It was the way he let you bite him, claw him, curse him — and still whispered “come back to me.”
And now you're here. Perfectly poised in the office you fought tooth and nail to climb into, barely holding yourself together while your editor-in-chief — a woman born with the title stitched into her spine — calls you brilliant and disposable in the same breath. She will never know what it feels like to be called a genius on Monday and a whore on Wednesday. To be handed praise with a choke chain wrapped around it. To have your best work reduced to who you might have let touch you after hours.
She can talk about dignity. She can afford to.
You, on the other hand, know exactly how fragile power can be when it’s built from scratch.
✦✦✦
The first message comes barely an hour after you walk out of Seo In-kyung’s office.
You didn’t even say goodbye.
You don’t open it. You don’t need to — the preview alone is enough to make your stomach twist. You swipe it away, fingers rigid, and tell yourself that it doesn’t mean anything. Not the message. Not the sender. Not the way your name still looks when it rolls off his voice, even in text.
That night, another one arrives.
Was it the blazer? Should’ve left you something softer.
You laugh, once. Quietly. Then delete it like it burned you. You don’t respond. You won’t. Because if you let yourself type anything — a word, a punctuation mark, the space before a breath — you won’t stop. And you’ve worked too hard, pulled yourself too far out of the wreckage, to let one night drag you back into the ruin you barely crawled out of.
But the texts don’t stop.
Sometimes they’re careless. Teasing. Written like he’s still in your bed with your thighs pressed against his hips and your nails in his back. Other times, they’re sharp with weight, like he doesn’t know which version of himself you’ll tolerate — the boy who left you, or the man trying to come back.
You never reply.
But you read every word.
And at night, when the world finally stops demanding your time and your poise and your reputation, when the silence of your apartment feels too loud to ignore — you remember how he touched you. You remember how it felt to let go of everything for one hour, one night, one man who once shattered you so completely that you forgot what it meant to breathe without him.
You touch yourself like it means nothing.
Like it’s routine.
Like it’s stress. Tension. Relief.
But it’s his voice you hear when your fingers slip lower.
It’s his mouth you imagine when you bite your own shoulder to muffle the sounds.
It’s his hand around your throat when you finish — sharp and soft at once — and it’s his name that almost slips out, pressed against the inside of your teeth like a secret you’re still ashamed of wanting.
You don’t look at your phone after that.
You can’t.
You tell yourself it was just sex, you’re smarter now.He’s just another mistake in a long line of things you’ve learned how to survive.
And when another message arrives — two days later, right as you're finalizing your flight details for the gala in Lake Como — you don’t even read it.
You just close your eyes, and try not to remember how he looked at you when he came.
✦✦✦
You arrive at Incheon International two hours before your flight, slipping through security behind oversized sunglasses and an air of quiet efficiency. The blazer you’re wearing is Dior this time — borrowed from the archive rack, boxy at the shoulders, sleek across your hips. Beneath it: a slate-gray satin blouse tucked into wide-leg ivory trousers, pressed razor-sharp. You look like someone who’s going to Lake Como for work, not for war.
It isn’t until you reach the boarding gate that you see the line of black masks, tailored airport coats, and hush-voiced assistants clustered like chess pieces around Gate A7.
BTS.
Of course.
Your stomach doesn’t sink. It knots — tight, controlled, slow — like the warning of turbulence long before the plane leaves the ground.
You keep walking, silent, graceful, aware of every click of your heels on the polished floor. You don’t let yourself search for him. You don’t have to. You feel him before you see him — a presence that presses against your awareness like heat against skin, impossible to ignore.
It isn’t until you’re lowering yourself into your business class seat, reaching for the strap of your carry-on, that you finally glance up — and meet his eyes.
Row 2. Aisle seat.
Black mask, black cap, rings on both hands.
And staring at you like he hasn’t blinked in days.
You look away.
The plane boards slowly. Assistants murmur. Photographers keep their cameras off. The boys move like shadows, trained to blend, to disappear behind the shape of fame. You keep your posture perfect, legs crossed at the ankle, your tablet open with your flight agenda already pulled up — even though you’ve read it three times.
He doesn’t approach until you're halfway into the sky.
You excuse yourself from your seat, nod politely at the stewardess, and head down the narrow aisle toward the lavatory — slow, deliberate steps in heels that whisper money and control. The tiny hallway near the restrooms is dim, quiet, muted beneath the drone of altitude and distance.
You don’t expect the hand on your wrist.
It’s not rough. But it’s firm — and you know that grip. You’ve felt it around your waist, your neck, your thighs. You turn slowly, breath already caught halfway between fury and something far more dangerous.
He's right there.
Close. Closer than he has any right to be in this narrow corridor with no eyes but yours and his. The door to the lavatory is behind you. His body blocks the path. His scent — soap, leather, the faint trace of your perfume still clinging to his jacket from days ago — wraps around you like memory.
You keep your voice cold.
“Do you seriously think now is the time?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you, face half-shadowed by the cap, eyes hungry in a way that makes you press your thighs tighter, just to feel something grounded.
Then, finally, he speaks — low, rough.
“I keep dreaming about the way you moaned my name.”
Your stomach tightens. You don’t blink.
You lift your chin instead.
“That’s all it was. A dream.”
But his eyes drop — once — to your mouth, and then lower.
“I remember the way your legs shook. That wasn’t dreaming.”
You inhale sharply, but your expression doesn’t change.
“You should go sit down.”
“Or what?” His voice dips lower. “You’ll pretend again you don’t want me to fuck you right here?”
His hand doesn’t move. His body doesn’t touch yours. But you feel every inch of him like a scream in your skin — heat, memory, friction.
You smile — slow and cutting.
“I’ve learned how to control myself. You should try it sometime.”
His gaze flickers. Just slightly.
Then he leans in — not enough to touch, but enough for you to feel his breath near your neck, his voice low and ruinous.
“I’m not the one squeezing my thighs together.”
You hate that he’s right. You hate that your heartbeat is in your throat, that your body is already lit from the inside out. You hate that you want to kiss him. Bite him. Tear him open.
But you won’t.
Because you’re not that girl anymore.
You step aside, brushing past him with a look that could frost steel, and say nothing as you return to your seat.
You don’t check to see if he follows.
You don’t breathe again until you’re halfway through an article you can’t remember reading, with his gaze still burning a hole into the back of your neck from three rows behind.
✦✦✦
The wheels touch the tarmac just past four in the afternoon, and the landing is smoother than expected, the kind that glides into the runway with practiced quiet, as if even the aircraft has been told to behave. Outside the small window, the northern Italian sun pools in long, soft ribbons over the hills, stretching across the landscape like liquid gold, tinting everything it touches with the kind of warmth that doesn’t burn — only stuns.
You disembark without ceremony, your sunglasses still in place, your coat folded over one arm, and your expression carefully blank. The assistant from Vogue Italia is waiting beside the hangar — her posture perfect, clipboard in hand, dressed in cropped white linen and flat shoes that probably cost more than the flight. She greets you by name, with polite English and a smile that’s too curated to be real, then leads you across the quiet concourse, past shuttered photographers and a cluster of sleek black cars idling behind a discreet security perimeter.
Your name is listed on one of the placards. Y/N — Vogue Korea.
So is theirs. BTS.
You don't react — not outwardly. There is no visible shift in your posture, no flicker in your gaze. You’ve already taught your body how to lie better than your words ever could.
The assistant ushers you toward a waiting Mercedes, its interior cool and leather-scented, the seats butter-soft beneath the press of your thighs. A silver tray holds still water, a lemon wedge perched just so. Your phone buzzes once in your lap. You don't check it. Not yet.
The drive from the airport is postcard-perfect in a way that feels intentionally cruel — narrow country roads wrapped in vine-laced stone, the distant glimmer of Lake Como revealing itself in flashes between tall cypress trees and crumbling terracotta villas. Each bend in the road opens into a view more breathtaking than the last, until you almost forget where you're headed and why your chest has been tight since the gate at Incheon.
The car finally slows as it pulls through ornate wrought-iron gates that gleam with gold filigree under the light, winding up the long private drive that spills into the front courtyard of Villa Fioretta. The estate rises from the hill like it was carved directly out of the cliffside — all creamy limestone and tall shuttered windows, manicured terraces spilling over with ivy and white flowers, and delicate copper details that catch the dying sun like jewelry. It looks like something you’ve seen on a Vogue Italia cover in a past life, or maybe a perfume ad from the early 2000s, the kind where everything was just slightly out of reach, and nothing ever truly belonged to you.
As the driver comes around to open your door, you exhale once, slow and silent, and allow your face to settle into something calm and beautifully unreadable.
Inside, the villa is all elegance in hushed tones — soft marble beneath your heels, pale walls washed in ivory and cream, every piece of furniture chosen for quiet power rather than comfort. The concierge greets you by name and with reverence, offers you a key card embossed with the letter “F” in deep matte black, and explains with the expected level of practiced charm that you’ve been placed on the fifth floor, lake view, courtesy of Fondo di Luce, and that a welcome aperitivo will be served on the lower terrace shortly after six.
You nod, thank them, and enter the elevator with the same stillness you’ve been wearing since you boarded the flight.
It’s not until the doors begin to close that he enters behind you.
You don't need to look to know it's him. The presence is immediate — heavy, hot, undeniable. His cologne clings to the air, low and sharp, the same one you woke up wearing four mornings ago in his bed, still tangled in his heat.
He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.
The silence in the elevator stretches, long and taut, the kind that drapes itself over the walls like velvet, pressing in on all sides. You keep your gaze forward, focused on the panel, the floor numbers blinking upward. You can feel him beside you — not touching, but close enough to undo you all over again if you let yourself lean even an inch in his direction.
The mirrored wall reflects the shape of him — rolled sleeves, black slacks, tattoos visible where the cuff is turned, sunglasses tucked into his collar like he never needed to hide. He’s looking at you. You don’t return it.
The elevator stops at five.
You step out first. The hallway is quiet, dimly lit, touched with the kind of warmth that money doesn’t have to brag about — just suggests.
He follows.
Your room is halfway down the hall. You can hear the soft tread of his boots behind you, steady and measured, but it’s the silence between you that rattles louder than any footfall.
You stop at 506. Slot the card into the reader. The green light flashes.
Still, you don’t turn.
"If you're going to say something stupid, Jungkook," you murmur, voice calm but edged, your hand resting on the doorframe like it might hold you steady, "don’t waste it here."
The door unlocks with a soft click. You step inside and let it close behind you without another word.
You never heard his footsteps retreat — which is exactly why your hands are still shaking when you set your bag down on the velvet bench at the end of the bed.
✦✦✦
The evening descends in a soft, golden hush, the lake catching the last streaks of sunlight and bending them into mirrored ribbons that stretch across the manicured garden lawns. The terrace is already glowing by the time you arrive — dozens of floating candles bobbing in the villa’s pool, crisp white tablecloths draped over stone tables, wine glasses catching firelight like they were designed to burn. Waiters move like shadows through the crowd, balancing trays of Campari spritzes and white truffle canapés, slipping between conversations spoken in Italian, French, and English laced with old-money vowels.
You’ve dressed for the kill.
The gown you chose is a strapless black number that ends just above your mid-thigh — sculpted to your body like it was designed for this exact kind of dusk, this exact kind of attention. The satin clings in all the places you used to hide and now let sharpen you. Your back is bare, your collarbone glistens with a soft sheen of skin-warmed perfume, and your heels are high enough to demand silence when you walk. The neckline dips low, the hem even lower, and there’s a part of you that knows—without even needing the confirmation—that if Jungkook looks at you tonight, it won’t be casual.
You tell yourself you wore it to feel powerful. You tell yourself that it’s just about proving a point.
But deep down, beneath all the polished rationality and strategic poise, you know it’s a lie. You wore it to tempt him. Or maybe to punish him. It’s hard to tell the difference anymore.
You glide through the terrace like you belong to it. Conversations flicker as you pass — Vogue Paris, L’Uomo, a few senior figures from Condé Nast and K-Media International — all familiar faces from the inner circle of fashion and luxury publishing. You smile, you nod, you take a glass of wine with the hand not gripping your clutch, and you keep moving.
He’s here. You haven’t seen him yet, but you feel him. You’ve felt him since the moment you walked in — like a change in air pressure, like heat blooming in places that should be cold. Each time a new shadow approaches, your chest coils tight, your gaze flicks once, and you brace yourself.
The first time you actually see him, he’s standing on the far end of the terrace near the balustrade, surrounded by three men in Tom Ford tuxedos and a woman from Vogue Italia who is laughing too easily at something he hasn’t said. His hair is pushed back, exposing the sharp line of his jaw, the silver hoop in his ear catching the light each time he turns slightly, and his shirt is unbuttoned just enough to make your mouth dry.
He looks devastating.
You don’t look twice.
You spend the next hour performing avoidance like an art. Each time he moves in your direction — and he does — you change course. A conversation with a photographer. A compliment to someone’s emerald earrings. A turn toward the pool just in time to keep a table between you. He’s watching. You know he is. And you never let yourself look back.
Until you meet Dante Seo.
He arrives like an entrance — tall, olive-toned skin that speaks of Italian summers and Seoul winters, his suit perfectly fitted in bone-white silk with a single black brooch gleaming on the lapel. His hair is dark and swept back with the ease of someone who doesn’t try hard and never has to. His smile is clean. Curated. Dangerous.
“You must be Vogue Korea,” he says as he offers his hand, eyes tracing over your form like he’s calculating how many men in the room already hate him for standing beside you. “No one told me you’d be this stunning. I’ll have to send my regrets to our editor-in-chief for not coming in her place.”
“Y/N,” you reply, slipping your hand into his. “Campaign editor. But I suppose the title doesn’t matter so long as I’m stunning.”
He laughs — low, indulgent — and motions to a pair of older executives hovering behind him.
“You all remember Jeon Jungkook, I’m sure?” Dante glances sideways, eyes sparkling. “The face of Vogue Korea’s revival, the star of the cover that’s been circulating Milan for two weeks straight.”
Your spine tenses.
“I think it’s fair to say Korea brought us something exceptional,” one woman offers, sipping from her wine. “He was brilliant. Magnetic. I hadn’t seen that kind of restraint from an editorial in years.”
“I think that was more the editor’s eye than the idol’s,” Dante says, looking directly at you now, one eyebrow lifted with the kind of mischief that always ends in trouble. “Tell me, Y/N. How did you convince a man like that to surrender so completely?”
You force a smile, swirl the wine in your glass, and answer coolly.
“Sometimes all it takes is silence.”
More laughter. More praise. More commentary on how sharp he looked, how he carried the shot, how Vogue Korea must be so proud. The room keeps saying his name. Over and over, like it means something, like it doesn’t still taste like sweat and regret and begging on your skin.
You excuse yourself twenty minutes later, your glass half-full and your teeth aching from how hard you’ve clenched your jaw.
The moment you step back into the villa’s interior, the noise blurs. You walk past the grand staircase, through the velvet-draped hall toward the elevator, your heels muffled against the thick cream carpet, your throat hot from wine and words you didn't say.
You don’t notice he’s following you until you reach your door.
The moment you slide the keycard into the reader, he’s there.
One hand planted against the door beside your head, the other grazing your hip, his body closing the space so completely that all you can smell is him — clean, woodsy, sharp with the memory of what he did to you last time.
You turn slowly, your back brushing the wood.
His breath is hot against your cheek, his voice low and intimate, like a confession laced with filth.
“Do you want me to say it?” he murmurs. “Do you want me to say I couldn’t stop staring at your thighs all night? That I imagined dragging this dress up your legs while the whole fucking party watched?”
Your body tightens. You keep your voice steady.
“Move.”
He leans in closer, lips brushing just beside your jaw.
“I saw how you avoided me. Like I was the one who begged. You think I don’t know you wore this dress for me?”
You swallow. Hard.
His fingers trail lightly along the line of your jaw, down to your mouth, hovering there as if waiting for a tremble he already knows is coming.
“I could take you right here,” he whispers. “I could make you cry with my fingers before you even reach the bed.”
You hate the way your knees weaken. Hate the thrum building between your legs, the ache in your stomach, the heat spreading low and sharp like fire beneath your skin.
You should say no.
You should open the door and disappear into the room and lock it behind you.
But when you meet his eyes — dark, hungry, full of something wild — you fumble the key, and he catches it with a smirk, sliding it into the lock like he’s been there a thousand times before.
And when the door opens, you step inside without a word.
Not because you forgave him. Not because it means anything.
Only because your body stopped asking for permission the moment his mouth said your name.
✦✦✦
The door shuts behind you with a heavy, soundproofed click, and the moment it does, you feel it — the shift in air, the sharp electric drag of his presence right at your back.
You barely make it three steps into the suite before his hand circles your waist and drags you back against him. You don’t gasp, you don’t whimper, but your body tenses with something that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the ache that’s been clawing at your stomach since the moment he stared at you from across the terrace like he wanted to fuck you blind.
His mouth finds your shoulder first — soft, open, hot — pressing through the thin fabric of your dress, kissing along the slope of your neck while his other hand skims down the silk curve of your thigh. You smell wine on his breath, wood and heat and hunger, and he’s already hard against your ass, pressing into you like he can’t believe you’re real again.
“Fucking knew this dress was for me,” he breathes against your skin. “Knew it the second I saw you.”
You turn your face slightly, just enough to graze his jaw, your voice calm even as your blood roars beneath the surface.
“And what are you going to do about it?”
His grip tightens.
“This.”
He spins you — smooth, practiced, fast — and pins you against the suite wall, just beside the blackout-curtained window, one knee between your thighs, your heels barely catching grip on the polished wood floors. His hands are under your dress in a second, sliding up your thighs, growling when he feels just how little you wore beneath it.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice low and guttural. “You didn’t wear anything for me?”
“Maybe I wore it for someone else,” you murmur, tilting your head, letting your lips brush his but never touching fully.
His teeth graze your chin. “Don’t fucking test me tonight.”
“I thought you liked being tested.”
He laughs — dark, breathless — and you both know you’re seconds from snapping. His hands glide over your ass, gripping, kneading, dragging you harder against the bulge in his pants. You rock your hips back, just once, just to feel how badly he wants it.
And then you pull away.
“Sit.”
His eyes flicker, and you see it — the surprise, the interest, the way his breath catches just slightly before he obeys. He backs up toward the edge of the king-sized bed and lowers himself slowly, legs spread, cock straining against the fabric of his tailored black trousers.
You follow him.
Drop to your knees between his legs like it's a throne, not a man.
His eyes are already half-lidded, hands braced on his thighs, watching you as you reach for his belt with smooth, practiced fingers. You undo the buckle with no urgency, and when the leather slides through the loops, he hisses under his breath like it’s your mouth around him already.
When you reach into his boxers and pull him out, you exhale softly — not from surprise, not from awe, but from the rush that starts between your legs at the sheer weight of him in your palm. He’s hard. So hard it makes your mouth water. The tip’s flushed, leaking, pulsing against your skin.
He looks like he wants to say something — maybe a tease, maybe a curse — but the second your lips close over the head, all he does is moan.
Long. Deep. Raw.
You don’t rush.
You swirl your tongue around the tip, one hand still stroking the base, the other flattening against his lower abdomen to keep him exactly where you want him. You suck slowly, carefully, letting your mouth shape around him like you’re molding heat out of gold. You glance up — and the sight of him nearly undoes you.
His head is thrown back, mouth parted, hands gripping the edge of the mattress now. The muscles in his thighs are shaking under your palms. When you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper, his hips jerk, his voice cracks.
“Fuck— Y/N… don’t… I’m gonna—”
You pull off with a wet pop, licking your lips like a threat.
“You’re gonna what?”
He opens his eyes, looks at you like you’re the devil himself, and chokes on a groan when you go down again — this time deeper, wetter, your tongue pressed under the shaft, saliva dripping down your hand. You let your mouth contour around him, let him feel every inch of heat and slick velvet you can give.
“Please,” he whispers, eyes clenched shut now. “Please don’t stop. Please—fuck—just like that—”
The begging shocks you.
It makes your core throb, makes you grind your own thighs together as you take him deeper still, lips stretched wide around him, hand working what your mouth can’t reach. You love the way he sounds, the way he begs, the way this man — who fucked you like he owned you just days ago — is now unraveling in front of you with your name gasped like a prayer.
You pull off again, let your lips drag down the side of his cock, tongue licking up the vein, and you whisper:
“You taste better than I remember.”
He grabs your shoulders, dragging you up fast, lips crashing against yours like he’s trying to climb back into control.
“You’re going to fucking kill me,” he mutters, voice shaking. “Get on the bed. Now.”
You don’t resist.
Because you want it too — filthy, breathless, and only getting darker from here.
He doesn’t let you move far — his hands are already on your thighs, on your waist, pushing you back until your legs hit the edge of the bed, and he shoves you down with a grip that’s firm but reverent. He follows immediately, kissing you deep, tongue filthy in your mouth, his taste mixed with the sharp salt of his own arousal. You moan into him, still breathless from the way he sounded minutes ago — the quiet begging, the desperation, the way he came undone just from your mouth.
But now he’s reclaiming the space.
He pulls away, eyes black, chest heaving. You barely register your own dress being pulled up, bunched around your waist, before he drops to his knees between your legs and drags your soaked thong down with both hands — slow, savoring the way the fabric clings to you, the wet string pulling along your folds.
“Fucking perfect,” he mutters, and you feel it in your spine — that growl, that tone, the sound of someone starving.
He spreads your legs wide, pushes your knees up, and leans in with no ceremony. His mouth finds your clit in the same breath as his fingers gripping your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed until you feel like you’re going to slide off entirely — right into the heat of his mouth. His tongue flicks once, then twice, then circles until your hips buck.
“You’ve missed this,” he says against your cunt. “This pussy remembers me.”
You try to argue. You try to speak. But your breath stutters when he sucks your clit into his mouth and moans like he’s tasting sugar.
Your hands fly to his hair, gripping the soft strands, anchoring yourself. You can’t stop the sounds that escape you now — soft, sharp gasps, your head falling back as he devours you, his mouth relentless and wet and so good you can’t think straight.
And then he slides lower.
At first it’s a tease — his tongue licking below, over the tight ring of muscle, making your thighs twitch. But then he spreads you wider, his thumbs parting your ass, and before you can process it, his mouth is there, licking into you with slow, filthy indulgence.
You moan — loud, uncontrolled, broken — and your entire body tries to lift off the bed. He holds you down.
“Jungkook—” It’s the first time you’ve said his name like that tonight, and it cracks at the edges. “What the fuck—”
He doesn’t stop.
He eats your ass like he’s done it before, like he’s memorized you, like he owns the right to taste every inch of you. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping hard enough to bruise, and when his tongue drags back up to your clit again, your vision blurs.
You’re shaking.
You’re soaked.
And in the haze of your unraveling, one thought claws through everything: he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Your hips grind up into his mouth, chasing the friction, chasing the high. And when he slides two fingers into you — slow and deep — your back arches, your moan breaks apart, and your orgasm hits like a wave dragging you under.
He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling beneath him, thighs twitching, cunt fluttering around his fingers.
When he finally pulls away, his mouth is slick, his eyes feral, and he climbs back over you like a man who hasn’t eaten in days.
“You good?” he whispers, voice raw with pride.
You glare at him, chest still rising and falling, and mutter, “You’re disgusting.”
He smirks, kissing your collarbone, licking a stripe up your neck.
“And you’re wet.”
He’s on you before you can gather your thoughts — his body pressing you into the mattress, heavy and solid and far too familiar. His chest brushes yours, warm skin meeting your peaked nipples, and the friction makes you hiss between your teeth. You try to push him back, just enough to reassert something, anything — but he catches your wrist and pins it to the bed beside your head.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “Not when you’re this wet for me.”
You scowl, but it’s weak — half-hearted, half-turned-on, and he knows it.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
He leans in, licks into your mouth like he owns it, and then slides his cock slowly through your folds — hot, heavy, dragging along your slit until you’re whimpering despite yourself. You feel him reach for a condom, hear the crinkle of foil, and then his hips notch forward, the thick head of his cock pressing at your entrance.
“You still feel like fucking heaven,” he groans, and when he pushes in — slow, so slow — your nails dig into the sheets.
You gasp, head falling back against the pillows. He’s big. He always was, but this time it feels deeper, sharper, like every inch is a punishment you didn’t see coming.
“God—” you breathe, blinking up at the ceiling. “Why the fuck do you still feel this good?”
“Because your pussy remembers me,” he says through a ragged exhale, hips still rolling forward. “Because it’s mine.”
You clench around him at the word — mine — and hate how much it turns you on.
“You really think one night erases years?” you bite, trying to pull your voice together, but it’s breathy and cracked.
“No,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “But it reminds you.”
He bottoms out, and the sound you make is caught between a moan and a curse. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, trying to pull him deeper even as your pride screams at you to shove him off. He feels too good. It’s too hot. It’s everything you didn’t want to feel again, wrapped in silk and sweat and his goddamn voice.
He starts to move — slow and deep, every stroke dragging across every nerve ending you have.
“You’re clenching,” he growls in your ear, licking down the side of your neck. “You missed this. Missed me.”
“I missed being fucked,” you shoot back, voice shaking. “I could’ve found that anywhere.”
He snaps his hips once — hard — and your gasp betrays you. Your hands fly up to his back, nails digging in.
“You’re lying,” he pants. “You never let anyone fuck you like this. Never let them see you like this.”
You hate that he’s right. You hate that you’re already close again, already tightening around him like he’s the only man who’s ever made you come this hard.
“You’re so fucking pretty when you come,” he murmurs, brushing sweaty strands from your face. “Wanna feel it again. Wanna watch you break.”
You pull him closer, arch your back, and mutter into his neck:
“Then make me.”
That’s all it takes.
He fucks you harder now — still deep, still deliberate, but with that edge of hunger he’s been holding back all night. His pelvis rubs your clit with every thrust, and when his hand slides between you, fingers circling your swollen nerves, you see stars.
You’re writhing now, moaning his name like a warning, and he’s kissing you through it, swallowing your sounds, your curses, your surrender.
And when you finally come — tight and fast and gasping — he moans something filthy into your mouth that you’re too far gone to understand. You feel him tense, feel the thick roll of his hips as he buries himself one last time, and then he’s groaning through clenched teeth, coming with your name against your lips.
For a moment, the room is nothing but breath and sweat and silence.
Then you turn your face away.
And the next wave starts building.
You should’ve gotten up. You should’ve pushed him off and walked into the bathroom, should’ve wrapped yourself in a robe and poured a glass of water and reminded yourself who you are now — not nineteen, not in love, not wrecked by the memory of a boy who never said goodbye.
But instead, you stay. Lying there, trembling in the aftermath of an orgasm that still echoes in your spine, your thighs slick and sore, your heartbeat pressed somewhere up in your throat.
Jungkook shifts beside you, his palm still on your stomach, his breath still hot against your shoulder. You can feel him stirring again, thick and half-hard between your legs, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re moving — rolling onto your side, facing away, pulling the sheet off your skin like you’ve surrendered to something you’ll never admit out loud.
He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t need to.
He presses up behind you, his chest flush to your back, his mouth trailing down the slope of your shoulder with reverent hunger. One hand slides over your hip, gripping it as if anchoring himself to reality, the other skating down between your thighs to find you still soaked.
“Still dripping for me,” he mutters, voice hoarse with lust. “You love this.”
“I hate you,” you breathe.
“I know,” he whispers, pushing your legs apart. “That’s why you’re letting me do this again.”
You want to scream at him. You want to tell him to shut the fuck up, to get out, to stop twisting everything into something so ugly and true — but then the head of his cock is sliding between your folds, and your breath catches in your throat like betrayal.
He pushes in slowly, and the stretch burns — not painfully, but beautifully, the kind of fullness that makes your spine arch and your mouth fall open. His hand finds your throat from behind, just a gentle pressure under your jaw, guiding your gaze up to the full-length mirror across the room.
“Look.”
You shake your head.
“Look, Y/N.”
Your eyes flicker open.
And what you see takes the last bit of air from your lungs.
Your body — flushed and glistening, breasts bouncing gently with each slow thrust, his chest pressed to your back, his hand wrapped around your throat. His face — focused, wild, desperate. Yours — wrecked.
“Fuck,” he groans, picking up speed. “You look so fucking good like this.”
“Shut up,” you bite, but it’s weak, broken, your voice shaking.
He pulls out, slaps your ass once, then sinks back in deep. You whimper, your head falling forward, but he doesn’t let you look away.
“I want you to see what I do to you.”
You do. And that’s the problem. Because it’s not just the sex. It’s the way your mouth falls open when he rolls his hips just right. It’s the way your nails claw the sheets when he says your name like a curse and a prayer. It’s the way your eyes can’t lie in the mirror — how wrecked you are, how undone, how his.
“You’re just a dick to me,” you spit, desperate, cruel.
But he only groans and fucks you harder.
“Then why are you dripping down my thighs?”
You can’t answer.
You’re too far gone.
He reaches between your legs again, fingers finding your clit, circling fast and filthy, and your body convulses around him, your moans high and breathless. He fucks you through it, relentless now, slamming into you as your muscles clench around him.
The mirror fogs. Your eyes blur. And when you come again, it’s with his name on your tongue and your pride somewhere back in Seoul.
He follows moments later, hips stuttering, curses tumbling from his mouth as he spills into the condom with his forehead against your shoulder and your scent all over his skin.
Silence.
Breath.
The sound of your own heart, thudding against your ribs like a warning.
You pull away first. Walk into the bathroom without a word, leaving him in the bed where he just ruined you all over again.
✦✦✦
You take your time in the shower, as if hot water can rinse off regret. You wash his hands from your thighs. You scrub the taste of him from your mouth. You tilt your head back and let the water hammer against your eyes until it’s impossible to tell what’s tears and what’s steam.
But none of it works.
Because when you walk out of the bathroom wrapped in a robe that still smells faintly of jasmine, he’s still there. Shirtless. Sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them like he’s praying to something he stopped believing in a long time ago.
You don’t speak.
You walk to the desk in the corner, grab your phone, place it face-down, and then turn around — arms crossed, face unreadable.
“You should leave.”
He looks up.
And he doesn’t move.
“Jungkook,” you repeat, slower now, sharper. “This doesn’t change anything.”
He rises, but he doesn’t close the space between you. His voice is low, frayed at the edges.
“Stop pretending it was just sex.”
You laugh — bitter, quiet, worn thin.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
His jaw clenches. “You felt it too.”
“I felt your cock inside me,” you snap. “I thanked you for the orgasm. What else do you want?”
“That’s not what it was.”
“You’re right,” you say, folding your arms tighter. “It was nostalgia. A stupid, warm, familiar fuck. That’s all. It’s easy to miss someone when you’re lonely.”
He steps closer. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to.”
There’s a pause. A thick, excruciating silence. And then—
“You and I…” he says, softly now, like the words might shatter in his throat, “we were made for each other. Even our bodies—”
“Oh, right,” you cut in, vicious now, unable to hold it back. “You’d know. You’ve had so many to compare.”
His mouth opens. Closes. For once, he has no clever retort.
You press forward, rage slipping between the cracks of your voice.
“How many, Jungkook? Since me? How many fans, idols, influencers, pretty things to fuck between tours? Don’t act like I was unforgettable when you replaced me every goddamn night.”
“I didn’t replace you,” he says — broken, breathless. “I was just trying to forget.”
“And did it work?”
“No.” His voice cracks. “No, it didn’t. I was stupid. I was young and insecure and fucking terrified. I hated myself for what I did. I still do.”
You shake your head slowly, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, the robe cinched too tightly around your waist now.
“You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to walk out when things get hard and come back years later with apologies and expect me to what— forgive you? Believe that you’ve changed?”
“I have changed.”
“Good for you.”
He takes a trembling breath. “I don’t want to be defined by who I was at twenty.”
You inhale sharply — then exhale through your teeth like it burns.
“You think I wasn’t twenty too?” Your voice rises, high and brittle. “You think I didn’t feel lost? I moved to Seoul with you. I started everything from scratch. My job. My name. My future. I met people too. Rich ones. Brilliant ones. Men who would’ve killed to touch me, to claim me, to give me the fucking world—”
He flinches.
“—but I never said yes. Because I wanted to go through it all with you. I was building something. A life. A career. A future. And I wanted you beside me.”
Tears fall now. Hot, fast. You don’t bother to wipe them.
“But you left,” you whisper. “No explanation. No closure. Just silence. Like I meant nothing.”
He takes a step toward you.
You step back.
“You broke me,” you say, and your voice finally cracks — full and sharp and agonizing. “You left me alone in a city that already hated me. You made me beg for your attention without saying a word. And I still had to show up to work. Smile. Climb. Watch my dreams come true with no one beside me to see it.”
“I should’ve been there,” he chokes out, eyes shining now. “I was a coward. I didn’t deserve you then. But I want to be the man who does now. Please—please just give me a chance to prove it.”
You stare at him.
And your heart is breaking.
But you shake your head.
“Every time I look at you,” you whisper, voice like shattered glass, “I see the version of myself you left behind. Nineteen. In love. Hopeful. And you stole her from me. You robbed my nineteen year self of her happy future.”
His lips part, trembling.
“I’ll never forgive you for that.”
✦✦✦
He doesn’t move. Just stands there in the quiet of the room that still smells like sex and sweat and the bitter rot of everything they’ve broken again. His eyes are red-rimmed now, chest rising like it physically hurts to speak — and maybe it does.
“I love you.”
He says it softly, like the words themselves might vanish if he says them too loud. Like he doesn’t quite believe they’ll land.
Your lips part, barely. But you don’t answer. Not at first. You just stand there, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, robe clinging to damp skin, trying to shield yourself from a wound that’s already been split open at the seam.
“I never stopped,” he whispers, stepping closer, not enough to touch, but enough for you to feel the warmth of him, even now. “Even when I fucked up. Even when I disappeared. Even when I hated myself for it.”
You blink once. Your throat tightens. And then you speak — slowly, like every word is a blade you have to pull out of yourself to hand to him.
“No.”
He freezes.
“No, you didn’t love me then,” you say, voice low, calm, terrifying in its precision. “You loved how I made you feel. How I adored you. How I was yours when you wanted me, and gone when you didn’t.”
His breath hitches, but you go on.
“And now you’re doing it again. You’re confusing lust with love. Familiarity with fate. You’re looking at me and thinking this means something more than it does, because you want it to, because it makes you feel less guilty.”
“It does mean something,” he argues, stepping forward like he’s desperate to close the space. “You and me—”
You shake your head.
“You don’t get to say that. Not anymore.”
He opens his mouth, but you lift your hand — not to strike, not to touch, just to stop him.
“I don’t believe you,” you say, and you mean it. “And even if I did… it’s too late.”
You turn then, slow and sharp, like your heart is finally made of steel instead of longing, and you gesture toward the door — toward the end of the night, the end of the echo, the end of whatever illusion he came here chasing.
He doesn’t move at first.
But when he does, he doesn’t say anything else. Just walks to the door with quiet steps, like the weight of everything he never said is finally too much to carry.
The door opens.
Then shuts behind him with a soft, final click.
And in the silence that follows, you don’t cry.
You just stand there, still barefoot, still breathing, staring out across the lake through the glass windows as the lights of Villa Fioretta shimmer back at you in the dark.
And for the first time in years, you let yourself whisper the truth.
He broke you. And you’re still not sure if you’ll ever recover.
✦✦✦
Villa Fioretta sparkles like something out of a Renaissance painting — golden lanterns swinging in the breeze, shadows stretching long over the polished marble as the evening unfolds with practiced luxury. The terrace for tonight’s formal dinner is carved into the cliffside, overlooking the dark silk of Lake Como, each table draped in white linen and framed with tumbling white roses. Candles flicker in crystal holders. Soft jazz rolls under the clink of silverware and laughter that never reaches the eyes.
You arrive later than planned.
Hair pinned. Makeup fresh. The kind of dress that breathes elegance from the front and vengeance from the back — low-cut, high-slit, sharp where it needs to be and soft where it shouldn’t. Midnight navy satin hugs your waist, drapes over your thighs, whispers down your legs with every step you take. On your ears: diamonds. Around your neck: a pearl choker — delicate, pointed, surgical.
No one would know that you didn’t sleep last night.
Except maybe him.
Jungkook sees you before anyone else. Of course he does. He’s already seated when you arrive, across the long dinner table, dressed in black-on-black with his hair slicked back and his jaw clenched tight enough to crack. His eyes meet yours. Then drop. Then return. He doesn’t look away after that.
But you do.
You let your gaze sweep past him like he’s any other guest — beneath you, behind you, not even worth remembering.
Because tonight, you’re not here to feel.
You’re here to make sure he does.
“Ah, Y/N.” Dante Seo stands when you’re led to your place, a slow grin blooming on his face like he’s waited the whole day for this exact moment. “You’re late.”
You slip into the chair beside him without apologizing. “I had to recover from a… long night.”
His eyes spark at that.
You don’t let them linger.
Around you, the table is littered with people who make headlines for a living — stylists, designers, fashion house CEOs, cultural editors from every Vogue in the western hemisphere. BTS is here too — seated near the far end, spaced out perfectly so the illusion of randomness doesn’t look like security protocol.
You don’t look at them either.
You focus on Dante’s hand as it grazes yours every time he reaches for his wine. You focus on the warmth of the candlelight on your collarbones. On the way people lean in when you speak.
“You truly spearheaded something magnificent,” the director of Vogue UK says, dabbing at her lips. “That October cover… everyone’s talking about it. Jungkook’s never looked so refined.”
“Or so raw,” someone else adds. “There’s something vulnerable in it. Almost like…”
“Like he was seen,” Dante finishes, smiling sideways at you. “That was you, wasn’t it?”
You sip your wine.
“That was my job,” you reply coolly. “To see him as something more than a headline.”
Your words hang between you.
Jungkook doesn’t speak.
Not once.
But you feel him. Every time Dante laughs too loud. Every time Dante leans too close. Every time his hand brushes your thigh under the tablecloth and you don’t move it away. You feel Jungkook watching like it’s a punishment. And maybe it is.
Because he doesn’t look powerful now.
He looks like a man barely holding himself together — knuckles white against the stem of his glass, jaw so tight you know it aches.
And still… he says nothing.
Dinner ends slowly. Plates are cleared. Dessert is offered. Liqueur appears in tall, thin glasses, and conversations bloom into something silkier, messier. Looser.
Dante leans toward you again, the scent of spice and ambition warm against your cheek.
“I have a bottle I’d kill to open with you,” he murmurs. “Private cellar. Ten minutes. Just us.”
You smile without showing teeth. Your heart is thudding like betrayal behind your ribs. But you nod.
“Lead the way.”
You stand.
And that’s when he stands too.
Jungkook.
You pretend not to see him following, just a few paces behind, not fast, not loud — but steady.
The hallway is dim, the sconces casting long shadows across marble walls as you and Dante make your way toward the private wing. At the turn, Dante checks his phone — a call from someone downstairs. He excuses himself for a moment, promises to be right back.
And then you feel it — the heat behind you. A presence you’ve memorized in your bones.
He says nothing at first. Just breathes.
Then, softly — like a ghost afraid to be exorcised:
“You don’t have to do this just to hurt me.”
You turn, slow and sharp, and there he is — no stage, no audience, no press-ready expression. Just Jungkook. Tense. Broken. Bare.
“I’m not doing anything to you,” you reply. “I’m leaving.”
“With him?”
Your smile is tired. “He asked nicely.”
His voice drops, rough and unsteady. “He doesn’t know you.”
“No one does,” you whisper. “Not anymore.”
His eyes close for half a second — like that one cut sliced too deep.
“You don’t mean that,” he says, almost to himself. “You’re just angry. You’re trying to prove something.”
“I’m proving I can walk away from you now.”
Jungkook steps closer. Just one step. Barely enough to touch. His breath hits your collarbone.
“If you walk out with him right now… I’ll never stop thinking about it.”
You blink. But your voice doesn’t break this time.
“Then think about it.”
“Please,” he says — and it’s not performance, not charm, not strategy.
It’s desperation.
Raw. Quiet. Real.
“Please don’t do this. Not like this.”
You hesitate. Just a second.
But it’s enough to break you.
“Don’t ask me for anything,” you say, voice soft and surgical. “You already took everything that mattered.”
And when Dante reappears at the end of the hall, you turn without another word.
Your heels echo across the marble as you disappear down the corridor.
You don’t look back.
Not even when Jungkook breaks in the silence behind you.
.
.
.
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“Some scenes only happen when the lights go down.”
pairing: idol! jungkook x editor! reader
genre: smut, ex lovers, second chance au, angst with smut, toxic ex au
summary: You’ve worked too hard to become untouchable. He still knows exactly where to touch. After one night of stolen pleasure, you’re determined to walk away — but Jungkook isn’t ready to let you go again. Between silk sheets, half-spoken regrets, and a black-tie dinner where flirtation becomes revenge, your past and present spiral into something dangerous. It was supposed to be physical. But feelings don’t follow the script.
author's note: ugh, this part really broke me🖤 writing and creating stories takes a lot of time, and no matter how much i love doing this and jungkook, i would love your support and feedback 🖤 final chapter 3 is available here through donations! but it will be published here after this post gets 1k notes!
part 1 | part 2 (you're here) | final part 3 (through donation, will be here later)
You stand in front of Seo In-kyung’s office door in borrowed heels and smudged eyeliner, praying your face doesn’t betray the night carved into your body.
The morning light bleeds through the glass walls like scrutiny. Her office is pristine — sharp angles, a curved leather chair behind a white marble desk, walls lined with editorial archives and thick matte prints. A minimalist arrangement of white orchids sits perfectly still in one corner, untouched by dust or emotion.
You knock.
“Come in.”
Her voice cuts through like the heel of a Louboutin.
You step inside, clutching your tablet too tightly. Your hair is pulled back — barely — in a low twist that you smoothed with shaking fingers in the backseat of a cab thirty minutes ago. Underneath the oversized Saint Laurent blazer, your dress is the same one from last night. You're hoping it passes as intentional. It doesn’t.
Seo In-kyung is already seated.
Flawless. Impeccable. A navy Mugler blazer sharp enough to slit throats, heels lacquered, wrists bare. She doesn’t smile. She gestures to the chair opposite her without looking up.
You sit, spine straight.
For a moment, silence.
Then—
“You really outdid yourself, Y/N.”
You blink.
She’s flipping through a printed copy of the BTS campaign spread — full bleed photos, minimalist layouts, editorial perfection. The same layouts you stayed past midnight refining. The ones you pushed through legal, color, and styling approvals with nothing but caffeine and willpower.
She taps her manicured nail on the cover.
“This,” she says, “brought the entire industry back to us.”
You exhale. Just slightly.
“Thank you, Director Seo.”
“Don’t thank me,” she says, eyes still scanning the page. “Thank your instinct. You were right to strip it down. No gimmicks. No clutter. Just tension.”
She turns a page. “Even Jeon looked like a man worth remembering.”
You freeze.
But she doesn’t elaborate. Just closes the folder, places it gently beside her, and finally looks at you.
You wish she hadn’t.
Her gaze is cool. Calculating. The kind that scans and files away.
You feel it — the mess behind your eyes. The mascara you didn't have time to fully erase. The faint redness at your mouth. The scent of a man that no water could completely wash off.
She leans back in her chair.
“Fondo di Luce.”
You blink. “Sorry?”
Her fingers tap the marble. Once. Twice.
“It’s an international art and fashion initiative,” she says. “A luxury gala held annually at Villa Fioretta, Lake Como. Private guest list. Couture-only. Funded by Dante Seo’s Light Fund and Vogue’s European partners.”
A pause. “And we’ve been invited.”
Your breath stirs.
“I want you to represent Vogue Korea,” she says.
Silence blooms between you.
“Me?”
“Yes. You pitched this campaign. You shaped it. People in Milan want to meet the girl who made the cover go viral.”
You feel lightheaded. Not from panic this time — from the taste of possibility. Of respect. Of validation earned, not handed.
Your mouth opens to thank her—
But then she speaks again.
“Don’t get too comfortable.”
The room shifts. Your spine locks.
Her gaze hardens. She doesn’t blink.
“I don’t tolerate editors who sleep with clients,” she says. Voice smooth. Flat. “It’s unprofessional. It’s disgusting. It makes us look like we earned our place on our backs.”
Your blood turns to ice.
“You, Y/N, are better than that. You’ve proven yourself. Your instincts are rare.”
A pause. “It would be a shame to lose someone like you because she couldn’t keep her legs closed.”
You don’t breathe. You can’t.
You nod once, eyes fixed on a nonexistent spot on her desk.
She stands.
“That’ll be all.”
You rise mechanically. Thank her. Bow.
And walk out of the office with your pulse screaming in your ears.
The moment you step into the hallway, Kara is there.
Perched by the espresso machine in the break corner, sipping an oat milk latte with glossy lips and smug silence.
She doesn’t say anything.
She doesn’t have to.
Your fists clench. Your face burns.
You want to tear the smugness off her face and throw it back at her in headlines.
Instead, you walk past her — heels echoing like threats — and your phone buzzes in your pocket.
You check it.
Unknown Number
Still quiet, hm? Should I send someone to pick up my jacket or do I get a kiss as collateral?
Buzz.
I’ll take the kiss.
Buzz.
…or both.
You delete the thread. Turn off your notifications.
And get back to work.
You don’t cry in the hallway. You don’t clench your jaw, or turn on your heel, or demand Seo In-kyung look you in the eye when she delivers the kind of warning she never would’ve given to a man. You don’t remind her that half the board she answers to built their careers on affairs with photographers, designers, founders — powerful men who never had to answer for the women they fucked.
You just breathe.
Measured. Controlled. Counted down like pills in the morning. You walk back to your desk with your back straight, your heels clean against the tile, pretending you don’t feel the ghost of his hands still pressing into your hips. You can almost hear him still — that teasing, velvet-coated filth, low and smug against your skin. You hear it in the vibration of your phone every hour since sunrise. You hear it in Kara’s eyes every time they rake over you. You feel it in the way your own body responds when you close your eyes at night — when your fingers trail down beneath the sheets and it’s his name that sits between your teeth, no matter how hard you bite down.
You tell yourself it was just sex. A one-time indulgence. A lapse in judgment that began and ended in a penthouse no one else has to know about. You tell yourself it was closure — that there’s no gravity to the way he held your face in his hands like he still knew how to ruin you. That the ache still curling inside your chest is nothing but delayed shame.
But the problem is, it wasn’t just the sex.
It was the way he looked at you like five years hadn’t passed, like you weren’t a stranger in that room, like you were still the girl he used to know in a borrowed hoodie and scraped-up Nikes, standing in a dingy kitchen, editing your first column with red pen on a ten-thousand-won table. It was the way he kissed you with a hunger that felt older than his fame. It was the way he let you bite him, claw him, curse him — and still whispered “come back to me.”
And now you're here. Perfectly poised in the office you fought tooth and nail to climb into, barely holding yourself together while your editor-in-chief — a woman born with the title stitched into her spine — calls you brilliant and disposable in the same breath. She will never know what it feels like to be called a genius on Monday and a whore on Wednesday. To be handed praise with a choke chain wrapped around it. To have your best work reduced to who you might have let touch you after hours.
She can talk about dignity. She can afford to.
You, on the other hand, know exactly how fragile power can be when it’s built from scratch.
✦✦✦
The first message comes barely an hour after you walk out of Seo In-kyung’s office.
You didn’t even say goodbye.
You don’t open it. You don’t need to — the preview alone is enough to make your stomach twist. You swipe it away, fingers rigid, and tell yourself that it doesn’t mean anything. Not the message. Not the sender. Not the way your name still looks when it rolls off his voice, even in text.
That night, another one arrives.
Was it the blazer? Should’ve left you something softer.
You laugh, once. Quietly. Then delete it like it burned you. You don’t respond. You won’t. Because if you let yourself type anything — a word, a punctuation mark, the space before a breath — you won’t stop. And you’ve worked too hard, pulled yourself too far out of the wreckage, to let one night drag you back into the ruin you barely crawled out of.
But the texts don’t stop.
Sometimes they’re careless. Teasing. Written like he’s still in your bed with your thighs pressed against his hips and your nails in his back. Other times, they’re sharp with weight, like he doesn’t know which version of himself you’ll tolerate — the boy who left you, or the man trying to come back.
You never reply.
But you read every word.
And at night, when the world finally stops demanding your time and your poise and your reputation, when the silence of your apartment feels too loud to ignore — you remember how he touched you. You remember how it felt to let go of everything for one hour, one night, one man who once shattered you so completely that you forgot what it meant to breathe without him.
You touch yourself like it means nothing.
Like it’s routine.
Like it’s stress. Tension. Relief.
But it’s his voice you hear when your fingers slip lower.
It’s his mouth you imagine when you bite your own shoulder to muffle the sounds.
It’s his hand around your throat when you finish — sharp and soft at once — and it’s his name that almost slips out, pressed against the inside of your teeth like a secret you’re still ashamed of wanting.
You don’t look at your phone after that.
You can’t.
You tell yourself it was just sex, you’re smarter now.He’s just another mistake in a long line of things you’ve learned how to survive.
And when another message arrives — two days later, right as you're finalizing your flight details for the gala in Lake Como — you don’t even read it.
You just close your eyes, and try not to remember how he looked at you when he came.
✦✦✦
You arrive at Incheon International two hours before your flight, slipping through security behind oversized sunglasses and an air of quiet efficiency. The blazer you’re wearing is Dior this time — borrowed from the archive rack, boxy at the shoulders, sleek across your hips. Beneath it: a slate-gray satin blouse tucked into wide-leg ivory trousers, pressed razor-sharp. You look like someone who’s going to Lake Como for work, not for war.
It isn’t until you reach the boarding gate that you see the line of black masks, tailored airport coats, and hush-voiced assistants clustered like chess pieces around Gate A7.
BTS.
Of course.
Your stomach doesn’t sink. It knots — tight, controlled, slow — like the warning of turbulence long before the plane leaves the ground.
You keep walking, silent, graceful, aware of every click of your heels on the polished floor. You don’t let yourself search for him. You don’t have to. You feel him before you see him — a presence that presses against your awareness like heat against skin, impossible to ignore.
It isn’t until you’re lowering yourself into your business class seat, reaching for the strap of your carry-on, that you finally glance up — and meet his eyes.
Row 2. Aisle seat.
Black mask, black cap, rings on both hands.
And staring at you like he hasn’t blinked in days.
You look away.
The plane boards slowly. Assistants murmur. Photographers keep their cameras off. The boys move like shadows, trained to blend, to disappear behind the shape of fame. You keep your posture perfect, legs crossed at the ankle, your tablet open with your flight agenda already pulled up — even though you’ve read it three times.
He doesn’t approach until you're halfway into the sky.
You excuse yourself from your seat, nod politely at the stewardess, and head down the narrow aisle toward the lavatory — slow, deliberate steps in heels that whisper money and control. The tiny hallway near the restrooms is dim, quiet, muted beneath the drone of altitude and distance.
You don’t expect the hand on your wrist.
It’s not rough. But it’s firm — and you know that grip. You’ve felt it around your waist, your neck, your thighs. You turn slowly, breath already caught halfway between fury and something far more dangerous.
He's right there.
Close. Closer than he has any right to be in this narrow corridor with no eyes but yours and his. The door to the lavatory is behind you. His body blocks the path. His scent — soap, leather, the faint trace of your perfume still clinging to his jacket from days ago — wraps around you like memory.
You keep your voice cold.
“Do you seriously think now is the time?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you, face half-shadowed by the cap, eyes hungry in a way that makes you press your thighs tighter, just to feel something grounded.
Then, finally, he speaks — low, rough.
“I keep dreaming about the way you moaned my name.”
Your stomach tightens. You don’t blink.
You lift your chin instead.
“That’s all it was. A dream.”
But his eyes drop — once — to your mouth, and then lower.
“I remember the way your legs shook. That wasn’t dreaming.”
You inhale sharply, but your expression doesn’t change.
“You should go sit down.”
“Or what?” His voice dips lower. “You’ll pretend again you don’t want me to fuck you right here?”
His hand doesn’t move. His body doesn’t touch yours. But you feel every inch of him like a scream in your skin — heat, memory, friction.
You smile — slow and cutting.
“I’ve learned how to control myself. You should try it sometime.”
His gaze flickers. Just slightly.
Then he leans in — not enough to touch, but enough for you to feel his breath near your neck, his voice low and ruinous.
“I’m not the one squeezing my thighs together.”
You hate that he’s right. You hate that your heartbeat is in your throat, that your body is already lit from the inside out. You hate that you want to kiss him. Bite him. Tear him open.
But you won’t.
Because you’re not that girl anymore.
You step aside, brushing past him with a look that could frost steel, and say nothing as you return to your seat.
You don’t check to see if he follows.
You don’t breathe again until you’re halfway through an article you can’t remember reading, with his gaze still burning a hole into the back of your neck from three rows behind.
✦✦✦
The wheels touch the tarmac just past four in the afternoon, and the landing is smoother than expected, the kind that glides into the runway with practiced quiet, as if even the aircraft has been told to behave. Outside the small window, the northern Italian sun pools in long, soft ribbons over the hills, stretching across the landscape like liquid gold, tinting everything it touches with the kind of warmth that doesn’t burn — only stuns.
You disembark without ceremony, your sunglasses still in place, your coat folded over one arm, and your expression carefully blank. The assistant from Vogue Italia is waiting beside the hangar — her posture perfect, clipboard in hand, dressed in cropped white linen and flat shoes that probably cost more than the flight. She greets you by name, with polite English and a smile that’s too curated to be real, then leads you across the quiet concourse, past shuttered photographers and a cluster of sleek black cars idling behind a discreet security perimeter.
Your name is listed on one of the placards. Y/N — Vogue Korea.
So is theirs. BTS.
You don't react — not outwardly. There is no visible shift in your posture, no flicker in your gaze. You’ve already taught your body how to lie better than your words ever could.
The assistant ushers you toward a waiting Mercedes, its interior cool and leather-scented, the seats butter-soft beneath the press of your thighs. A silver tray holds still water, a lemon wedge perched just so. Your phone buzzes once in your lap. You don't check it. Not yet.
The drive from the airport is postcard-perfect in a way that feels intentionally cruel — narrow country roads wrapped in vine-laced stone, the distant glimmer of Lake Como revealing itself in flashes between tall cypress trees and crumbling terracotta villas. Each bend in the road opens into a view more breathtaking than the last, until you almost forget where you're headed and why your chest has been tight since the gate at Incheon.
The car finally slows as it pulls through ornate wrought-iron gates that gleam with gold filigree under the light, winding up the long private drive that spills into the front courtyard of Villa Fioretta. The estate rises from the hill like it was carved directly out of the cliffside — all creamy limestone and tall shuttered windows, manicured terraces spilling over with ivy and white flowers, and delicate copper details that catch the dying sun like jewelry. It looks like something you’ve seen on a Vogue Italia cover in a past life, or maybe a perfume ad from the early 2000s, the kind where everything was just slightly out of reach, and nothing ever truly belonged to you.
As the driver comes around to open your door, you exhale once, slow and silent, and allow your face to settle into something calm and beautifully unreadable.
Inside, the villa is all elegance in hushed tones — soft marble beneath your heels, pale walls washed in ivory and cream, every piece of furniture chosen for quiet power rather than comfort. The concierge greets you by name and with reverence, offers you a key card embossed with the letter “F” in deep matte black, and explains with the expected level of practiced charm that you’ve been placed on the fifth floor, lake view, courtesy of Fondo di Luce, and that a welcome aperitivo will be served on the lower terrace shortly after six.
You nod, thank them, and enter the elevator with the same stillness you’ve been wearing since you boarded the flight.
It’s not until the doors begin to close that he enters behind you.
You don't need to look to know it's him. The presence is immediate — heavy, hot, undeniable. His cologne clings to the air, low and sharp, the same one you woke up wearing four mornings ago in his bed, still tangled in his heat.
He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.
The silence in the elevator stretches, long and taut, the kind that drapes itself over the walls like velvet, pressing in on all sides. You keep your gaze forward, focused on the panel, the floor numbers blinking upward. You can feel him beside you — not touching, but close enough to undo you all over again if you let yourself lean even an inch in his direction.
The mirrored wall reflects the shape of him — rolled sleeves, black slacks, tattoos visible where the cuff is turned, sunglasses tucked into his collar like he never needed to hide. He’s looking at you. You don’t return it.
The elevator stops at five.
You step out first. The hallway is quiet, dimly lit, touched with the kind of warmth that money doesn’t have to brag about — just suggests.
He follows.
Your room is halfway down the hall. You can hear the soft tread of his boots behind you, steady and measured, but it’s the silence between you that rattles louder than any footfall.
You stop at 506. Slot the card into the reader. The green light flashes.
Still, you don’t turn.
"If you're going to say something stupid, Jungkook," you murmur, voice calm but edged, your hand resting on the doorframe like it might hold you steady, "don’t waste it here."
The door unlocks with a soft click. You step inside and let it close behind you without another word.
You never heard his footsteps retreat — which is exactly why your hands are still shaking when you set your bag down on the velvet bench at the end of the bed.
✦✦✦
The evening descends in a soft, golden hush, the lake catching the last streaks of sunlight and bending them into mirrored ribbons that stretch across the manicured garden lawns. The terrace is already glowing by the time you arrive — dozens of floating candles bobbing in the villa’s pool, crisp white tablecloths draped over stone tables, wine glasses catching firelight like they were designed to burn. Waiters move like shadows through the crowd, balancing trays of Campari spritzes and white truffle canapés, slipping between conversations spoken in Italian, French, and English laced with old-money vowels.
You’ve dressed for the kill.
The gown you chose is a strapless black number that ends just above your mid-thigh — sculpted to your body like it was designed for this exact kind of dusk, this exact kind of attention. The satin clings in all the places you used to hide and now let sharpen you. Your back is bare, your collarbone glistens with a soft sheen of skin-warmed perfume, and your heels are high enough to demand silence when you walk. The neckline dips low, the hem even lower, and there’s a part of you that knows—without even needing the confirmation—that if Jungkook looks at you tonight, it won’t be casual.
You tell yourself you wore it to feel powerful. You tell yourself that it’s just about proving a point.
But deep down, beneath all the polished rationality and strategic poise, you know it’s a lie. You wore it to tempt him. Or maybe to punish him. It’s hard to tell the difference anymore.
You glide through the terrace like you belong to it. Conversations flicker as you pass — Vogue Paris, L’Uomo, a few senior figures from Condé Nast and K-Media International — all familiar faces from the inner circle of fashion and luxury publishing. You smile, you nod, you take a glass of wine with the hand not gripping your clutch, and you keep moving.
He’s here. You haven’t seen him yet, but you feel him. You’ve felt him since the moment you walked in — like a change in air pressure, like heat blooming in places that should be cold. Each time a new shadow approaches, your chest coils tight, your gaze flicks once, and you brace yourself.
The first time you actually see him, he’s standing on the far end of the terrace near the balustrade, surrounded by three men in Tom Ford tuxedos and a woman from Vogue Italia who is laughing too easily at something he hasn’t said. His hair is pushed back, exposing the sharp line of his jaw, the silver hoop in his ear catching the light each time he turns slightly, and his shirt is unbuttoned just enough to make your mouth dry.
He looks devastating.
You don’t look twice.
You spend the next hour performing avoidance like an art. Each time he moves in your direction — and he does — you change course. A conversation with a photographer. A compliment to someone’s emerald earrings. A turn toward the pool just in time to keep a table between you. He’s watching. You know he is. And you never let yourself look back.
Until you meet Dante Seo.
He arrives like an entrance — tall, olive-toned skin that speaks of Italian summers and Seoul winters, his suit perfectly fitted in bone-white silk with a single black brooch gleaming on the lapel. His hair is dark and swept back with the ease of someone who doesn’t try hard and never has to. His smile is clean. Curated. Dangerous.
“You must be Vogue Korea,” he says as he offers his hand, eyes tracing over your form like he’s calculating how many men in the room already hate him for standing beside you. “No one told me you’d be this stunning. I’ll have to send my regrets to our editor-in-chief for not coming in her place.”
“Y/N,” you reply, slipping your hand into his. “Campaign editor. But I suppose the title doesn’t matter so long as I’m stunning.”
He laughs — low, indulgent — and motions to a pair of older executives hovering behind him.
“You all remember Jeon Jungkook, I’m sure?” Dante glances sideways, eyes sparkling. “The face of Vogue Korea’s revival, the star of the cover that’s been circulating Milan for two weeks straight.”
Your spine tenses.
“I think it’s fair to say Korea brought us something exceptional,” one woman offers, sipping from her wine. “He was brilliant. Magnetic. I hadn’t seen that kind of restraint from an editorial in years.”
“I think that was more the editor’s eye than the idol’s,” Dante says, looking directly at you now, one eyebrow lifted with the kind of mischief that always ends in trouble. “Tell me, Y/N. How did you convince a man like that to surrender so completely?”
You force a smile, swirl the wine in your glass, and answer coolly.
“Sometimes all it takes is silence.”
More laughter. More praise. More commentary on how sharp he looked, how he carried the shot, how Vogue Korea must be so proud. The room keeps saying his name. Over and over, like it means something, like it doesn’t still taste like sweat and regret and begging on your skin.
You excuse yourself twenty minutes later, your glass half-full and your teeth aching from how hard you’ve clenched your jaw.
The moment you step back into the villa’s interior, the noise blurs. You walk past the grand staircase, through the velvet-draped hall toward the elevator, your heels muffled against the thick cream carpet, your throat hot from wine and words you didn't say.
You don’t notice he’s following you until you reach your door.
The moment you slide the keycard into the reader, he’s there.
One hand planted against the door beside your head, the other grazing your hip, his body closing the space so completely that all you can smell is him — clean, woodsy, sharp with the memory of what he did to you last time.
You turn slowly, your back brushing the wood.
His breath is hot against your cheek, his voice low and intimate, like a confession laced with filth.
“Do you want me to say it?” he murmurs. “Do you want me to say I couldn’t stop staring at your thighs all night? That I imagined dragging this dress up your legs while the whole fucking party watched?”
Your body tightens. You keep your voice steady.
“Move.”
He leans in closer, lips brushing just beside your jaw.
“I saw how you avoided me. Like I was the one who begged. You think I don’t know you wore this dress for me?”
You swallow. Hard.
His fingers trail lightly along the line of your jaw, down to your mouth, hovering there as if waiting for a tremble he already knows is coming.
“I could take you right here,” he whispers. “I could make you cry with my fingers before you even reach the bed.”
You hate the way your knees weaken. Hate the thrum building between your legs, the ache in your stomach, the heat spreading low and sharp like fire beneath your skin.
You should say no.
You should open the door and disappear into the room and lock it behind you.
But when you meet his eyes — dark, hungry, full of something wild — you fumble the key, and he catches it with a smirk, sliding it into the lock like he’s been there a thousand times before.
And when the door opens, you step inside without a word.
Not because you forgave him. Not because it means anything.
Only because your body stopped asking for permission the moment his mouth said your name.
✦✦✦
The door shuts behind you with a heavy, soundproofed click, and the moment it does, you feel it — the shift in air, the sharp electric drag of his presence right at your back.
You barely make it three steps into the suite before his hand circles your waist and drags you back against him. You don’t gasp, you don’t whimper, but your body tenses with something that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the ache that’s been clawing at your stomach since the moment he stared at you from across the terrace like he wanted to fuck you blind.
His mouth finds your shoulder first — soft, open, hot — pressing through the thin fabric of your dress, kissing along the slope of your neck while his other hand skims down the silk curve of your thigh. You smell wine on his breath, wood and heat and hunger, and he’s already hard against your ass, pressing into you like he can’t believe you’re real again.
“Fucking knew this dress was for me,” he breathes against your skin. “Knew it the second I saw you.”
You turn your face slightly, just enough to graze his jaw, your voice calm even as your blood roars beneath the surface.
“And what are you going to do about it?”
His grip tightens.
“This.”
He spins you — smooth, practiced, fast — and pins you against the suite wall, just beside the blackout-curtained window, one knee between your thighs, your heels barely catching grip on the polished wood floors. His hands are under your dress in a second, sliding up your thighs, growling when he feels just how little you wore beneath it.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice low and guttural. “You didn’t wear anything for me?”
“Maybe I wore it for someone else,” you murmur, tilting your head, letting your lips brush his but never touching fully.
His teeth graze your chin. “Don’t fucking test me tonight.”
“I thought you liked being tested.”
He laughs — dark, breathless — and you both know you’re seconds from snapping. His hands glide over your ass, gripping, kneading, dragging you harder against the bulge in his pants. You rock your hips back, just once, just to feel how badly he wants it.
And then you pull away.
“Sit.”
His eyes flicker, and you see it — the surprise, the interest, the way his breath catches just slightly before he obeys. He backs up toward the edge of the king-sized bed and lowers himself slowly, legs spread, cock straining against the fabric of his tailored black trousers.
You follow him.
Drop to your knees between his legs like it's a throne, not a man.
His eyes are already half-lidded, hands braced on his thighs, watching you as you reach for his belt with smooth, practiced fingers. You undo the buckle with no urgency, and when the leather slides through the loops, he hisses under his breath like it’s your mouth around him already.
When you reach into his boxers and pull him out, you exhale softly — not from surprise, not from awe, but from the rush that starts between your legs at the sheer weight of him in your palm. He’s hard. So hard it makes your mouth water. The tip’s flushed, leaking, pulsing against your skin.
He looks like he wants to say something — maybe a tease, maybe a curse — but the second your lips close over the head, all he does is moan.
Long. Deep. Raw.
You don’t rush.
You swirl your tongue around the tip, one hand still stroking the base, the other flattening against his lower abdomen to keep him exactly where you want him. You suck slowly, carefully, letting your mouth shape around him like you’re molding heat out of gold. You glance up — and the sight of him nearly undoes you.
His head is thrown back, mouth parted, hands gripping the edge of the mattress now. The muscles in his thighs are shaking under your palms. When you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper, his hips jerk, his voice cracks.
“Fuck— Y/N… don’t… I’m gonna—”
You pull off with a wet pop, licking your lips like a threat.
“You’re gonna what?”
He opens his eyes, looks at you like you’re the devil himself, and chokes on a groan when you go down again — this time deeper, wetter, your tongue pressed under the shaft, saliva dripping down your hand. You let your mouth contour around him, let him feel every inch of heat and slick velvet you can give.
“Please,” he whispers, eyes clenched shut now. “Please don’t stop. Please—fuck—just like that—”
The begging shocks you.
It makes your core throb, makes you grind your own thighs together as you take him deeper still, lips stretched wide around him, hand working what your mouth can’t reach. You love the way he sounds, the way he begs, the way this man — who fucked you like he owned you just days ago — is now unraveling in front of you with your name gasped like a prayer.
You pull off again, let your lips drag down the side of his cock, tongue licking up the vein, and you whisper:
“You taste better than I remember.”
He grabs your shoulders, dragging you up fast, lips crashing against yours like he’s trying to climb back into control.
“You’re going to fucking kill me,” he mutters, voice shaking. “Get on the bed. Now.”
You don’t resist.
Because you want it too — filthy, breathless, and only getting darker from here.
He doesn’t let you move far — his hands are already on your thighs, on your waist, pushing you back until your legs hit the edge of the bed, and he shoves you down with a grip that’s firm but reverent. He follows immediately, kissing you deep, tongue filthy in your mouth, his taste mixed with the sharp salt of his own arousal. You moan into him, still breathless from the way he sounded minutes ago — the quiet begging, the desperation, the way he came undone just from your mouth.
But now he’s reclaiming the space.
He pulls away, eyes black, chest heaving. You barely register your own dress being pulled up, bunched around your waist, before he drops to his knees between your legs and drags your soaked thong down with both hands — slow, savoring the way the fabric clings to you, the wet string pulling along your folds.
“Fucking perfect,” he mutters, and you feel it in your spine — that growl, that tone, the sound of someone starving.
He spreads your legs wide, pushes your knees up, and leans in with no ceremony. His mouth finds your clit in the same breath as his fingers gripping your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed until you feel like you’re going to slide off entirely — right into the heat of his mouth. His tongue flicks once, then twice, then circles until your hips buck.
“You’ve missed this,” he says against your cunt. “This pussy remembers me.”
You try to argue. You try to speak. But your breath stutters when he sucks your clit into his mouth and moans like he’s tasting sugar.
Your hands fly to his hair, gripping the soft strands, anchoring yourself. You can’t stop the sounds that escape you now — soft, sharp gasps, your head falling back as he devours you, his mouth relentless and wet and so good you can’t think straight.
And then he slides lower.
At first it’s a tease — his tongue licking below, over the tight ring of muscle, making your thighs twitch. But then he spreads you wider, his thumbs parting your ass, and before you can process it, his mouth is there, licking into you with slow, filthy indulgence.
You moan — loud, uncontrolled, broken — and your entire body tries to lift off the bed. He holds you down.
“Jungkook—” It’s the first time you’ve said his name like that tonight, and it cracks at the edges. “What the fuck—”
He doesn’t stop.
He eats your ass like he’s done it before, like he’s memorized you, like he owns the right to taste every inch of you. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping hard enough to bruise, and when his tongue drags back up to your clit again, your vision blurs.
You’re shaking.
You’re soaked.
And in the haze of your unraveling, one thought claws through everything: he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Your hips grind up into his mouth, chasing the friction, chasing the high. And when he slides two fingers into you — slow and deep — your back arches, your moan breaks apart, and your orgasm hits like a wave dragging you under.
He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling beneath him, thighs twitching, cunt fluttering around his fingers.
When he finally pulls away, his mouth is slick, his eyes feral, and he climbs back over you like a man who hasn’t eaten in days.
“You good?” he whispers, voice raw with pride.
You glare at him, chest still rising and falling, and mutter, “You’re disgusting.”
He smirks, kissing your collarbone, licking a stripe up your neck.
“And you’re wet.”
He’s on you before you can gather your thoughts — his body pressing you into the mattress, heavy and solid and far too familiar. His chest brushes yours, warm skin meeting your peaked nipples, and the friction makes you hiss between your teeth. You try to push him back, just enough to reassert something, anything — but he catches your wrist and pins it to the bed beside your head.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “Not when you’re this wet for me.”
You scowl, but it’s weak — half-hearted, half-turned-on, and he knows it.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
He leans in, licks into your mouth like he owns it, and then slides his cock slowly through your folds — hot, heavy, dragging along your slit until you’re whimpering despite yourself. You feel him reach for a condom, hear the crinkle of foil, and then his hips notch forward, the thick head of his cock pressing at your entrance.
“You still feel like fucking heaven,” he groans, and when he pushes in — slow, so slow — your nails dig into the sheets.
You gasp, head falling back against the pillows. He’s big. He always was, but this time it feels deeper, sharper, like every inch is a punishment you didn’t see coming.
“God—” you breathe, blinking up at the ceiling. “Why the fuck do you still feel this good?”
“Because your pussy remembers me,” he says through a ragged exhale, hips still rolling forward. “Because it’s mine.”
You clench around him at the word — mine — and hate how much it turns you on.
“You really think one night erases years?” you bite, trying to pull your voice together, but it’s breathy and cracked.
“No,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “But it reminds you.”
He bottoms out, and the sound you make is caught between a moan and a curse. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, trying to pull him deeper even as your pride screams at you to shove him off. He feels too good. It’s too hot. It’s everything you didn’t want to feel again, wrapped in silk and sweat and his goddamn voice.
He starts to move — slow and deep, every stroke dragging across every nerve ending you have.
“You’re clenching,” he growls in your ear, licking down the side of your neck. “You missed this. Missed me.”
“I missed being fucked,” you shoot back, voice shaking. “I could’ve found that anywhere.”
He snaps his hips once — hard — and your gasp betrays you. Your hands fly up to his back, nails digging in.
“You’re lying,” he pants. “You never let anyone fuck you like this. Never let them see you like this.”
You hate that he’s right. You hate that you’re already close again, already tightening around him like he’s the only man who’s ever made you come this hard.
“You’re so fucking pretty when you come,” he murmurs, brushing sweaty strands from your face. “Wanna feel it again. Wanna watch you break.”
You pull him closer, arch your back, and mutter into his neck:
“Then make me.”
That’s all it takes.
He fucks you harder now — still deep, still deliberate, but with that edge of hunger he’s been holding back all night. His pelvis rubs your clit with every thrust, and when his hand slides between you, fingers circling your swollen nerves, you see stars.
You’re writhing now, moaning his name like a warning, and he’s kissing you through it, swallowing your sounds, your curses, your surrender.
And when you finally come — tight and fast and gasping — he moans something filthy into your mouth that you’re too far gone to understand. You feel him tense, feel the thick roll of his hips as he buries himself one last time, and then he’s groaning through clenched teeth, coming with your name against your lips.
For a moment, the room is nothing but breath and sweat and silence.
Then you turn your face away.
And the next wave starts building.
You should’ve gotten up. You should’ve pushed him off and walked into the bathroom, should’ve wrapped yourself in a robe and poured a glass of water and reminded yourself who you are now — not nineteen, not in love, not wrecked by the memory of a boy who never said goodbye.
But instead, you stay. Lying there, trembling in the aftermath of an orgasm that still echoes in your spine, your thighs slick and sore, your heartbeat pressed somewhere up in your throat.
Jungkook shifts beside you, his palm still on your stomach, his breath still hot against your shoulder. You can feel him stirring again, thick and half-hard between your legs, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re moving — rolling onto your side, facing away, pulling the sheet off your skin like you’ve surrendered to something you’ll never admit out loud.
He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t need to.
He presses up behind you, his chest flush to your back, his mouth trailing down the slope of your shoulder with reverent hunger. One hand slides over your hip, gripping it as if anchoring himself to reality, the other skating down between your thighs to find you still soaked.
“Still dripping for me,” he mutters, voice hoarse with lust. “You love this.”
“I hate you,” you breathe.
“I know,” he whispers, pushing your legs apart. “That’s why you’re letting me do this again.”
You want to scream at him. You want to tell him to shut the fuck up, to get out, to stop twisting everything into something so ugly and true — but then the head of his cock is sliding between your folds, and your breath catches in your throat like betrayal.
He pushes in slowly, and the stretch burns — not painfully, but beautifully, the kind of fullness that makes your spine arch and your mouth fall open. His hand finds your throat from behind, just a gentle pressure under your jaw, guiding your gaze up to the full-length mirror across the room.
“Look.”
You shake your head.
“Look, Y/N.”
Your eyes flicker open.
And what you see takes the last bit of air from your lungs.
Your body — flushed and glistening, breasts bouncing gently with each slow thrust, his chest pressed to your back, his hand wrapped around your throat. His face — focused, wild, desperate. Yours — wrecked.
“Fuck,” he groans, picking up speed. “You look so fucking good like this.”
“Shut up,” you bite, but it’s weak, broken, your voice shaking.
He pulls out, slaps your ass once, then sinks back in deep. You whimper, your head falling forward, but he doesn’t let you look away.
“I want you to see what I do to you.”
You do. And that’s the problem. Because it’s not just the sex. It’s the way your mouth falls open when he rolls his hips just right. It’s the way your nails claw the sheets when he says your name like a curse and a prayer. It’s the way your eyes can’t lie in the mirror — how wrecked you are, how undone, how his.
“You’re just a dick to me,” you spit, desperate, cruel.
But he only groans and fucks you harder.
“Then why are you dripping down my thighs?”
You can’t answer.
You’re too far gone.
He reaches between your legs again, fingers finding your clit, circling fast and filthy, and your body convulses around him, your moans high and breathless. He fucks you through it, relentless now, slamming into you as your muscles clench around him.
The mirror fogs. Your eyes blur. And when you come again, it’s with his name on your tongue and your pride somewhere back in Seoul.
He follows moments later, hips stuttering, curses tumbling from his mouth as he spills into the condom with his forehead against your shoulder and your scent all over his skin.
Silence.
Breath.
The sound of your own heart, thudding against your ribs like a warning.
You pull away first. Walk into the bathroom without a word, leaving him in the bed where he just ruined you all over again.
✦✦✦
You take your time in the shower, as if hot water can rinse off regret. You wash his hands from your thighs. You scrub the taste of him from your mouth. You tilt your head back and let the water hammer against your eyes until it’s impossible to tell what’s tears and what’s steam.
But none of it works.
Because when you walk out of the bathroom wrapped in a robe that still smells faintly of jasmine, he’s still there. Shirtless. Sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them like he’s praying to something he stopped believing in a long time ago.
You don’t speak.
You walk to the desk in the corner, grab your phone, place it face-down, and then turn around — arms crossed, face unreadable.
“You should leave.”
He looks up.
And he doesn’t move.
“Jungkook,” you repeat, slower now, sharper. “This doesn’t change anything.”
He rises, but he doesn’t close the space between you. His voice is low, frayed at the edges.
“Stop pretending it was just sex.”
You laugh — bitter, quiet, worn thin.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
His jaw clenches. “You felt it too.”
“I felt your cock inside me,” you snap. “I thanked you for the orgasm. What else do you want?”
“That’s not what it was.”
“You’re right,” you say, folding your arms tighter. “It was nostalgia. A stupid, warm, familiar fuck. That’s all. It’s easy to miss someone when you’re lonely.”
He steps closer. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to.”
There’s a pause. A thick, excruciating silence. And then—
“You and I…” he says, softly now, like the words might shatter in his throat, “we were made for each other. Even our bodies—”
“Oh, right,” you cut in, vicious now, unable to hold it back. “You’d know. You’ve had so many to compare.”
His mouth opens. Closes. For once, he has no clever retort.
You press forward, rage slipping between the cracks of your voice.
“How many, Jungkook? Since me? How many fans, idols, influencers, pretty things to fuck between tours? Don’t act like I was unforgettable when you replaced me every goddamn night.”
“I didn’t replace you,” he says — broken, breathless. “I was just trying to forget.”
“And did it work?”
“No.” His voice cracks. “No, it didn’t. I was stupid. I was young and insecure and fucking terrified. I hated myself for what I did. I still do.”
You shake your head slowly, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, the robe cinched too tightly around your waist now.
“You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to walk out when things get hard and come back years later with apologies and expect me to what— forgive you? Believe that you’ve changed?”
“I have changed.”
“Good for you.”
He takes a trembling breath. “I don’t want to be defined by who I was at twenty.”
You inhale sharply — then exhale through your teeth like it burns.
“You think I wasn’t twenty too?” Your voice rises, high and brittle. “You think I didn’t feel lost? I moved to Seoul with you. I started everything from scratch. My job. My name. My future. I met people too. Rich ones. Brilliant ones. Men who would’ve killed to touch me, to claim me, to give me the fucking world—”
He flinches.
“—but I never said yes. Because I wanted to go through it all with you. I was building something. A life. A career. A future. And I wanted you beside me.”
Tears fall now. Hot, fast. You don’t bother to wipe them.
“But you left,” you whisper. “No explanation. No closure. Just silence. Like I meant nothing.”
He takes a step toward you.
You step back.
“You broke me,” you say, and your voice finally cracks — full and sharp and agonizing. “You left me alone in a city that already hated me. You made me beg for your attention without saying a word. And I still had to show up to work. Smile. Climb. Watch my dreams come true with no one beside me to see it.”
“I should’ve been there,” he chokes out, eyes shining now. “I was a coward. I didn’t deserve you then. But I want to be the man who does now. Please—please just give me a chance to prove it.”
You stare at him.
And your heart is breaking.
But you shake your head.
“Every time I look at you,” you whisper, voice like shattered glass, “I see the version of myself you left behind. Nineteen. In love. Hopeful. And you stole her from me. You robbed my nineteen year self of her happy future.”
His lips part, trembling.
“I’ll never forgive you for that.”
✦✦✦
He doesn’t move. Just stands there in the quiet of the room that still smells like sex and sweat and the bitter rot of everything they’ve broken again. His eyes are red-rimmed now, chest rising like it physically hurts to speak — and maybe it does.
“I love you.”
He says it softly, like the words themselves might vanish if he says them too loud. Like he doesn’t quite believe they’ll land.
Your lips part, barely. But you don’t answer. Not at first. You just stand there, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, robe clinging to damp skin, trying to shield yourself from a wound that’s already been split open at the seam.
“I never stopped,” he whispers, stepping closer, not enough to touch, but enough for you to feel the warmth of him, even now. “Even when I fucked up. Even when I disappeared. Even when I hated myself for it.”
You blink once. Your throat tightens. And then you speak — slowly, like every word is a blade you have to pull out of yourself to hand to him.
“No.”
He freezes.
“No, you didn’t love me then,” you say, voice low, calm, terrifying in its precision. “You loved how I made you feel. How I adored you. How I was yours when you wanted me, and gone when you didn’t.”
His breath hitches, but you go on.
“And now you’re doing it again. You’re confusing lust with love. Familiarity with fate. You’re looking at me and thinking this means something more than it does, because you want it to, because it makes you feel less guilty.”
“It does mean something,” he argues, stepping forward like he’s desperate to close the space. “You and me—”
You shake your head.
“You don’t get to say that. Not anymore.”
He opens his mouth, but you lift your hand — not to strike, not to touch, just to stop him.
“I don’t believe you,” you say, and you mean it. “And even if I did… it’s too late.”
You turn then, slow and sharp, like your heart is finally made of steel instead of longing, and you gesture toward the door — toward the end of the night, the end of the echo, the end of whatever illusion he came here chasing.
He doesn’t move at first.
But when he does, he doesn’t say anything else. Just walks to the door with quiet steps, like the weight of everything he never said is finally too much to carry.
The door opens.
Then shuts behind him with a soft, final click.
And in the silence that follows, you don’t cry.
You just stand there, still barefoot, still breathing, staring out across the lake through the glass windows as the lights of Villa Fioretta shimmer back at you in the dark.
And for the first time in years, you let yourself whisper the truth.
He broke you. And you’re still not sure if you’ll ever recover.
✦✦✦
Villa Fioretta sparkles like something out of a Renaissance painting — golden lanterns swinging in the breeze, shadows stretching long over the polished marble as the evening unfolds with practiced luxury. The terrace for tonight’s formal dinner is carved into the cliffside, overlooking the dark silk of Lake Como, each table draped in white linen and framed with tumbling white roses. Candles flicker in crystal holders. Soft jazz rolls under the clink of silverware and laughter that never reaches the eyes.
You arrive later than planned.
Hair pinned. Makeup fresh. The kind of dress that breathes elegance from the front and vengeance from the back — low-cut, high-slit, sharp where it needs to be and soft where it shouldn’t. Midnight navy satin hugs your waist, drapes over your thighs, whispers down your legs with every step you take. On your ears: diamonds. Around your neck: a pearl choker — delicate, pointed, surgical.
No one would know that you didn’t sleep last night.
Except maybe him.
Jungkook sees you before anyone else. Of course he does. He’s already seated when you arrive, across the long dinner table, dressed in black-on-black with his hair slicked back and his jaw clenched tight enough to crack. His eyes meet yours. Then drop. Then return. He doesn’t look away after that.
But you do.
You let your gaze sweep past him like he’s any other guest — beneath you, behind you, not even worth remembering.
Because tonight, you’re not here to feel.
You’re here to make sure he does.
“Ah, Y/N.” Dante Seo stands when you’re led to your place, a slow grin blooming on his face like he’s waited the whole day for this exact moment. “You’re late.”
You slip into the chair beside him without apologizing. “I had to recover from a… long night.”
His eyes spark at that.
You don’t let them linger.
Around you, the table is littered with people who make headlines for a living — stylists, designers, fashion house CEOs, cultural editors from every Vogue in the western hemisphere. BTS is here too — seated near the far end, spaced out perfectly so the illusion of randomness doesn’t look like security protocol.
You don’t look at them either.
You focus on Dante’s hand as it grazes yours every time he reaches for his wine. You focus on the warmth of the candlelight on your collarbones. On the way people lean in when you speak.
“You truly spearheaded something magnificent,” the director of Vogue UK says, dabbing at her lips. “That October cover… everyone’s talking about it. Jungkook’s never looked so refined.”
“Or so raw,” someone else adds. “There’s something vulnerable in it. Almost like…”
“Like he was seen,” Dante finishes, smiling sideways at you. “That was you, wasn’t it?”
You sip your wine.
“That was my job,” you reply coolly. “To see him as something more than a headline.”
Your words hang between you.
Jungkook doesn’t speak.
Not once.
But you feel him. Every time Dante laughs too loud. Every time Dante leans too close. Every time his hand brushes your thigh under the tablecloth and you don’t move it away. You feel Jungkook watching like it’s a punishment. And maybe it is.
Because he doesn’t look powerful now.
He looks like a man barely holding himself together — knuckles white against the stem of his glass, jaw so tight you know it aches.
And still… he says nothing.
Dinner ends slowly. Plates are cleared. Dessert is offered. Liqueur appears in tall, thin glasses, and conversations bloom into something silkier, messier. Looser.
Dante leans toward you again, the scent of spice and ambition warm against your cheek.
“I have a bottle I’d kill to open with you,” he murmurs. “Private cellar. Ten minutes. Just us.”
You smile without showing teeth. Your heart is thudding like betrayal behind your ribs. But you nod.
“Lead the way.”
You stand.
And that’s when he stands too.
Jungkook.
You pretend not to see him following, just a few paces behind, not fast, not loud — but steady.
The hallway is dim, the sconces casting long shadows across marble walls as you and Dante make your way toward the private wing. At the turn, Dante checks his phone — a call from someone downstairs. He excuses himself for a moment, promises to be right back.
And then you feel it — the heat behind you. A presence you’ve memorized in your bones.
He says nothing at first. Just breathes.
Then, softly — like a ghost afraid to be exorcised:
“You don’t have to do this just to hurt me.”
You turn, slow and sharp, and there he is — no stage, no audience, no press-ready expression. Just Jungkook. Tense. Broken. Bare.
“I’m not doing anything to you,” you reply. “I’m leaving.”
“With him?”
Your smile is tired. “He asked nicely.”
His voice drops, rough and unsteady. “He doesn’t know you.”
“No one does,” you whisper. “Not anymore.”
His eyes close for half a second — like that one cut sliced too deep.
“You don’t mean that,” he says, almost to himself. “You’re just angry. You’re trying to prove something.”
“I’m proving I can walk away from you now.”
Jungkook steps closer. Just one step. Barely enough to touch. His breath hits your collarbone.
“If you walk out with him right now… I’ll never stop thinking about it.”
You blink. But your voice doesn’t break this time.
“Then think about it.”
“Please,” he says — and it’s not performance, not charm, not strategy.
It’s desperation.
Raw. Quiet. Real.
“Please don’t do this. Not like this.”
You hesitate. Just a second.
But it’s enough to break you.
“Don’t ask me for anything,” you say, voice soft and surgical. “You already took everything that mattered.”
And when Dante reappears at the end of the hall, you turn without another word.
Your heels echo across the marble as you disappear down the corridor.
You don’t look back.
Not even when Jungkook breaks in the silence behind you.
.
.
.
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“Some scenes only happen when the lights go down.”
pairing: idol! jungkook x editor! reader
genre: smut, ex lovers, second chance au, angst with smut, toxic ex au
summary: You’ve worked too hard to become untouchable. He still knows exactly where to touch. After one night of stolen pleasure, you’re determined to walk away — but Jungkook isn’t ready to let you go again. Between silk sheets, half-spoken regrets, and a black-tie dinner where flirtation becomes revenge, your past and present spiral into something dangerous. It was supposed to be physical. But feelings don’t follow the script.
author's note: ugh, this part really broke me🖤 writing and creating stories takes a lot of time, and no matter how much i love doing this and jungkook, i would love your support and feedback 🖤 final chapter 3 is available here through donations! but it will be published here after this post gets 1k notes!
part 1 | part 2 (you're here) | final part 3 (through donation, will be here later)
You stand in front of Seo In-kyung’s office door in borrowed heels and smudged eyeliner, praying your face doesn’t betray the night carved into your body.
The morning light bleeds through the glass walls like scrutiny. Her office is pristine — sharp angles, a curved leather chair behind a white marble desk, walls lined with editorial archives and thick matte prints. A minimalist arrangement of white orchids sits perfectly still in one corner, untouched by dust or emotion.
You knock.
“Come in.”
Her voice cuts through like the heel of a Louboutin.
You step inside, clutching your tablet too tightly. Your hair is pulled back — barely — in a low twist that you smoothed with shaking fingers in the backseat of a cab thirty minutes ago. Underneath the oversized Saint Laurent blazer, your dress is the same one from last night. You're hoping it passes as intentional. It doesn’t.
Seo In-kyung is already seated.
Flawless. Impeccable. A navy Mugler blazer sharp enough to slit throats, heels lacquered, wrists bare. She doesn’t smile. She gestures to the chair opposite her without looking up.
You sit, spine straight.
For a moment, silence.
Then—
“You really outdid yourself, Y/N.”
You blink.
She’s flipping through a printed copy of the BTS campaign spread — full bleed photos, minimalist layouts, editorial perfection. The same layouts you stayed past midnight refining. The ones you pushed through legal, color, and styling approvals with nothing but caffeine and willpower.
She taps her manicured nail on the cover.
“This,” she says, “brought the entire industry back to us.”
You exhale. Just slightly.
“Thank you, Director Seo.”
“Don’t thank me,” she says, eyes still scanning the page. “Thank your instinct. You were right to strip it down. No gimmicks. No clutter. Just tension.”
She turns a page. “Even Jeon looked like a man worth remembering.”
You freeze.
But she doesn’t elaborate. Just closes the folder, places it gently beside her, and finally looks at you.
You wish she hadn’t.
Her gaze is cool. Calculating. The kind that scans and files away.
You feel it — the mess behind your eyes. The mascara you didn't have time to fully erase. The faint redness at your mouth. The scent of a man that no water could completely wash off.
She leans back in her chair.
“Fondo di Luce.”
You blink. “Sorry?”
Her fingers tap the marble. Once. Twice.
“It’s an international art and fashion initiative,” she says. “A luxury gala held annually at Villa Fioretta, Lake Como. Private guest list. Couture-only. Funded by Dante Seo’s Light Fund and Vogue’s European partners.”
A pause. “And we’ve been invited.”
Your breath stirs.
“I want you to represent Vogue Korea,” she says.
Silence blooms between you.
“Me?”
“Yes. You pitched this campaign. You shaped it. People in Milan want to meet the girl who made the cover go viral.”
You feel lightheaded. Not from panic this time — from the taste of possibility. Of respect. Of validation earned, not handed.
Your mouth opens to thank her—
But then she speaks again.
“Don’t get too comfortable.”
The room shifts. Your spine locks.
Her gaze hardens. She doesn’t blink.
“I don’t tolerate editors who sleep with clients,” she says. Voice smooth. Flat. “It’s unprofessional. It’s disgusting. It makes us look like we earned our place on our backs.”
Your blood turns to ice.
“You, Y/N, are better than that. You’ve proven yourself. Your instincts are rare.”
A pause. “It would be a shame to lose someone like you because she couldn’t keep her legs closed.”
You don’t breathe. You can’t.
You nod once, eyes fixed on a nonexistent spot on her desk.
She stands.
“That’ll be all.”
You rise mechanically. Thank her. Bow.
And walk out of the office with your pulse screaming in your ears.
The moment you step into the hallway, Kara is there.
Perched by the espresso machine in the break corner, sipping an oat milk latte with glossy lips and smug silence.
She doesn’t say anything.
She doesn’t have to.
Your fists clench. Your face burns.
You want to tear the smugness off her face and throw it back at her in headlines.
Instead, you walk past her — heels echoing like threats — and your phone buzzes in your pocket.
You check it.
Unknown Number
Still quiet, hm? Should I send someone to pick up my jacket or do I get a kiss as collateral?
Buzz.
I’ll take the kiss.
Buzz.
…or both.
You delete the thread. Turn off your notifications.
And get back to work.
You don’t cry in the hallway. You don’t clench your jaw, or turn on your heel, or demand Seo In-kyung look you in the eye when she delivers the kind of warning she never would’ve given to a man. You don’t remind her that half the board she answers to built their careers on affairs with photographers, designers, founders — powerful men who never had to answer for the women they fucked.
You just breathe.
Measured. Controlled. Counted down like pills in the morning. You walk back to your desk with your back straight, your heels clean against the tile, pretending you don’t feel the ghost of his hands still pressing into your hips. You can almost hear him still — that teasing, velvet-coated filth, low and smug against your skin. You hear it in the vibration of your phone every hour since sunrise. You hear it in Kara’s eyes every time they rake over you. You feel it in the way your own body responds when you close your eyes at night — when your fingers trail down beneath the sheets and it’s his name that sits between your teeth, no matter how hard you bite down.
You tell yourself it was just sex. A one-time indulgence. A lapse in judgment that began and ended in a penthouse no one else has to know about. You tell yourself it was closure — that there’s no gravity to the way he held your face in his hands like he still knew how to ruin you. That the ache still curling inside your chest is nothing but delayed shame.
But the problem is, it wasn’t just the sex.
It was the way he looked at you like five years hadn’t passed, like you weren’t a stranger in that room, like you were still the girl he used to know in a borrowed hoodie and scraped-up Nikes, standing in a dingy kitchen, editing your first column with red pen on a ten-thousand-won table. It was the way he kissed you with a hunger that felt older than his fame. It was the way he let you bite him, claw him, curse him — and still whispered “come back to me.”
And now you're here. Perfectly poised in the office you fought tooth and nail to climb into, barely holding yourself together while your editor-in-chief — a woman born with the title stitched into her spine — calls you brilliant and disposable in the same breath. She will never know what it feels like to be called a genius on Monday and a whore on Wednesday. To be handed praise with a choke chain wrapped around it. To have your best work reduced to who you might have let touch you after hours.
She can talk about dignity. She can afford to.
You, on the other hand, know exactly how fragile power can be when it’s built from scratch.
✦✦✦
The first message comes barely an hour after you walk out of Seo In-kyung’s office.
You didn’t even say goodbye.
You don’t open it. You don’t need to — the preview alone is enough to make your stomach twist. You swipe it away, fingers rigid, and tell yourself that it doesn’t mean anything. Not the message. Not the sender. Not the way your name still looks when it rolls off his voice, even in text.
That night, another one arrives.
Was it the blazer? Should’ve left you something softer.
You laugh, once. Quietly. Then delete it like it burned you. You don’t respond. You won’t. Because if you let yourself type anything — a word, a punctuation mark, the space before a breath — you won’t stop. And you’ve worked too hard, pulled yourself too far out of the wreckage, to let one night drag you back into the ruin you barely crawled out of.
But the texts don’t stop.
Sometimes they’re careless. Teasing. Written like he’s still in your bed with your thighs pressed against his hips and your nails in his back. Other times, they’re sharp with weight, like he doesn’t know which version of himself you’ll tolerate — the boy who left you, or the man trying to come back.
You never reply.
But you read every word.
And at night, when the world finally stops demanding your time and your poise and your reputation, when the silence of your apartment feels too loud to ignore — you remember how he touched you. You remember how it felt to let go of everything for one hour, one night, one man who once shattered you so completely that you forgot what it meant to breathe without him.
You touch yourself like it means nothing.
Like it’s routine.
Like it’s stress. Tension. Relief.
But it’s his voice you hear when your fingers slip lower.
It’s his mouth you imagine when you bite your own shoulder to muffle the sounds.
It’s his hand around your throat when you finish — sharp and soft at once — and it’s his name that almost slips out, pressed against the inside of your teeth like a secret you’re still ashamed of wanting.
You don’t look at your phone after that.
You can’t.
You tell yourself it was just sex, you’re smarter now.He’s just another mistake in a long line of things you’ve learned how to survive.
And when another message arrives — two days later, right as you're finalizing your flight details for the gala in Lake Como — you don’t even read it.
You just close your eyes, and try not to remember how he looked at you when he came.
✦✦✦
You arrive at Incheon International two hours before your flight, slipping through security behind oversized sunglasses and an air of quiet efficiency. The blazer you’re wearing is Dior this time — borrowed from the archive rack, boxy at the shoulders, sleek across your hips. Beneath it: a slate-gray satin blouse tucked into wide-leg ivory trousers, pressed razor-sharp. You look like someone who’s going to Lake Como for work, not for war.
It isn’t until you reach the boarding gate that you see the line of black masks, tailored airport coats, and hush-voiced assistants clustered like chess pieces around Gate A7.
BTS.
Of course.
Your stomach doesn’t sink. It knots — tight, controlled, slow — like the warning of turbulence long before the plane leaves the ground.
You keep walking, silent, graceful, aware of every click of your heels on the polished floor. You don’t let yourself search for him. You don’t have to. You feel him before you see him — a presence that presses against your awareness like heat against skin, impossible to ignore.
It isn’t until you’re lowering yourself into your business class seat, reaching for the strap of your carry-on, that you finally glance up — and meet his eyes.
Row 2. Aisle seat.
Black mask, black cap, rings on both hands.
And staring at you like he hasn’t blinked in days.
You look away.
The plane boards slowly. Assistants murmur. Photographers keep their cameras off. The boys move like shadows, trained to blend, to disappear behind the shape of fame. You keep your posture perfect, legs crossed at the ankle, your tablet open with your flight agenda already pulled up — even though you’ve read it three times.
He doesn’t approach until you're halfway into the sky.
You excuse yourself from your seat, nod politely at the stewardess, and head down the narrow aisle toward the lavatory — slow, deliberate steps in heels that whisper money and control. The tiny hallway near the restrooms is dim, quiet, muted beneath the drone of altitude and distance.
You don’t expect the hand on your wrist.
It’s not rough. But it’s firm — and you know that grip. You’ve felt it around your waist, your neck, your thighs. You turn slowly, breath already caught halfway between fury and something far more dangerous.
He's right there.
Close. Closer than he has any right to be in this narrow corridor with no eyes but yours and his. The door to the lavatory is behind you. His body blocks the path. His scent — soap, leather, the faint trace of your perfume still clinging to his jacket from days ago — wraps around you like memory.
You keep your voice cold.
“Do you seriously think now is the time?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you, face half-shadowed by the cap, eyes hungry in a way that makes you press your thighs tighter, just to feel something grounded.
Then, finally, he speaks — low, rough.
“I keep dreaming about the way you moaned my name.”
Your stomach tightens. You don’t blink.
You lift your chin instead.
“That’s all it was. A dream.”
But his eyes drop — once — to your mouth, and then lower.
“I remember the way your legs shook. That wasn’t dreaming.”
You inhale sharply, but your expression doesn’t change.
“You should go sit down.”
“Or what?” His voice dips lower. “You’ll pretend again you don’t want me to fuck you right here?”
His hand doesn’t move. His body doesn’t touch yours. But you feel every inch of him like a scream in your skin — heat, memory, friction.
You smile — slow and cutting.
“I’ve learned how to control myself. You should try it sometime.”
His gaze flickers. Just slightly.
Then he leans in — not enough to touch, but enough for you to feel his breath near your neck, his voice low and ruinous.
“I’m not the one squeezing my thighs together.”
You hate that he’s right. You hate that your heartbeat is in your throat, that your body is already lit from the inside out. You hate that you want to kiss him. Bite him. Tear him open.
But you won’t.
Because you’re not that girl anymore.
You step aside, brushing past him with a look that could frost steel, and say nothing as you return to your seat.
You don’t check to see if he follows.
You don’t breathe again until you’re halfway through an article you can’t remember reading, with his gaze still burning a hole into the back of your neck from three rows behind.
✦✦✦
The wheels touch the tarmac just past four in the afternoon, and the landing is smoother than expected, the kind that glides into the runway with practiced quiet, as if even the aircraft has been told to behave. Outside the small window, the northern Italian sun pools in long, soft ribbons over the hills, stretching across the landscape like liquid gold, tinting everything it touches with the kind of warmth that doesn’t burn — only stuns.
You disembark without ceremony, your sunglasses still in place, your coat folded over one arm, and your expression carefully blank. The assistant from Vogue Italia is waiting beside the hangar — her posture perfect, clipboard in hand, dressed in cropped white linen and flat shoes that probably cost more than the flight. She greets you by name, with polite English and a smile that’s too curated to be real, then leads you across the quiet concourse, past shuttered photographers and a cluster of sleek black cars idling behind a discreet security perimeter.
Your name is listed on one of the placards. Y/N — Vogue Korea.
So is theirs. BTS.
You don't react — not outwardly. There is no visible shift in your posture, no flicker in your gaze. You’ve already taught your body how to lie better than your words ever could.
The assistant ushers you toward a waiting Mercedes, its interior cool and leather-scented, the seats butter-soft beneath the press of your thighs. A silver tray holds still water, a lemon wedge perched just so. Your phone buzzes once in your lap. You don't check it. Not yet.
The drive from the airport is postcard-perfect in a way that feels intentionally cruel — narrow country roads wrapped in vine-laced stone, the distant glimmer of Lake Como revealing itself in flashes between tall cypress trees and crumbling terracotta villas. Each bend in the road opens into a view more breathtaking than the last, until you almost forget where you're headed and why your chest has been tight since the gate at Incheon.
The car finally slows as it pulls through ornate wrought-iron gates that gleam with gold filigree under the light, winding up the long private drive that spills into the front courtyard of Villa Fioretta. The estate rises from the hill like it was carved directly out of the cliffside — all creamy limestone and tall shuttered windows, manicured terraces spilling over with ivy and white flowers, and delicate copper details that catch the dying sun like jewelry. It looks like something you’ve seen on a Vogue Italia cover in a past life, or maybe a perfume ad from the early 2000s, the kind where everything was just slightly out of reach, and nothing ever truly belonged to you.
As the driver comes around to open your door, you exhale once, slow and silent, and allow your face to settle into something calm and beautifully unreadable.
Inside, the villa is all elegance in hushed tones — soft marble beneath your heels, pale walls washed in ivory and cream, every piece of furniture chosen for quiet power rather than comfort. The concierge greets you by name and with reverence, offers you a key card embossed with the letter “F” in deep matte black, and explains with the expected level of practiced charm that you’ve been placed on the fifth floor, lake view, courtesy of Fondo di Luce, and that a welcome aperitivo will be served on the lower terrace shortly after six.
You nod, thank them, and enter the elevator with the same stillness you’ve been wearing since you boarded the flight.
It’s not until the doors begin to close that he enters behind you.
You don't need to look to know it's him. The presence is immediate — heavy, hot, undeniable. His cologne clings to the air, low and sharp, the same one you woke up wearing four mornings ago in his bed, still tangled in his heat.
He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.
The silence in the elevator stretches, long and taut, the kind that drapes itself over the walls like velvet, pressing in on all sides. You keep your gaze forward, focused on the panel, the floor numbers blinking upward. You can feel him beside you — not touching, but close enough to undo you all over again if you let yourself lean even an inch in his direction.
The mirrored wall reflects the shape of him — rolled sleeves, black slacks, tattoos visible where the cuff is turned, sunglasses tucked into his collar like he never needed to hide. He’s looking at you. You don’t return it.
The elevator stops at five.
You step out first. The hallway is quiet, dimly lit, touched with the kind of warmth that money doesn’t have to brag about — just suggests.
He follows.
Your room is halfway down the hall. You can hear the soft tread of his boots behind you, steady and measured, but it’s the silence between you that rattles louder than any footfall.
You stop at 506. Slot the card into the reader. The green light flashes.
Still, you don’t turn.
"If you're going to say something stupid, Jungkook," you murmur, voice calm but edged, your hand resting on the doorframe like it might hold you steady, "don’t waste it here."
The door unlocks with a soft click. You step inside and let it close behind you without another word.
You never heard his footsteps retreat — which is exactly why your hands are still shaking when you set your bag down on the velvet bench at the end of the bed.
✦✦✦
The evening descends in a soft, golden hush, the lake catching the last streaks of sunlight and bending them into mirrored ribbons that stretch across the manicured garden lawns. The terrace is already glowing by the time you arrive — dozens of floating candles bobbing in the villa’s pool, crisp white tablecloths draped over stone tables, wine glasses catching firelight like they were designed to burn. Waiters move like shadows through the crowd, balancing trays of Campari spritzes and white truffle canapés, slipping between conversations spoken in Italian, French, and English laced with old-money vowels.
You’ve dressed for the kill.
The gown you chose is a strapless black number that ends just above your mid-thigh — sculpted to your body like it was designed for this exact kind of dusk, this exact kind of attention. The satin clings in all the places you used to hide and now let sharpen you. Your back is bare, your collarbone glistens with a soft sheen of skin-warmed perfume, and your heels are high enough to demand silence when you walk. The neckline dips low, the hem even lower, and there’s a part of you that knows—without even needing the confirmation—that if Jungkook looks at you tonight, it won’t be casual.
You tell yourself you wore it to feel powerful. You tell yourself that it’s just about proving a point.
But deep down, beneath all the polished rationality and strategic poise, you know it’s a lie. You wore it to tempt him. Or maybe to punish him. It’s hard to tell the difference anymore.
You glide through the terrace like you belong to it. Conversations flicker as you pass — Vogue Paris, L’Uomo, a few senior figures from Condé Nast and K-Media International — all familiar faces from the inner circle of fashion and luxury publishing. You smile, you nod, you take a glass of wine with the hand not gripping your clutch, and you keep moving.
He’s here. You haven’t seen him yet, but you feel him. You’ve felt him since the moment you walked in — like a change in air pressure, like heat blooming in places that should be cold. Each time a new shadow approaches, your chest coils tight, your gaze flicks once, and you brace yourself.
The first time you actually see him, he’s standing on the far end of the terrace near the balustrade, surrounded by three men in Tom Ford tuxedos and a woman from Vogue Italia who is laughing too easily at something he hasn’t said. His hair is pushed back, exposing the sharp line of his jaw, the silver hoop in his ear catching the light each time he turns slightly, and his shirt is unbuttoned just enough to make your mouth dry.
He looks devastating.
You don’t look twice.
You spend the next hour performing avoidance like an art. Each time he moves in your direction — and he does — you change course. A conversation with a photographer. A compliment to someone’s emerald earrings. A turn toward the pool just in time to keep a table between you. He’s watching. You know he is. And you never let yourself look back.
Until you meet Dante Seo.
He arrives like an entrance — tall, olive-toned skin that speaks of Italian summers and Seoul winters, his suit perfectly fitted in bone-white silk with a single black brooch gleaming on the lapel. His hair is dark and swept back with the ease of someone who doesn’t try hard and never has to. His smile is clean. Curated. Dangerous.
“You must be Vogue Korea,” he says as he offers his hand, eyes tracing over your form like he’s calculating how many men in the room already hate him for standing beside you. “No one told me you’d be this stunning. I’ll have to send my regrets to our editor-in-chief for not coming in her place.”
“Y/N,” you reply, slipping your hand into his. “Campaign editor. But I suppose the title doesn’t matter so long as I’m stunning.”
He laughs — low, indulgent — and motions to a pair of older executives hovering behind him.
“You all remember Jeon Jungkook, I’m sure?” Dante glances sideways, eyes sparkling. “The face of Vogue Korea’s revival, the star of the cover that’s been circulating Milan for two weeks straight.”
Your spine tenses.
“I think it’s fair to say Korea brought us something exceptional,” one woman offers, sipping from her wine. “He was brilliant. Magnetic. I hadn’t seen that kind of restraint from an editorial in years.”
“I think that was more the editor’s eye than the idol’s,” Dante says, looking directly at you now, one eyebrow lifted with the kind of mischief that always ends in trouble. “Tell me, Y/N. How did you convince a man like that to surrender so completely?”
You force a smile, swirl the wine in your glass, and answer coolly.
“Sometimes all it takes is silence.”
More laughter. More praise. More commentary on how sharp he looked, how he carried the shot, how Vogue Korea must be so proud. The room keeps saying his name. Over and over, like it means something, like it doesn’t still taste like sweat and regret and begging on your skin.
You excuse yourself twenty minutes later, your glass half-full and your teeth aching from how hard you’ve clenched your jaw.
The moment you step back into the villa’s interior, the noise blurs. You walk past the grand staircase, through the velvet-draped hall toward the elevator, your heels muffled against the thick cream carpet, your throat hot from wine and words you didn't say.
You don’t notice he’s following you until you reach your door.
The moment you slide the keycard into the reader, he’s there.
One hand planted against the door beside your head, the other grazing your hip, his body closing the space so completely that all you can smell is him — clean, woodsy, sharp with the memory of what he did to you last time.
You turn slowly, your back brushing the wood.
His breath is hot against your cheek, his voice low and intimate, like a confession laced with filth.
“Do you want me to say it?” he murmurs. “Do you want me to say I couldn’t stop staring at your thighs all night? That I imagined dragging this dress up your legs while the whole fucking party watched?”
Your body tightens. You keep your voice steady.
“Move.”
He leans in closer, lips brushing just beside your jaw.
“I saw how you avoided me. Like I was the one who begged. You think I don’t know you wore this dress for me?”
You swallow. Hard.
His fingers trail lightly along the line of your jaw, down to your mouth, hovering there as if waiting for a tremble he already knows is coming.
“I could take you right here,” he whispers. “I could make you cry with my fingers before you even reach the bed.”
You hate the way your knees weaken. Hate the thrum building between your legs, the ache in your stomach, the heat spreading low and sharp like fire beneath your skin.
You should say no.
You should open the door and disappear into the room and lock it behind you.
But when you meet his eyes — dark, hungry, full of something wild — you fumble the key, and he catches it with a smirk, sliding it into the lock like he’s been there a thousand times before.
And when the door opens, you step inside without a word.
Not because you forgave him. Not because it means anything.
Only because your body stopped asking for permission the moment his mouth said your name.
✦✦✦
The door shuts behind you with a heavy, soundproofed click, and the moment it does, you feel it — the shift in air, the sharp electric drag of his presence right at your back.
You barely make it three steps into the suite before his hand circles your waist and drags you back against him. You don’t gasp, you don’t whimper, but your body tenses with something that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the ache that’s been clawing at your stomach since the moment he stared at you from across the terrace like he wanted to fuck you blind.
His mouth finds your shoulder first — soft, open, hot — pressing through the thin fabric of your dress, kissing along the slope of your neck while his other hand skims down the silk curve of your thigh. You smell wine on his breath, wood and heat and hunger, and he’s already hard against your ass, pressing into you like he can’t believe you’re real again.
“Fucking knew this dress was for me,” he breathes against your skin. “Knew it the second I saw you.”
You turn your face slightly, just enough to graze his jaw, your voice calm even as your blood roars beneath the surface.
“And what are you going to do about it?”
His grip tightens.
“This.”
He spins you — smooth, practiced, fast — and pins you against the suite wall, just beside the blackout-curtained window, one knee between your thighs, your heels barely catching grip on the polished wood floors. His hands are under your dress in a second, sliding up your thighs, growling when he feels just how little you wore beneath it.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice low and guttural. “You didn’t wear anything for me?”
“Maybe I wore it for someone else,” you murmur, tilting your head, letting your lips brush his but never touching fully.
His teeth graze your chin. “Don’t fucking test me tonight.”
“I thought you liked being tested.”
He laughs — dark, breathless — and you both know you’re seconds from snapping. His hands glide over your ass, gripping, kneading, dragging you harder against the bulge in his pants. You rock your hips back, just once, just to feel how badly he wants it.
And then you pull away.
“Sit.”
His eyes flicker, and you see it — the surprise, the interest, the way his breath catches just slightly before he obeys. He backs up toward the edge of the king-sized bed and lowers himself slowly, legs spread, cock straining against the fabric of his tailored black trousers.
You follow him.
Drop to your knees between his legs like it's a throne, not a man.
His eyes are already half-lidded, hands braced on his thighs, watching you as you reach for his belt with smooth, practiced fingers. You undo the buckle with no urgency, and when the leather slides through the loops, he hisses under his breath like it’s your mouth around him already.
When you reach into his boxers and pull him out, you exhale softly — not from surprise, not from awe, but from the rush that starts between your legs at the sheer weight of him in your palm. He’s hard. So hard it makes your mouth water. The tip’s flushed, leaking, pulsing against your skin.
He looks like he wants to say something — maybe a tease, maybe a curse — but the second your lips close over the head, all he does is moan.
Long. Deep. Raw.
You don’t rush.
You swirl your tongue around the tip, one hand still stroking the base, the other flattening against his lower abdomen to keep him exactly where you want him. You suck slowly, carefully, letting your mouth shape around him like you’re molding heat out of gold. You glance up — and the sight of him nearly undoes you.
His head is thrown back, mouth parted, hands gripping the edge of the mattress now. The muscles in his thighs are shaking under your palms. When you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper, his hips jerk, his voice cracks.
“Fuck— Y/N… don’t… I’m gonna—”
You pull off with a wet pop, licking your lips like a threat.
“You’re gonna what?”
He opens his eyes, looks at you like you’re the devil himself, and chokes on a groan when you go down again — this time deeper, wetter, your tongue pressed under the shaft, saliva dripping down your hand. You let your mouth contour around him, let him feel every inch of heat and slick velvet you can give.
“Please,” he whispers, eyes clenched shut now. “Please don’t stop. Please—fuck—just like that—”
The begging shocks you.
It makes your core throb, makes you grind your own thighs together as you take him deeper still, lips stretched wide around him, hand working what your mouth can’t reach. You love the way he sounds, the way he begs, the way this man — who fucked you like he owned you just days ago — is now unraveling in front of you with your name gasped like a prayer.
You pull off again, let your lips drag down the side of his cock, tongue licking up the vein, and you whisper:
“You taste better than I remember.”
He grabs your shoulders, dragging you up fast, lips crashing against yours like he’s trying to climb back into control.
“You’re going to fucking kill me,” he mutters, voice shaking. “Get on the bed. Now.”
You don’t resist.
Because you want it too — filthy, breathless, and only getting darker from here.
He doesn’t let you move far — his hands are already on your thighs, on your waist, pushing you back until your legs hit the edge of the bed, and he shoves you down with a grip that’s firm but reverent. He follows immediately, kissing you deep, tongue filthy in your mouth, his taste mixed with the sharp salt of his own arousal. You moan into him, still breathless from the way he sounded minutes ago — the quiet begging, the desperation, the way he came undone just from your mouth.
But now he’s reclaiming the space.
He pulls away, eyes black, chest heaving. You barely register your own dress being pulled up, bunched around your waist, before he drops to his knees between your legs and drags your soaked thong down with both hands — slow, savoring the way the fabric clings to you, the wet string pulling along your folds.
“Fucking perfect,” he mutters, and you feel it in your spine — that growl, that tone, the sound of someone starving.
He spreads your legs wide, pushes your knees up, and leans in with no ceremony. His mouth finds your clit in the same breath as his fingers gripping your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed until you feel like you’re going to slide off entirely — right into the heat of his mouth. His tongue flicks once, then twice, then circles until your hips buck.
“You’ve missed this,” he says against your cunt. “This pussy remembers me.”
You try to argue. You try to speak. But your breath stutters when he sucks your clit into his mouth and moans like he’s tasting sugar.
Your hands fly to his hair, gripping the soft strands, anchoring yourself. You can’t stop the sounds that escape you now — soft, sharp gasps, your head falling back as he devours you, his mouth relentless and wet and so good you can’t think straight.
And then he slides lower.
At first it’s a tease — his tongue licking below, over the tight ring of muscle, making your thighs twitch. But then he spreads you wider, his thumbs parting your ass, and before you can process it, his mouth is there, licking into you with slow, filthy indulgence.
You moan — loud, uncontrolled, broken — and your entire body tries to lift off the bed. He holds you down.
“Jungkook—” It’s the first time you’ve said his name like that tonight, and it cracks at the edges. “What the fuck—”
He doesn’t stop.
He eats your ass like he’s done it before, like he’s memorized you, like he owns the right to taste every inch of you. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping hard enough to bruise, and when his tongue drags back up to your clit again, your vision blurs.
You’re shaking.
You’re soaked.
And in the haze of your unraveling, one thought claws through everything: he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Your hips grind up into his mouth, chasing the friction, chasing the high. And when he slides two fingers into you — slow and deep — your back arches, your moan breaks apart, and your orgasm hits like a wave dragging you under.
He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling beneath him, thighs twitching, cunt fluttering around his fingers.
When he finally pulls away, his mouth is slick, his eyes feral, and he climbs back over you like a man who hasn’t eaten in days.
“You good?” he whispers, voice raw with pride.
You glare at him, chest still rising and falling, and mutter, “You’re disgusting.”
He smirks, kissing your collarbone, licking a stripe up your neck.
“And you’re wet.”
He’s on you before you can gather your thoughts — his body pressing you into the mattress, heavy and solid and far too familiar. His chest brushes yours, warm skin meeting your peaked nipples, and the friction makes you hiss between your teeth. You try to push him back, just enough to reassert something, anything — but he catches your wrist and pins it to the bed beside your head.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “Not when you’re this wet for me.”
You scowl, but it’s weak — half-hearted, half-turned-on, and he knows it.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
He leans in, licks into your mouth like he owns it, and then slides his cock slowly through your folds — hot, heavy, dragging along your slit until you’re whimpering despite yourself. You feel him reach for a condom, hear the crinkle of foil, and then his hips notch forward, the thick head of his cock pressing at your entrance.
“You still feel like fucking heaven,” he groans, and when he pushes in — slow, so slow — your nails dig into the sheets.
You gasp, head falling back against the pillows. He’s big. He always was, but this time it feels deeper, sharper, like every inch is a punishment you didn’t see coming.
“God—” you breathe, blinking up at the ceiling. “Why the fuck do you still feel this good?”
“Because your pussy remembers me,” he says through a ragged exhale, hips still rolling forward. “Because it’s mine.”
You clench around him at the word — mine — and hate how much it turns you on.
“You really think one night erases years?” you bite, trying to pull your voice together, but it’s breathy and cracked.
“No,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “But it reminds you.”
He bottoms out, and the sound you make is caught between a moan and a curse. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, trying to pull him deeper even as your pride screams at you to shove him off. He feels too good. It’s too hot. It’s everything you didn’t want to feel again, wrapped in silk and sweat and his goddamn voice.
He starts to move — slow and deep, every stroke dragging across every nerve ending you have.
“You’re clenching,” he growls in your ear, licking down the side of your neck. “You missed this. Missed me.”
“I missed being fucked,” you shoot back, voice shaking. “I could’ve found that anywhere.”
He snaps his hips once — hard — and your gasp betrays you. Your hands fly up to his back, nails digging in.
“You’re lying,” he pants. “You never let anyone fuck you like this. Never let them see you like this.”
You hate that he’s right. You hate that you’re already close again, already tightening around him like he’s the only man who’s ever made you come this hard.
“You’re so fucking pretty when you come,” he murmurs, brushing sweaty strands from your face. “Wanna feel it again. Wanna watch you break.”
You pull him closer, arch your back, and mutter into his neck:
“Then make me.”
That’s all it takes.
He fucks you harder now — still deep, still deliberate, but with that edge of hunger he’s been holding back all night. His pelvis rubs your clit with every thrust, and when his hand slides between you, fingers circling your swollen nerves, you see stars.
You’re writhing now, moaning his name like a warning, and he’s kissing you through it, swallowing your sounds, your curses, your surrender.
And when you finally come — tight and fast and gasping — he moans something filthy into your mouth that you’re too far gone to understand. You feel him tense, feel the thick roll of his hips as he buries himself one last time, and then he’s groaning through clenched teeth, coming with your name against your lips.
For a moment, the room is nothing but breath and sweat and silence.
Then you turn your face away.
And the next wave starts building.
You should’ve gotten up. You should’ve pushed him off and walked into the bathroom, should’ve wrapped yourself in a robe and poured a glass of water and reminded yourself who you are now — not nineteen, not in love, not wrecked by the memory of a boy who never said goodbye.
But instead, you stay. Lying there, trembling in the aftermath of an orgasm that still echoes in your spine, your thighs slick and sore, your heartbeat pressed somewhere up in your throat.
Jungkook shifts beside you, his palm still on your stomach, his breath still hot against your shoulder. You can feel him stirring again, thick and half-hard between your legs, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re moving — rolling onto your side, facing away, pulling the sheet off your skin like you’ve surrendered to something you’ll never admit out loud.
He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t need to.
He presses up behind you, his chest flush to your back, his mouth trailing down the slope of your shoulder with reverent hunger. One hand slides over your hip, gripping it as if anchoring himself to reality, the other skating down between your thighs to find you still soaked.
“Still dripping for me,” he mutters, voice hoarse with lust. “You love this.”
“I hate you,” you breathe.
“I know,” he whispers, pushing your legs apart. “That’s why you’re letting me do this again.”
You want to scream at him. You want to tell him to shut the fuck up, to get out, to stop twisting everything into something so ugly and true — but then the head of his cock is sliding between your folds, and your breath catches in your throat like betrayal.
He pushes in slowly, and the stretch burns — not painfully, but beautifully, the kind of fullness that makes your spine arch and your mouth fall open. His hand finds your throat from behind, just a gentle pressure under your jaw, guiding your gaze up to the full-length mirror across the room.
“Look.”
You shake your head.
“Look, Y/N.”
Your eyes flicker open.
And what you see takes the last bit of air from your lungs.
Your body — flushed and glistening, breasts bouncing gently with each slow thrust, his chest pressed to your back, his hand wrapped around your throat. His face — focused, wild, desperate. Yours — wrecked.
“Fuck,” he groans, picking up speed. “You look so fucking good like this.”
“Shut up,” you bite, but it’s weak, broken, your voice shaking.
He pulls out, slaps your ass once, then sinks back in deep. You whimper, your head falling forward, but he doesn’t let you look away.
“I want you to see what I do to you.”
You do. And that’s the problem. Because it’s not just the sex. It’s the way your mouth falls open when he rolls his hips just right. It’s the way your nails claw the sheets when he says your name like a curse and a prayer. It’s the way your eyes can’t lie in the mirror — how wrecked you are, how undone, how his.
“You’re just a dick to me,” you spit, desperate, cruel.
But he only groans and fucks you harder.
“Then why are you dripping down my thighs?”
You can’t answer.
You’re too far gone.
He reaches between your legs again, fingers finding your clit, circling fast and filthy, and your body convulses around him, your moans high and breathless. He fucks you through it, relentless now, slamming into you as your muscles clench around him.
The mirror fogs. Your eyes blur. And when you come again, it’s with his name on your tongue and your pride somewhere back in Seoul.
He follows moments later, hips stuttering, curses tumbling from his mouth as he spills into the condom with his forehead against your shoulder and your scent all over his skin.
Silence.
Breath.
The sound of your own heart, thudding against your ribs like a warning.
You pull away first. Walk into the bathroom without a word, leaving him in the bed where he just ruined you all over again.
✦✦✦
You take your time in the shower, as if hot water can rinse off regret. You wash his hands from your thighs. You scrub the taste of him from your mouth. You tilt your head back and let the water hammer against your eyes until it’s impossible to tell what’s tears and what’s steam.
But none of it works.
Because when you walk out of the bathroom wrapped in a robe that still smells faintly of jasmine, he’s still there. Shirtless. Sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them like he’s praying to something he stopped believing in a long time ago.
You don’t speak.
You walk to the desk in the corner, grab your phone, place it face-down, and then turn around — arms crossed, face unreadable.
“You should leave.”
He looks up.
And he doesn’t move.
“Jungkook,” you repeat, slower now, sharper. “This doesn’t change anything.”
He rises, but he doesn’t close the space between you. His voice is low, frayed at the edges.
“Stop pretending it was just sex.”
You laugh — bitter, quiet, worn thin.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
His jaw clenches. “You felt it too.”
“I felt your cock inside me,” you snap. “I thanked you for the orgasm. What else do you want?”
“That’s not what it was.”
“You’re right,” you say, folding your arms tighter. “It was nostalgia. A stupid, warm, familiar fuck. That’s all. It’s easy to miss someone when you’re lonely.”
He steps closer. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to.”
There’s a pause. A thick, excruciating silence. And then—
“You and I…” he says, softly now, like the words might shatter in his throat, “we were made for each other. Even our bodies—”
“Oh, right,” you cut in, vicious now, unable to hold it back. “You’d know. You’ve had so many to compare.”
His mouth opens. Closes. For once, he has no clever retort.
You press forward, rage slipping between the cracks of your voice.
“How many, Jungkook? Since me? How many fans, idols, influencers, pretty things to fuck between tours? Don’t act like I was unforgettable when you replaced me every goddamn night.”
“I didn’t replace you,” he says — broken, breathless. “I was just trying to forget.”
“And did it work?”
“No.” His voice cracks. “No, it didn’t. I was stupid. I was young and insecure and fucking terrified. I hated myself for what I did. I still do.”
You shake your head slowly, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, the robe cinched too tightly around your waist now.
“You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to walk out when things get hard and come back years later with apologies and expect me to what— forgive you? Believe that you’ve changed?”
“I have changed.”
“Good for you.”
He takes a trembling breath. “I don’t want to be defined by who I was at twenty.”
You inhale sharply — then exhale through your teeth like it burns.
“You think I wasn’t twenty too?” Your voice rises, high and brittle. “You think I didn’t feel lost? I moved to Seoul with you. I started everything from scratch. My job. My name. My future. I met people too. Rich ones. Brilliant ones. Men who would’ve killed to touch me, to claim me, to give me the fucking world—”
He flinches.
“—but I never said yes. Because I wanted to go through it all with you. I was building something. A life. A career. A future. And I wanted you beside me.”
Tears fall now. Hot, fast. You don’t bother to wipe them.
“But you left,” you whisper. “No explanation. No closure. Just silence. Like I meant nothing.”
He takes a step toward you.
You step back.
“You broke me,” you say, and your voice finally cracks — full and sharp and agonizing. “You left me alone in a city that already hated me. You made me beg for your attention without saying a word. And I still had to show up to work. Smile. Climb. Watch my dreams come true with no one beside me to see it.”
“I should’ve been there,” he chokes out, eyes shining now. “I was a coward. I didn’t deserve you then. But I want to be the man who does now. Please—please just give me a chance to prove it.”
You stare at him.
And your heart is breaking.
But you shake your head.
“Every time I look at you,” you whisper, voice like shattered glass, “I see the version of myself you left behind. Nineteen. In love. Hopeful. And you stole her from me. You robbed my nineteen year self of her happy future.”
His lips part, trembling.
“I’ll never forgive you for that.”
✦✦✦
He doesn’t move. Just stands there in the quiet of the room that still smells like sex and sweat and the bitter rot of everything they’ve broken again. His eyes are red-rimmed now, chest rising like it physically hurts to speak — and maybe it does.
“I love you.”
He says it softly, like the words themselves might vanish if he says them too loud. Like he doesn’t quite believe they’ll land.
Your lips part, barely. But you don’t answer. Not at first. You just stand there, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, robe clinging to damp skin, trying to shield yourself from a wound that’s already been split open at the seam.
“I never stopped,” he whispers, stepping closer, not enough to touch, but enough for you to feel the warmth of him, even now. “Even when I fucked up. Even when I disappeared. Even when I hated myself for it.”
You blink once. Your throat tightens. And then you speak — slowly, like every word is a blade you have to pull out of yourself to hand to him.
“No.”
He freezes.
“No, you didn’t love me then,” you say, voice low, calm, terrifying in its precision. “You loved how I made you feel. How I adored you. How I was yours when you wanted me, and gone when you didn’t.”
His breath hitches, but you go on.
“And now you’re doing it again. You’re confusing lust with love. Familiarity with fate. You’re looking at me and thinking this means something more than it does, because you want it to, because it makes you feel less guilty.”
“It does mean something,” he argues, stepping forward like he’s desperate to close the space. “You and me—”
You shake your head.
“You don’t get to say that. Not anymore.”
He opens his mouth, but you lift your hand — not to strike, not to touch, just to stop him.
“I don’t believe you,” you say, and you mean it. “And even if I did… it’s too late.”
You turn then, slow and sharp, like your heart is finally made of steel instead of longing, and you gesture toward the door — toward the end of the night, the end of the echo, the end of whatever illusion he came here chasing.
He doesn’t move at first.
But when he does, he doesn’t say anything else. Just walks to the door with quiet steps, like the weight of everything he never said is finally too much to carry.
The door opens.
Then shuts behind him with a soft, final click.
And in the silence that follows, you don’t cry.
You just stand there, still barefoot, still breathing, staring out across the lake through the glass windows as the lights of Villa Fioretta shimmer back at you in the dark.
And for the first time in years, you let yourself whisper the truth.
He broke you. And you’re still not sure if you’ll ever recover.
✦✦✦
Villa Fioretta sparkles like something out of a Renaissance painting — golden lanterns swinging in the breeze, shadows stretching long over the polished marble as the evening unfolds with practiced luxury. The terrace for tonight’s formal dinner is carved into the cliffside, overlooking the dark silk of Lake Como, each table draped in white linen and framed with tumbling white roses. Candles flicker in crystal holders. Soft jazz rolls under the clink of silverware and laughter that never reaches the eyes.
You arrive later than planned.
Hair pinned. Makeup fresh. The kind of dress that breathes elegance from the front and vengeance from the back — low-cut, high-slit, sharp where it needs to be and soft where it shouldn’t. Midnight navy satin hugs your waist, drapes over your thighs, whispers down your legs with every step you take. On your ears: diamonds. Around your neck: a pearl choker — delicate, pointed, surgical.
No one would know that you didn’t sleep last night.
Except maybe him.
Jungkook sees you before anyone else. Of course he does. He’s already seated when you arrive, across the long dinner table, dressed in black-on-black with his hair slicked back and his jaw clenched tight enough to crack. His eyes meet yours. Then drop. Then return. He doesn’t look away after that.
But you do.
You let your gaze sweep past him like he’s any other guest — beneath you, behind you, not even worth remembering.
Because tonight, you’re not here to feel.
You’re here to make sure he does.
“Ah, Y/N.” Dante Seo stands when you’re led to your place, a slow grin blooming on his face like he’s waited the whole day for this exact moment. “You’re late.”
You slip into the chair beside him without apologizing. “I had to recover from a… long night.”
His eyes spark at that.
You don’t let them linger.
Around you, the table is littered with people who make headlines for a living — stylists, designers, fashion house CEOs, cultural editors from every Vogue in the western hemisphere. BTS is here too — seated near the far end, spaced out perfectly so the illusion of randomness doesn’t look like security protocol.
You don’t look at them either.
You focus on Dante’s hand as it grazes yours every time he reaches for his wine. You focus on the warmth of the candlelight on your collarbones. On the way people lean in when you speak.
“You truly spearheaded something magnificent,” the director of Vogue UK says, dabbing at her lips. “That October cover… everyone’s talking about it. Jungkook’s never looked so refined.”
“Or so raw,” someone else adds. “There’s something vulnerable in it. Almost like…”
“Like he was seen,” Dante finishes, smiling sideways at you. “That was you, wasn’t it?”
You sip your wine.
“That was my job,” you reply coolly. “To see him as something more than a headline.”
Your words hang between you.
Jungkook doesn’t speak.
Not once.
But you feel him. Every time Dante laughs too loud. Every time Dante leans too close. Every time his hand brushes your thigh under the tablecloth and you don’t move it away. You feel Jungkook watching like it’s a punishment. And maybe it is.
Because he doesn’t look powerful now.
He looks like a man barely holding himself together — knuckles white against the stem of his glass, jaw so tight you know it aches.
And still… he says nothing.
Dinner ends slowly. Plates are cleared. Dessert is offered. Liqueur appears in tall, thin glasses, and conversations bloom into something silkier, messier. Looser.
Dante leans toward you again, the scent of spice and ambition warm against your cheek.
“I have a bottle I’d kill to open with you,” he murmurs. “Private cellar. Ten minutes. Just us.”
You smile without showing teeth. Your heart is thudding like betrayal behind your ribs. But you nod.
“Lead the way.”
You stand.
And that’s when he stands too.
Jungkook.
You pretend not to see him following, just a few paces behind, not fast, not loud — but steady.
The hallway is dim, the sconces casting long shadows across marble walls as you and Dante make your way toward the private wing. At the turn, Dante checks his phone — a call from someone downstairs. He excuses himself for a moment, promises to be right back.
And then you feel it — the heat behind you. A presence you’ve memorized in your bones.
He says nothing at first. Just breathes.
Then, softly — like a ghost afraid to be exorcised:
“You don’t have to do this just to hurt me.”
You turn, slow and sharp, and there he is — no stage, no audience, no press-ready expression. Just Jungkook. Tense. Broken. Bare.
“I’m not doing anything to you,” you reply. “I’m leaving.”
“With him?”
Your smile is tired. “He asked nicely.”
His voice drops, rough and unsteady. “He doesn’t know you.”
“No one does,” you whisper. “Not anymore.”
His eyes close for half a second — like that one cut sliced too deep.
“You don’t mean that,” he says, almost to himself. “You’re just angry. You’re trying to prove something.”
“I’m proving I can walk away from you now.”
Jungkook steps closer. Just one step. Barely enough to touch. His breath hits your collarbone.
“If you walk out with him right now… I’ll never stop thinking about it.”
You blink. But your voice doesn’t break this time.
“Then think about it.”
“Please,” he says — and it’s not performance, not charm, not strategy.
It’s desperation.
Raw. Quiet. Real.
“Please don’t do this. Not like this.”
You hesitate. Just a second.
But it’s enough to break you.
“Don’t ask me for anything,” you say, voice soft and surgical. “You already took everything that mattered.”
And when Dante reappears at the end of the hall, you turn without another word.
Your heels echo across the marble as you disappear down the corridor.
You don’t look back.
Not even when Jungkook breaks in the silence behind you.
.
.
.
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𓆩♡𓆪 “It’s the way you can ride, think I met you in another life, so break me off another time,” – jock!jk
·˚ ༘ 💌 TAGS — creampies, marathon sex (mentioned), face-sitting/riding, dirty talk, NASTY SMUT, soft moments too, drunk sex, oc being lovely and jk being obsessed with it, high sex, lazy sex, get ‘em cowgirl style, unprotected sex as always, jk gets sappy when drunk, love these two 🥺
MONDAY
Mondays are reserved for studying after partying the weekend with Jungkook and his friends. You ran your errands in the morning and by lunch you were back home with Luna doing assignments and lounging around in your room. Jungkook usually was off doing his own things and then later dropping by with food at your house. Nights however weren’t any different.
Mondays are for winding back and relaxing, and lucky for you Jungkook knows exactly how to get you to unwind with him on a peaceful Monday night.
“Jungkookie,” you softly moan out, “feels so good, ‘s deep inside me.” You murmur out with your head tilted back and hands settled over his chest for leverage.
Jungkook had his lip caught between his teeth and his face was scrunched in pleasure. He lets breathy moans slip past his lips, his hands were grabbing anywhere he could reach. His hands greedily squeezed and played with your ass cheeks while you worked your hips up-down, side to side, and back-forth over is cock. Oh Jungkook was convinced you were made for his cock.
“Just like that baby,” Jungkook whispers in a huff, “made it so messy, gonna have you clean it all up.” He licks his lips and looks down where his cock appears with a sheen coat of creamy slick, a ring of white forms around the base of his cock which disappears every time you sink back down.
You mewl at the idea of licking his cock clean and your hips stutter in their movements, his cock digs into that sweet spot and you roll your hips eagerly for more. “Love making it messy for you,” you whimper, “sounds so good.” Your words are slurred from the pleasure, your eyes flutter shut as you start riding him faster.
The headboard begins hitting the wall repeatedly from the force of your movements. You raise your hips up and down on his cock, bouncing the way you know will drive him crazy. Jungkook can’t do anything but lay there and take it as you use his cock to get off. He becomes more vocal and less talkative as he loses himself to the feeling of your pussy massaging his cock.
“Oh fuck..” Jungkook throws his head back and clenches his jaw, the way your hips slow down at the base of his cock and swivel in a small circle has him gripping the sheets for life. “Like that.” He swears you’re trying to kill him or something.
His groaning and slight whimpers send you over the edge, your tummy feels like there’s a ton of butterflies in there with the way he’s moaning out for more. You eagerly bounce on his cock with wet slaps as your ass makes contact with his thighs. His cock perfectly aims for your g-spot and has you shaking from your thighs.
“Jungkook..! ‘M gonna cum..!” You throw your head back, “Gonna cum, gonna cum,” you repeat breathily as a low whine slips past your lips.
Jungkook rolls his hips upward to aid you, his fingertips press into your hips as he grabs you for dear life. “Shit y/n,” he hisses out as he throws his head back, he feels your cunt clench down tightly on him and it makes his poor cock throb with need.
It happens so quickly neither of you register your orgasm at first, at least not until he feels your cunt squeeze him rhythmically, pulsing as your cream all over him and make the slick dribble down to his balls. Jungkook slows you down as his cock throbs weakly in response, it’s easily one of the most intense orgasms he himself has ever had. He feels like he’s in paradise as he collapses into the bed.
“Oh shit..” He gulps, what exactly just happened?
You collapse on top of him with a weak little moan, “Felt so good..” You whisper out as your eyes flutter tiredly, “I don’t wanna get up..” You mumble. Jungkook slaps your ass in response with a tired groan.
“You have to, gotta clean up.” He sleepily replies, ignoring your whine of protest. What a night..
+
TUESDAY
Tuesdays are free days, you always like to stay in and take the day off from studies and anything work related. You spend it lounging with Jungkook in his apartment watching some random movie on his TV while he rolls a blunt in the background propped up against your ass using it as a pillow.
“Baby,” Jungkook mumbles and licks over the wrapping paper, “I want some..” He murmurs out in a low whiny tone.
“Some what?” You softly reply.
Jungkook reaches up to grip your soft ass cheek, fondling it in his hand as he turns his head to give it a soft little kiss, “You know what.” He murmurs as he sets aside his blunt on the rolling tray and turns over. He cages you in under him, arms settling over both sides of you as he leans down to kiss your shoulder, “What are you watching?” He says softly as he looks over your shoulder.
“I put on that new Scream movie that came out.” You reply softly, shivering a tiny bit because you feel his necklace dangle behind your neck.
He hums nonchalantly and kisses over your shoulders, sighing deeply as he turns his face to hide away in your neck. He slips his greedy hands under you and into your shirt, cupping both tits in his hand as he rubs his thumb over your nipples and occasionally pinches the soft buds. When you whine out his name in that sweet little voice of yours he can’t help it, he turns you over on to your back and leans down to kiss you.
You softly moan against his lips and wrap your arms around his neck, he settles himself nicely over you with his hands splayed over your hips gently. Jungkook’s lips move against yours slowly. He's not rushing or anything, just savoring this nice moment with you. You’re not in much of a rush either anyways.
“Wanna smoke some?” He asks softly when he pulls away from the kiss, a thin string of saliva connecting both of your lips. He stares down at you with half lidded eyes and his lip between his teeth.
You look back up at him with hazy eyes and nod, “Yeah..” You pull him down for a gentle kiss, “Just a lil’ okay.” Jungkook nods and his eyes flutter shut again, kissing you while he reaches over for the rolling tray.
When you both pull away from the heated kiss you’re both panting softly, the movie is long forgotten and Jungkook focuses on lighting the blunt. You sit back and watch as he takes a small hit, hissing under his breath as he holds the blunt out to you. “You don’t have to.” He gently reminds you like every other time.
“I’m fine..” You softly say and take the blunt from his hand, taking a semi-long drag like he’s taught you before. It’s been a while so you end up coughing a tiny bit but Jungkook simply smiles as he drags you onto his lap. “ ‘m okay Jungkookie..” You murmur and pass the blunt back to him.
Jungkook takes a long drag from it as he lays there with his arm behind his head. Occasionally he passes it back and forth with you until there’s nothing left of it. You’re both left lying there with half-lidded eyes, high out of your minds but more importantly..horny. With Jungkook there’s no in-between, either he’s super hungry/sleepy or he’s super fucking horny. Same went for you.
It’s no surprise you end up lying under him with your panties cast to the side and his cock inside of you. Jungkook lazily leaves his marks all over your neck and tits he’s worse than usual as he covers you in dark purple blotches. The feeling sends shivers crawling up your spine, the pleasure is heightened from the weed doing its magic. You swear everything is ten times more better this way.
Jungkook lays his body flat against yours, groaning quietly into the side of your neck as he clenches the pillow tightly. You really made a mess this time given that his pelvis is smeared in your slick, every thrust sends you reeling in pleasure from the way his fat cock rubs against your oversensitive walls and his hips rub up against your swollen clit. You could really just cum from this slow pace alone.
“Kook..” You murmur out quieter than usual, your hands weakly come up to grip his shoulders. Your thighs shake from holding them up around his waist, they slip every so often until you end up lying there bonelessly with a weak whimper escaping your lips. “ ‘s so good..” You mumble.
“Yeah..” Jungkook turns to capture your lips in a slow kiss, “Need more..?” He hums out, reaching down to thumb at your slippery throbbing clit.
You keen in pleasure, hands shakily coming down to grip his wrist to stop him, “ ‘s too much..!” You gasp out, “Nooo..” You whine out, “Gonna make me cum too fast..”
Jungkook doesn’t reply and keeps rubbing instead, his hips kick upward a bit more forceful but still maintaining that lazy pace. He silences your moans and whines with a kiss, panting hotly into your mouth as he moves his lips against yours. The noises you two emit from the filthy kiss only makes you throb even more, you feel a bit of drool slip down your chin too..
“Mmm…” You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him to you, panting as you try to pull away from the kiss.
Everytime you do move away he follows you, lips pressing against yours insitently as he moans lowly, “Stay still for me baby..” He mumbles, “Wanna kiss you.” He whispers as he stares into your eyes. Both of your lips are coated in spit, glossy and swollen from basically sucking eachother’s faces off. Jungkook thinks it makes you look cuter.
“Jungkook,” you gasp and arch your back. He hits your g-spot dead on at this angle and it sends you into a surprise orgasm. It hits slow and makes goosebumps form all over as you tremble under him whimpering. He lazily smiles and keeps fucking you past your orgasm, chasing his own as he hugs you tightly and buries his face in your neck.
You lay there whining for him in oversensitivity as your cunt clenches around him tightly. Jungkook cums after a few more thrusts, he doesn’t make any noise and simply shivers as he slumps against you. “Ah.. fuck.” Jungkook mutters, “Baby, you want somethin’ to eat?” He smacks his lips as he slowly sits up, cock slipping from your wet pussy with a lewd squelch.
“Chips?” You softly say.
“Okay..” He slowly rolls out of bed, “Stay here, I’ll go buy some from the 7/11. I won’t take long, love you.” He comments on his way out after re-dressing.
“Love you too.” You sleepily smack your lips and lay back down with a sigh.
+
WEDNSDAY
Wednsdays you do your laundry, you find it so much easier to do it in the middle of the week that way you have it out of the way.
Jungkook sits there with his hands in his pockets just admiring the pretty view, oh it’s a view alright. You’re bent over digging through the dryer wearing these tight little shorts you got from PINK, you even wear this white tank top that rides up and shows your soft little tummy. Jungkook tilts his head with a stupid smile, kicking his legs as he watches your cute ass (literally).
“Jungkookie, I didn’t know that you had to take your dry clothes before the timer ends because then your clothes shrink! Can you believe that, look what happened to my undies.” You lift up the red lace undies to show it to him, dangling them right in the air where everyone looks and stares in shock.
Jungkook chuckles quietly, “Oh you’re so fucking cute.” He whispers under his breath and turns to side-eye someone who gives you a judgemental look, “C’mere, I can’t see them from here.” He says patting his thigh.
Like a puppy you come right over with the basket of dry clothes, huffing as you set the basket off to the side. You step in between his legs and lift the panties up, “See? I think they’re going to fit tighter now.” You pout.
“Tighter the better.” He grins and swoops down to take the garment out of your hands. “So,” he starts as you step away to the side, “are you still down to go out later? Jimin wants to go to this new bar that opened up, opens around eleven I think.” He tosses your panties into the basket as he gently taps your arms with his fist.
You nod, “Oh yes! I even bought this new outfit that I really like Jungkookie, it’s pink, it’s cute, and it’s pretty.” You cheekily smile. He laughs and you keep going, “The only downside is I don’t have anything to cover up with when it gets cold..” You pout sadly but then smile at him, “Can I have your hoodie? I think it’ll look super cute.”
“Sure, knock yourself out baby.” Jungkook grins softly as he picks out a few of your panties from the basket to neatly fold, “Maybe you should buy more of these,” he dangles the lace panties in your face, “they make your ass look so pretty.”
“I know! I was thinking about getting more because of how comfy they are!.” You smile softly and step between his legs again, giggling when he wraps his arms around you tightly, “Jungkookie if you help me fold the rest of my stuff I’ll show you what I got on right now.” You tease softly in his ear.
Jungkook hops off that counter so fucking fast.
+
THURSDAY
Thursdays are the busiest for you, they’re spent going to your lectures and turning in important papers. Your poor little brain is so fried by the time you’re done! Nothing beats coming home to Jungkook though, he already knows exactly what you need.
“R-Right there..!” You gasp and bury your fingers in his hair, “Please, please, please,” you beg under your breath and rock your hips against his face. Jungkook does not disappoint, he gives it his all, lapping at your slicked up hole and sucking on your fat little pussy lips, groaning and occasionally going back to your clit.
His strong arms hold you down over his face, his nose occasionally bumps into your clit whenever you move forward a tiny bit too much. You put one hand on the headboard and angle your hips down so your pussy sits perfectly atop his face. You’re half tempted to just ride his tongue, to make him take it while you get yourself off on him. He wouldn’t mind..would he..?
Jungkook’s hands squeeze your asscheeks tightly when you begin to ride his face earnestly. He moans softly and manages to catch your clit in his mouth, sucking harshly before letting his tongue run over it. “Kook..!” You sob out, hips humping his face as you rub your clit over his soft tongue over and over again.
Jungkook let you have it, groaning under you as he slapped your ass while you rode his face. He felt your thighs squeeze his head from the pleasure, shaking every so often as your hips stuttered in their movements occasionally. He was in pure heaven right now with a mouthful of pussy and your thighs as his earmuffs. He didn’t EVER want to leave.
“I’m coming..!” You whimper all breathy and high, “J-Jungkookie..!” You gasp out and your hips come to a stop as you cum hard. Your clit throbs and your pussy pulses around nothing. It feels so hot between your legs after such an intense orgasm. You almost forget Jungkook’s under you. “Oops..” You whisper and climb off of him, “Did I almost kill you?” You pout.
Jungkook pants softly as he lays there staring at the ceiling, “No.. even if you did I’m pretty sure that is what heaven feels like..” He whispers like he’s seen a whole new world, “Next time, wear your Sailor Moon costume.”
+
FRIDAY
Fridays are the best. The weekend is coming, classes are out for you, and Jungkook has plans for the two of you. You’re so ready to forget all about your stupid classes, and not to mention the fact that you’re looking forward to doing no work for the next two days.
Tonight Jungkook takes you out to a party his friend throws. You dance together and have a couple of beers before ending the night with good old fashioned body shots. Jungkook ends up taking about four shots from your pretty little body, and by the time you’re both going home in a uber he’s drunk and so are you.
Drunk nights lead to drunk sex, and drunk sex is hot, nasty, and it lasts all night.
You’ve been at it since you both stumbled into his room. He has you spread out under him wearing nothing but your pretty pink heels and that damned g-string with his intials hanging from the front and the back. The room feels hot and stuffy, the sheets are ruined and the headboard won’t stop banging against the wall. Your pussy makes the loudest noises ever, squelching wetly from both your creamy slick and his cum.
A light sheen of sweat covers your bodies, you’re not too sure how the hell he has so much stamina at the moment but you’re not complaining. In your drunken state you manage to pull him in by your legs, heels digging into his back as you cry out for more. Jungkook doesn’t mind, he carries on fucking you like nothing else matters. His balls slap against your taint creating this fopping sound everytime he bottoms out.
“Shit–” He moans out, “You look so goddamn pretty right now baby, pussy’s so fucken wet.. God look at those tits,” he slurs out and leans down to suck a nipple harshly, “fucken love fucking you.” He switches to your other nipple with a low groan.
You mewl in pleasure and hold on to the bed sheets for dear life as he fucks you within an inch of your life. It’s getting harder to hold back your orgasms when he’s pressing into your g-spot over and over again. This will go down in history as one of the best dickings he’s ever given you.
“y/n,” he moans, “look at me,” he pulls away to cup your face, “fuckin love you, you know that? Gonna make you my baby mama, marry you n all that shit too.” He grinds into you while he says this, “You love me too don’t you baby?” He moans out. You nod vigorously with tears in your eyes from the pleasure, you don’t trust your voice to reply verbally. Luckily he seems content with what, “Fuck,” he slams into you, “ ‘m gonna cum again..” He mumbles.
Jungkook fucks you until the sun rises, and by the end of it you’re left laying there with cum spilling from your pussy and sweat on your body. Jungkook somehow ended up on the ground sleeping in the mess of blankets and pillows, you don’t comment to much on that..
+
SATURDAY & SUNDAY
The weekend is reserved for fun, and fun comes in many forms. It could be Jungkook taking you shopping, going out to eat with friends, or even going out for drinks. This time however you’re both nursing the biggest hangover you’ve ever had. You decide a self care weekend is in order.
You both order takeout and spend the day inside curled up watching movies and trying to stave off those pounding headaches. “Owie..” You whimper and curl up into Jungkook’s neck, “The lights are hurting me.” You whine out, “Off, turn ‘em off..”
Jungkook hisses as he quickly shuts off his bedroom light, “Fuck I’m never drinking like that.” He shakes his head, “Next time pinch me if you see me trying to take shots or something baby.” He lays his head on yours with a sigh.
“That’s mean, why don’t I give you kisses! That way you focus on me and we can dance. Wait, do you want me to tell you no too for beer?”
“Oh you sweet thing.” Jungkook whispers under his breath, “Babe, beer is just as bad as the shots we drank, so yes, I need you to tell me no for that as well..” He trails off, growing sick from the thought of any more alcohol. You nod a bit too quickly because then you’re doubling over whining about the pain and dizziness, “You and me both baby.” Jungkook says as he sighs, “You and me both..”
