[ 🐚 ] : stranded in an abandoned lighthouse in the middle of the ocean surrounded by blood hungry sharks, two enemies are forced from wanting to kill each other into survival, where desire slowly begins to take place between their pain and hatred, with no way to escape or call for help things grow even more terrifying when they realize they aren’t the only ones in the lighthouse, someone is sabotaging them.. almost feeding off their fears, who will strike first — the thing hunting them or their own feelings?
✶ PAIRING › shark specialist!jungkook x investigator!f.reader
✶ GENRE › survival au, forced proximity, enemies to lovers, grumpy x grumpy, dark romance, marine biologist!jungkook, forensic investigator!reader, one night stand, slowburn, psychological horror, mystery thriller, fwb, forbidden attraction, pining and yearning, love/hate relationship, crime, romance, smut, fluff, angst
✶ WARNINGS › 18+, explicit sex scenes, mature themes, emotional abuse and trauma, dark aspects, paranormal aspects, violence, blood and gore, drowning themes, shark attacks and details of injury, paranoia, panic attacks, fear play, masochism, mention of deaths, smoking and alcohol consumption, fear of love, self-harm, love confessions and confrontation, each chapter contains their individual warnings (reader discretion is advised due to the dark and potentially triggering content)
✶ TAGLIST › OPEN ꩜ .ᐟ
『 series masterlist | main masterlist | read on wattpad | read on ao3 』
“oh my god..” you gasped out.
your back slammed against the cold hard wall as jungkook pinned you there with his body. his hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, lifting you so your legs wrapped around his waist.
he already had you impaled on his cock, buried deep inside you thrusting into you with such force that made the rusty wall creak behind you as if it were about to break itself.
“fuck off.”
you spat out while panting as your nails dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer. your voice cracked with anger even if you weren't able to speak properly between your moans.
“i-i hate you jungkook.”
he laughed bitterly, his hips snapping forward again, driving his cock so deep you saw stars.
his forehead pressed against yours, his dark eyes full of hurt and disdain as you stared back but the hurt in his eyes overshadowed all the rage. sweat dripped from his hair and he breathed hotly against your lips.
“you hate me huh? of course you would.”
your lips part as a droplet of tear streams down the side of your face but before it could fall down, he flicked the droplet away with the tip of his finger as if the mere sight of it frustrates him.
his hand comes down to clamp around your throat, choking you and you wanted him to end you right here if it satisfies him.
but he didn't.
he just taunted you like always, his one finger pressed against your pulse point and felt it race.
“you don't get to cry now darling.” he says harshly, using the nickname that made you react.
“not after you fucking used me like i was nothing, when i loved you and you threw it back in my face.”
his hand slams on the wall beside your head making you jump as your bottom lip quivers at the word “love.”
“s-shut up!”
your voice breaks on a sob as the glare melts away from your face to one of ecstasy when his pace turns punishing.
like he was trying to get all his pain out through the pace of his hips alone as the wet slap of skin filled the empty space.
your head fell back as all thoughts dissolved to pleasure, your eyes growing half lidded and cheeks flushed. the proof that even if you shouted or yelled with all your might that you hated him, you could never hate his cock or the way he made you feel.
he noticed, of course he did.
“look at you...”
he growls with a smug grin on his face. his hand glided up to grip your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“mouth saying you hate me but this pussy is clenching around my cock like it never wants me to stop yeah?”
“you love this don't you? love me fucking you like i hate you.”
“i do hate you!”
you yelped, your hips rolled to meet his, chasing it as your nails dug hard enough in his chest to draw blood but that barely fazed the broad muscular man, it seemed to drive him wilder.
“what do you want from me? ahh—just leave me alone.” you croaked.
“too late for that.” he rasps brokenly.
he slammed into you again, hitting that spot inside you perfectly, just the way he never fails to get on your nerves.
“oh shit, i'm gonna—”
you wailed against his shoulder, feeling your orgasm building so fast that you couldn't breathe properly.
“i hate you too you know? i hate that i still want you even after you destroyed me..” he spat out between gritted teeth.
your bodies moved together like that with so much rawness. both of you groaning against each other's lips, just teasing but never breaking the last restraint of kissing each other.
the memory of the once slow loving kisses with his sweet smile made your vision blurry with another round of tears.
those memories were nothing and you convinced yourself that everytime.
your heart was tightening at the same time your pussy started fluttering around his thick girth, almost trying to cut off his blood flow.
“fuckkk.”
he hissed and buried his face in your neck, biting down as he pounded into you like he was trying to break something and you didn't know if he wanted to break you or himself.
you screamed, pleasure and pain combining together until you couldn't tell them apart.
that's when in a hazy trance, your eyes fell past his shoulder and toward the half open door. there was a shadow, a tall frame in the doorway, long hair down, bloodshot eyes unblinking and watching the both of you and you froze instantly.
you gasped sharply, your body tensing around him.
“jungkook—there's someone—”
he froze mid thrust, still buried inside you and whipped his head around, his breathing ragged.
“what? where?”
you blinked, staring hard and it felt like just with your blink, in a second, the shadow had just disappeared.
“i thought...” your voice shook.
“i just saw a woman, she was just standing there.”
jungkook's grip on you loosened slightly, he hesitates for a bit and started pulling out of you, both of you letting out shared moans of the sudden emptiness and leaving the release hanging.
but whatever you just saw seemed to pull you both towards it anyways as if it itself wanted to put an end to both your connections.
he settled you down, your legs trembling as his expression shifted from desire to confused and concerned. his cock was still hard and glistening from both your fluids.
“stay here.” he mutters.
he yanks his pants up hastily and crosses the room, not caring that he's shirtless.
you watched, one of your hand curling against your chest as he stepped into the hallway, peering left and right.
he even walked further down the lighthouse stairs, checking the corners before coming back up.
“there's no one. you sure you didn't imagine it?”
you shook your head with a whimper as you leaned against the wall, not being able to hold his eyes or let him see your vulnerability as you crumbled.
you didn't wanna let him see you break down but you couldn't help it when all your demons gripped you all at once.
you slide down to the wall before sinking down on the floor, taking in quick breaths, hugging your knees to calm yourself but a sob breaks free from your lips anyways.
who was she? why did she feel so familiar? like she was trying to drag you downhill with her like she was waiting for the right moment to strike... and she knew all your secrets.
you didn't know what happened suddenly but everything overwhelmed you at once.
you felt so exposed.
you never felt so utterly alone, so isolated even if jungkook just stood a few steps away watching you in shock.
your hands covered your ears, trying to block out all the voices in your head and the loud sounds of the waves outside the lighthouse that never seemed to quiet down.
your sobs increase as you pull hard against your hair, hurting your scalp in the process but not registering it, forgetting that jungkook was right there.
until you felt his hand grip your arms, trying to pull them away from your hair.
“y/n! y/n fuck stop, you're hurting yourself.”
“let me go! let me go!”
you squirmed, crying and choking on your sobs but he didn’t let you go, locking your arms around his waist as he held you tight in his arms, not letting you go even as you screamed and clawed at his chest weakly.
he knew very well that you were having a panic attack.
at this moment, you didn’t know what was more cruel, the hatred between you both or the fact that your bodies still craved each other.
the spirits you both believed were hunting the lighthouse that seemed to trap you both here or that there was no escape with the endless ocean surrounding you both with hungry sharks.
that there was so much suffocation and fear.
“i'm not letting you go my darling, not as long as i'm alive.”
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an abundance of mondays - ao3 (was on tumblr by diortae)
childhood best friends to lovers, college au, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, smut mdni
“Why the fuck would it be easy? You’re disgustingly in love with your best friend. Of course it’s complicated.” He pauses to roll his eyes, as if he hasn’t just laid out the most secret parts of you here in the middle of the campus dining hall.
Or, it’s an old cliche, falling in love with your best friend. It’s a shame none of the stories ever told you it would feel like this.
cold nights & blurred lines - ao3 (was on tumblr by awrkive)
college au, fwb, basketball player!jk, he’s a bit emotionally constipated it’s ok bc so is the reader, smut mdni
jungkook and you have been keeping a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.
there is also a drabble after the events of cn&bl
the wedding planners - @gukyi
enemies to lovers, wedding au, fluff, slight angst, smut mdni
jeon jungkook is three things: cocky, terrible, and your worst enemy. then your best friend hoseok gets engaged to the love of his life, and suddenly jeon jungkook is four things: cocky, terrible, your worst enemy, and the man you will be spending the next seven months with in order to plan your best friend's wedding.
and then, as if your life couldn't get any shittier, you make the poor decision of sleeping with him on the first day of the job.
forever hold your peace - @seokbite ⟢ my personal fav rn
infidelity au, bestman!jk x reader & fiancé!taehyung, kook is tae’s best friend, angst, physical violence, smut mdni
Forever was a long time to spend with someone you weren't in love with. Saying yes to Taehyung's proposal had been a mistake, one you didn't think you could walk away from in fear of destroying everything you've ever made for yourself. But, your heart laid with Jeon Jungkook, your grooms best man and best friend.
idealizations concerning real life relations - @venusiangguk
strangers to lovers, fuckboy!jk x hopeless romantic!reader, fwb, angst, smut mdni
jungkook loves to be loved, but he doesn't love in return.
something in the water - @vankoya
friends to lovers, camping au, mutual pining, slight crack au (tae funny as hellll) smut mdni
Sleeping in is a foreign concept to Kim Taehyung and his awkward,mismatched gang of pals. This is made all the more apparent when they rock up at ____'s doorstep at the ass crack of dawn, as if it is a natural time for any college student to be awake.
But when she is informed that it was the youngest of their group who insisted she join them on their spontaneous camping trip, she is suddenly not as reluctant to play along than when she was first awakened by her enigma of a best friend, slamming his fist against her front door.
chasing butterflies - @ddaenggtan ⟢ my favourite fic 4ever
idiots to lovers, college au, coffee shop au, weeb!jk x jock!reader, endless humour and anime jokes, mutual pining, losers in love.., smut mdni
you never meant to be a jock in school. the volleyball team had just needed people and you were there and then you had a knack for it. you just happened to be good at it and went with it. similar to how you saw jeon jungkook in your friend's orientation group and thought he was absolutely radiant and just went with it. for two years. you've spent the entire time pining from afar, mostly because you always seem to make a fool of yourself when he's around, but also because jungkook is part of that exclusive crowd, the ones that you never can seem to penetrate: the weebs. that is, until your friends get sick of your hopeless pining and decide to do something about it.
there is also a drabble after the events of cb
we can’t be friends - @taegularities ⟢ my fav author
exes au, college au, so much angst, smut mdni
Jungkook once planted a garden in your chest that he watered when he smiled and you killed when he left. But flowers withering isn't enough; that doesn't mend the ache. No - you want this entire story to die.
Or: If living on can't mend the pain of losing him, maybe forgetting him for good will.
mature - @jiminrings
friends to lovers, jealousy, fluff, kook kinda sucks sometimes but he gets a redemption arc
the good thing about professing your feelings to jungkook is that it'd be over with, whether or not he likes you back — the bad thing is that he rejects you, even if you haven't confessed.
alternatively, crushing on jungkook who's in your friend group is, has, and will never be a good idea.
divine feminine - @gimmethatagustd
fwb, college au, fluff, kook yaps about anatomy n then tries a hands on approach, smut mdni
No one can make you feel like a goddess better than Jeon Jungkook.
melomaniac - @jungkxook
friends to lovers, band au, punk!jk, mutual pining but it’s kinda forbidden, a tatted jk fantasy b4 it became reality, smut mdni
you're wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn't be because he's supposed to be your best friend and nothing more. worst part of it all is that you know he's in love with you too.
skirt chasers - @1kook
friends to lovers, college au, campus crush!kook ‼️ the end of this fic is my fav thing ever btw, kook has a thing for skirts, smut mdni
"Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn't know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls."
drabble list for sc 1 2 3 4 5 misc 1 misc 2
zipper - @taeshobipop ⟢ another fav author of mine
frenemies, college au, fratboy!jk, smut mdni
Jungkook isn't your date to the annual BTS gala, but he's the only one available to take you dress shopping. So when a zipper emergency arises in the boutique's tiny dressing room, who's there to help you?
the train of lost souls - @inktae
fantasy au, mentions of past death, angst, some fluff
The moment you step inside the train, you are given two options.
You can choose to live, to be given a second and a last chance in life, in exchange for your memories and your previous existence. You can choose to be alive again, but it can only be an entirely new life. Everyone you've ever crossed paths with would forget your name. All the pain and the love you knew, all the ups and downs that made you hurt and made you smile - all of it, completely gone.
Or you can choose to move on, to give your life away while keeping your memories until the end of time. To step out of the world of the living and to embrace a new kind of loneliness, but with the warmth of your past always safe between your cold hands.
politico - @hamsterclaw
politics au, smut mdni
Jungkook and you are staffers in the office of the Secretary of State. He's cut-throat, sneaky and goddamn it, everything you love about politics in one irresistible package. Ft Yoongi, Namjoon and Jimin.
i heard a rumour - @taeshobipop
friends to lovers, college au, campus crush!jk, mutual pining, smut mdni
One slip of a finger, and you realize you've liked an Insta photo of college hotshot Jeon Jungkook...from two years ago. You manage to unlike it within seconds, except it's too late - Damn Kim Namjoon and his lightning-fast eyes. Do not tell a soul, you hiss.
The man merely smirks. Next thing you know, a rumor is spread throughout campus. Y/n likes Jungkook...and now he knows.
morning rush - @atdawnsuga
strangers, college au, exhibitionism?, slight smut mdni
You develop a strange relationship with the boy you share your morning commute with.
You'd remember Jungkook with every life you lived. Only he'd never remember you, never recall how your fates were written in the stars since the beginning of time.
catharsis - @junghelioseok
college au, fwb, ft. jimin, smut mdni
no matter what kind of release you need, he's there.
how long will we fall - @jiminrings
friends to lovers, soulmate au, unrequited love, so much angst, kook is emotionally constipated
if it's fate, it should already be set onto your skin - that's why jungkook's initials are already on your finger. he's always there for you, but not only for you. if you're his fate, he'd rather not have it.
alternatively, jungkook's your soulmate, but he doesn't want to be.
all i want for cockmas - @junqkook
jk is a mall santa lmfao, crack fic, smut mdni
you tell santa exactly what you want for christmas.
✦ series/multi-shot
incoming: elite chatboy - @kookingtae
ongoing 5/?, sex chat worker!jk, text au, humour, smut mdni
welcome to Elite Chatroom, a sex chat company with a wide variety of services such as text messaging, phone call, and video chat. you signed up online for the most basic text service plan not knowing what to expect, but you certainly didn’t think you’d end up actually liking the man behind the screen.
read part one here
the turing test - @fortunexkookie
indefinite hiatus 7/?, still added it :( cuz it’s my fav, android au, android!jk x creator!reader, mutual pining, shared tension, angst, smut mdni
"The Turing Test, developed by Alan Turing in 1950, is a test of a machine's ability to exhibit intelligent behavior equivalent to, or indistinguishable from, that of a human."
Jungkook fiddled with your hands in his, humming softly, as if deep in thought. You noted the way his eyebrows had furrowed, the sweet way his lips formed a pout, and wondered what could possibly be troubling him so much. What had he learned today?
"Creator," he began, dragging his gaze up to meet your own, "you gave me a mind that thinks, hands that feel, and a heart that beats, but did you give me a soul?"
read part one here
falling skies - @fortunexkookie
completed 6/6 enemies to friends to lovers, childhood friends au, slow burn, major angst, fluff, smut mdni
Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her twin, Jungkook, was something else entirely.
prologue
you can also read part one here
killah - @citrustan
ongoing 9/?, strangers to lovers? maybe, infidelity au, managing partner lawyer!jk x spoilt brat! reader, angst, smut mdni
you wanted jeon jungkook the moment you laid eyes on him and the fact that he had a girlfriend wasn't going to stop you.
You and Jungkook have been friends since diapers, and one day you decide to hook up for the fun of it, but then you end up pregnant with your best friend's baby. Chaos ensues.
series masterlist can be found here
cowabunga, baby! - @jungshookz
completed 2/2, lifeguard!jk, kook surfs as well he’s rlly hot, crack fic, fluff, slight smut mdni
you'd blow his whistle any day - if only you weren't such a wimp.
part 1 2
to build a home - @soft4gguk
ongoing/author hiatus 16/? strangers to lovers, ceo dilf!jk x nanny!reader, angst, kook becomes a single parent, fluff, slow burn-ish, smut mdni
at twenty-eight, jungkook sees himself go from a family of three, to one of two - heartbreak never comes easy, but nothing could've prepared him for being a single parent as a result of Ira walking out on him. pain brings chaos and he's in need of help. it's only fateful that you so happen to be a blessing in disguise... in many ways than one.
series masterlist can be found here
colour me in - @taegularities
ongoing 15/? fake dating, fwb, college au, fuckboy!jk, this fic is the best thing to ever happen to me btw, misunderstandings, fluff, angst, smut mdni
Jungkook's door only opens for you when there's a barter: a trade of lust and haze. But today you knock for something more, as intriguing as it is frightening - and you hope it doesn't close his door forever.
series masterlist can be found here
please make sure to support the authors who’ve been tagged <3 and by all means, please lmk if you’d like your fic removed.
this hasn’t even scratched the surface of all the jk fics i’ve read over the years, in fact i’ve got 10 years of reblogs & likes on this tumblr from the beginning of my bts era til now..
might make another one later, this took me 3 hours
the one where you bring your bike in for a noise that keeps returning, and discover the only thing getting properly tuned is you.
pairing: mechanic!jungkook x fem!reader
genre: no strings sex au, 2000s socal erotica, porn with plot, angst, smut (mdni!)
word count: 10,011
warnings/tags: 18+, explicit smut, protected sex, orgasms denied, dirty talk, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, bratty sub reader acts tough, mechanic/client power imbalance, pining, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, clit stimulation, fingering, grinding, hair pulling, hickies/marking, missionary, doggy style, cum on body, spitting, early 2000s aesthetic, socal setting, reader rides a motorcycle!, jungkook is left handed bc why not, surfer!jungkook, phone book meet-cute, mirror play, grease kink
a/n: hi pretties! I've had this story drafted for a while and finally finally finally finished it up! currently obsessed with biker jungkook so I thought why not write something with this baddie vibe. also I have dark&wild on repeat and it's sooo west coast coded, hence the 2000s socal aesthetic for the story. my next post will be part 2 for what happens in vegas, for those of you that are interested in reading it! well I hope you enjoy reading this and don't forget to heart and reblog ⋆. 𐙚 ˚<3
The phone book page is soft with humidity, yellow edges curling where you've gripped it too hard. You started with the full-page ads, the ones with motorcycles silhouetted against sunsets and 24-hour towing promises, but they're all the way out in Riverside or asking questions you don't want to answer about make and model. So you went to the small print, the entries that are just names and numbers, and found him third from the bottom in a column of locksmiths and septic tank services.
JK MOTOR REPAIR. No address listed, but the exchange is local.
You memorized the directions he gave you over the phone, repeating them back while standing in your kitchen with the cordless pressed to your ear, certain you're going to end up in someone's backyard being murdered. But the street is real, the building is real, a narrow storefront wedged between a check-cashing place and a store that sells quinceañera dresses in neon pink and electric blue. The garage door is open when you pull up, late afternoon sun cutting hard shadows across the concrete.
You kill the engine. The bike ticks cooling, and you sit there a second longer than you need to, watching the interior.
The shop is deeper than it looks from the street, a tunnel of tool chests and hanging parts and a hydraulic lift that hasn't been raised in a while. There's a radio playing somewhere, something you don't recognize, guitar and a man's voice that sounds like it's coming through a wall. You can smell oil, the particular sweet rot of gasoline that means someone spilled it and cleaned it up but not really.
"Help you?"
You didn't see him. He's in the shadow near the back, bent over something on a workbench that catches the light in pieces. He doesn't straighten up all the way, just enough to look at you, and you see grease on his forearms where he's pushed his sleeves up, and a streak across his jaw you suspect he doesn't know about.
"Phone book," you say, which is not an answer. "I called. About the steering."
He comes toward you then, wiping his hands on a rag that doesn't look like it's helping. He's younger than you expected from his voice, maybe twenty-five, twenty-six, with hair pushed back from his face, an arm full of tattoos, and the kind of tan that comes from being outside at the wrong hours. He looks at your bike, not at you, and you feel the strange relief of being assessed as a mechanical problem first.
"Bring it in."
You wheel it up the slight incline, the concrete uneven where years of tires have worn channels. He meets you at the bench and takes the handlebars without asking, straddling the seat to test the weight, and you watch his thighs spread against the leather, the shift of his shoulders as he turns the front fork back and forth.
"Gritty," he says.
"That's the word."
"Only when you steer?"
"Yeah. I mean, I think so. It's hard to tell when you're actually riding it."
He makes a small sound, not quite agreement, and keeps working the handlebars. The motion is rhythmic, hypnotic, his body rocking with the resistance. You can hear it now, the catch in the steering column, a grinding that isn't quite mechanical failure but isn't right either.
"How long's it been doing this?"
"A week. Maybe two."
He looks up at you then, direct, and you see that his eyes are very dark, and that he has a small scar through his left eyebrow that breaks the hair into two distinct sections.
"You ride it every day?"
"Most days."
"And you waited two weeks."
"I was busy."
"Busy."
"Yes."
He goes back to the bike, but you think you see something shift in his mouth, not quite a smile. He releases the handlebars and steps back, and you miss the motion of him immediately, the way he made your machine into something he was touching with intention.
"I can look at it. Leave it overnight."
You hadn't planned on that. You look around the shop, the single window in the back that's probably an office, the door that probably leads to an alley or nowhere. You think about being without your bike, about coming back tomorrow, about the fact that you don't know his name and he hasn't asked for yours.
"Is that necessary?"
"Not if you want to keep hearing that noise."
You watch him watch you, his expression patient in a way that feels practiced, like he's used to people deciding whether to trust him. The radio has moved on to something else, slower, a woman singing about wanting someone who's bad for her.
"I can wait," you say. "If it's something you can do now."
He looks at the bike, then at the street outside where the light is starting to turn gold, the long shadows of palm trees you can't see but know are there, everywhere in this city, marking the hours.
"Hour till I close," he says. "I can look. But I'm not stopping if you change your mind."
"I won't."
He nods, once, and reaches for a tool on the bench, some kind of wrench you don't recognize. "There's a chair. Or you can stand there. Your choice."
You stay standing. You tell yourself it's because the chair looks like it was salvaged from a dentist's office in the seventies, cracked vinyl and exposed springs, but really it's because you want to see his hands on your bike, the way he moves around it, the way he knows exactly where to touch.
He works in silence for a while, the radio filling the space. You learn things about him without meaning to: he's left-handed, he has a habit of holding screws in his mouth when he needs both hands, he doesn't wear a watch but checks the time on a clock you can't see, somewhere in the back. When he finally speaks again, you startle.
"You found me in the phone book."
"Yeah."
"Nobody uses the phone book."
"I do."
He looks up at you, the screw still between his teeth, and you see that thing in his mouth again, not quite a smile, something more knowing.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why me? Big ad, three pages back. Mike's Cycle. They do free estimates."
You feel your face heat, the specific embarrassment of being caught in a choice you can't fully explain. "You were closer."
"To where?"
"Home."
He takes the screw from his mouth and turns back to the bike, but you know he's filed the information away, that he's thinking about where you live now, mapping it, probably knowing the neighborhoods better than you do.
"You're lucky," he says.
"Yeah?"
"Could've been worse than gritty steering. Could've been your brakes."
"I check my brakes."
"Course you do."
He says it like he doesn't believe you, like he's teasing you, and you feel the strange urge to prove yourself, to list the maintenance you do, the way you know your own machine. But he's moving again, rolling the bike onto a stand, and you watch the shift of his shoulders under his thin t-shirt, the way his jeans hang low on his hips, the dark line of a waistband you can see when he reaches up for something.
The sun is lower now, cutting across the floor in a band of orange light that catches dust and makes it look like something intentional, like stage lighting. You're aware of your own breathing, of the fact that you haven't moved in several minutes, of the way he hasn't asked you to leave or offered you anything to drink or done any of the things that would have made this feel like a normal transaction between strangers.
"What's your name?" you ask.
He doesn't answer right away. He's bent over the front fork, his face close to the metal, and you can see him listening to something, feeling for something with his fingers that you can't see.
"Jungkook," he says finally, like he's deciding to give it to you. "Shop's mine."
"Just you?"
"Just me."
You wait for him to ask your name in return, but he doesn't. He keeps working, and you keep watching, and the hour he promised stretches longer in the golden light, the radio playing songs you don't know, the city outside moving toward evening without you.
⊹₊ ⋆🏍₊˚⊹♡
It's been nine days. You counted, though you won't admit that to anyone, not even to yourself in the quiet of your apartment where the number sits like something shameful. You told yourself you were giving it a week to make sure the repair held, that you weren't being the kind of customer who hovers, who doubts. But you knew the truth on day three, when you took a long route home just to pass the street, when you slowed at the intersection and saw the garage door closed, the neon OPEN sign unlit, and felt something like disappointment settle in your chest.
You told yourself the noise was back on day five. It wasn't, not really, but you convinced yourself you heard something, a faint catch in the steering that hadn't been there before, or had always been there, or you were imagining. You rode anyway, to work, to the store, to your friend's apartment in Echo Park where you drank cheap wine on her fire escape and didn't mention the mechanic once, not his name, not his shop, not the way he'd looked at you like he was waiting for you to reveal your real reason for being there.
Day six you almost went. You got dressed to go, stood in front of your bathroom mirror with your keys in your hand, and realized you had no pretext. The bike ran fine. Better than fine, smoother than it had in months, the steering clean and responsive in a way that made you think he hadn't just fixed the problem but improved something, tuned something you hadn't asked for. You put the keys down. You told yourself you were being ridiculous.
But now it's day nine, and you're pulling up to the same narrow storefront, and the gritty sound is real this time, unmistakable, a grinding that matches the rhythm of your heartbeat as you kill the engine. You're not sure if you're relieved or terrified that you have a legitimate reason to be here.
The garage door is open. The radio is playing, louder than before, something with drums that you can feel in your sternum before you even step inside. He's in the same spot, bent over the same workbench, but he looks up before you can announce yourself, like he heard you over the music, or like he's been listening for the sound of your bike.
"Back," he says. Not a question.
"The noise," you say, and your voice sounds wrong, too high, defensive. "It's back."
He straightens up, wipes his hands on the same rag, though you can't tell if it's the same rag from nine days ago or if he has a stack of them, all equally useless. He doesn't move toward you right away. He looks at your bike, then at you, and you feel the weight of his attention like a hand on your throat.
"Riding it hard?"
"No. Normal."
"Normal for you."
"Yes."
He crosses the space between you, and you smell him before he touches the bike, oil and soap and something underneath that might be sweat, the particular salt of a body that's been working in heat. He's wearing a different shirt, you notice, black this time - the sleeves pushed up to the same place on his forearms, revealing his tattoos. The scar through his eyebrow catches the light when he angles his head to look at your front fork.
"Same sound?"
"Yeah. I think. It sounds the same."
"You think."
"It sounds the same," you repeat, firmer, and he makes that small sound again, not quite agreement, something that might be amusement or might be skepticism. He straddles the bike the way he did before, thighs spreading, and you watch the fabric of his jeans pull tight across his hips. He works the handlebars back and forth, listening, and you listen too, but all you can hear is the radio and your own breathing and the faint scrape of his boots on the concrete.
"I don't hear it," he says.
"It's there. It was there this morning."
He looks up at you, his hands still on the grips, his body still angled over your machine. "This morning."
"On my way to work."
"Where's work?"
You tell him, the name of the street, the building, and you see him place it mentally, the map of the city he carries in his head. He nods, once, like the information confirms something for him.
"Road's rough there. Potholes."
"Not that rough."
"Could've knocked something loose."
"It was fine when you fixed it."
He stands up, steps back from the bike, and you feel the loss of him like a physical thing, the space where his body was suddenly empty and cold. "I can look," he says. "But I'm not finding what I can't hear."
You nod, though you want to argue, want to insist, want to make him understand that you heard it, that you're not making this up, that you're not here for reasons you can't name. He moves to his tool chest, opens a drawer with a sound of metal on metal, and you watch him select something, a wrench or a driver, you're still learning the names.
"Nine days," he says, not looking at you.
"What?"
"Nine days. Most people, something comes back, they're here the next day. Suspicious, angry. You waited nine days."
"I was busy."
"Busy," he repeats, and now you know he's mocking you, the same word you used before, the same excuse. He comes back to the bike and crouches down, his face level with the front wheel, and you see the shift of muscle in his back, the way his shirt pulls up slightly from his jeans, a strip of skin you shouldn't be looking at.
"Or maybe," he says, his voice coming from somewhere near the axle, "you wanted to make sure it was real. The noise. Before you brought it back."
Your mouth goes dry. You open it to deny it, to laugh, to say something about customer service and warranty work, but nothing comes out. He stays crouched, his hands moving over the bike with a familiarity that makes you jealous, and you realize you're holding your breath.
He stands up suddenly, too close, and you step back, your shoulder blades hitting the edge of his workbench. He doesn't move away. He looks at you with those dark eyes, the scar bisecting his eyebrow, and you see something there you didn't see before, a heat that matches the heat in your own chest.
"Or maybe," he says, softer now, almost gentle, "you just wanted to see if I'd remember you."
You should say something. You should step away, should reassert the distance between customer and mechanic, between stranger and stranger. But his hand is on the bench beside your hip, his body angled to trap you without touching you, and you can smell him again, closer now, the oil and the salt and something else, something clean underneath, soap or shampoo or the faint chemical bite of the shop itself.
"I remembered," you say, and your voice is barely above a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Your name. Jungkook."
Something shifts in his face, the almost-smile becoming real, small and sharp and directed at you alone. "You looked it up?"
"No. I just... remembered."
He leans in, not much, just enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the heat radiating from his skin after hours of work. "Most people don't," he says. "Remember. They come in, they pay, they forget my face before they're out the door."
"I'm not most people."
"No," he agrees. "You're not."
The radio moves to a different song, slower, something with a bass line that vibrates in your chest. You realize your hands are gripping the edge of the bench behind you, white-knuckled, and you force them to relax. He notices, his eyes flicking down, and when he looks back up there's a question in his face, or permission, or both.
"You want me to find the noise?" he asks.
"I want you to find it."
"Even if it's not there?"
"Especially if it's not there."
He holds your gaze for a long moment, and you see him decide something, see the shift in his shoulders as he steps back, puts space between you that feels like a wound. He turns back to the bike, but the energy has changed, charged, and you know he felt it too, the thing that passed between you, the acknowledgment that this is no longer about the machine.
"Hour," he says, the same promise as before. "Maybe less, if I'm not being careful."
"Be careful," you say, and you don't mean the bike.
He looks back at you, and this time the smile is wider, knowing, and you feel it in your stomach, low and hot. "Careful," he repeats. "That's not what I thought you wanted."
You don't answer. You don't have to. He goes back to work, but differently now, his movements slower, more deliberate, and you watch him the way you did before, but without the pretense of casual interest. You watch the flex of his hands, the shift of his weight, the way he looks up at you every few minutes like he's checking to make sure you're still there, still watching, still wanting.
The sun moves across the floor, the same orange light, the same dust made beautiful. You don't sit in the chair. You don't look at your phone. You stand where you are, pressed against his workbench, and you wait for him to find what you're both pretending is broken, or to admit that some things can't be fixed with tools, that some noises only stop when you stop listening for them, when you let yourself hear something else instead.
He works for twenty minutes, maybe thirty, and the shop grows darker as the sun sets, the radio playing songs you don't know, songs that feel like they belong to this moment, to the two of you alone in this space with the door open to the cooling evening. He stands up finally, wipes his hands on the rag, and comes toward you, and you see in his face that he hasn't found anything, that he knew he wouldn't, that this was always going to end with the two of you standing too close, breathing the same air, waiting to see who moves first.
"Couldn't find it," he says.
"It was there."
"Maybe." He stops in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "Or maybe you just wanted to come back."
"Maybe."
"You could've said."
"So could you."
He laughs, a short sound, surprised. "What was I supposed to say? Hey, customer with the mysterious bike problem, you free for dinner?"
"Something like that."
"I'm not good at that. Asking."
"I noticed."
"But I'm good at other things."
You feel your pulse in your throat, your wrists, everywhere. "Yeah?"
"Finding problems," he says, but his voice is low, intimate, and you know he doesn't mean the bike. "Fixing things. Being patient. Waiting for people to figure out what they want."
"And if they already know?"
He leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath on your face, warm and faintly metallic. "Then they should say."
"I want-" you start, but he interrupts you, not with words, with his hand on your jaw, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone, and you stop breathing entirely.
"Not here," he says. "Not like this. You come back tomorrow. Come back when the shop is closed, when there's no pretending, when you can say what you want without an audience."
"Tomorrow," you repeat, and it sounds like a promise, like a threat, like the only word you know how to say.
He steps back, releases you, and you feel the air rush in where his hand was, cold and empty. He goes to the bench, writes something on a scrap of paper, and holds it out to you. An address, you realize, not the shop, a street you don't recognize in a neighborhood you don't know.
"Seven," he says. "Or don't come. Your choice."
You take the paper. You fold it into your pocket without looking at it again. You know you won't lose it, won't forget, won't convince yourself this didn't happen. You meet his eyes, and you see the uncertainty there, the vulnerability he didn't mean to show you, and it makes you brave.
"I'll be there," you say.
He nods, once, and turns back to your bike, rolling it off the stand, checking the tire pressure with a gauge you didn't see him pick up. "Ride careful," he says, not looking at you. "That noise you heard. Might be nothing. Might be something important. Hard to tell from the outside."
You understand what he's telling you. You understand that he's talking about himself, about the two of you, about the risk of wanting something you're not sure you can name. You swing your leg over the seat, start the engine, feel the familiar vibration between your thighs that will never feel the same now that you've imagined his hands there, his weight, his mouth.
You pull away from the shop without looking back, but you feel him watching you go, feel his eyes on your back until you turn the corner and lose him in the gathering dark. The address is burning in your pocket. The noise, you realize, is gone, has been gone since you arrived, was probably never there at all. You don't care. You'll be back tomorrow. You'll be back every day, if that's what it takes, until there's no pretense left, until he touches you for real, until the only gritty sound is the two of you breathing together in the dark.
⊹₊ ⋆🏍₊˚⊹♡
You don't go to the address.
Not because you're scared. Because you don't chase. Because he gave you his time and his location and the expectation that you'd show, grateful, eager, and something in you resists that shape, that story. You want him, but you want him on different terms.
So you go to the beach. It's Saturday, late afternoon, the light turning gold and pink, and you tell yourself it's for the air, the space, the cold shock of the Pacific. You don't admit that you chose this beach because it's close to the neighborhood he mentioned.
You park. You walk down in your boots because you didn't plan this, and you stand at the waterline watching the last surfers. You're not thinking about him. You're not.
Then you see him.
Walking up from the water with a board under his arm, no wetsuit, just board shorts and a rash guard, and you know the way he moves before you see his face. The economy of it. The way he carries his weight like he owns whatever ground he's standing on.
He stops when he sees you. Twenty feet away, water dripping from his hair, and you watch him process it, the coincidence that isn't one. Something shifts in his face. Not tenderness. Something sharper.
"You didn't come," he says.
"Did you want me to?"
"Seven o'clock. I waited."
"Sounds like you wanted me to."
He sets down his board and walks toward you with that same unhurried pace. Stops close. Too close. Close enough that you can smell the salt on him, the ocean, the faint residue of wax on his skin.
"You're here now," he says.
"Coincidence."
"Bullshit."
You smile. "You don't believe in coincidence?"
"I believe in you looking up my neighborhood and picking the closest beach." He tilts his head, studying you. "I believe in you wanting to run into me without admitting you were looking."
"And if I was?"
"Then you should've just come to the shop." He steps closer, close enough that you have to tilt your head back. "Saved yourself the trouble."
"Where's the fun in that?"
He laughs, short and surprised. "Fun. That's what this is?"
"Isn't it?"
He steps closer still, close enough that his chest almost brushes yours. "I thought you were scared," he says, soft, mocking. "Too much wanting. Too dangerous."
"I changed my mind."
"Or you just like the chase better when you think you're the one doing it."
You feel the heat of him, the sun-warmed skin, the cold water still evaporating off his shoulders. "You're wet," you say.
"Ocean does that."
"Cold?"
"Warm enough."
"You should dry off."
He raises an eyebrow, the scar catching the last light. "You offering to help?"
"I'm offering to watch."
He stares at you for a long moment. Then he reaches down, grabs the bottom of his rash guard, and pulls it over his head in one motion.
You watch. You don't pretend not to. His chest is tan, defined, the muscle of someone who works with his body. There's a smattering of hair, darker than on his head, trailing down to his shorts, and you follow it with your eyes.
"Better?" he asks.
"Getting there."
He drops the shirt on his board. Stands there in nothing but the shorts, the wind picking up, cold against his wet skin, and you see the goosebumps rise on his arms and you want to warm them, want to put your mouth on his shoulder and feel him shiver.
"You always this forward?" he asks.
"Only when I know what I want."
"And what do you want?"
You look at him, at the mouth that has said your name zero times, at the hands that fixed your bike with a familiarity you envied. "I want you to stop pretending you don't know why I'm here."
"And why are you here?"
"Same reason you waited at seven." You step closer, close enough that your mouth is near his ear. "Same reason you're standing there freezing and hard and waiting for me to notice."
Something flickers in his eyes. "Hard," he repeats.
"Aren't you?"
He doesn't answer. He steps toward you, close again, and his hand comes up to your jaw, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone, rough with calluses. "You're playing a game," he says.
"So are you."
"What's the prize?"
You lean in, your mouth near his ear. "Whoever breaks first."
His hand tightens, not painful, just present. "And if I don't break?"
"Then you win." You pull back, meet his eyes. "But you don't get to fuck me."
He stares at you. Then he laughs, sharp and surprised. "You're cold," he says.
"I'm fine."
"You're shivering."
"It's the wind."
"Or it's me."
"Could be."
His other hand comes up, rests on your waist, heavy through your jacket. "I could warm you up," he says.
"Could you?"
"Find somewhere private. Somewhere with heat." He leans in, his breath warm against your cold skin. "See how long you last before you're begging."
You pull back, meet his eyes, and you see the challenge there. You smile, slow and deliberate, and you put your hand on his chest, feel the muscle jump under your palm. "You think I'd beg?"
"I think you'd love it."
"And if I don't?"
He shrugs, the motion shifting the muscle under your hand. "Then I lose. But at least I'd have you naked."
You stare at him. He stares back, patient, waiting for you to decide, to break, to give him the satisfaction. The wind picks up, colder now, and you feel your nipples harden against your jacket, and you know he notices, know his eyes flick down and back up, know he's cataloging every reaction.
"Not tonight," you say.
He raises an eyebrow. "No?"
"I don't fuck on first dates."
"This a date?"
"Isn't it?"
He laughs again, softer this time. "Next time, then."
"Next time?"
"You come to the shop. Real problem this time, no pretending." He steps back, releases you, and you feel the cold rush in where his hands were. "I'll fix it. Then I'll fix you."
"Big talk."
"I'll back it up."
He grabs his shirt, his board, and walks toward the parking lot without looking back. You watch him go, the shape of him in the dying light, and you feel the wanting like a physical thing, the game unresolved, the prize still in play.
⊹₊ ⋆🏍₊˚⊹♡
It's been six days. You know because you counted, not because you care, not because you keep replaying the beach in your head, the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he walked away like he knew you'd follow.
You don't follow. You don't go to the shop. You ride your bike and you feel the wanting every time you grip the handlebars, every time you pass a street that might lead to his neighborhood, and you resist, you resist, you resist.
But now there's a noise.
Not the old noise, the one you invented. Something new. A whine in the engine that climbs with the RPMs, a vibration you can feel in your thighs that wasn't there before, that shouldn't be there, that makes you think of metal grinding against metal, of something about to give.
You ignore it for a day. You tell yourself it's nothing, paranoia, your mind playing tricks because you want an excuse. But it gets worse, louder, and by the second morning you know you're not making this up, know it in the way the bike feels wrong beneath you, the way it resists when you lean into turns.
You pull up to the shop at four in the afternoon, the garage door open, the radio playing something with bass you can feel in your chest. He's in the back, bent over a workbench, and he looks up when you kill the engine, and you see him register you, the bike, the expression on your face.
"Back," he says. Not a question.
"There's a noise."
"Different noise?"
"Different noise."
He wipes his hands on a rag and walks toward you, and you watch him move, the same economy, the same certainty, and you feel it in your stomach, the wanting you thought you'd finished with.
He stops by your bike, doesn't touch it yet, looks at you instead. "Six days," he says.
"Yeah."
"No beach."
"You didn't invite me."
He smiles, small and sharp. "Didn't want to seem eager."
"And now?"
He looks at your bike, then back at you. "Now you came to me."
"With a real problem this time."
"That so?"
"Listen," you say, and you start the engine, let it idle, and you see him hear it, the whine, the vibration, his head tilting.
He kills the engine. He straddles the bike, thighs spreading, and you watch him work the throttle, listening, feeling, and you feel the absurdity of it, the way your body responds to him on your machine.
"Engine mount," he says finally. "Loose. Could've gone another week, maybe two. Then real damage."
"So I came in time."
"You came." He looks up at you, and you see something in his eyes, heat and amusement. "Lucky for you I'm not busy."
"Lucky for me."
He stands up, steps close, too close, the bike between you. "Hour to fix," he says. "Maybe less if I rush."
"Don't rush."
He raises an eyebrow.
"I want to watch," you say. "Like before."
"That so?"
"That so."
He holds your gaze. Then he smiles, the real one, hungry. "Chair's still there," he says. "Or you can stand. Your choice."
You stay standing. He goes back to your bike, selects tools, and you watch his forearms flex, remember those hands on your jaw, the roughness of his calluses.
"Six days," he says, not looking up.
"Yeah."
"You think about me?"
"Do you want me to say yes?"
"I want you to say whatever's true."
"Yes," you say. "I thought about you."
"Doing what?"
"Riding my bike. Working. Sleeping."
"Sleeping?"
"Not much."
He looks up, and you see the satisfaction in his face, male and uncomplicated. "Me neither," he says.
"That so?"
"That so." He goes back to the bike, tightening something. "Kept thinking about your mouth," he says, casual. "The way you looked at me when I took my shirt off. Like you wanted to bite."
"I wanted to do more than bite."
He pauses, the wrench still in his hand. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He stands up, steps around the bike, close enough that you can smell him, oil and soap and the faint salt still in his hair. "I could stop working," he says. "Lock the door. Take you in the back."
"And my bike?"
"Fuck your bike."
You laugh, surprised. "You said an hour."
"I said maybe less." He steps closer, his hand coming to your waist. "I could make you wait. Make you watch me work. See how desperate you get."
"And if I'm not desperate?"
He smiles, sharp. "Then I'll have to try harder."
He goes back to the bike, and you watch him work, and the minutes stretch, and you feel the wanting build like a physical thing. At five thirty, he stands up. Rolls the bike off the stand, tests the throttle. The engine sounds clean, smooth, the noise gone.
"Done," he says.
"That fast?"
"That fast." He looks at you, the heat banked but present. "You pay at the counter. Cash or card."
"That's it?"
"That's the job."
You stare at him. He stares back, patient, waiting for you to make the move. You feel the urge to step forward, to put your hands on him, to make him stop pretending.
But you don't. You reach for your wallet, pull out cash. You hand it to him, and his fingers brush yours, deliberate, and you feel the spark of it.
"Receipt?" he asks.
"Keep it."
He folds the bills, puts them in his pocket, and he walks toward the big garage door, and you think he's going to open it, let you leave. But he stops. He pulls the door down, the metal screeching, and the shop goes dim.
He turns back to you. "Door's locked," he says. "Owner's strict, but he makes exceptions."
"Exceptions?"
"For customers who can't wait."
You feel your pulse everywhere. "And if I can wait?"
He smiles, the game cracking open. "Then you wait," he says. "But I'm closing in fifteen minutes either way. Your choice."
You look at him, the grease on his hands, the sweat on his neck. "I can wait," you say.
He nods, once, and he walks back to his workbench, picks up a tool, keeps working on something that doesn't need working on. You watch him, and the minutes stretch, and you feel the wanting build like the noise in your engine, like something about to break.
At six, he puts down the tool. Turns off the radio. The silence is heavy, expectant, and he looks at you across the dim shop.
He pulls the door down, metal screeching, and the shop goes dim except for the single bulb over his workbench and the red glow of the exit sign. He turns back to you, and you see the shift in him, the game dissolving into something hungrier, more direct.
"Still here," he says.
"Still here."
He crosses the space between you in three strides, and his hands are on your jaw, his mouth on yours, rough and claiming. You taste salt on his lips, the ocean still on his skin, and you arch into him, wanting more, wanting everything he's been holding back.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "Take this off," he says, tugging at your jacket.
You shrug out of it, let it fall to the concrete floor. He watches you, his eyes dark, and you feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. He reaches out, runs his hands down your sides, over your shirt, and you shiver under the roughness of his palms, the calluses catching on the fabric.
"And this," he says, fingers finding the hem of your shirt.
You lift your arms, let him pull it over your head. The air is cool against your skin, and you feel your nipples harden, feel him notice, his eyes dropping to your chest and staying there.
"Fuck," he breathes, and there's reverence in it, hunger, the sound of a man seeing something he's been imagining. He reaches out, cups you through your bra, and you gasp at the pressure, the heat of his palms through the thin fabric.
"These," he says, squeezing, testing the weight of you in his hands. "I've been thinking about these."
"Yeah?"
"Every night since you walked into my shop." He thumbs over your nipples, and you feel the jolt of it straight to your core, your knees weakening. "Wondering what color they are. How they'd feel in my mouth."
He doesn't wait for an answer. He reaches behind you, unclasps your bra with practiced efficiency, and pulls it off, drops it on top of your jacket. He looks at you, really looks, and you see him swallow, see the muscle in his jaw jump.
"Perfect," he says, and then his hands are on you, skin to skin, and you moan at the contact, the roughness of his palms, the grease that's still on his fingers from working. He doesn't care, or he likes it, you can't tell, because he's squeezing, kneading, spreading his fingers to capture as much of you as he can.
"Look at you," he murmurs, and he pushes your breasts together, creates cleavage with his palms, and you look down, see the smear of grease he's leaving on your skin, the dark marks of his work against your pale skin. "Marked you already."
"More," you breathe, and he smiles, sharp and knowing.
He lowers his head, takes one nipple into his mouth, and you cry out at the wet heat of it, the way he sucks, the way his tongue circles and flicks. He switches to the other, gives it the same attention, and you're holding his head, your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting him to devour you.
He pulls back, looks up at you with dark eyes, his mouth wet. "You like that?"
"You know I do."
"Good." He stands up, and before you can protest, he's lifting you, his hands under your thighs, and you wrap your legs around his waist, feel the hard line of him through his jeans, through your own. "We're not done."
He carries you to your bike, still sitting on the stand where he left it, and he sets you down on the seat, your back against the tank. He positions you, spreads your legs wide around the machine, and you feel the leather of the seat against your bare skin, the vibration of the engine still warm beneath you.
"Stay there," he commands, and you do, watching as he walks around to the front of the bike, to the handlebars, to the mirrors.
He adjusts them, angles them until he can see you, and you realize what he's doing, understand the view he has from where he stands. He looks at you in the mirror, meets your eyes, and you see the satisfaction in his face.
"Look," he says. "Don't look at me. Look at yourself."
You turn your head, look into the mirror, and you see yourself, naked from the waist up, your breasts heavy and marked with his grease, your nipples hard and wet from his mouth. You look wrecked already, and he's barely started.
He steps behind you, out of sight, and you feel his hands on your shoulders, sliding down your arms, and then they're on your breasts again, lifting, squeezing, and you watch in the mirror, watch him play with you, watch your own face as he pinches your nipples, rolls them between his fingers.
"Fuck," you whisper, and you see yourself say it, see your mouth open, your eyes half-closed.
"Watch," he commands, his voice low in your ear, and you do, you watch his hands work you, watch him push your breasts together, create cleavage that he then fucks with his fingers, sliding them between, the motion you want from him elsewhere. "You see how good you look? How fucking pretty you are like this?"
"Please," you breathe, not sure what you're asking for, just knowing you need more.
"Please what?"
"Touch me. Actually touch me."
"I am touching you." He pinches your nipples hard, and you cry out, arch your back, push yourself into his hands. "I'm touching you exactly how I want to. And you're going to watch. You're going to see what I see when I look at you."
He keeps working you, his hands rough and sure, and you watch in the mirror, mesmerized by the sight of yourself, by the way you respond to him, the way your body moves without your permission. He's hard against your back, you can feel him, and you grind against him, wanting friction, wanting more.
"Greedy," he murmurs, but he doesn't stop you, just keeps playing with your breasts, his fingers slick now with more than grease, with your own arousal, with the wetness he's drawing from you just from this.
"Need you," you gasp, and you feel him smile against your neck, feel his teeth graze your shoulder.
"You'll get me," he says. "When I'm ready. When I've had my fill of looking at you like this."
He keeps you there, straddling your own bike, watching in the mirror as he plays with your tits, marks you with his grease, makes you watch yourself come apart just from his hands on your breasts.
He holds you through the aftershocks, his hands still cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples until you whimper and push at his wrists. He laughs, low and satisfied, and finally releases you, but only to slide his hands down your sides, grip your hips, hold you steady on the bike.
"Look at you," he murmurs against your neck, and you feel his breath, hot and damp. "Already coming apart and I haven't even started."
"You started," you manage, your voice wrecked.
He doesn't answer. He presses his mouth to your throat, open and wet, and you feel his teeth, the scrape of his stubble, and then he's sucking, hard, marking you where your pulse beats frantic beneath the skin. You gasp, arching into it, offering yourself to his mouth, and he takes it, moves lower, finds the hollow above your collarbone and leaves another bruise there, dark and claiming.
"Everyone's going to know," he says between presses of his lips, between bites that make you shiver and clutch at his forearms. "Everyone's going to see what I did to you."
"Good," you breathe, and he laughs again, pleased, and keeps working down your shoulder, your chest, back up to your throat where he sucks another mark, higher this time, visible above any shirt you own.
He spends time on your breasts again, not gentle now, sucking your nipples until they're swollen and aching, leaving hickies in the soft skin above, below, branding you with his mouth everywhere he can reach. You watch in the mirror, can't stop watching, your body marked and mottled with him, his dark hair against your pale skin, his hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise.
When he finally lifts his head, your chest is a map of him, grease and spit and bite marks, and he looks at his work with dark, satisfied eyes.
"Up," he commands, and his hands are under your arms, lifting you off the bike like you weigh nothing.
Your legs are shaky, unsteady, and he holds you until you find your balance, then steps back. He looks at you, at the mess he's made of you, and his jaw tightens, his hand going to the front of his jeans to adjust himself, the outline of him straining against the denim.
"Strip," he says.
You stare at him. "You first."
He shakes his head, slow, deliberate. "You. I want to look at you. I want to see what I've been imagining."
You hold his gaze for a long moment, the challenge in it, the power he's taking and you're giving. Then you reach for the button of your own jeans, pop it open, slide the zipper down. You push them over your hips, let them fall, step out of them and your boots together, standing there in nothing but your underwear, your skin flushed and marked and his.
"All of it," he says, his voice rough.
You hook your thumbs in your waistband, pull your panties down, let them fall. You're naked in his shop, surrounded by tools and grease and the smell of gasoline, and you feel more exposed than you ever have, more seen.
He looks at you, his eyes traveling down your body like a touch, lingering on your breasts, your stomach, lower. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing, and you see his hands twitch at his sides, the restraint costing him.
"Beautiful," he says, and the word sounds like worship, like prayer. "Fucking beautiful."
He steps toward you, and you think he's going to touch you, finally, but he doesn't. He drops to his knees in front of you, still fully dressed, his jeans dark with oil in places, his shirt hanging loose, and he looks up at you from below, and the angle of it, the submission in his posture while his eyes stay dominant and hungry, makes your breath catch.
He puts his hands on your hips, gentle now, reverent, and he presses his face to your stomach, inhales, groans like you're something sacred. He kisses you there, soft, open-mouthed, and you feel his stubble against your skin, the heat of his breath, and you sway, your hands finding his hair, holding on.
"Stay standing," he murmurs against your hip, and then he's moving lower, kissing down your pelvis, your thigh, skipping where you want him most, teasing, building. He nudges your legs apart, and you widen your stance, exposed and vulnerable and trusting him to hold you up.
He looks up at you again, his eyes dark and endless, and he kisses the inside of your thigh, high, close enough that you feel his breath, feel the promise of it. "Going to worship you," he says, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Going to take my time. Going to make you forget your name."
He lowers his mouth finally, licks a slow stripe through you, and your head falls back, your hands tightening in his hair, and he groans against you, the sound of a man who has found his religion, who plans to pray at your altar until you're both ruined for anything else.
He groans against you, the vibration traveling through your core, and you feel his hands grip your thighs, spread you wider. He lifts one of your legs, guides your foot onto the bike's foot peg, opening you completely to him, and you balance there, one leg braced high, the other trembling on the concrete floor, exposed and vulnerable and his.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his breath hot against your most sensitive skin, and you look down, see him kneeling between your thighs, his dark hair messy from your hands, his eyes fixed on you with single-minded hunger. "Perfect. Fucking perfect."
He dives back in, and this time there's no teasing, no building. His tongue finds your clit, circles it, sucks it between his lips, and you cry out, your hips bucking, but he holds you steady, his hands iron on your thighs, controlling your movement, your pleasure, everything.
He eats you like he's starving, like he's been waiting for this, for you, his mouth relentless, his tongue working you in patterns that make your vision blur. You feel the wetness of him, the roughness of his stubble, the sheer filthy intimacy of his face buried between your legs, and you grip his hair harder, pulling, guiding, desperate for more.
Then his hand moves, his fingers finding your entrance, and he slides one inside you, slow and thick, while his tongue keeps working your clit, and you moan, long and broken, your leg on the bike shaking with the effort of holding yourself up.
"Good?" he asks against you, the word muffled, and you can only nod, gasping, your head thrown back.
He adds another finger, stretching you, and starts to fuck you with them, hard and deep, curling to find the spot that makes you see stars, while his mouth never stops, never relents. The combination of it, the wet heat of his tongue, the thick pressure of his fingers, the way he's holding you open, using you, worshipping you with his mouth and his hands, builds you fast, too fast, your orgasm gathering like a storm at your center.
You feel it coming, the edge approaching, your body tensing, your breath hitching, and you tug at his hair, warn him, "I'm going to-"
He pulls back instantly, his fingers stilling inside you, his mouth leaving you, and you cry out at the loss, at the sudden emptiness, your hips chasing his face, desperate for the friction, the pressure, anything.
"Not yet," he says, his voice rough, his chin wet with you, his eyes dark and wild. "Not until I say."
"Please," you beg, shameless, your body throbbing, your leg shaking on the bike. "Please, I need-"
"I know what you need." He leans in, presses a soft, cruel kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers still buried inside you, motionless, keeping you full but unsatisfied. "And you're going to wait for it."
He waits until your breathing slows, until the edge recedes, just barely, and then he starts again. His mouth returns to your clit, softer now, teasing, and his fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate, dragging against your walls, finding every sensitive spot, building you back up with agonizing patience.
You moan, your hands finding your own breasts, pinching your nipples, trying to give yourself what he's denying you, and he looks up, sees you touching yourself, and his eyes darken, his rhythm faltering for just a moment.
"That's it," he murmurs against you, the vibration making you shiver. "Touch yourself. Show me what you like."
You roll your nipples between your fingers, arch your back, and he watches you, his tongue working you in slow, devastating circles, his fingers fucking you harder now, deeper, and you feel the edge approaching again, faster this time, your body desperate for the release he's withholding.
"Please," you gasp, "please, let me, I can't-"
He pulls back again, his fingers stilling, his mouth leaving you, and you sob, actual tears pricking your eyes, your body on fire, your core aching with unfulfilled need.
"Not yet," he repeats, and his voice is gentler now, almost tender, but the command is absolute. "One more time. Let me feel you get there again. Let me taste how desperate you are."
He waits, kissing your thighs, your hips, your stomach, his fingers still inside you, stretching you, reminding you of what he can give you, what he's choosing to withhold. When your breathing slows, when the edge retreats just enough, he starts again.
This time he's merciless, his tongue flicking your clit in rapid, relentless strokes, his fingers fucking you hard and fast, curling to press against your g-spot with every thrust, and you scream, your voice echoing off the concrete walls, your body trembling, your vision going white at the edges.
You feel it building, unstoppable this time, your orgasm inevitable, your body beyond his control, beyond your own, and you warn him, "I'm going to come, I can't stop, please-"
He pulls back a third time, his fingers withdrawing completely, his mouth leaving you, and you collapse against the bike, sobbing, your body shaking, your core throbbing with denied pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
"Please," you whimper, broken, "please, I need you, please-"
He stands up, finally, his face wet with you, his eyes wild, and he looks at you, spread and wrecked and his, and he smiles, slow and predatory and full of promise.
"Now," he says, "you're ready for me."
You push yourself off the bike, your legs still shaking, and you reach for him, your hands finding the hem of his shirt, yanking it up. He lets you, raises his arms, and you pull it over his head, revealing his chest, his stomach, the defined muscle of his shoulders. You toss it aside and your hands are on him immediately, greedy, mapping the heat of his skin, the faint scars, the dark hair trailing down to his jeans.
He watches you, patient now, letting you take, and you unbutton his jeans, pull the zipper down, and push them over his hips, his briefs with them, and he steps out, kicks them aside, and he's naked in front of you, hard and heavy and perfect.
You reach for him, wrap your hand around his length, and he hisses, his head falling back, his hips bucking into your touch. He's hot, thick, and you stroke him once, twice, watching his face, the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes close.
Then his hand is in your hair, gripping tight, pulling your head back, and you gasp, your mouth opening, and he spits into it, hot and filthy and claiming, and you moan, swallowing, tasting him, and he groans, watching you, his grip in your hair unforgiving.
"Fuck," he breathes, and he pulls you toward him, his mouth crashing into yours, his tongue sweeping in, tasting himself, tasting you, and you melt against him, your bodies pressed together, skin to skin, his hardness trapped between your stomachs.
He pulls back, his hand still fisted in your hair, and he walks you backward, guiding you, and you stumble, follow, your legs weak, your body throbbing with need. He backs you up to the workbench, the same one where you watched him work, where you imagined his hands on you, and he lifts you onto it, the metal cold against your bare skin, and spreads your legs, steps between them.
He looks at you, spread out on his workbench, naked and marked and his, and he groans, his hand finding himself, stroking once, twice, his eyes dark and endless.
"Condom," he manages, and he reaches past you, fumbles in a drawer, pulls one out, tears it open with his teeth. You watch him roll it on, your breath shallow, your body aching, and then he's there, pressing against your entrance, and he meets your eyes.
"Look at me," he commands, and you do, and he pushes into you, slow and thick and perfect, and you cry out, your head falling back, but his hand is in your hair again, pulling you back, forcing your eyes to his.
"Look at me," he repeats, and you do, you watch him as he fills you, as he bottoms out, as he holds there, throbbing inside you, and you feel complete, stretched, owned.
He starts to move, slow at first, deep strokes that drag against every sensitive spot, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pull him closer, and he groans, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath hot and fast.
"So tight," he murmurs, "so fucking perfect," and he speeds up, his hips snapping, the workbench creaking beneath you, and you moan, your nails digging into his back, your body climbing again, the denied orgasms making you sensitive, desperate.
He fucks you like that, missionary on his workbench, his eyes locked on yours, his hand still in your hair, controlling you, using you, and you feel it building again, inevitable, and you beg him, "Please, please, let me come, I can't-"
"Not yet," he grits out, his jaw tight, his rhythm faltering, and he pulls out, leaves you empty and aching, and you sob, but he's already turning you, flipping you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back, and you scramble onto your knees, your cheek pressed to the cold metal, your hands gripping the far edge.
He enters you from behind, deep and hard, and you scream, your back arching, and he groans, his hands on your hips, gripping tight, and he starts to fuck you, brutal and relentless, the sound of skin on skin filling the shop, your moans and his grunts and the creak of the bench.
He reaches around, finds your clit, rubs it in rough, desperate circles, and you cry out, your body shaking, your orgasm looming, and he feels it, feels you tightening around him, and he pulls his hand away, slows his strokes, denies you again.
"Please," you whimper, your voice broken, "please, please, I need to come, please-"
He pulls out, and you sob, but he's already moving, pulling you off the bench, turning you around, and he lifts you, his hands under your thighs, and you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and he presses you against the wall, the concrete cold against your back, and he enters you again, holding you up, your weight on him, and you feel him deep, so deep, hitting places he hadn't before.
He fucks you against the wall, his hands gripping your ass, his mouth on your neck, your breasts, leaving more marks, and you hold on, your nails in his shoulders, your head thrown back, and you feel it building, unstoppable, your body beyond his control, beyond your own.
"Now," he growls against your ear, "come for me now," and he reaches between you, finds your clit, rubs it hard and fast, and you explode, your orgasm crashing through you, your scream echoing off the walls, your body convulsing around him, and he keeps fucking you, keeps rubbing you, drawing it out, making you come and come until you're sobbing, limp against him.
He slows, still hard inside you, his breath ragged, his forehead pressed to yours. You feel him throbbing, feel how close he is, how he's holding back, and you tighten around him, wanting to draw it out, wanting to feel him lose control.
But he pulls out, sets you down, your legs barely holding you, and you stumble, catch yourself on the workbench, and he looks at you, dark and wild and commanding.
"On your knees," he says, his voice rough.
You drop, the concrete hard against your knees, and you look up at him, his length inches from your face, heavy and wet and perfect. You reach for him, want to taste him, want to take him into your mouth and finish him there, but he catches your wrist, stops you, his grip firm.
You look up, confused, desperate, and he smiles, slow and cruel and full of promise.
"Maybe next time, princess," he says, and he takes himself in hand, strokes once, twice, his eyes locked on yours, on your face, on your body marked and naked and his.
He comes with a groan, his head falling back, his spend hot across your breasts, your nipples, your throat, marking you one final time, and you watch him, watch the pleasure wash over him, the way his jaw tightens, his muscles clench.
He looks down at you, at his mess on your skin, and he smiles, satisfied, sated, already planning.
"Next time," he repeats, and you know there will be one.
Summary: You and Jeongguk have had the same arrangement for years, that whenever he's back home in Busan, he gets to recover from stardom in your arms. It allows you to act out your deepest fantasies without any strings attached, but maybe it doesn't have to remain a fantasy forever.
Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Slice of Life AU, Childhood Friends with Benefits to Lovers, Fluff, Smut
Word Count: 5.1k
Warnings: unedited writing (!), blurred lines of friendship, complicated feelings, hidden feelings, friendly banter, pet names (baby, sunshine), fatigue. SMUT: kissing, neck kissing, titty play/fondling, oral sex (male receiving), nudity, cum swallowing, dirty talk, okay I think that's it!
Author’s Note: happy FESTA, my loves!! now, I know what you're all thinking; alyssa, aren't you sick? and what is this random story not on your masterlist? well, this is what I decided to write in my acetaminophen-induced stupor. it's completely unedited, so if you see a typo, no you didn't, but I literally couldn't do anything the last three days but sleep and think about bts' concert and that's why this exists. and you might also be wondering why I didn't just work on cradle robbers since I still need to finish it, but that story requires time and effort and this is just my horny, lovesick (and literally sick) brain. so, enjoy!
You recognize the rhythmic knock on your door as easily as your favorite song, despite not hearing it in a while. It’s always the same; three long raps and then two short beats.
Everything Jeongguk does has some sort of musicality to it. Even the way he kisses feels melodic. He’s the only person who can play you like a fiddle, or the only one you allow to.
“It’s open,” you holler from the kitchen.
It isn’t the norm for you to keep your door unlocked, but you already knew he was coming. Not because you two talked about it beforehand or because he texted you on his way over. This is just what you two do, and have done, for two years shy of a decade now.
Light shines in from the street lamps outside when Jeongguk enters your house, drops his bag, and kicks off his shoes. The sounds are understandably familiar given how many times this exact scenario’s played out. And just like clockwork, a couple seconds after the door clicks shut, you feel two warm, strong arms wrapping around your middle.
“This all for little ole me, huh?” Jeongguk whispers where his lips are grazing your neck.
You hear him inhale your scent and contentedly hum between his soft kisses along your throat, leaving you to fight off the urge to totally melt into him.
“Why would it be? Is today a special occasion or something?”
He chuckles into your skin. It’s low and deep, making it obvious how tired he is, but still as bright as ever.
“Oh, not really. Just Bangtan’s golden anniversary.”
“Ah, I see.” While he continues to paint your neck in affection, you add the finishing touches to the seaweed soup you made. “Well, I’ll have you know you guys don’t own the date June thirteenth.”
“No?”
His cheerful giggles tickle your ear and cause your head to tilt, unintentionally giving his mouth more space to work.
“Nuh uh. It also happens to be my, um, my grandma’s cat’s birthday,” you retort.
It’s such a stupid joke, but hearing Jeongguk’s loud laugh is enough to tell it again and again.
“My apologies,” he drawls with a final peck. “To the cat.”
By the time he turns you around in his arms, you’re giggling, too. It’s par for the course whenever you’re together, just like his hands caressing the bare skin of your waist below your top.
He looks so unbelievably handsome, even with evidence of fatigue written all over his face. His black hair’s gotten longer since you last saw him, but it’s parted on one side to show off his forehead and pretty, doe eyes.
On instinct, you reach up to comb through the front pieces and Jeongguk instantly wilts. His eyes close, shoulders drop, and muscles relax, bringing his body an inch closer to you.
“You didn’t have to come, you know.” As if to directly counter your statement, one of his arms loops around your back. “It’s been a long two days, no?”
“Missed you.”
His response is so quick it’s almost like muscle memory and you have to fend off the butterflies in your stomach as a result.
“I’m not going anywhere. You could’ve stopped by tomorrow or something.” When Jeongguk shakes his head with a slight pout, it triggers your memories of him doing the exact same thing as a kid. He hasn’t changed at all since you two grew up together here in Busan, even though it feels like a lifetime ago. “Ggukie.”
“I…” His eyes open again and a smile slowly breaks out across his face as he surveys you. “I didn’t wanna wait. I needed to be with you tonight.” You can’t resist mirroring his expression. “Is that alright?”
After a long inhale, you nod.
“It’s always alright.”
That’s apparently all he needs to hear because he kisses you without missing a beat. It’s mundane and regular to feel his lips against your own. Of course, it is. He was your first kiss as a teenager and you’ve lost count of how many you’ve shared since then.
Jeongguk’s lips are consistently soft, pleasant, and gentle. He kisses you like it’s the first time even in the middle of your raunchiest affairs. Sometimes he’s so delicate you forget the type of relationship this really is.
To be fair, Jeongguk doesn't treat you like just some friend with benefits or a random situationship. The years of familiarity between you garner a much deeper respect than that. But that also allows your heart to occasionally get the wrong idea.
He isn’t yours, and you’re not sure if he ever will be. Which is okay. All you ever want is to have him in your life and whether that’s platonically or romantically, you don’t care. The only thing you could never withstand is losing him altogether.
Although, it’s a lie to say you won’t miss the feeling of his hands on your spine and your chests pressed together if your relationship suddenly becomes friendly. His long fingers occupy the majority of your back whenever he holds you like this, encompassing you in his presence until it’s all you can think about. Not to mention how his mouth guides your own open so he can slip his tongue inside.
This is how he gets you every time without fail. You can be completely focused on something, but as soon as his lips are on you, it’s game over.
For instance, the meticulously planned meal on the counter behind you.
“Jeo — Jeongguk,” you murmur between kisses. “The food’s getting cold.”
He just laughs at your feeble attempt to stop him.
“You have a microwave for a reason, no?”
His head tilts to the opposite side so he can kiss you with more fervor, but you push on his chest to force him back. He looks cartoonishly offended by your actions and you have to lace your fingers together just wipe the frown off his face.
“You’re really choosing pussy over food? That’s a little out of character.”
“Nah, not when it’s you,” he argues. “You gotta know by now you’re my favorite meal.”
An embarrassingly bright blush creeps in which you try to hide by glancing to your left, but Jeongguk knows you too well. He uses your chin to turn your head before smiling like a devil because of how pink your cheeks are. Leading you to swat his hand away and pivot in the opposite direction.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”
You barely make it two feet before he catches you with a single arm, tugging you into his chest while you squeal and pretend to fight back. Jeongguk triumphantly cackles in return as he carries you to the couch and flops onto his back, bringing you down with him.
The position leaves all your most sensitive areas wide open and he takes full advantage by tickling you wherever he can reach. It’s no different from when you were kids on the playground, although back then the behavior wasn’t inundated with sexual tension. Because despite him making you screech and flail, a tender heat follows his fingers where they dance across your skin. His lips are also right beside your ear and the puffs of air from his laughter spreads goosebumps all down your arms.
“Ggukie,” you whine, but he ignores the protest.
Well, partially. He stops tickling you, but only so his hands can slide beneath your shirt to feel your bare skin. One arm fully wraps around your stomach to keep you close while the other sneaks upwards until he finds your bra. His fingers push the material up so he can grope you unimpeached, eliciting a quiet moan when he begins massaging your breast.
In the meantime, he starts kissing your neck again. And like a true musician, he marries the tempo of his hand and mouth so every peck coincides with a firm squeeze. It turns your brain to putty and all you can do is let him keep touching you like his own personal piano.
“God, you’re so warm.” His lips are dangerously close to your weak spot, the skin right before your shoulder that always makes you squirm. “This is always what I miss the most.”
“Oh, so you don’t miss my company? Just my body?”
Jeongguk giggles and it’s so damn cute you almost forget your tit’s engulfed in his palm.
“Of course, I do,” he assures you. “I miss everything about you. All the time.”
You hate when he says shit that makes your heart race. It isn’t fair because you can’t respond in kind or else you risk scaring him away.
He’s the one who asked for this arrangement; to be able to stroll through your door whenever he’s in town and have you all to himself until he has to leave again. It’s not like you mind. You’ll give yourself to him any day of the week if he asks, but it means there are boundaries he’s allowed to push and you aren’t.
Still, you find ways to skirt around your limitations.
“I missed you, too. It’s been so long.”
“Mm. When was the last time I was here? March?”
“Yeah.” Before you can finish your sentence, he switches to your neglected breast and repeats his ministrations. “Right before the album dropped.”
“I’m sorry, sunshine. I didn’t mean to neglect you.”
His lips move to your earlobe and it sends a familiar chill down your spine.
“S’okay. I’ll forgive you as long as you actually touch me,” you tease.
When he laughs again, you swear it’s like everything in the world just feels right.
Rather than responding, Jeongguk trails his other hand down your torso until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. He doesn’t dip his fingers beneath the fabric, though, instead choosing to fiddle with the buttons while you grow increasingly more impatient.
“Gguk.”
“Hmm?”
Along with a dry chuckle, you twist your upper body so you can see him.
“You think you’re so cute, don’t you?”
You could drown in his responding smile.
“No.” His hands move to your hips as he sits you both upright. “But I do know you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Even though you’re in a less compromising position, you’re still between his legs with your back half against his chest.
“For starters, you made me seaweed soup to celebrate the special occasion,” he answers. “And you know I just got done with back-to-back concerts. So I’ll be two seconds into fingering you when you hit me with, ‘no, Ggukie, you deserve to come before I do.’”
Unfortunately, his impression of you is spot on, but you can’t let him have a complete win.
“Eh, five seconds.”
Perhaps you deserve the reprise of his tickle attack, but you still try evading it by standing to create more distance between you. The only problem is Jeongguk’s arms are long enough to catch you, allowing him to force you onto his lap so his hands can torture you for however long he pleases.
Which is thankfully not long at all, because once you’re straddling his thighs, his fingers creep underneath your shirt to yank it over your head. Your bra’s his next victim, joining your top on the floor before he leans in to suck your nipple into his mouth.
“Oh,” you gasp as one hand sinks into his hair. “Fuck.”
He hums around your nub while pinching the other between his thumb and forefinger.
You would let him play with your tits all night if only you had the time. He’s an expert at bringing you pleasure with his fingers, teeth, and tongue. Alas, he’s right about you wanting him to come first. It’s only fair after how hard he’s been working lately.
As much as you’d love to let him keep going, you use your grip on his scalp to pull his head away from your chest so you can kiss him. His mouth’s warm and swollen from his efforts, making it all too easy to nibble on his bottom lip until you hear a low groan.
Jeongguk’s hands are already on a different quest now, too, moving up and down your bare back and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Eventually, one of them glides up into your hair where he turns your soft strands into a mess of knots.
It’s not like you mind, by the time you two are done your hair’s usually unrecognizable.
“You should be proud, Ggukie.” You leave his mouth alone to pepper his sharp jaw with kisses. “Thirteen years is a long time.”
He breathes out a laugh.
“Are you proud of me?”
The question halts you. Not because of the words themselves, but their sincerity. You lift your head so you can see his eyes and just like you expected, there’s a glimmer of expectation in them.
“I’m always proud of you.” Your fingers in his hair begin to brush some locks away from his face before trailing down his cheek. “And I always have been. Since the day you left for Seoul.”
A nostalgic smile graces his lips.
“You mean when I kissed you goodbye at the train station?”
It was your first kiss, his as well, and although it was nothing more than a millisecond-long peck, it stopped your heart.
“Oh, I’ve never been prouder of you than in that moment.”
His grin grows before he cranes his neck for another kiss, albeit much more chaste than its predecessors.
“I can’t thank you enough for always being here,” he remarks. “And I’m not just talking about the sex. I know you know that, but I wanna make sure you understand how much you mean to me.”
It’s so hard getting sentimental without your shirt on because then he can see your whole chest and neck flushing with affection.
“I know,” you tell him.
Jeongguk sighs and lets his head fall forward into your sternum where he places a couple gentle kisses.
“You smell nice.”
The unexpected compliment causes you to snicker.
“Yeah?” He nods. “Well, surprisingly, you do, too.”
“Because I showered, you brat!”
He’s forced to glance up again when your laughter makes his resting place shake too much, but he doesn’t seem to mind. There’s a wistful smile on his lips as his eyes flit around your face.
“It’s because you’re expecting to get your dick sucked, isn’t it?” As much as he tries to hide it, the lopsided smirk that forms immediately gives him away. “You greedy bastard.”
“Oh, please, like I’ve ever stepped through your doors and not gotten my dick sucked.”
Alright, you suppose that’s fair.
“Whatever. It still shouldn’t be expected.”
His tongue hits the roof of his mouth.
“So it’s not happening?”
“I never said tha —”
“Then why aren’t you on your knees yet?” You gawk at him before smacking his chest, leaving him melodramatically clutching his left pec. “I was kidding!”
“No, you weren’t,” you challenge.
After another moment, he drops the act and lets his hands roam your hips.
“I mean, don’t you think I deserve it? Thirteen years of working day in and day out. The least my best friend can do is let me fuck her pretty little mouth.”
It’s genuinely diabolical how wet you become from his words alone.
“You have a sick interpretation of what best friends are for.”
Jeongguk doesn’t respond, just tilts his head to one side while waiting for you to give in, because he knows you will. You always do because you want him just as badly as he wants you. That’s why this arrangement works so well and has lasted this long.
Like clockwork, you roll your eyes and drop to your knees in front of him. It produces an overconfident grin as Jeongguk sinks into the couch and spreads his legs apart to make room for you.
“And yet, here we are,” he comments.
You gaze up at him with a fiery glare, but it’s contrary to how your hands are already undoing his belt buckle. He pitches his hips up to help you pull his jeans and boxers down, revealing just how hard he is after everything you two have gotten up to so far.
His dick’s so pretty; long and thick with big veins running down his shaft. You haven’t even touched him yet, but he’s twitching and leaking precum all over his cockhead.
“No wonder you’re so demanding tonight, you look like you’re about to bust.”
He groans when you place your hands on his thighs instead of touching him where he clearly needs you.
“Please, sunshine, I’ve been thinking about you all fucking day.”
“Oh?” Your fingers inch higher, but not nearly close enough. “How so?”
“Y/N.”
“If you tell me, I’ll give you what you want,” you sing-song.
Jeongguk’s head falls back onto the cushions as another sound of protest passes through his lips. He must realize you won’t give in, though, because he eventually looks down to hold your eye contact.
“Since the moment I woke up this morning I’ve been picturing all the different positions I wanna put you in. Could barely focus during soundcheck because of how badly I need you.”
Well, that was a bad idea because now you’re freaking drenched. But you still gotta maintain a little dignity.
“Is this one of them?”
Before replying, he slowly nods.
“Of many.”
You sure like the sound of that. It also seems particularly mean to continue torturing him. Not to mention how terribly you want him after months apart. It isn’t the longest you’ve gone without seeing each other, but any amount of time is tough when he’s the only person who knows how to make you feel good.
So, you move your hands up to give yourself enough leverage before leaning in to kiss his tip. His whole body lurches from your touch, but once your tongue darts out to collect his precum, he relaxes against the couch cushions.
At the same time you moan over his familiar taste, he groans and tosses his head back again. His fingers find your scalp and latch onto your hair, simultaneously pulling it away from your face and giving him an anchor.
You don’t waste time, not like how you normally do by dragging your tongue up and down his shaft. Tonight you immediately take his head into your mouth while letting spit drip out to lubricate him.
Jeongguk’s clearly happy with the decision because you feel a harsh tug on your hair as well as his thighs clenching beneath your hands.
“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he mindlessly encourages you.
Except it actually almost stops you in your tracks. He’s never called you baby before, or any pet name, at least not during a sexual encounter. Maybe while trying to tease you or in a general manner, but never like this.
He doesn’t seem to notice, though, so you chalk it up to him being deep in the throes of pleasure.
After pushing the comment from your mind, you inhale through your nose and sink lower, swallowing another inch of length as Jeongguk loudly moans above you.
“God.” While you focus on not gagging, his free hand combs more of your hair back so he can see your lips stretched around his thick cock. “You have no idea how good this feels, sunshine. No one does it like you.”
You hum in acknowledgment, eliciting another deep moan.
Before his praises can distract you any longer, you take in one last gulp of air and force your head all the way down to his pelvis. Both you and Jeongguk choke, but surprisingly, his own lasts longer than yours. You’re used to having his dick deep inside your throat, so although it’s been a while, you only need a moment to adjust.
On the contrary, Jeongguk’s practically losing his mind. Both of his hands land on your head as he endlessly groans and pants your name.
“Oh, fuck. Jesus… fuck.” It’s hard not to laugh at how seemingly mesmerized he is. “Y/N, baby, please move. Need you so bad.”
Another one? How does he expect you to give him the blowjob of his dreams when he keeps calling you that?
Luckily for him, you’ve been doing this long enough to overcome his abnormal behavior.
You already know exactly how he likes it; slow, sloppy, and wet. Jeongguk’s an attention whore and loves knowing all of your focus is solely on pleasuring him. Hence why you begin leisurely bobbing up and down while using the tip of your tongue to trace the underside of his cock.
He sighs in relief and you can feel all his muscles unwinding, giving you quite the confidence boost. Jeongguk’s always responsive in these situations, but he seems particularly drunk on you tonight.
Besides the actions of your tongue and lips, you alternate between moaning and humming whenever his tip sinks deeper into your mouth. You also repeatedly let more spit roll down his shaft, which creates a sinful cacophony of sound when mixed with Jeongguk’s whines and groans.
“Shit. Oh… my god.”
When you glance up, all you see is a sharp jawline and pretty neck. But it isn’t long before a pair of shiny, doe eyes meet your gaze.
Jeongguk’s pupils blow wide when he realizes you're watching him and you even feel his dick twitch inside your esophagus. Soon enough a proud smirk appears and one of his hands traces your profile until he’s caressing your cheek.
“You look so beautiful, sunshine.” He pulls on your hair to bring your mouth back up around his head and you instantly understand the silent memo. Rather than swallowing his length again, you circle and tease the sensitive ridge of his tip with your tongue. “That’s it. Always s’good for me, aren’t you?”
After humming and batting your eyelashes at him, you feel another sharp jolt from his cock. You take it as your cue to keep going and even start massaging his balls that are covered in your drool. In response, Jeongguk shouts a string of curses and his fingers scratch your scalp as he struggles to stay sane.
You’ve done this enough to know he’s close, but you need a break before you can finish him off. Following one last lap of your mouth, you let your hand take over so you can replenish your oxygen.
“Goddamn,” he huffs as his eyes follow your finger’s movements along his shaft.
“Where do you wanna come?”
His focus shifts to your face again, so you send him a mischievous grin.
“C’mon, sunshine, you already know where.”
“You never know,” you counter. “My tits look pretty good tonight.”
Jeongguk snickers.
“They always look good.” The next thing you know, he’s leaning down and using his grip on your face to guide you closer. “But I wanna fill you up right here.”
There’s no need for clarification because he kisses you to explain himself. It’s messy and amorous, not only because of how swollen your lips are, but because Jeongguk shoves his tongue inside your mouth.
You both moan and more precum leaks from his tip as your wet muscles tangle together. If you aren’t careful, he might come before you even wrap your lips around him again.
When you finally pull back, a string of saliva stretches between your mouths that Jeongguk swipes away. He leaves his thumb there for a moment, pressing down on your bottom lip before slipping his finger between your teeth.
Even though you know what he wants, you playfully bite down on his knuckle instead. Following his shocked yelp, you both burst into laughter.
“You’re such a fucking brat,” he scolds you.
“Well, this brat’s still got her hand around your cock.”
You squeeze his head to make a point, causing Jeongguk to hiss and yank on your hair in retaliation.
“Can we change that?” As if you two weren’t just teasing each other a second ago, he gently cradles your face again. “Will you let me paint your pretty throat white?”
If only you could muster a witty response, but all you can manage is an aimless nod that leaves him smirking as he sits back against the couch once more.
There isn’t any reason to wait, so you let your hand drop back down to his balls before encasing his head between your lips. You immediately bring his entire length inside your mouth again, picking up where you left off without any hesitation.
Similarly, it doesn’t take long for Jeongguk to teeter on the brink of ecstasy. After only a few strokes, you feel his balls tighten and then his hot cum floods your mouth. His release makes him groan so loud you actually worry your neighbors will hear, but you also don’t care when you’re busy swallowing his seed.
Jeongguk always tastes good and you can’t resist moaning while moving up and down his shaft to collect all his cum.
“Holy shit, baby,” he gasps as you continue lick and suck throughout his climax. “Fuck, don’t stop.”
Not like you need to be told twice. You love breaking him off just as much as he does.
Once he’s practically devoid of semen and you’re out of oxygen, you release his cock and sit back on your heels. Jeongguk melts into the couch afterwards, including his eyes rolling back as his whole body relaxes.
“Good?”
He humorlessly laughs.
“The best fucking head of my life.”
In the middle of you pridefully giggling, Jeongguk hooks his arms under your shoulders to hoist you back up. But you have other plans, and before he can manhandle you into his lap, you grab the bottom hem of his shirt to pull it off.
He’s so fucking sexy it makes your head spin, especially after how much he’s been working out on tour. You could spend hours just running your tongue along his abs if he’d only let you.
“Oh, is this what you want?”
Instead of waiting for a response, Jeongguk tugs your jeans and panties to the floor in one smooth motion before guiding you to straddle him again.
As if he wasn’t wet enough from your blowjob, your cunt lands right on his dick and all the essence you’ve been leaking since the moment he stepped inside your house lubricates him even more.
“Oh, my god,” you whine, causing him to smile over his effect on you.
“You get this wet just from sucking me off, sunshine?” Despite how embarrassing it is, you nod. “Good. Want you to be nice and soaked when I fuck you.”
“Ggukie, please.”
“Yeah, is that what you want? For me to fuck you just right? Like I always do?”
“Mmhm.”
Based on past patterns, you expect him to drive his cock into you without another word, but his hands just trace your curves while his eyes map your features.
You’re about to question his hesitation when he delicately cups your jaw, causing your eyebrows to pinch together.
“What if I want more?” He asks sincerely, in complete contrast to a moment ago.
“What?”
Jeongguk inhales and licks his lips.
“What if I don’t want to just see you whenever I’m in Busan? What if I want to see you in my bedroom and my kitchen and lying on my couch?”
“In… in Seoul?”
He smiles.
“Itaewon.”
If your heart wasn’t about to beat out of your body, your eyes would roll back so far they’d get stuck.
“Jeongguk, my whole life’s here. My job, my family —”
“I know, sunshine. I do.” His fingertips brush against your cheek and it takes all your willpower not to rest your head in his palm. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy or can happen right away, but eventually…” He looks uncharacteristically nervous and it makes you hold your breath in anticipation. “Eventually, I want your face to be the first thing I see when I come home at the end of the day.”
The air you were keeping captive disappears in an instant as you digest his words. You desperately want them to mean exactly what they sound like, but you’re terrified of misinterpreting the situation.
Except when you focus on how Jeongguk’s looking at you, with starry eyes full of wonder and hope, you don’t believe you are. Which elicits quite possibly the biggest smile you’ve ever worn before you lean in to kiss him.
Jeongguk catches on quickly, his fingers on your face sliding into your hair so he can keep you close. Your own hands move from his shoulders to his neck while his opposite arm circles your waist. It doesn’t even matter that you’re naked, all your attention’s on the fluid movement of your mouths and how undeniably happy you are.
“I’m crazy about you, Y/N,” he whispers to your lips.
Although you delightfully giggle at first, you soon pull away to smack his chest.
“What took you so damn long, huh?”
He momentarily gawks before parroting your laughter.
“I’m sorry, baby. I just didn’t think I’d be able to handle it all.”
“I wouldn’t have cared,” you protest.
“But I would’ve. I needed to make sure I could be an idol and the boyfriend you deserve before asking you to be anything more than this.”
As much as you want to fight him on it, there’s no going back now, and all you truly care about is having a future with him.
“And you feel like you can do that?”
You trust him to be everything you deserve and more, but you want to ensure he won’t be spreading himself too thin for your sake.
“I do. More importantly, I want to,” he clarifies. “I want you so fucking bad, and I don’t mean sexually. I wanna cook you dinner, take you out for ice cream, and go on walks near the Han river.”
“Oh, I’ve never been there.”
“I know! I’ve been dying to take you for years.”
It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Jeongguk this excited about something, and your possible life together being the reason is more than you could ever wish for.
When he smiles in response to your confession, it feels like the entire world around you falls away. In fact, you barely register him closing in for another kiss. And you certainly don’t realize he’s flipping you over until you feel the cushions on your back.
Nothing else really matters after that, anyway. You two have had sex so many times over the years it’s the last thing on your mind in comparison to the future.
Not to say you don’t thoroughly enjoy yourself when he puts you in all those positions he mentioned earlier, but all you can think about is what sex will be like in a shared bed. One you’ll wake up and fall asleep in together, for many years to come.
Summary: An empty clearing. Quiet, tiny waves. A broken heart, a seething chest, love unbridled. And lurking in the water, him and you.
➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader
➵ rating: 18+
➵ genre: siren au; strangers/friends to lovers kinda; angst, smidge of fluff, smuuuuuut; oneshot
➵ warnings: heartache, unrequited love (but not really); flashbacks, coping, lake talk, yearning, impossible love, arranged marriage (oc is married off and can't be with jk), oc is also quite cold, manipulation, siren powers, well...death implied but nothing too hardcore (siren au yk 🤷♀️ ), drowning, panic, angstttt, SMUUUUUT, cheating but not on each other, they're both naked basically the entire time; explicit sexual content: oral (f. rec.), teasing, cockwarming, spanking, licking, biting, lowkey aggressive touches from both sides, kissing, sex by the lake, harddd sex, dom!jk, big dick!jk obv, manhandling, jk fcks his frustration into her, multiple positions; andddd yes the ending… if there's more, i will add them later - or just lmk.
➵ word count: 13.9k
➵ a/n: jinshi jk. kinda. had a dream of him a while ago and decided to write it down, all stephenie meyer style <3 it's been a while, but i hope you guys enjoy and in case my writing deteriorated in those last months... shhhhh 🤫
TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs
At a place as deserted as this, the quietest of sounds may disrupt one’s peace of mind.
The breeze is almost silent. It doesn’t move the trees; the leaves don’t rustle.
But Jungkook feels its touch along his neck and the emerging goosebumps with it. As the sun descends and the chill returns into the late evening air, the water stops feeling warm, too.
Today’s summer noon and afternoon were perfectly seething, much to the forest’s standard. Jungkook has only ever known mild to humid temperatures. Subzero is a phenomenon he’s ever heard, dreamed of. Ironic for him to be born and remain at a spot that never scratched the itch for him.
But this is the best he can do for himself. He might not be too fond of the heat, but he likes the water. That’s why he hand-built his cottage at the shore of this lake; added a porch and a wooden fence, overlooking the clearing, just far enough to see the other side.
It’s peculiar, the shape of the lake.
Long, but not quite too wide. Too large and deep for a pond, but almost too small to really be a lake. Whenever Jungkook leans on his fence, he can spot deers sometimes, peeking through the forest but never daring to walk out to the water. They seem to fear it, and he understands.
The clearing is foggy, empty; just what Jungkook desires but what everyone and everything remains wary of. But he thinks it’s pretty. And just now, the quietude is all he needs.
He’s stopped dreaming of winters and the snow. He’s gotten used to the waves around him. Because there’s a big enough storm in his mind, too cold and uncomfortable to wish for a white wonderland.
Jungkook sighs. His body has started feeling weird; the summer tinted his skin a darker golden and his shoulders are already a slight, burnt red. The heat spread throughout the past hours, warmed up the nerves in his body.
Despite the tremble, however, that the barely-there wind causes, he refuses to leave the lake just yet. His eyes remain closed for a bit longer, and he leans back, his long, black hair and ears soon submerged.
The world is even quieter down here. The twitter of the birds ceases, their song already faded; the dull, light waves overtake. Such a peaceful sound, yet not tranquil enough to calm the tension in his muscles and his heart. The riot consistently persists.
Did he expect it not to? Truth be told, yes, in fact, he did. Because only a couple moons ago, harmony was a constant. The water would wash away his troubles; as his limbs floated, he’d feel that this was the closest he’d ever come to weightlessness.
But back then, he had you.
Perhaps this is deliberate torture. A search for reprieve and satisfaction in something he should’ve known would only drag his heart further into the pit of his stomach. He should’ve known that there’s no true cure. Your absence will do nothing but pull him farther from redemption.
It’s not just the pain itself slicing up pieces of himself. But the existence of such slices at all; once his organ is left in the fragments he’s counting on remaining, he fears he might lose his way back to himself, too.
But somewhere inside, he reckons he’s doing this on full purpose.
Remembering you, basking in what was. When you’d meet him at the house on the other side of the shore, secluded from the rest of the villages and the town you resided in. Right what he’ll never step foot into again; where your high class family never found him in the past.
The shabby boy who, alone most of his life, assumed he’d done well for himself after all; perhaps not a villa in town, but a cottage at a lake. Must be a good enough life, he thought. Much until he realised he wasn’t nearly as good as he thought he was. Or, at least, as much as he needed to be for the one it mattered to.
Of course he wasn’t. In hindsight…
When he first met you at a farm near the forest, you were still just nineteen, and he was already twenty-two, slaving away, far from the only extended family he could ever call his. He remembers you wandering the hills and fields with friends of yours.
How the two of you noticed each other at that very farm, and would do more often from then on. You would, as you’d disclose one day, flee the small town life to find him there; and when he quit the work, he’d take you to other hidden places.
In that lonely and fleeting reality of his that he’d call life, seeing you standing among smileless faces was a remedy. You had something mystical, something otherworldly about you. Something he couldn’t force himself away from.
Maybe he should’ve told you earlier. Word for word, just that, when he met you in parks far from your home or when you snuck to his cottage quite a walk into the woods. He should’ve told you how quickly he was handing himself to you.
It was a dangerous game; getting to know you came with a loss of his sanity. And the more time passed, the more you consumed him. Bit by bit, gnawing away at his soul.
An amusing picture, you eating away at him, more so each time you’d tell him how unique, beautiful, everglowing you considered this very soul of his. The most gorgeous you’d ever seen.
Told him how anybody with “such a piece veiled in their body should consider themselves lucky.”
Your eyes were gentle, sparkly when you warned him of the darkness in the world, how he’d have to shield himself to protect the heart sent from Heaven, beating in his chest.
People like to tear it out, you said.
Amusing. Quiet foreshadowing, perhaps. With what he knows now, your words feel like mock to him.
He should’ve asked you more questions on what you had on your mind back then. Told you that he’d give you his soul if you just asked, and that he trusted you to not rip it out just like that.
But you were too enchanting to even commit his thoughts to. He wanted you with every piece of his being, but he was scared of losing you, too.
For the longest time, he couldn’t glance into the fortress your mind was. If he’d peered past your ever-so-impenetrable, obscure eyes and seen the colours you later promised he spread through you, he would’ve wrapped himself around you. Hidden you away.
Whenever you decided to walk into the cottage in the mornings, breathing through noon, sometimes failing to remember the time and returning home by sundown – he should’ve kissed you all these moments he bid you goodbye.
And as years passed and your laughs echoed across the lake, or you stirred the pot in the kitchen as he chopped the vegetables. When you’d watch him watch you, talking about your days and nights, the moon and the stars.
But he’d never touch you. Never push his too-transparent emotions onto you.
That is, until you began revealing your parents’ thoughts to him, growing by the day. Barely a year ago – when you were just twenty-four years old, like a tender bird, but already past the age of marriage. It was a desperate attempt to make him understand, as he knows now.
When you’d admit that they were bringing the feared talk to the table, and when his heart sunk to the ground of the lake that his cottage stood above – that’s when he knew he couldn’t veil what was truer than anything he’d ever known.
“They are determined,” you said most of the time, smiling, supposedly joyful. Your gaze drifted down to fix your dress as you basked in the previous summer, facing the sun. “To find me a proper man. One who’ll give me more than I could ever want.”
It was ridiculous to hear, since Jungkook, in his lovesick mind, had long convinced himself, more often than he cared to admit, that he could promise the same.
Sometimes he thought that you had, too. Because your voice quietened, though he couldn’t at all tell what you were thinking. Most of the time you were carefree, confident, almost whimsical. Almost because you concealed your thoughts. Almost because there was a mystery to you, always.
And you were kind. Kind, but so sly, too.
Focused on yourself more than anyone. Eloquent and so, so unbothered – more than he enjoyed, but something that drew him in either way. He saw you with your eyebrows all relaxed, and you, in turn, never saw the absolute terror spreading across Jungkook’s face.
The things you said cut him.
Deep enough for his heart to split open, releasing what he was always, consistently longing to say. The yearning in his voice was so pure and unfiltered that he knew you understood when he blurted—
“I’m in love with you.”
You looked up. “Jungkook.”
“I’m in love with you,” he hastily repeated. “You can’t let this happen.”
Jungkook knew he had to. You weren’t going to marry him — your parents would drag you away, make his life hell. He knew. He knew so well, but he had to try.
You tilted your head; your hair fell to the side, onto your legs as you looked up at him with hooded, hazy eyes. What were you thinking? What did this mean? Did you care at all?
He attempted again, “Do you want that to happen?”
You looked for a little longer. Then uprighted your body, hands in your lap, gaze straightforward to observe the blue, light waves. Then, you said, “No. But that’s how it is.”
“What do you want?”
“You know me too well. You should know this, too.”
The impatience grew. His hands twitched; he was urging to reach out for you, but he kept his hands to himself, getting a grip; but still, a quiet shaky voice pleaded, “But I need you to say it.”
He watched as you licked your lips, the tongue running along the seam. When your eyes met his, he swore he could hear the crack beneath his ribcage. He could already guess what you’d say before you did.
“I’ve always wanted you.” There was no reason to hurt. He should’ve cheered. But the context in which you spoke your confession was jarring; and your gaze told him what he needed to know. “But I can’t fight it. What do you want me to do?”
You wouldn’t allow yourself to break the way he did. He knew your upbringing wasn’t easy, that you had an incredibly hardened shell, and that you had learned to develop your power over others, so your attachment to them wouldn’t overpower you.
But as love goes, he thought he was special. He always had. So he asked, “Does it not bother you at all?”
“If I…” you started, a hand sliding over to his fingers. You intertwined them with yours. “...Let it bother me, I will never grow out of how it feels.”
Jungkook’s chest tightened. He put a hand to his clavicle, rubbing, fingers slowly drifting to his heart to press against the white fabric. The thumps wouldn’t relax immediately, and he thought he needed much more than a moment to find the steady rhythm from before.
Then again, the consistent pendulum he was used to hearing during lonely nights unexceptionally escalated to much crazier chaos when you were around. So there was no helping him anyway.
But right now… he felt an uncomfortable flood of guilt.
Not because he was trying to drag you out of something you couldn’t escape. But because, in some way, he didn’t want you to grow out of how you felt for him.
He swore that your joy was what kept the time moving, and what, occasionally, froze it, too. But right now, as you sat next to him, pulling your legs to your body, he waited for you to catch the same lovesickness he had been suffering for so long.
Your poker face didn’t do. He needed you to break with him. To stay within this isolated room that inhabited nothing but the two of you, filled with the scent of longing and sorrow.
It was a thoroughly selfish thought; that you weren’t supposed to be happy if that contentment didn’t include him.
So he insisted, “You’ll have to try. To get out of this.” He turned properly to look at you, freeing his fingers from your grip to catch your wrist instead. You breathed in sharply, eyes flashing down to his knuckles. They remained as if locked as he whispered, “I don’t know how to possibly lose you.”
Whatever he was expecting from you, you weren’t going to budge. Not in your decision, at least — he knew that, no matter your feelings for him, you wouldn’t risk any additional drama for him. You weren’t going to fight.
“We’d have to live with it,” you said.
The grip tightened.
“And become all weak without the love we really want,” he argued, “no… love is stronger than grief. I’d rather fight than see you in everything for the rest of my life.”
Love is stronger than grief…
There was no possible description for the way your expression changed, but Jungkook was so convinced, so sure that he saw your eyes widen for the briefest bit. A flash of a flicker, he thought he saw; an epiphany that lasted a heartbeat. It was gone the second he blinked again.
You had to have understood. You played the biggest role in this game; he needed you on his side. If you were going to stick with him, he needed you to understand the depths of his feelings. And he needed that epiphany, so you could help him make this damn love prevail.
“I love you,” he then added, the words barely more than a gentle whisper. You gulped. “If you don’t, then you can do as you please. But if any part of you knows otherwise, then…”
He would’ve surely missed your sigh if the lake and the wind hadn’t been so still, as if holding their breath in his stead. Because his heart beat like an arhythmic drum, its pounding led and manipulated by your pondering eyes and your barely moving chest.
But the quiet release of the quick breath, and the transparency in your gaze when you eventually decided to meet his hankering orbs, were an answer clear enough to him. You could play your part well, veil the hunger in a way he never could; but even you weren’t made of steel.
You were bound to crack one day.
And when you did, a burst of something unnamable, so distinctive, brought Jungkook to his feet. His body jumped up of its own accord, hands moving by a stranger force, though entirely and perfectly synched with his soul nevertheless.
Nothing had ever felt this right.
The doubts dwindled. Even if just for the moments that his lips met yours, he was certain that your movements against his mouth and your fingers gently grazing his waist would suffice.
Out there, he thought, the world was transforming into a better one, a different reality; one where the lake still stood, the house resting atop of it, but the hurdles nonexistent. In this alternative to whatever he might face later, you were to stay.
Of course he hoped. You were kissing him back with unspoken confessions. You let him throw you onto the unmade bed. Let him peck your neck; like soft butterfly wings caressing your skin. Down your clavicles, pausing at your cleavage.
Determined fingers pulled down your sleeves, his tongue lapping and licking and tasting. His fingertips wandered between your legs, testing the waters, meeting a waterfall; his body sought your touch as it moved to the top, floating over yours.
Jungkook remembers the impatience best. Whenever the memories of you flood back, this is one of the statements of love he recalls easiest. The urgency. The flaming heart. How he rocked against you, all dressed still, trying to find relief just like that as his fingers drew out every whine with the fabric never gone.
And he didn’t stop until you mewled into his mouth.
Your heavy breathing prevented the words you attempted to form, but when he started plucking at the hem of your panties to remove them once and for all, your senses came back to life. Your hands rushed to his wrist, holding him back.
He still knows how you looked at him, knitted eyebrows, mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as you delivered a simple headshake and crushed him inside out. “This shouldn’t be,” you said, “if I end up with a child, it’ll ruin both of us. They’ll kill you.”
Jungkook didn’t care. And now, he wished they would. But he listened.
If he’d continued, he’d have ruined his worth entirely. There was no deserving you if he didn’t allow you the freedom. He tried to convince you otherwise.
He tried for so long. For a year, he waited for the drama to blow over. For him and you to ultimately realise that anything else would not make sense, and for you to admit just that.
But you didn’t. All you did was succumb to his kisses again. The fingers stayed diligent, the touches didn’t cease. He’d seek your skin, pull you in. Replaced what you longed for with his mouth instead.
Between laughter and passion, the sun rose and set, and Jungkook was content for now. The jokes you returned to and how you tilted your head when you looked at him; how you warned him of nightly strolls to find you in town or to find relief in the lake under the moonlight.
“There are creatures in the woods and in the water, I’ve heard,” you’d regularly repeat, joking, “If I can’t have you, they shouldn’t either.” He’d laugh.
Nothing you ever said brought him off his path to you. Perhaps, Jungkook reckons, it didn’t help with the amount of hope he harboured that you never much spoke of your parents at all after that one conversation a year before.
And he kept praying. Begging. That, along with you, they’d, too, recognise that their daughter already knew what true love meant. That it overshadowed success and reputation.
But.
Then you distanced yourself. Visited him more sporadically. When he was alone, he’d pace the rooms, fingers in the nape of his neck, eyes wandering out the window and along the shore. And when you did visit, you wouldn’t let him touch you again. Your lips were a line too thin for him to not worry.
“Hi—” he tried, but you only sighed.
You had to have arrived while he was gone in the forest. He hadn’t met you on the way; he was uncertain how he’d missed you, considering that sounds travel far when one’s mostly alone out there. But he couldn’t bother to think about it for too long.
Because as you leaned against the wall of his bedroom, looking up when he walked in, you declared the truth without sugarcoating it. Not even for his sake.
“I’m going to stop meeting you.”
Jungkook blinked; his heart dropped to his stomach. Arms suddenly limp and legs weak, he tried his best to speak, but the thick knot in his throat was a hurdle to the word trying to fall out.
He tried a sound; then a syllable. Eventually, a question, “What?”
You were as placid as he certainly wasn’t, answering, “I’ll be marrying Son Hayoon.”
Jungkook knew this guy, he thought, from his few strolls in town. His name wasn’t unknown — but Jungkook couldn’t quite conjure up a face at the moment. Like a stranger; that’s how it felt to him. What he did know was that the man was nowhere near anybody who could make you happy.
Not your type. Not your age. Not your satisfaction.
You were permitting your family to drown you.
Disbelief spread across his countenance; and your expression was impossible to crack.
He asked again, “What are you saying?”
You pushed yourself off the wall, a hand coming out of your crossed arms to rub your forehead. Then, you shrugged a shoulder, no filter, no comforting, “Jungkook… did you really — I don’t know, did you think we were going to talk each other into existence just by loving each other?”
“I thought we co–could fight—”
“Jungkook,” you reiterated, “this is beyond our control.”
“No.”
No stopping it — this time, he spoke before he could think. You sighed, averting his gaze when he crossed the room in two strides.
He reached for your hand resting on your chin, but you were reluctant. Licking his lips, he inched closer, telling you, “No. We can leave, just go somewhere else. We don’t need them, and you know you never have. We just need—”
You pulled your hand away. Small movement… but effective. Catastrophic, rather.
For another second, he only stared; and then, he tried again—
“Please.”
Your eyes flickered; but they weren’t as uncertain as his. In some sense, the sentiment behind them even looked like… pity. Jungkook hated it. Needed this to be over.
Was there any attempt left? He had to try.
He stepped closer, desperate enough to ignore the warning in your posture. His hand found your cheek, thumb trembling against your skin. Just once, terrified of an actual answer, he said, “Just tell me you don’t love me anymore.”
But the silence stretched — and that made matters worse. It held on for too long, enough for hope to surge through him. So he leaned in.
Maybe, he thought, if he kissed you, you’d remember. Maybe a touch would help you realise that there was no truly comforting future outside these walls.
He closed the distance, eyes falling shut; his lips barely brushed yours. And when you turned your head, he thought you were ready for him — but your intentions didn’t lie in reciprocation.
The movement wasn’t harsh or angry or too sudden. Almost gentle, even. Which somehow worsened the pain.
The kiss landed at the corner of your mouth and died there. Jungkook was frozen, something in him cracking badly — not yet all at once, not like a glass falling to smithereens. But rather quietly, patiently, like a slow death.
“Don’t do this,” he voiced. What else could he do now? Nothing was left.
But… but you had already done it, right? Because you stepped back. Once, twice, further away. When you neared the door, Jungkook didn't think there had ever been such a space between the two of you.
Yet it kept growing. And for the first time since Jungkook had known you, he realised that love wasn’t always a definite, final emotion human beings could grasp. For him, it was something present yet still lost.
You stopped at the door, a hand on the frame. You restated, like a cruel reminder, “It is just. Beyond our control.”
No. It isn’t.
He remembers wanting to say it; remembers this clawing at his throat.
Nothing had ever been out of his or your control ever before — not any storm. Not the winters cooling the lake. Not the endless expectations of a village too small to dream in.
But you were still surrendering so quickly.
Nothing was ever out of his control but you. You slipped through his fingers, moving off the ground and out of the forest without certain and clear heartbreak in your eyes. You didn’t look as torn apart as he felt… but rather, resigned.
You had already chosen your future, and you’d only come to inform him.
He remembers staring at the empty doorway long after you’d left. Waiting for you to come back, to realise your mistake… but you didn’t.
You didn’t.
The house and the doorway dissolve. A sound cuts through the memory of the past.
The soft sloshing and gurgling sound of the water stirs his chest. It’s not the usual lapping of the waves as they hit the near shore, but an intentional ripple, caused by a close existence rather than the breeze or nature.
It’s sudden. This is Jungkook’s quiet and unmoving oasis. The fish can’t be heard, and even the birds save from some hooting owls deep in the nights are silent. But the moon hasn’t yet fully emerged. And remaining animals do not often end their days here except for thirsty ravens, perhaps.
So when he snaps his head around to the point of near-whiplash, he isn’t hunting for a danger in the wild, but for an intruder. But, as his eyes soon detect, the only other presence lingering turns out to be both.
A breath falls out of Jungkook’s gaping mouth, almost akin to a surprised, accidental sound as he detects a face with the backdrop of nothing but the dark green forest. Your name follows as a whisper.
Your countenance emerges where emptiness greeted him before; he doesn’t understand where the line blurs – where his dreams end and reality begins. Because your features are one with the air around you, blurred by the thin fog.
You appear like a memory to him, a fairy tale nymph silently waiting to be found.
And for a moment, he’s sure he’s just seeing things. You aren’t here, not the way you used to be, the way he wants you to be. You never will be again because you swatted away the chances life threw at you so quickly, so lightly.
Jungkook might never truly learn which part of your cryptic, impenetrable heart he ever inhabited, but the ease with which your eyes and sounds vanished from this very place, and with that from his surroundings, has haunted him ever since.
Not the words you uttered and the steadiness, the certainty in your movements, in your articulations. But how effortless the separation seemed to you.
So of course, there is no way to fathom this very sight.
Your parted, tinted lips. The already soaked hair, brushed back, floating in the water. Your shoulders are bare, much like his, and you’re still, as if standing on an invisible pedestal in the clearly deep water.
The picture is odd, somewhat eerie. You’re not closing in; not swimming off and away either. You are half turned to him, looking at him, and he does not know why.
For a second, he doesn’t utter a word. His body moves of its own accord, small strokes to reach you, hesitant. But when your body breaks the waves his swimming sends towards you, his doubts evaporate, and for now, he trusts his sanity.
Another exhale of your name topples out of him, and finally, you sigh. He can’t see your chest or generally most of your evidently naked body, but you inhale the evening through your nose, eyebrows twitching an inch.
That sigh of yours is ominous, too magnificent to not scare him. Something’s severely unnatural about you. Or about the situation.
He backs away just a little, as if your touch could burn his nervous system and turn his heart into a piece of coal. It’s already damaged goods, barely keeping itself pumping.
Jungkook is about to repeat your name as if to ensure that you’re not a hallucination as feared, but you speak first. Unsure, reluctant for the merest heartbeat, you blink, gaze wandering to the forest and then back to him.
You say, “I was going to leave.”
Jungkook blinks like a lost puppy.
“…What?”
“I was going to leave before you saw me,” you repeat, like a matter of fact; like a continuation of a past conversation, “I forgot how quiet it gets here.”
Jungkook furrows his eyebrows. His body is ridden with goosebumps, only partly due to the chilly brisk now. It’s still too warm for him to be freezing like this. You are emanating something you shouldn’t—
“What are you doing here?” is the first thing he acquires. Croaks. He hasn’t used his voice in so long.
He wants to ask whether you are really here. But he knows, too. Knows that he couldn’t fabricate such perfection, even though he remembers most of your body. Inches of your skin. You are you in all your glory, only when you are truly here.
No way to make all this up; his mind doesn’t have the capacity anymore to function that way.
You smile. You’re nearing him now, fully turned towards him. As always, he can’t quite detect true pain behind your gape, not the kind he’s become used to feeling. The one he’s sure his treacherous, dark eyes are so obviously revealing right now.
The minute insecurity you moved with just a while earlier, facing away from him, is gone now. You might not have noticed him detecting that minor change, but he knows something isn’t right. Whatever reason almost urged you to silently depart again must have been weak, too easy to diminish.
Odd, to go through such efforts to disregard your clothing and to jump into these cold waters, just to want to back away again. Just to come back now. You seem sure about your approach as the distance closes, and the way you look at him – that barely open mouth of yours – clouds his mind.
“Jungkook,” is all you whisper as the gap disappears.
You’re daring in a nearly callous way, a hand coming up and out of the water slowly; like a haunted ship’s mast slowly materialising above the surface, the sinking sun darkening the sky.
Your fingers move as smoothly as the waves, dancing up to his sun-burnt shoulder. But you don’t touch him with the force he’s wanted you for years. A hint of a space still remains between his skin and yours; he doesn’t dare look down.
Your body doesn’t meet his. Still, the wet, soft tips of your digits drift down his shoulder and to his bicep, and as you lure dangerously close to his hand, his limbs still moving to keep him from drowning, he pulls away again.
His legs push the water off, feet between him and you again, and he inquires, “What do you want?”
His voice is supposed to be stronger now, to let the hurt and fury seep through, but instead, it’s meek. He tries again, “What do you want from me? You can’t leave and return… and leave and return. You’re…”
Saying that he’s never thought about you coming back would be a colossal lie. There were a dozen scenarios he drew and built in his brain, and the vexation mixed with the everlasting ache would always yield these results.
He’d ask what you were doing here. Reprimand you for turning him into your toy. And he’d… he’d stutter less, but he’d remind you just as much as himself—
“You’re married.”
He pushes out an exhale when you try to reach out again but halt mid-attempt. His chest hurts under the water, his neck hot. He can’t help the growing panic, because whichever intention you came to him with, he knows you’ll leave again – the place empty and him in shambles.
“You are married,” he repeats.
Perhaps because he’s hoping for you to deny it. To correct him about the status he saw you accept from afar with his own dim eyes. Maybe you didn’t go through with it after all; maybe you rejected the stranger once he locked the doors of your chambers.
But it’s been long enough, and the ceremony lasted from beginning to end. The marches on the streets were grand and the bond you never wanted was certainly established. The rituals commenced. You left. It looked real.
So of course he should’ve anticipated the sting when you say, “I know… I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
You have made up your mind. Thought it through. Maybe not cleverly, but you have. Your answer is immediate, “I needed to see you. Be with you just once.”
You must be joking. Must have stolen your lines from a book you read. There is no reality in which you yearn enough to fight for him. Even if just for a moment with him.
Beyond our control.
“Be with me just once?” Jungkook shakes his head, feet moving to swim off eventually. His body is going numb; he can’t hold himself afloat anymore. And your eyes are fogging his thoughts. “I asked you to be with me forever,” he says, turning, “If you think you can reject me and come back whenever it suits you…”
“I do not.”
“I’m just a person, too.”
A hand grazes his shoulder from behind; he’s able to pick up on enough pace to dodge it. But… there’s a spark to your touch. However fleeting, the sharp prick feels as though you’re reaching out with claws.
“Jungkook,” you call out once more, your voice deeper, more impatient; he’s never heard you speak like this before. “Jungkook, listen to me at least.”
He doesn’t.
There’s a gravitational pull, your voice leading him to you, but with all it takes, he fights your appeal until he reaches the shore. Up until now, you were trying to catch up, but when his made up mind expands the distance and his wobbly legs carry him to land, you come to a pause.
His body almost gives in. He readies himself for the fall, affected by not only the duration he spent in the water, but by your mere presence watching him strut away. His hands are ready to catch him, but he regains balance just as the water falls out of reach and the balls of his feet dig into the small patch of sand that the clearing offers as a rarity.
Jungkook’s clothes are draped over a low branch of a thick tree, right where the sand ends and sparse grass begins; every piece of it.
In this tumult, he didn’t think of the intimate sight he’s unintentionally offering to you: exposed skin from head to toe. Such an outcome was rooted in other intentions before. Deliberate.
Only hurts more to think about now.
But he doesn’t care. No, he cannot care. And he genuinely wouldn’t if you weren’t in the exact same state.
His eyes stay glued to the tree trunk, never panning to you. His body, no longer buoyed by the water, suddenly feels unbearably heavy; and by the time his clothes are close enough to grasp, he’s already fallen to his knees. He turns, his back meeting the rough tree.
He’s not concerned with what crawls up his skin or about the splinters the wood might punish him with. He needs to breathe.
The towel underneath offers at least some comfort, and he remembers to drag his shirt over the parts that aren’t yours to look at anymore.
There’s no time or mind for anything else. Your existence at this very clearing makes him want to throw up. He needs to focus on heaving his chest. On pulling in the crisp oxygen that the forest so generously provides.
But you don’t disappear. The illusion stays, still surrounded by a fairy tale mist that dips you in something utterly surreal.
Your form surfaces the way he did, as naked as he is. You’re a blurry figure; his vision quivers like his limbs. The elegance and beauty with which you walk aren't new to him, but they are taunting him in a manner he has never perceived before.
And once you tower above him, looking down soon enough and your chest as calm as his isn’t, he knows he’s doomed.
There’s only so long that he can keep denying you.
You kneel. Pulling your legs in, you wrap your arms around them tightly; concealing the parts of you he always craved. Even now, a carnal desire grows within, but it is so promptly and swiftly overshadowed by the pain you cause him.
The lack of readiness to stay. The urge to bid him goodbye one more time. The entirely missing fabric covering your skin, adding to your mock.
He sees your willingness to love him one last time and cut him into pieces so clearly. You do not understand what you do to him, how this final meeting severs his heart.
Or maybe you do but cannot find it in you to care.
Everything you’re doing might mean something. All of this exists to scramble his mind and hurt him further.
Your intentions have never been simple to decode, so he asks, “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
You’re right. Doing what, anyway? Why is he so dizzy, so… so out of it? And why does the world, turning too fast up until now, suddenly stop spinning when you put a hand to his chin, lifting his head to… to do what?
It’s like you’re examining him.
Then, you whisper, “I… can’t stand him.”
Is that why you’re here? Because he could’ve figured this out himself, effortlessly too. Your face is too close now, nipples barely a hand-width from his chest when he breathes, “I… I know. I always knew.”
“I hate him,” you emphasise, “I hate how he talks to me. How he looks at me. And…” Your eyes wander down, along Jungkook’s body, pupils moving over the shirt and then back to your hand on his chin, “And I despise how he touches me. How he claims me.”
Jungkook will throw up. His chest is on fire.
He can feel the agony growing with every second and every syllable. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it either. But hearing you say it, confirm it, shatters him.
How he claims me.
“What is he…” Jungkook starts but then stops again. Even if there was something happening behind closed doors that he’d like to resolve, you won’t let him.
That’s always been the entire point. You do not want to fight for this.
“Nothing forceful. But also nothing I didn’t expect,” you say, “I hate how he reminds me what I had.”
Jungkook shakes his head and your finger off in the process. You curl it in, your hand a fist now. He says, “I told you so many times. It’s too late.”
“It’s… it’s not.”
You always say whatever you want so blatantly. No regard for this human heart of his. What are you made of?
Jungkook’s limbs resemble the liquid water when you’re near; he can’t move or avert his gaze, can’t send you off with actual, true conviction in his words. It’s always been like this: him melting into the ground or the sheets or the fabric of his bed; and you stand tall, a brightly lit candle incinerating him.
Yet, he can’t help but let the fury spread in his chest. It’s scorching hot, and your weak, tentative smile fuels it further. Your words and your expressions — none of it help him calm the riot. Instead, his nostrils flare. A scream climbs up his throat.
But he doesn’t yell at you. Not even when you add a whispered, “I’m sorry. But it’s not. I just…”
You don’t finish your sentence and he doesn’t urge you to. No matter what you say, there’ll be nothing but torment ahead. Your Sorries are a habit, but only half-sincere, and after stomping on a fragile heart, you do not get to apologise anymore.
Jungkook shakes his head again, finally able to look away as if your eyes had his gape trapped before. A tongue darts out to lick his lower lip wet, and you, observing his every subtle touch, place a gentle thumb to the corner of his mouth, ghosting over the plushness before he dodges.
You push yourself up a little, some dirt on your legs. The lower parts that your pulled-in limbs hid so far are on full display again, and Jungkook tries, really, truly tries not to stare. But you’re not having any of it.
You’re not standing to leave. You’re still half-crouching, and soon, too sudden, dragging your left leg over to his right hip, straddling him with nothing between him and you but the thin piece of pathetic clothing.
The gasp he breathes is immediate and unintentional. Even if he tried to push you away now, you’d look through him instantly. His mind wants to fight you, but his body can’t. There are multiple ways he’s always belonged to you, and his entire being always revealed as much.
And still…
That smile. The pleading eyes. Your damn touch on his neck.
He gulps hard, hands rushing up to your waist. Softly, he tries to shove you off of him, but not really. It’s too much of an easy play for you, having him like this. And when you grip his face, it costs him an amount of energy that he certainly does not possess. Not anymore.
The escape out of your grip is tough, and the word he utters is feeble, “Don’t.”
But you insist. “Just this once.” Nothing but whispers, even at such an empty place where nobody listens but the water, the birds and the moon. “I need you just once. Properly.”
He’s lightheaded. Again. His words are mumbled; he thinks that if he was you, he wouldn’t quite believe himself either, “I’m not a puppet. I have… I’ve got real feelings. Unlike you.”
A smidge of pride blooms in him. He didn’t think he’d pull off such a confession, but you seem visibly startled. Somewhat irritated. He could never guess as much if he focused on your eyes only, but the slightly clenched jaw is… telling. New.
“You really think that?” you ask, still patient but… something still off. He doesn’t understand the approaching temper in your voice. You left him. “That I have no real feelings? That’s what you think?”
“I tried to love you,” Jungkook attempts, repeatedly swallowing the dry lump. “To help you see how I loved you and how you loved me. What we could’ve been if you’d let us.”
“Back then… Love wasn’t enough, Jungkook.”
Jungkook smirks. A hollow, sarcastic smirk.
His body feels drugged, but he keeps himself upright. Perhaps his emotions have reached a point that exhausts him inside out, and he’s lost the capability to face you by now.
White flag, must be.
He repeats, one eyebrow cocked, “Love wasn’t enough?”
“Mh-mh,” you voice, a slight shake of your head. “I disagree, you know. Love might make people stronger than grief can, but it isn’t truly stronger itself. And love and grief fulfill different purposes.” He looks up at you; your head is tilted, your lips a gorgeous curve. Prettier when you speak. “When we break, we love harder. We can use that love.”
Use that love…
So you had to grieve to understand that you wanted him. Grow weak to want to return to strength.
But he presented the idea of loving enough to fight through obstacles over and over again; it’s too late now.
He clicks his tongue and wonders, “You want to use it now that… that we’ve become impossible? What about him?”
“I will find a way.”
“Empty promises.”
“No,” you vow, harsher this time. “Never empty.”
Your grip on his jaw is strong; he’s not used to you grabbing him like this. Your face draws in, and as your upper body leans forward, your lower half moves, too. Grinds on him. Or at least, touches along just the length that he tried to hide under the shirt.
His fingers dig deeper into your waist. You sigh, and he knows exactly what this means. He can distinguish your breaths, can interpret your sounds. You’re not frustrated anymore, not tired like he is. You are pleased.
Because he’s growing; fuller and harder by the second.
“No,” he tries, “this might end horribly. If you end up… with…” His hands grip your shoulders, but he isn’t really pushing. Not lifting you off of him. “They will kill you and me both.”
Your smile widens, as if you’ve thought it all out; as if you’ve come here with a plan that presumably profits nobody but you. And Jungkook already knows he doesn’t want, doesn’t need to hear it before you say it, “They can’t. Even if… they’ll just think it’s his.”
No. No, no, no.
Have you hiked up all the way to this place to use him as a rebound? All the promises you’re forming right now, are they in vain, to offer some fleeting relief?
I will find a way.
You won’t.
“That’s not enough for me,” Jungkook mouths, his words stuck at the back of his tongue, hushed, “it means… you’re not truly trying to call him off. You’ll go back and find an excuse. Not to leave him, but me.”
“I only gave an answer to your statement, Jungkook,” you defend, coating your words in honey, “truth is: I’m ready to die for this one moment alone. Aren’t you?”
“No… no—”
“Please. Even if you don’t have it in you to fight anymore…” You lean in further, your nipples touching his chest. You keep grinding. “Just this once. Give me one, just one more night.”
His shirt slides off his lap just a little but not enough; not in the way Jungkook inwardly hopes, just so he can blame the lust multiplying on anything but himself. Despite everything — the anger, the disappointment, the approaching, everlasting pain — he wishes he could feel you better.
Just like you are perceiving the constant twitches below. No hiding it.
And then, you take it a step further, sending a shiver down his spine, cold under his burning skin, “You can do whatever you want with me.”
His chest and stomach stir. His body feels heavy, your touch razorsharp. “What?”
“Whatever you want,” you reiterate, “I want you to. I need you to.”
Your breath shakes as you shift back again, all along the line of his stiffening cock, the shirt moving off more. You can already see the V-line when you glance down, and if you weren’t sitting on your throne the way you are, his entire shaft would jump out beneath the clothing.
It doesn’t. Instead, it stays trapped under you, blue and aching and never reversed to its previous state; even less when you repeat yet again—
“Anything… anything you want.”
The control diminishes; and despite all his attempts, Jungkook snaps.
His hisses echo, curses fall. He closes his eyes, his nails bruising your skin; he gives you one last chance to retreat, though he knows he’s long lost.
“Stop it,” he nearly growls through gritted teeth. His chest constricts, not enough air provided in this world, as if the lake water is bending on its own will and filling his lungs. He’s already drowning. “Stop it.”
You evaluate the tone, quietly bearing the sting emerging in your sides where his nails scrape your skin. Jungkook knows you’re waiting for him to change his stance and crawl back to you; head in your neck, lips parted, you’re anticipating him to crumble in your grip.
He’d know even if he wasn’t keeping his focus so intently fixed on your every movement.
You are personified torture, a murder weapon when you verify, “Are you sure?”
If he had an ounce of strength left, he’d attempt a lie. You’d look through it anyway; Jungkook is as transparent as glass. Predictable. So he whispers, “No. But stop.”
And this time, you do. With ease, too.
You do not hesitate on his lap, do not tempt him further. He knows why. He knows that you know, too. Because the moment you upright yourself, muttering an, “Alright,” your voice betrays you — you’re cunning.
And you understand that you have him wrapped around your fingers.
Before he’s capable of reacting to your tactics and retrieving his armour, he’s long succumbed to his own wants. Acting before thinking. You have never allowed anything other than this order.
The mutter dies under his breath, soon a whisper compared to his groan and with a single, quick tug, he’s pulled you back to where you were. The grip around your arm is minimally less harsh than around your waist, but jarring nevertheless.
But you don’t seem to mind a bit. You don’t yell out in pain; but you gasp in surprise. The sight is one to behold, even for Jungkook. The moment plays out in slow motion, split into nanoseconds.
The way your body twists and starts falling onto his; his immediate intuition bringing his hand to the shirt covering him and removing it before you’re settled back into his lap; and your chest crashing against his when he lets you go, fingers hovering up to your neck to meet your lips.
You let out a tiny mewl; he breathes into your mouth. The effect from the blasphemous skin-to-skin contact unfolds instantly. You’re already gliding along his cock; and he is already at nearly full growth underneath.
Just like before, the jerks of his sensitive muscle are constant; he wonders whether he might burst before he’s felt you all the way through. Stuffed every free inch of yours. The aggression your lips meet him with are certainly relentless, no help in softening the situation in any way.
Because your body stays in motion, a back and forth of your hips numbing his limbs, and you try to grab a piece of him – his long hair, his arms, his back – to hold onto. He has you pressed against him; you won’t escape either way. But you move as if you fear you might.
Your tongue is hot, diligent, skilled as it mingles with his. Jungkook knows these very touches, but his mind is playing tricks on him. Have they changed, even if just a little? Did you have time to aim for higher satisfaction, to find a pace to make him remember your taste better?
The thought squeezes his heart like a heavy hand, but he wipes it off his mind, focusing on what he might only be able to linger in for a couple more moments. Who knows? Who knows when the mist might return…
The passion needs to remain. How you open your mouth and whimper into his. Tongue playing around, pulling at his lips. He backs away, his head sinking to your jaw, then to your hot neck for only a second.
You moan so lasciviously that he nearly skips the stage of teases and games, jumping straight to lifting you off his lap and then slamming you back onto it and his raging, towering cock.
But instead he listens. Hears you whisper his name in fragments.
“Ju—koo–” and “Ngh–kook—”
He runs the wet tip along a vein before his head turns to the other side and kisses you again. A hand slides south to your ass, at first merely a featherlight touch, but soon landing on the flash with a force; and he won’t let your mouth go. You’re fighting for breath, panting, squeaking into the kiss.
Jungkook has woken up from these images. Fairy tales and nightmares. He doesn’t know what this is either; the start of something gorgeous, sinful; the end of something that once was.
He doesn’t know. And this very level of uncertainty makes him want to devour you. To remember this. To move his fingertips with intent.
When your lungs constrict and Jungkook’s face heats up, you back off, your lips and your chin wet. He must be drooling, too, he thinks; a sight like his, you here as the goddess — the beautiful monster — you’ve always been, is bedazzling.
You glide back a couple inches until you can see the length standing against his belly. You grimace, your mouth moving, cheeks hollow until he realises what you’re doing: A blob of spit falls onto his dick, and you reach out quickly to spread it over the head.
Your thumb runs over the slit, collecting the precum, and then you move your fist down the shaft, up again. You’re basking in this, he’s sure; in the way he throws his head against the trunk, eyes closing, a low timbre vibrating in his throat.
The call of your name is so feeble, so enticing that your hand twists more, a little faster, your pinky delivering the lightest touch to his balls.
“Mmmh—god—” Jungkook proclaims, shoving your hand off of him, “I will… lose it before I can even–even start.”
He thinks you’re about to argue with him, but he pushes your body back gently, forcing your palms behind you to press against his shins and keep yourself from falling back.
For a moment, he only takes your beauty in. You straddling him, your legs spread, your pussy lips apart. Wet, so close to the head of his cock — he could just… just glide into you like nothing—
No.
Instead, he brings a hand to your stomach, caressing his way down until the pad of his forefinger carefully dips between your folds and runs along the slit. His breath hitches at the drenched sensation; he can’t help but laugh.
“Yes?” you only whimper.
“Not a single dry spot,” Jungkook lets you know, demonstrating it by pushing in the middle finger as if you didn’t know, “see? So easy.”
You whine, moaning out. Your voice is higher, more desperate when he pumps the digit into you, moving it, curling it, massaging a rough spot until your hips wind atop of him. And then another finger joins in, though he doesn’t think you need the help at all.
But god… fuck, those expressions of yours. The knitted eyebrows, the shivering lower lip, the hands holding onto his legs for dear life.
Fuck.
Jungkook gulps. Admits, “I’ve been dreaming of this.”
Your eyelids flutter open; you shake your head. “You… never needed to.”
“I did. I absolutely did.” He places a hand under your ear, too gentle for his mad endeavours, pulling you once again flush against him, though the fingers still inside. “Come here.”
The reminder to keep you in his grip tonight only resurfaces when you try to move away, attempting to slither down his body until you reach his chest, and he puts you back in place, face to face. The touch on your cheek suddenly shifts to your neck, your eyes a fraction wider.
He doesn’t push or press, but his pupils darken, telling enough as he matches the shade with his words, “I thought I was doing whatever I wanted to tonight?”
You swallow hard, nodding. But you’re not nervous or taken aback; in fact, you flash a satisfied smile, prepared for what he’s willing to provide. Your eyes roll down, attempting to catch a glance of where you see him waiting under you and you ask, “May I?”
You let go of his legs, urging your way through the tight space between your bodies to skim the skin above the V-line and draw lines on his stomach. He understands that you’re not yet again trying to dive down again — frankly, he’s too impatient for it, no matter how welcoming the thought of your luscious lips around his cock.
And he can’t finish the night already; and the sight of you eating him up would certainly lead to just that.
But no — you’re hinting at something else. You’ve had enough of sitting on a bulge, too. You’re craving nothing different than him. And while his feral desires grow, pictures of you pinned under him flashing and re-flashing, he permits you to handle this once.
He removes his fingers from you, wiping the juices along your thigh.
Then, he says, “Do it.”
His voice is rough, worn out. Aside from the conversation, if he could ever call it that, he’s so far had with you, he probably hasn’t spoken a word in days. Combining the silence with the hot feeling of your skin under his fingers, the strain in his words only grows.
Jungkook waits and watches, further leaning back against the fissured tree. His back will be thoroughly scratched and scarred, but the adrenaline won’t allow him to care just yet.
Heart racing a hundred miles a minute, he lifts his chest, keeping it in place for a second when you align his leaking tip with your pussy. You rub it between your folds, and he can clearly feel your readiness; there really is no need for further preparation. You’re teasing him.
A jerk of his hip signals you to hurry, and you throw a quick glance, a familiar smirk rendering him useless for the merest moments before he starts, “Enou—”
But you’re already a step ahead. With a deep breath in, you sink until more and more of him disappears, and soon, it’s all gone. Your pelvis hits his, your mouth open, jaw sharp as you clench it, much like him.
And then… then you stop moving.
“What?” Jungkook wonders, hands already on your waist to move you up himself.
But you catch his wrist in time, somewhat unstable as you sway, yet tell him, “Wait. Just for a minute.”
“Why?”
“Just to… to really feel each other,” you argue, licking your lips.
As your hazy eyes stare up to find his wanting glance, he swears your pupils emit a very brief and very sudden burst of light. Green. Soon gone. Made up, possibly.
“Why rush?” you wonder, another dangerous tilt of your head. “Just because I surrendered like that,” a sharp fingernail scratches across his sculpted chest, “it doesn’t mean we should just forget to truly take it all in.”
Jungkook draws in some air, urging for more but helpless in the wake of your touches. This isn’t what he intended. You told him to demolish you; yet, he can’t seem to move.
But you do. Even if just a little.
A tiny inch forward, slipping out minimally, and then back where you were; with him deep inside, his balls to your ass, your hands on his cheeks now.
“How do you feel?” you query. The amusement in your voice is unmistakable.
It’s the first thing in a while that has truly felt good, Jungkook thinks. The pain starts with you and it ends with you. You know that as much as him. And your question isn’t just this; you’re not solely interested in how he perceives your body and the sins committed with it.
You’re talking about your presence. About you eliminating a thought after another. The audacity is unmatched; you’re not really here to heal him at all.
“You don’t get to ask me,” Jungkook mutters quietly, his words one with the breeze, “you don’t fucking get to ask me after doing this to me.”
“Doing this to you…”
“Don’t play stupid. Really.”
You quiet down for a moment, tugging at the hair behind his ear. You follow a strand of it down to where it ends at his shoulder. You draw circles there then, so close that he could capture your lips with ease. But he needs you to talk sense into this situation, even if it might go over his head with you wrapped around him like this.
You speak as gently as him when you answer, “It wasn’t my intention. I just knew fighting would do… nothing.”
Jungkook hisses and grunts when you roll your hips. A voice pleads for him to lift you and slam you back onto him, to jackhammer into you until you slur your words. But somehow, he’s still trapped.
He’s your slave entirely.
“Really?” he asks between gritted teeth. “Because you’re here now.”
“Because… I dream of you, too.”
“Did you not before?” The tone starts to slip into fragments of frustration, much to Jungkook’s misery, but he can’t help himself a bit. Instead, he gives into the emotion bubbling in his stomach, a large hand landing on the flesh of your ass again as he urges, “Tell me.”
You mewl at the sharpness, your skin burning. The slap forces your body into motion and Jungkook, using the moment, delivers one reckless thrust up. You whine.
“Tell me,” he forces again, his body coming back to life, “it was hard to care, wasn’t it?”
He holds your ass and you in place as he fucks into you once more. Harder this time, staying fully emerged a little longer and then backing out almost entirely again. Covered in a sheen, his cock remains like this for a moment, and when nothing but panting bursts out of you, he pushes back in, no mercy.
This time, he keeps a pace. Enough of your nonsense.
“I— I did,” you tell him, grabbing his face to seek his lips. You find his tongue soon after, but do not, cannot kiss him properly; nothing but licking and playing, a whisper against his mouth, “You know how I felt for you.”
You plant your feet in the grass as he impels you from below, your watery eyes closing when you moan and whimper against his face. His cheek, his jaw, his temple. Jungkook is out of breath, but not ready to give this discussion up yet.
Anger up there, revenge below.
He says, “I didn’t. I don’t.”
The pace slows. Pressure builds in his balls and cock; Jungkook cannot end it yet.
Slow down… slow down.
You let out huffs as if to thank him and complain at once. This was just what you wanted; and he so readily, so easily gave in. Not that he didn’t crave each part of you, not that it didn’t almost kill him to not touch you.
But… but what will this result in? Are you allowing just a touch, a taste? Or handing out your heart, too?
You hug him close, arms wrapping around him, your chest moving against his. You play with the mane at the back of his neck; when you speak, goosebumps appear on his skin again, “You do, Kook. If you think about it carefully… you’ll know.”
He shakes his head. He has thought about every word a million times. No conclusion. None that didn’t hurt.
“In my eyes,” he explains, an arm slinging around you, “you played with me. You came and left and— and gave me hope, and then you stopped fighting. And…” His mouth sinks to your shoulder, teeth scraping your skin, digging in just lightly. “Now you… you’re back because it suits you. No?”
You lean back. Look at him. Intently, carefully — as if to confirm his theory. But then you move your head to a certain No. Assure that, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”
Your hands reach behind you, lower and lower until the tips of your digits brush his balls. A sound falls out of his chest. You upright yourself, shoving your chest in his face, nipples an inch from his mouth.
“I want you,” you repeat.
And though Jungkook understands the meaning behind your statement, he can’t fight but reciprocate your wants. He’s trying his best, but he’s not immune.
So it’s no wonder that the same thought repeats in his mind, blurted as he shifts on the spot, “I want you so bad. So fucking bad—”
The kiss is aggressive when he drives his hand into your hair, keeping your head in place. He lets your up-and-down-movements drive him crazy. For a minute, he lets you do, but soon, this level of control doesn’t suffice anymore.
Holding onto your ass, he leans in to kiss the flesh of your mounds, a light bite to your nipple; he prepares for a change in position, just when you admit, “I want to do this for you. Keep being here for you.”
“You need to,” Jungkook growls, “you owe me that.”
“Sure… sure, right—”
Jungkook doesn’t care how he sounds. What his words might convey. He just needs to—
You keen and shriek when he suddenly throws the two of you to your sides, his arm wrapping around your chest to pull you flush against him. His tongue explores your neck, licking up to your earlobe, a strong hand throwing your right leg back over his.
You’re open and bare for him, but he doesn’t shove himself back into you again just yet. Instead, he pushes two fingers into your mouth; you react right away. Hollowing your cheeks, you lick and suck, and his cock twitches between your ass.
Pulling out the fingers with a plop, he finds the desperate bundle of nerves just over your stretched pussy hole, circling the nub softly at first.
Your mouth falls agape before a sound can escape at all; the pleasure is stuck in your throat, but your body, the restless limbs, held by him over his hip, are revealing enough.
But then you let out sudden bursts of exhales, your hand flashing down to his, not forcing it off but rather moving with it. He kisses and bites your earlobe, and when he speaks again, his breath burns on your skin, spreading across your chest.
“Say something,” he orders, holding you tighter when your body winds and half twists, “anything I can remember later.”
Your eyebrows kiss, your arms, legs and voice restrained. You’re in a human cage made by him. Turning your head, you seek his lips, but he backs away, shakes his head, repeats, “Anything.”
“Nngh, you— won’t have to remember—”
“Wrong. I will. So give me something, too.”
You laugh under moans, rather at the pained certainty than out of amusement. And then, you say, “Just take it.”
And he obliges. The hand disappears to reach between your legs, but not to fumble further with what pleads for more of him — instead, Jungkook grants you just that wish.
He pumps his veiny cock, moving the skin up and down to provide you with all he has. You feel the tip against your thigh, but it soon leaves your seething skin to push back into your pussy. He doesn’t let go of the shaft until it’s as buried into you as the position allows.
And then, he raises your leg higher, spreading you wider; and once you’re entirely open to him, sideways on the grass and defenseless, he pushes in deeper, rougher.
If he could reach your guts, he would. He wants more than this; he’s pushing you and, frankly, himself to the limit, but the absolute proximity does not seem to suffice. And with each of your whimpers resonating in his chest, echoing in his ears, he finds he won’t be able to let go at all.
“I just…” he starts, fingers pinching your nipples. He speaks close to the burning shell of your ear, your body a mess of sweat and exhilaration and beauty. “I needed you… to say this— so long ago.”
As he rams into you all the way, your body threatens to fall forwards, but you press a flat hand to the ground and he holds you to him; he freezes his hips, circling a little. Stays in place to give you a moment to feel the throb of his cock, and to feel the clenching of your walls himself.
His smile is instant, genuine. Do you feel like this… with that guy of yours? Does he ever make your insides expand and contract like this? Do you ever breathe his name, call for more, beg for eternity and salvation at once?
No. No, he’s certain you don’t.
Be it the ecstasy flooding his veins or the illusion he’s painted for himself — right now, different from mere minutes ago, he cannot be told otherwise: You are here, and no matter who you return to, you will never be theirs.
Lips pressed to your neck, he listens to your nonsensical words, his chest aching, his stomach tickling, his legs tired but his mind wide awake. All past trauma aside, he thinks he’d follow you to the end of the world.
He felt similar before you exited his life; the memory is nostalgic, yet a reminder for what came after.
But right now… he cannot bother to think about it. Cannot shatter just yet.
For now, his eyes and thoughts only fixate on the way your tits overflow between his fingers. The unheld side bounces each time he drives himself back into you, nearly breaking his stamina. So he shifts his focus, finding your clit again, repeating the soft oval shape from before.
You turn to look at him as much as you can, and your open mouth closes only once, for a second, when you trap your lower lip with your teeth and let go again. Plush, sweet, pillowy.
“So pretty,” he mutters. And, “Mine.”
You seem to indulge in this. Because a second later, something happens again.
Your expression changes for the tiniest moments, another such short hint that he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him again. It throws him off guard enough for him to forget his name, to forget the world around him.
His movements slow down, though not without results. Your hips move against him, your ass grinding against his pelvis, and you’re fucked out, moving your hand down to guide his, playing around the nub until you have ridden the waves of your high and calmed down.
Jungkook lets you. You still emanate an unbelievable glow; it makes him dizzy and warps reality somehow. Not a sentiment he’s able to explain; but nothing so out of the ordinary that he might deem it surreal.
He doesn’t know what it is. But he’s insane beyond measure.
Holding you almost leveraged before, you slip in his grip, his arm more loose around you now. And you use the moment to get yourself out of the much wished-for cage, distancing yourself from him.
He props himself up with an arm on the grass, watching you, his cock soaked and glinting, still a pillar.
But he’s not as manic as before. Only sees you crawl away; sees you drop on your bottom, your body slowly moving backwards on the grass and towards the shore.
But you aren’t done. At all, it seems.
Because, with unadulterated mischief in your voice, you urge him closer, “No need to stop.”
“I…” he only manages for a bit, swallowing, and when you raise an eyebrow in question, almost as if to allow him to speak, he says, “I didn’t intend to stop.”
“But you still did. Come here.”
“Why… don’t you come to me?”
“You want something, don’t you?” you push, chin higher as you start to turn around, almost as if your legs have given out. Creeping towards the water on all fours. “If you want to, you need to get it… Kook.”
And the encouragement seems to work.
Because he soon follows. At the same pace, with a similar hunger in his countenance as in yours. His brain is foggy, as if drunk from an irresponsible, passed night. The surface of the water appears twice.
But it doesn’t matter. His body is lingering for you. He’s not done with you.
And he proves the aggressive craving, the way he’s starving, when he suddenly pulls at your leg just inches from the water.
You shriek, your upper body gently falling, though the sound of surprise is instantly replaced by a satisfied moan when Jungkook holds you by your waist and leans down to attach his mouth to your pussy.
It’s a breathtaking, bewildering taste. Overflowing, your high still pools out of you, multiplying when he collects spit on his tongue and pushes it to your hole. Capturing your arms, he holds your wrists in one hand, pinned at the small of your back.
Ass up, upper body down, cheek against the sand; and his lips all diligent, tongue lapping you up.
It’s all he’s ever wanted. All he could live on.
As he French kisses you, you only repeat, “Yes… please— exactly what I— I meant.”
But he doesn’t continue for long. It’s difficult to when you’re already dripping like this, his cock dying for more.
And when he finally gets on his knees properly again, straightening his back, you find a moment to laugh.
You tease, “Just minutes ago you refused to want me the way you used to—” He straightens your legs until you’re flat on your stomach; straddles you. “And now…” Resolute fingers push your ass apart; more spit lands on your pussy. “Now you’re following me— like a pupp—”
The taunt is forgotten when he pushes all of himself into you in one fell swoop, leaving not a single inch untouched and pumps into you with persistence.
“Shut up,” he commands, coaxing another throaty laugh out of you. This is exactly what you want. What you have wanted from him. Never more, never less.
He leans into you, kissing your cheek for a second, but when the position proves too hard, he decides to bring you up to him instead. Palming your chin and jaw, he lifts your upper body off the ground, teeth nibbling at your shoulder.
You yell into the clearing, his name somewhere in the mix of jumbled words, and he pushes a finger into your mouth first. Then two. Then covers your lips with a hand, muffling your sounds.
Not long anymore. Almost done.
It’s clear to the both of you in the way he begins to slow down, his hips unsteady, air leaving his lungs. He’s harder inside you now, about to burst, just a second before—
He pulls out entirely, just to turn you on the spot again. This is ideal for you. Jungkook is a sucker for this — as shy as he used to be, he never feared your eyes. With the cold nonchalance you displayed sometimes, you understand why he didn’t.
He always tried to find an emotion he craved in those gazes of yours.
But…
Well.
It takes less than a minute from him flipping you around to holding your face between his fingers, wrapping your legs around his waist and kissing you like a madman — and to him coming undone.
He prays, “Don’t let this end.”
He promises, “I love you.”
He whispers, “I need to stay with you.”
No more begging for you to stay. Jungkook has switched to voicing his own wishes, no matter how fuzzy-brained, in hopes you might do it for him. But have you ever? Would you ever?
You’re the most important person to him, but you might be the most important person to you, too.
As he trembles and his legs quiver, water flows to the shore where you lay. It wets your hair anew, an art piece in his eyes. He keeps thrusting for a bit, spilling until empty — and not once in this time does his vision clear.
You’re grotesquely gorgeous. Mysterious, surrounded by a glow but also a… a darkness. A combination that does not exist in true reality. You are unreal.
And he doesn’t care about his failing brain. The moment you are gone, the images in front of him will clear. He will properly feel the moment, the regret, the wounds and bruises on his arm, the same blood on his skin as under your nails.
A burning sensation already spreads through him as he finishes, but he doesn’t know if it’s, in truth, the entirety of his skin or the roughness you held onto him with. He doesn’t know.
All he knows is that bit by bit, without him intending or wanting to, you will tumble out of reach. The adrenaline still courses his body as he calms down on top of you and then rolls off, head cooling from the ever-approaching water.
Fingertips still skim your sides, but he knows you’ll get up very soon and disappear. By then, the rush will be over and the lust will subside. You will leave nothing in your wake but wistful yearning.
The lake is quiet now.
Nothing but breathing, nothing but the light wind.
For a while, neither of you speak. The water keeps lapping softly against the shore, washing over your hair before retreating again. If this was any other day or any other reality, Jungkook would sit up, close his eyes, be content listening to the slow rhythm of the waves with you.
But that’s not what it is.
“I can’t part from this,” he mumbles in the silence.
He doesn’t hear you for a second. His eyes drag open; he looks over. You’re still here — his fingers aren’t grasping a ghost. And you’re staring at him, too. Only that you look more mature now, your face different.
Scarier.
Perhaps it’s the moment tinging the night in something… gloomy.
But you just keep looking. So he tries again, “I just… I cannot part from this.”
Then, you speak, a smile dancing around your mouth. “This?”
“From you.”
“Really, Jungkook?”
“You know. You have always known… please.”
His eyes fall shut again. Not due to comfort or pain or any real emotion at all. But in order to make his head stop spinning. As his other senses come alive, he hears you clearly, though you remind him of a faraway sound; a lullaby howling through the forest.
“If you think you are truly ready,” you say, “you need to tell me. We will not part.”
“I have told you. How many times do I need to—”
He stops. Takes a breath. His skin tingles.
Nobody speaks. You only laugh, only for a second. And there is something strange about the sound. Not strange enough to notice at first perhaps — just impossible to ignore. It blends with the water until he can no longer tell where you end and the lake begins.
He feels you move next to him, a sharp finger touching his neck and trailing down his chest and stomach. Then up again; down again.
“Come closer,” your sugary sweet, reverberating voice speaks, quiet. “Closer to me.”
He does. And for a moment, it feels like before. Not before he found the sand under him, but — before.
Before the stranger. Before the issues. Before you left.
It feels no different now. That’s the problem. It is a problem, right? He isn’t sure.
Because each second confuses him. The water slides around his legs. Odd, given the fact that the shore certainly seemed further away before. But he doesn’t find himself as concerned with this as he thinks he should be.
Instead, he remembers the woman he’s loved for so long. The one laughing with him besides campfires. The one he promised forever, too; the one who chose someone else.
Jungkook has tried it all. Attempted to convince himself that he hates you. And then, that he’d never stop loving you. But hate and love are easy — none of these ever bothered him. None of it fractured his soul.
No, what stabbed him over and over again was grief.
Love is stronger than grief.
Maybe he was wrong. And even if this was true, a lower intensity of the latter somehow still overshadows a high amount of the former. Love makes stronger; but grief is stronger. Ironically, renders you weak. That’s what you meant.
Your shoulder brushes his. He didn’t know when, but at some point, he must have stood up. You’re holding his hand.
They fulfill different purposes.
But to you, it’s not about intensity, but about the goal each emotion has. He never thought about it this way, though. Emotions having certain goals… purposes…
We break first and then love harder.
He’s knee-deep in the water. Soul cleanly splitting in half. No wound will ever scar over.
We can use that love.
How are you using his love?
He can’t say. You’re just leading him into the water. He can’t form a thought. Your lips are moving; you seem to be saying something. Singing? Eyes hooded. Your skin and hair are odd. Different…
Another step.
The water is colder a few steps farther in, colder than in the evening. But it doesn’t hurt. His body doesn’t react. He’s busy with what he’s hearing — he thinks you’re still talking, voice low and melodic, like a song one knows or remembers or soon forgets.
The dizzying feeling from before has fully turned into a paralysis almost — a dream. Nightmare? Something impossible to control. When…
The lake curls around his calves, then around his waist.
No.
Grief is stronger than love. Grief is stronger than love. Grief is stronger than love.
Not because one cannot love hard. But because the stronger the grief, the weaker one gets. There’s weakness in strength, isn’t there?
It’s where you needed him. He understands now. He surrenders.
“Do you trust me?” you seem to ask now.
Jungkook nods, no time to think about the question at all. Somehow he does.
The problem is, despite the touches he and you shared, the ache never disappeared, did it? Even at the height of it all, he knew you wouldn’t stay, no matter how intently he begged or how long he waited for you.
This pain was bound to consume him, and you knew. That’s how you’re using this love.
You appeared. Planted the affection in him. Fabricated a life for yourself, that, he now realises, you never truly lived. Made yourself somebody you never were. Who are you then? What are you?
You appeared only to break him over and over again, but never quite managing the final rip that you thirsted for. His adoration for you, and the hope that came with him, backed him up…
But hope is scarce these days. You entered this clearing not with the purpose to return to him. But to deliver that last blow. To finally splinter him enough to claim him. He was too strong before, wasn’t he? Too conscious.
He knew. He has always known: You do not obsess over others.
This is why.
And you never found him by coincidence. The hand-built cottage atop the damn lake signed his death sentence the moment he moved in. There were always creatures in the waters.
Your head turns to him; the glow fades from your eyes. Everything feels distant. Unimportant somehow. You have stopped singing, only muttering words now, and soon, the ground vanishes.
Jungkook floats in the water, his legs remembering to swim until — they don’t.
You deliver a nod, as if to ready him; as if to remind him of every smile, every touch, every broken promise one last time. Granting him mercy. Devilishly thanking him for dropping his guard.
You have always adored his soul. Wanted it.
Love gave him something to live for, to hold onto; he couldn’t resist who you were for him, but he became resistant to your nature. Funny.
One last tilt of your head. And a moment later — he’s drowning.
His lungs don’t burn right away. The feeling creeps up on him. There is no panic, however; he is hollowed out. Filled with empty spaces. And sirens always know to fill empty spaces.
He forces his eyes open underwater. A faint glow of green eyes visible, he follows them. They lure him in, dragging further than he knew the lake could go.
And once the ground comes to sight, they appear. Multiple faces, multiple levels of hunger.
And underneath, somewhere in the dark, just as consciousness starts to fade, the ground reveals skeletons of a near and distant past.
alright, yes, this is a dream i had and i had to write it out lmao. i promise i do usually stick with happy endings, but men have been outrageous these days, so a piece underlining a woman's power was needed. this one's for the gals. and sometimes it's also just fun to try new genres and stuff.
thanks for reading!! i know i left the story quite open to interpretation at times, esp their backstories and similar. if you have any question, ask away. i have a lot in my head that i couldn't put in the fic, but would love to talk to y'all about. and you know, interaction makes the world go round and all that hahaha so feel free to talk to me, even if you're usually a silent reader. would make my day. see you and love you <3
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jungkook x you (femreader) | 3.8k words
summary – wanting tipsy jk all to yourself after an album release party.
rating – 18+ (sex, course language)
a//n – adapted fic from my main blog x
masterlist
All you wanted to do was drag Jungkook back to your hotel room, get reacquainted after a couple of torturous weeks of being apart, maybe run a hot bath and enjoy the rest of your night in peace.
In your dreams.
You never really had Jungkook for long during a BTS album release and the subsequent tour that always followed, and because of that, you wanted to make the most of your time actually being in the same country, let alone the same city. But your handsome, social butterfly of a boyfriend had other ideas – ones that didn’t factor in your desire to have him all to yourself.
The long, doting line of people wanting to wish Jungkook good luck for the album and praising his strength through the bands’ tenacious comeback while getting a sneaky selfie was never ending. To put it plainly, it was obnoxious but you were used to it now. He was effervescent, charismatic – an irrisitable magnet to anyone and everyone. You loved him endlessly, admired his ability to smile through the pain even more but all you wanted to do was say goodnight to everyone and leave.
Barely two words were shared before you were whisked off in a car and through the doors of this swanky restaurant – the private function room and bottomless champagne making it less excruciating.
“All I can think about is getting this over and done with so I can come back here and rip this beautiful dress off you.”
Those ‘barely two words’ were enough ammunition to last you a couple of hours, holding onto the hope of that promise coming true. But now you found yourself being a gracious wallflower at the lavish Arirang album release party, watching the man you love embracing all the people who made his dream come true. It was taking every ounce of strength you had to try and push any filthy thoughts you may or may not be having aside for the sake of your own sanity. Smile and wave.
You weren't the only one holding it together.
Jungkook was exhausted - you could see it from the darkening shadows framing his eyes and his roughened voice. The make up had helped but you knew your boyfriend. He was there because of a contractual obligation but nobody would've questioned his desire to be there or not the way he floated through the room, saying hello to every last individual, a bright smile adorning his face. He made each and every person feel like a million bucks. That’s why they loved him, and loved the band. They made them feel at ease. Relatable, kind and all of them extraordinarily talented.
And somehow in a room of nearly a hundred people, Jungkook knew nearly everyone by name, zeroing in long enough to have them eating out of the palm of his hand.
Your words, not his.
“Could you say hello to my granddaughter – she loves you,” An older lady asked, phone locked and loaded for the video. God help him if he said no.
“Absolutely.”
And of course he said yes. That was the kind of person Jungkook was. Not a people pleaser or a push over – just a genuinely nice guy with more patience than anyone you’d ever known.
After making your way around most of the room, you finally had a second to drink in your man. The freshly steamed black blazer sat over a tank top, leaving the tiniest bit of chest and chains showing for good measure and to tease you, no doubt. He’d gone for his classic black trouser sitting atop a pair of shiny black dress shoes look that you loved and those dark, choppy locks that you’d spent hours twirling between your fingers flowed onto his forehead – he looked so fucking good.
His charm and kindness always had you singing his praises and you made sure he knew how wonderful he was, how attractive he was. Your soft whispers of admiration had his heart pumping as he took a sip of his luxurious white wine, lips quirked in a smile. “So sexy.”
“Which part of all that was sexy? The bit where I filmed a video for that lady’s grandkid? You’re so naughty.”
Jungkook loved to tease, especially when it garnered that kind of reaction. Rolling eyes, flushed cheeks and a gentle shove in the arm. He fucking lived for it.
“No, dickhead.” You scolded under your breath, “Just… you being you. I don’t know what it is.”
You couldn’t put your finger on it but you knew how it made you feel. Seduced.
“Maybe you can figure it out in our hotel room.”
Jungkook simply shrugged with a smirk lining his lips, nonchalantly throwing out the idea as if he hadn’t been plotting a way to leave the party early. Wishing for nothing more than to have you praising his other set of skills. Rolling your eyes with flushed cheeks but in a very different context. He was twitching at the thought as his fingertips lightly scratched at the silky material covering your ribs, dragging your body closer to his.
“Don’t tempt me, Jeon. All I’ve wanted since the second we got here was to leave so don’t say it if you can’t deliver.” You were whispering in his ear, hoping to spur on those scheming eyes staring back at you.
“When have I not delivered?” He scoffed, swaggering away from the bar and waving to Jimin who looked like he searching the room for refuge.
“I feel like I’ve been talking for hours,” He sighed as the loud music continued to blast through the speakers, taking the smallest step back after he gave the two of you a hug, “When can we leave?”
That made you both laugh, “Probably not for a couple of hours, or until the boss makes a speech or whatever they do for these things,” Jungkook hated being the bearer of bad news, especially since he was more than ready to quietly leave and enjoy the rest of the night with you.
“It could be worse – at least the wine’s good.” You piped up, earning a laugh from the two men watching you sip the red wine in your hand.
“You would say that,” Jimin teased, chuckling quietly as he looked over at the bar, “I guess I should go and grab a drink if I have to stay. Do you two want anything?"
Jimin looked between you and Jungkook as you both shook your heads until he turned away and disappeared into the crowd. “Everyone here wants to talk to Jiminie. He’s the one all the record execs want to butter up for another solo album. Hopefully they don’t overwork him.”
You nodded and watched Jungkook’s eyes following Jimin, pensively taking a sip of his wine before sighing and glancing back at you, “What?”
“Nothing,” You tutted, “It’s just cute to see you back with the boys. After the service and being forced to take a break from music, I could tell you were miserable without it. So I love that being back has softened you again, makes you less of a grumpy, less dickish.” You tease.
The insincere insult tacked onto the end made Jungkook’s eyebrows rise with faux hurt, an exaggerated gasp masterfully added for emphasis, “Me? Grumpy? I wouldn’t reckon someone grumpy and dickish gets a girl like you.”
You watched as Jungkook sculled the rest of his wine, a devilish smirk hiding behind the glass, “No chance. Unless you like that.”
“I don’t hate it.”
Jungkook’s laugh was dark as he took a step forward, lessening the gap between the two of you before reaching up and brushing your hair over your shoulder, “Now you’re tempting me and that’s not fair," He whispered into your ear, carefully placing his empty glass on the table beside you.
“Nothings really fair though, is it? You having to be here instead of buried deep inside me, fucking me until I –”
“The bar line’s crazy!” Jimin loudly interrupted and caused you to jump back from Kook’s side. You steadied yourself on his hip for balance as you both watched him plot his next move.
“Oh, there’s Taehyung – he’ll find me a drink!”
You and Jungkook politely nodded again while he shot off in the other direction, and the two of you shifted away from the middle of the room, out of view of prying eyes and into a private nook. He was quick to pin you up against the wall, his large hand pressing into your hip as you looked up at him with innocent eyes. He could see right through you.
“Don’t give me that look,” He growled, eyes narrowed. “Look at what you do to me.”
His whispered words and flickering eyes encouraged your hands that were playing with the hem of his tank top to travel further south, fingertips tracing over his dark trousers that were a lot tighter than when he first got here. Almost too tight.
“You are fuckin’ cruel, honey.”
The painfully hard outline pressing against your palm intoxicated your already foggy mind, mouth watering. You could feel your thighs magnetically pulling together as his thumb flicked the dimple in your chin, forcing you to look into his dark, misty eyes that were watching your every move.
"Want me to do something about it?" It was a bold question to ask, a dangerous one, even when you noticed his eyes change colour. They were blacker than the night sky, wide and desperate.
Jungkook was exasperated, anguished by the question as he smiled and dipped his forehead onto yours. The answer was obviously “abso-fucking-lutely” but he knew better. And so did you. Still, the warm puff of air from his laugh still sent surging chills down your arched spine, needy for his touch.
“I hate saying no to you,” He rasped and closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, “Especially when I know how fucking good you feel but no. You can't help me.”
You dryly chuckled and brushed your hands over his puffed out chest, “Must be absolute torture, my boy. Thankfully I can hide how I’m feeling – you? Not so much.” You replied with gritted teeth and a shrug, smirk dancing on your lips.
“Yeah, you’re gonna regret saying that, baby,” He playfully retorted before pulling himself from your grasp and leaving you with what he thought was a threat, but what you took as a promise you hoped to God he would keep. You were soaked. to. the. core.
The expensive champagne continued to flow freely for hours and several glasses of wine later had you and Jungkook fumbling around at your hotel room door, unsure whether you’d arrived at the right number and having absolutely no idea where the key card you barely remembered giving him had gone. It also didn’t help that his lips hadn’t left the crook of your neck while you dug through your clutch, his fingers inching closer to danger with every passing second.
“Let me see your pockets,” You huffed and shoved your hand into his jeans pocket, causing a loud shriek to slip from Jungkook’s lips.
“You’re just trying to touch my dick!” He shouted, louder than he expected and definitely louder than you accepted as appropriate, even in your drunken stupor, "You can if you want."
“Shuuuush!” You hissed, trying not to laugh as Jungkook gazed up at the ceiling and reached into his back pocket, searching until his eyes lit up with excitement. “Ah-huh!”
“Thank god – now hurry up and fuck me please!” You whisper-yelled, praying for the sweet sound of a door unlocking.
“Alright, so horny. Give me a sec- ond… Shit!” Jungkook paused and looked back at you with wide eyes, “Wrong room.”
You could faintly hear the sound of footsteps behind the large door in front of your shocked face. Before you could even muster a response to his mortifying revelation, Kook had you in his grasp, dragging you down the hallway, panting and hoping he had a plan. He always did.
“Room 1001 – not 1011,” He coughed through his laughter, hovering the keycard over the lock and finally revealing the room we’d left nearly 5 hours ago, “Home sweet home.”
“Shut up,” You mumbled, throwing your arms over his shoulders and jumping into his embrace. Jungkook groaned at your sudden burst of energy and hoisted you up on his waist, mouths instantly attached and desperately trying to defy physics.
Your vision was blurry when you pulled away for air, lips still touching, noses knocking and your hands still roaming the expanse of Jungkook’s broad shoulders. You could feel him moving you further into the room that was spinning, the ceiling fan still whirring above your head. That was the first thing you saw when you landed on the messy hotel bed and left for dead by Kook who was chuckling at the foot, watching you lay back in defeat.
“I’m stupidly drunk.” You huffed.
Jungkook nodded as you looked up at him through hooded eyes, “Soooooo, soooo drunk.”
“You’re not tooooo drunk.”
Your pointed finger and wiggling eyebrows told him exactly what you were referring to, lip bite and dark eyes forever selling you out.
“Take off your pants.” You ordered.
Jungkook’s grin dropped into a smirk as you propped yourself up on your elbows, encouraging your boyfriend to give you a little show. Tipsy or not, he knew what you wanted and he’d move heaven and earth to give you whatever you asked for. A heat rushed across his chest as he gazed down at you, undressing for him. The silky satin dress slipped off a lot easier than it went on, a detail not going unnoticed by Jungkook who was slowly unbuttoning his shirt, moaning at the sight of your white lacy thong that you knew he loved.
“Killing me.”
“You love it, baby.”
“I live for it.” He confessed.
Foreplay was something you and Jungkook had mastered but you weren’t in a ‘building a narrative’ kind of mood. It was primitive now – the primal need for a release outweighing the desire to fuck around with each other. That was the kind of fun best saved for the morning. You were already looking forward to that.
“Look how wet I am for you, Kook.”
Jungkook growled as he kicked his jeans off, boxer briefs attached as they flung across the room, discarded with his wrinkled linen shirt. He stood for a moment – naked, painfully hard and begging to be touched before crawling up onto the California king. You could feel him throbbing as he brushed up on your inner thigh, legs open and wrapped around his waist in a matter of seconds. Lips attached again, frenziedly needing for more.
“Give it to me.” You pathetically plead.
“Nah, I wanna taste first.”
You resented his love for you in that moment. Resented that he wanted to indulge in what you had to offer, when all you wanted was the main course. The sharp huff that slipped from your lips made Kook chuckle into your inner thigh, sloppy kisses followed by tiny nibbles, undeniably revving you up but also making the pout on your face that much more noticeable.
“You’re sexy even when you’re mad,” He almost slurred, closing the gap between you and his indescribably proficient tongue. Hot breath fanning over what you could only imagine was your glistening pussy. Ready for him to enjoy. Fuck.
“You are a fucking drug.
A sweet, delicious drug that will be the death of me.”
Jungkook hummed before flattening his tongue against you, loving eyes locked on yours before your head tilted back, throat barely squeaking out a moan. He lapped and lapped and lapped away at you, paying close attention to the way you curled up when the tip of his nose slipped over your clit, your moan changing in pitch. He was always in heaven devouring you like this, until he was somewhat satisfied. He wasn’t selfish and he knew what you wanted, even if he could’ve stayed like that until the sun came up. Feasting.
“Jungkook, please.”
“Full naming me when I just wanna make you feel good is mean, baby.”
He was playing with you. And you were teasing back. God, he loved hearing you moan his name – his mind reeling back to the times you screamed out his name as you came, subsequently rushing him to his own finish line. Exploding.
“I wanna cum around your cock. That’s all I want,” You sighed and finally opened your eyes, clutching and admiring at the sprinkling of chest hair. Jungkook was drunk, but not drunk enough to not realise how lucky he was to have you spread out beneath him, pleading for him to fuck you into another dimension.
“Your wish is my… demand? Command? Your wish is my something,” He couldn’t quite find the saying in the midst of his excitement, and you couldn't hold back the fit of laughter as you threw your head into the pillows.
“Smooth, Jeon,” You giggled as you felt his slick tip teasing your hole, fists clenched beside your head and a smirk the size of the equator on his face.
“Well how does it go then, smarty pants?” Jungkook nodded his head and gently sank into you, revelling in the feeling of you engulfing every inch he had to give while he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head, waiting for your answer.
“I –” You stammered, adjusting and sucking in a sharp breath, “I have no… No idea, and I don’t… fucking care.”
Jungkook chuckled as his wispy fringe fell into his eyes, watching you lick your lips and gather yourself. You were blurry in his vision, the alcohol now really pumping through his veins as he gripped your hips in his large hands, palms perspiring and brows following suit. Your fingertips trailed from his chest down to his pelvis, skin hot to the touch and tattoos glistening from the sheen of sweat covering his perfect body.
“Fuck me just like that… Oh my god,” You snapped open your lust filled eyes – blazing flames erupting in Jungkook’s as they caught yours.
“Feels so fuckin’ good. So tight.”
Jungkook was huffing and puffing as your lips tried to find his, hands cradling his slacked jaw. Having drunken sloppy sex was one of your favourites and it’d been a hot minute since you’d found yourselves with the taste of wine and champayne still lingering on your tongues, fucking like it your last day on earth. He was thrusting hard until he noticed your hand crawl down to where your bodies met, the delicate touch slowing his movements and capturing his undivided attention.
“Uh uh,” Jungkook breathed and sat back on his knees, still warming in your tightness. Your eyebrows quirked with intrigue and a small smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as he grabbed your hand and guided it up to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. Fanning the flames deep inside.
His tongue swiped across your soft fingertips, making sure each one was dripping wet with spit before sliding them back down between your trembling thighs, “Bet that feels better, huh?”
“Mm-hmm. Much better,” You managed to moan out as he wrapped his arm around your lower back and angled your hips up to his cock, watching himself slowly slide in and out while you circled your clit, edging yourself closer with every touch.
Jungkook picking up the pace meant he wasn’t far from his high, the tell tale signs were consistent and always a dead giveaway. The flush of red creeping up his neck and veins bulging under his taut skin was the first sign. Filthy words whispered into your ear was the second and grunts vibrating in his chest as his focus was pulled to you and only you were one of the final ones before he couldn’t hold on any longer.
But he never left you high and dry. Not in a million fucking years.
"Right fucking there, Kook!" You shouted, oblivious to your screams almost certainly alerting the neighbouring room. Even if you were conscious of the volume of your voice, you couldn’t have cared less. Your man was putting on a show and you’d be damned if you didn’t make sure he knew how good he was giving it to you.
"I'm right there..."
"Come for me, beautiful." He egged, voice gravel.
You groaned into the pillow you’d been gripping, scrunching your nose at how fucking good he felt filling you to the brim. Kook eased your thrashing body through the shockwaves, making sure you felt every last writhe of pleasure – every nerve set alight by the fire burning in your stomach as that perfectly tied knot quickly unravelled. He was holding on for dear life, cursing how tight you felt coming around his aching cock.
"I need to see your face, baby. Look at me."
Jungkook's rapidly rasping voice snapped you back to reality as your hips rocked violently against his. That and your blown-out pupils boring into his was enough to send him tumbling over the edge, unloading everything he had and more.
He clutched your shuddering thighs with his searing fingertips as he bucked one, two, three times and placed one of his shaky palms against the hotel wall, trying to catch his breath as he filled you up. Your eyes were lazily shut, slowly regaining some semblance of consciousness and clawing at the skin on Jungkook’s abdomen – attempting to soothe him through his high. Selfishly, you were too caught up in your own that you’d forgotten he was even still there. You'd make up for that later.
For now, you were in bliss. Laboured breathing filled the comfortable silence as you searched for one another, floating back down to the real world.
"Come back to meeee," Jungkook teased quietly as a sly grin swept across your face, eyes closed and skin still tingling from his hot touch. He fell beside you and rolled off the bed in search of something, anything to clean up the mess you’d made together.
"I think I've died and gone to heaven," You whispered back, earning a hoarse chuckle in return. Kook looked like a mirage on a hot summer day when you opened your eyes and watched him exit the en suite, tissue box in hand as you threw on a baggy shirt.
"What a review. Let’s hope the album gets the same praise."
Proudly boasting after sex was a regular occurrence with Jungkook and you loved it; encouraged it even. He chucked the tissue away, pulled on a pair of boxers and practically tripped back into bed, still tipsy and feeling the full effects now that he wasn't under your intoxicating spell. At least for now, anyway. He was giggly, clingy, so sweet - immediately pressing kisses all over your face as you pulled the blankets up and cuddled into his side.
Jungkook flicked off the lamp and sent the room into complete darkness before you felt his warm arm snaking around your waist, pulling you into his pounding chest. You were exhausted and almost numb from the long night but satisfied above all else. Thirst well and truly quenched.
You could always rely on Kook for that. Until the morning.
hopefully i've fixed commenting and reblogging so you can let me know your thoughts and share with other readers! a yoongi fic will be posted next week.
ask box
Synopsis: Just a usual night with your long term fuck buddy, there’s nothing more to it right?
Cw: Teasing, “dry humping”, fingering, penetration, self gratification, spanking, orgasm play, P-Eating.
Song & Atmosphere: your choice.
a/n: Bored, and decided to write a smutty blip, taste the mf rainbow I guess!!!
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You and Jungkook were driving in his car, on your way back to his place after some drinks at a bar.
You had been a bit tipsy now, which meant your mouth had been more slicker than usual. You had been being too blunt, a little rude, and fussing with Jungkook more than ever.
Usually Jungkook would often let you have it, shut you up in other ways rather than telling you to quit.
But today you were being more cutthroat, the reasoning being you wanted nothing more to do with Jungkook but to cut things off, your avoidant attachment style being at it’s obvious peak.
But lately Jungkook has been fed up with your actions as he’s grown to care more about you, he would usually let you have at it, but things had started to bother him more.
You wouldn’t text him back, he’d get mad.
You’d ignore his messages, he’d get mad.
You would take days to respond, he’d get mad.
Posting while still havent purposely responded to him, he’d get mad.
It was things like this that would drive him into a fit of rage now, when it never did before, all cause he had grown to want more from you.
Your self sabotaging ways were more deliberate, more hurtful, he couldn’t stand it. And because you had also grown to care more, you were only pulling away out of fear.
He had been listening to you go on and on, your words now becoming blurred as you went on insulting him, and throwing shots after shots.
“Would you shut the fuck up already,” he finally let out, tired of hearing your disrespectful words, dragging things on like always when you had a little too much to drink.
“You’re not the one who’s driving, I’m driving, so just let me do that,” he continued on to let out.
“Who the fuck are you talking to?” You let out, somewhat surprised at his Choice of words as your eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, your tone serious as always.
“You, you don’t talk to me for weeks and think you can just talk to me any kind of way and I’ll take it?”
“Well if you weren’t driving like a dumbass, I wouldn’t have to!!!”
Suddenly the car took a sharp turn, “WHAT THE FUCK, YOU COULD HAVE KILLED US JUST NOW!!!” You screamed as Jungkook had put the car into park on some random street.
He unbuckled your seatbelt, his demeanor was now more serious than ever. A state you never quite saw him in before, you didn’t know what to think of such.
He put your seat back, your dress rising up as he did so, “Take off your underwear and touch yourself,” Jungkook demanded.
You laughed, “You’re joking”.
His eyes bore into yours, not a single trace of ‘joking’ being on his face as he looked into your eyes. You realized he was serious now, and your body deflated at so.
“Jungkook, what if you get pulled over?” You questioned, the riskiness of it all scaring you as much as his demeanor was, the atmosphere of the car now changing.
“Just a second ago you said I was driving too slow, do what I’m telling you”.
“Look, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean t—”
“Don’t apologize just yet, do what I said,” he cut you off.
“Okay,” you whispered softly, pulling down your underwear.
You were a bit scared about the suddenness of it all, and how serious he had become, but that fear went away once you realized he had put the seat down for you to be more comfortable to do something as perverted as he demanded.
Jungkook had started the car back up now, “We still have a bit of a drive, so if you cum before we get to the house I’ll spank you”.
You let out a laugh, “Right, and I’ll just jump out of the car right now”.
He looked down at you with a straight face, your smile dropping, “You can’t be serious Kook”.
“I haven’t made a single joke since we got in the car”.
Your eyes trailed elsewhere as you nodded your head at him.
You began to trace light circles on your clit, your breathing becoming less and less soft with each trace of your fingers.
Jungkook only looked forward as he heard you do so, the sounds similar to whenever he would tease you himself, the memories of so flooding his mind
“I want you to add two fingers now,” Jungkook told you after some time.
“What?!” You lifted up slightly, his request a little too intense for the position you were in right now.
“Add two fingers”.
You threw your head back angrily, doing as you were told. Jungkook took a look over at the sight, seeing your fingers go in smoothly, you were practically dripping already, he watched intensely as they were swallowed.
Not understanding your need to talk back, but so obviously liking what was taking place in the moment.
You started off slow, trying to mimic the very motion Jungkook would whenever he’d touch you. You had now been trying to hold back moans, which would come out as whimpers, only becoming louder as you persisted.
You arched your back ever so slightly as you continued on, holding back as much as you could.
Your whimpers had been like music to Jungkook’s ears as they filled up the car, each whimper making him on edge, and each squelch of your pussy wanting him to touch you himself.
“Stop holding back,” Jungkook told as the car came to a stop, the light now being red, “And go faster,” Jungkook put a hand over yours as he increased the speed of your movements, and changing it to a motion that was rather better than yours.
You let out a loud moan, his actions cause you to close your legs shut.
He still went on, “Open your legs”.
“Kook, you’ll make me cu—”.
“Don’t make me repeat myself”.
“But you know it’s going to b—”
“Should I do it myself?” He cut you off once more, you shook your head no, slowly opening your legs, you knew if he got his fingers inside you himself, you’d surely finish.
The car started moving again, and so did Jungkook’s hand, your fingers staying still as you watched him suck you off his fingers, somehow making contact with the mess you made once he removed his hand.
“Am I interrupting you?” He asked, his voice filled with condensation.
You took a deep breath before you went on with his demands, as you went on with the other ones from before.
Your soft moans made Jungkook more needy for you, it had been a while since you guys got together, and surely enough; touching himself to the thought of you wasn’t quite the same as having you.
As you quickened up your pace, your moans remained soft, nothing over the top, but less than quiet in itself. It felt good, but it wasn’t quite the way you liked it.
As if someone heard the way you were feeling, the car came to another stop.
Jungkook looked over at you, a smile softly spreading on his face he did so, “oh baby,” he chuckled a little, “Move your hand”.
A soft exhale leaving your mouth as you did so, he took ahold of your hand and put your fingers inside of his mouth. You watched him intensely as he did so, sucking at your fingers as his tongue traced them both as he let out a soft groan from the taste, sending your fingers a bit of a vibration.
The warmth of his mouth made you more turned on than you already were, the wetness, and the feeling of his tongue bringing you pleasure as he did this action.
He looked forward, and stepped on the gas, removing your fingers from his mouth and placing it to the side.
Surely enough entering his own two fingers inside of you instead, causing you to jump up, a much more louder moan to leave your month, surprise and pleasure filling all throughout your body.
“KOOK!!!”
His fingers were thicker, longer, and rather much more bigger than a yours alone. They stretched you out more, and reached that spot you couldn’t quite always reach, each pump of his fingers making you wetter.
Not only could he feel you become wetter, he could hear you too. The sounds of your moans increasing furthermore, he loved the sound of it.
He added in another finger, now going faster than before, as if it helped increase the speed. Your took ahold of his arms, squeezing at it tightly as you squirmed in his seat, your juices slithering down your pussy, and on to the seats.
He had a look of focus, purposely trying to get you to that point.
That’s when he took his fingers out, and began to vigorously rub at your clit with the tip of his fingers, you arched your back in, now letting out a large squeal as you began to squirm even more.
“KOOK!!! YOU HAVE TO STO—”
“Tell me you’re sorry”.
You continued on moaning, not responding to him, watching the way he touched you, and how fast he had been going.
“PLEASE, PLEASE, YOU CAN’T!!!”
“Tell me how sorry you are”.
“PLEASE, I’M SORRY, I’M SO—” your words cut shot from the sensation that came, your eyes rolling back as you arched, twitched, and even kicked your legs in a little.
The feeling of an orgasm taking completely over, feeling the amount of cum that had been coming out, but it didn’t stop there, because Jungkook continued on.
The car continued driving, and so did he, never changing his pace as he rapidly rubbed at your clit, wishing he could stop the car and lick the cum off of you.
You felt another build up as the car came to that one familiar turn, the sound of Jungkook’s garage could be heard opening over the loud sounds of your squeals and moans.
That same feeling you got the first time happening a second time as he drove inside, closing the garage whilst removing his hand from your clit at last.
Your chest heaved up and down heavily, and you twitched ever so slightly, watching Jungkook get out of his side of the car and come to yours.
He opened the door, and pulled you up and out of the car after pulling your dress down, shutting the door behind him as he carried you in a bridal position.
You were still trying to catch your breath, the cold air had hit your legs, but you were still filled with warmth. You laid your head against Jungkook’s chest as he carried you up to his room, his touch only gentle and caring.
Your eyes were fluttering once you got to the room, your mind completely blank, Jungkook gave you a soft kiss to your forehead. You weren’t sure if he was going to give you a bath, or put in you bed to sleep. Which he did put in bed, just not in the way you were expecting.
“Take everything off, and if there’s a bra under your dress, take that off too, you understand?”
“What?”
“Don’t play coy, do what I said”.
You only nodded your head, a bit irritated now, but still obeying what was said.
“When your done, I want your stomach to be facing my lap over on that couch okay?” He pointed to the couch that was in the corner.
His room was rather modern, some decorations here and there, but not much. Most of all, it was huge. You guys had had sex all throughout this room, the couch often being for doggy, or deep-legs-over-the-head missionary. It had been a while since you’d been here, recent feelings being the reason why.
“Okay.”
He walked over to the couch and sat, watching you do as you were told for the umpteenth time.
He began to unbutton the sleeves of his dress shirt, “Do you want me to use a belt, or my hands?” He asked as he rolled up his sleeves.
You were now about to take your bra off when you turned around and rolled your eyes, “Obviously your hands you dumbass,” you spat out, your attitude had now been catching back up to you.
He raised his eyebrows at you, a look of “Oh, so you’re still going?” Written all over his face.
He now chuckled, “It was ten at first, but you just upped it to twenty”.
You did a quiet sigh, dropping your bra to the ground.
Jungkook patted his hand to his leg, “Come here now”.
You walked over to him, about to follow the instructions that were given not too long ago, “No, just sit first”.
So you sat on his lap, the wetness of your recent mess had soaked the cloth of his pants. His knee slightly giving you pleasure, the warmth of your pussy only made Jungkook more needy for you, having to hold in how he so urgently wanted to be inside of you.
“Do you understand why I have to do this?” He questioned, tracing his fingers softly upon your arm.
You nodded your head, something you had been doing quite frequently during his time of dominance. You almost wanted to laugh, but was too scared of what was to come, deep down wanting to in order to see what would happen.
“Tell me why”.
“I was being disrespectful,” you let out lowly.
“Yeah? And what else”.
“I finished before we got home”.
Jungkook’s heart fluttered at your words, “we got home”, he wanted to hear you say it again.
“What was that?”
“I came before we got home”.
He was biting back a smile at your words, wanting to hear you say it over and over again, you guys weren’t together, but knowing you as long as he has, he of course has imagined a lot of things before.
“I can’t hear you,” he said sternly.
“I ended up cumming before we got home,” you said at last, wanting to stop repeating yourself, but unable to say it.
“That’s it doll,” he assured softly.
Jungkook cupped your face, and pulled you into a gentle kiss. It started off slow, deep, and passionate, rather like whenever he was inside of you, reminders of such making you wet.
“Now come,” he whispered softly in between one more kiss, he had missed your lips ever so dearly.
You followed suite of bending over, the air hitting your exposed pussy once you were.
“You’re going to count for me okay?” He placed a gentle kiss to your backside as he rubbed circles on your ass.
You nodded your head, an immediate smack to the ass.
You had barely just nodded your head before he had did so heavily did so, causing your cheek to sting ever so slightly.
“One”.
Another hit came, this time your other check, and almost just as hard as the other hit.
“Two”.
His hit only becoming less and less gentle as they went on, somehow bringing you pain and pleasure.
“Five”.
He made sure to always rub a circle in place before hitting that exact spot, trying to soothe you before placing another hit.
“Eight”.
It had only gotten worse when he began to trick you, rubbing one cheek, but hitting the other, that’s when the tears decided to come.
“Thirteen”.
“Don’t cry doll, it’ll be over soon,” a few pecks to your backside.
With each hit you had to clench your pussy, being teary eyed yet turned on was a new feeling, you didn’t quite understand the feeling.
“Seventeen”.
The last one stung the most, each hit almost felt like a story, or maybe words he was trying to say but couldn’t?
“Twenty”.
“That’s my girl, you did so good,” Jungkook soothes your skin, his fingers catching a feel of your new wetness.
“Huh,” you heard him, his tone puzzled. That’s when you felt yourself being spread open, the shock of it all wavering over you.
“Wait,” you pleaded, looking back, “I wasn’t trying to—”
A soft moan escaping your mouth as a singular finger of his entered inside of you. He twisted a little before moving his singular finger in circle, somehow making you let out soft moans.
If you had a dollar for the amount of times you were cut off in just today, you’d probably have twenty bucks or so, which isn’t a lot… but it’s more than it should be.
“Wow, even after all that, I certainly thought you’d be tired, but you’re a dirty little thing aren’t you,” he slightly snickered.
He removed his singular finger, “Sit up and tell me if you taste what I get to taste all the time”.
You sat up, now somewhat kneeling beside him on the couch, you look at his raised hand.
“Don’t be shy doll,” his voice now a bit husky for whatever reason.
Jungkook had never seen you in such a state, the sex you guys often had was always happening in splurges of horniness, it was never anything too intense up until today.
Of course he would hold back on going overboard, or things he didn’t think you’d be okay with doing, but today was different in many aspects, he was surprising himself.
You gently took ahold of his non-tattooed hand, gently placed his finger in your mouth, and you began to bob your head back and forth whilst swirling your tongue, looking him in his eye as you did so.
He only stared intently as you did so, a soft smile appearing on his face, “It’s cute that you’re trying to mimic something you often times never do”.
Removing his fingers, a string of saliva trailed onto his fingers as you did so. He observed it carefully before putting his own fingers in his mouth, “You always tell me not to,” you let out as he did so.
“Because I find much more pleasure in giving rather than receiving,” his focus now on your breast while saying this.
You rolled your eyes, “yeah yeah, I know, you say it all the time”.
He then grabbed you by the waist and pulled you on to his leg, you were now straddling him, and be had one leg in between yours. He moved it a little, causing you to squirm from the feeling of your bare pussy rubbing on to him.
“Wait kook, be still a little,” you told him, trying to sit up and adjust but he immediately pulled you down.
“Does that feel weird?” He questioned softly,looking into your eyes.
“Just a little yeah,” you informed.
“How about this?” He put both hands on your waist and began to gently rock you back and forth, slow and steady.
The feeling was different, not like how it was with clothes on, it actually seemed more perverted this way, to which you somehow enjoyed. The fabric of his pants rubbing against your bare clit seemed almost similar to riding a pillow, but firmer, and actually a person.
Your breathing became a bit heavier, “Feels…fine,” you understated.
“Yeah?” His voice low and hoarse, picking up his speed just a bit, “And this?” He began to now bounce his leg up and down, now obtaining a persistent speed of moving your hips in circles for you.
The feeling of your bare, wet, and warm pussy was sending him into a spiral. Your soft whimpers turning into moans as he went on with this act of his.
“C’mon, talk to me,” he began to leave trails of kisses across your chest, still maintaining his actions.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do anything more for today,” you tried suggest, your eyes fluttering as your body became more filled with pleasure. The pressure of his leg wasn’t the only thing making you feel good, you could feel the clear sensation of his rock hard dick.
“Why don’t you give it a try yeah?” He groaned lightly, very bluntly ignoring your sorry excuse of a request.
You guys had now been at an even closer proximity as you wrapped your arms around his shoulder, and began to further hump his leg.
“You’re so wet,” Jungkook groaned softly into your ear, he wrapped his arms around your waist, the both of you going into a fit of moans, groans, and whimpers.
Jungkook tried to hold his in, wanting to hear all of you, and every second of you.
“I want you to be inside of me already,” you moaned out, reaching his ear clearly as you grabbed at his hair on the back of his head, as your face rested against his cheek.
“Be patient doll,” he breathed out, panting heavily as he pulled you in for a sloppy kiss, the both of you moaning louder into one another’s mouth as Jungkook started to help you move again.
“Fuck,” you let out harshly, spit trailing down your cheek from how sloppy it was, but you didn’t mind.
Jungkook took this opportunity to take his free hand, and use his thumb to start rubbing at your bud the most that he could as you continued on riding him.
You threw your head back, obviously coming to your high, resulting in Jungkook increasing his speed.
“WAIT!!!” You cried out, scared to make a mess on him.
“Cum as much as you want,” were the only words you could hear last before your body began to spasm, and a senseless amount of cum began to pour out.
Jungkook took the opportunity to pinch at your nipples, the sudden sensation adding to your pleasure as your body had been sent into something that was truly beyond your control.
Once you finally had came back, your chest was heaving up and down. Panting heavily from your recent climax
“That was—,” you panted, about to say more once it came to you and you caught your breath before Jungkook abruptly lifted you up by the waist. You began to look around, “Kook, wait” you breathed out as you seen he was making way to the bed.
It was something he liked to do quite often, as he was unable to in the car, his movements at the very moment felt rushed, as if he was somewhat in a hurry.
He placed you laying down on the bed, immediately dropped to his knees, and proceeded to grab you by both your thighs and inch you closer to him, closer to his mouth.
“I’M SENSITIVE RIGHT NOW WAIT!!!”
Were the words you cried out before Jungkook began to hungrily suck at your clit, and lick the remainders of your cum off of you, sometimes even inserting his tongue inside of you, just to see how your walls felt like on his tongue, to taste every inch of you.
By this point Jungkook had been hugging your legs, his arms fully wrapped together as he held them still, it was the moment you squeezed them around his head by mistake that he took the opportunity. Devouring you endlessly as you shook beneath him, your loud moans bringing him enjoyment as much as the taste of you did.
Once he lifted his head up, he unwrapped his arms from one another, the hold he had against you now loose.
Just like before, you had been panting heavily. The overstimulation of it all had left you melting, but you had also just been edged without realizing it.
Jungkook began to place kisses on you, from your thigh, your stomach, and your legs, he placed his lips all over while you caught your breath.
Something he would often do on these kinds of occasions, loving every part of you.
Once he became close near your entrance again, and completely back on his knees, that’s when he spoke, “I want you to look me in the eyes this time,” he requested.
You only nodded your head.
That’s when he began again, his eyes never leaving yours as he did so.
He started off by tracing his tongue straight down your slick folds, and then proceeded to slowly go in circles, often times sucking at your bud from time to time as he did so.
You began to get that same feeling once more before he stopped, as your moans became uncontrollable you put the back of your hand to your mouth, trying to remain eye contact still.
Jungkook only quickened the movement of his tongue as you did so, his motions deliberate and thought out.
This made you throw your head back, that eye contact that you both once held had now been broken, making Jungkook give you a rough slap to the side of your ass, you quickly looked back up at him understanding what it meant.
As your hand found its way back, Jungkook reached for your hand, motioning you to give it to him, wanting to hold it as much as he could with the position he had been in.
This action only brought you closer to your climax, as your breathing became heavier, and your moans became louder, Jungkook only worked faster.
You’d think his jaw would have locked by now by how fast he was moving, and how dedicated he had been, resisting using his fingers to overstimulate some, wanting the work to all be from his mouth and mouth itself.
Surely enough things went white, and as you struggled to hold still Jungkook held you down firmly, hugging your legs once more as he had done previously to keep you still.
You had been completely worn as he cleaned you up, happy to taste more of you than before as you had finished directly on his tongue, your soft tired whimpers being let out as he did so.
Your breathing now somewhat normal as he rose to his knees, “Don’t get tired on me just yet doll,” Jungkook announced as he began to unbuckle his pants. His face was glistening wet from your juices, it made you want to laugh just a little from the sight.
Jungkook on the other hand, had been holding things in as much as he could, just for this exact moment, you see… he was a bit of a masochist. Yes he liked to give pleasure more than receiving such, which was partially for the simple fact that it felt like torture to wait for his turn, he loved the build up of it all.
Not touching himself while he touched you, or letting himself receive much pleasure. Having you rub against him through his clothes had been torture enough, he felt as though he would explode whilst he was on his knees for you, wanting to just be inside you already.
But he always patiently waited nonetheless, just lovingly pleasing you as he tormented himself.
You quickly sat up as you seen what he had been doing, Jungkook always pleasing you made you awfully excited when it came to doing the same for him. Ultimately, you both just wanted to please each other, but Jungkook was always pretty firm when it came to you not doing much work, never wanting you to lift much of a finger, always telling you that just your consent to being there was enough for him.
“Lay back down,” he unzipped his pants.
“Shhh, I wanna see,” you beamed happily.
“Well you’re not touching, so don’t get any ideas,” Jungkook spoke sternly.
“Gosh, why are you being so serious today,” you sighed, ignoring his words.
The moment his dick flung out you reached your hand out to touch him, immediately receiving a light slap to the hand.
“What did I say?”
“You act like I’m going to full on start sucking you off, just let me touch you first at least,” you groaned.
“Why don’t you help me get inside you then hm?”
You rolled your eyes and pulled him in closer to you by his belt loop, looking up at him from the bed, “You know that’s not what I mean,” you complained, “Please,” you persisted.
It’s not like Jungkook didn’t want you to, he would have loved you to touch him, but he genuinely didn’t receive a huge pleasure from such. When you guys would have sex, it wasn’t only the feeling of being inside you that made him feel good, but the combination of your walls against him and hearing you moan from each stroke is what drove him to his edge, often times only finishing whenever he got you to.
It was a weird thing he didn’t often know how to explain but he deemed it useless receiving any forms of pleasure alone from you if you weren’t being pleasured yourself.
“You know I can’t if I’m not hearing you, pleasing you, or teasing you, it’s a no”.
“Why don’t we just do what we did last time?” You tried to convince.
“You mean when you were on top of me, and yelled after I put my thumb in your butt?” He furrowed his eyebrows.
“It felt weird!!!”
“You never mind whenever we do it from the back?” Jungkook squinted his eyes in confusion.
“That’s different Kook!!!” You tried to explain to him, although it really wasn’t much different, you just never noticed too much up until that moment while you were focusing on trailing circles around his tip with your tongue.
After being embarrassed from overreacting you just decided to make something up, not wanting to discuss any of it at all.
“Lay down, and stop being fussy,” Jungkook finally said, not being up for a debate any further.
You scooted back on the bed, moving closer to the headboard now, rather than the edge. Not without a bit of an attitude that is, but you weren’t completely mad as you watched Jungkook completely undress himself. His inked body had now been fully revealed once he took off his shirt, finally dropping his pants and Calvin Kleins all at once.
You both had now been full naked, you didn’t like it too much when you were the only one, you figured that’s why you felt extra exposed at certain times despite him seeing everything already.
You weren’t new to the length Jungkook had on him, but each time you seen it you still had feelings of surprise.
“What movie do you want to watch after this?” Jungkook suddenly asked.
“Really Kook? We’re already discussing aftercare treatments?” You raised your hands in confusion.
He shrugged with a smile.
Crossing your arms and looking away, “Chronicle,” you simply stated.
“That’s my girl,” Jungkook chuckled a bit, now inching near you.
He started off by kissing the top of your foot, inching to your ankle, up to your calves, then your knee, and so forth.
Whenever you thought back to your feelings, you always think of moments like this, how he always took his time, never in a rush or a hurry, and how he always seemed like he loved every part of you.
Always sad when you convinced yourself otherwise.
Your breath hitched once his lips reached your inner thigh, which he took note of, smiling ever so slightly after the fact.
Once he got to your hips, then your stomach, his kisses became more longing, and he seemed as if he was desperate for you, and without you knowing it, he was.
He then took you by your thighs, and gently pulled you to be laying down, instead of sitting up. He then continued on to press a kiss in between your breasts, your collarbone and shoulders, then up to your chin and jawline, and finally your lips.
He was rather gentle as before, he usually was, and it always felt refreshing when he would be one way but somehow kiss you as if he’s trying his hardest not to hurt you.
Relaxing into him more, you wrapped both your arms around him, pulling him in closer to you as you both proceeded to dance with your tongues.
Soft groans echoing from the both of you as you did this, it was beautifully intimate. His chest pressed against yours, you felt as if you could feel his heart beating against yours, and that they were both in sync.
Jungkook gently took ahold of your right breast, and began to gently massage them with one hand, twisting and pulling at your nipple gently, successfully hearing you moan into his mouth like he wanted.
Pulling away to catch his breath he smiled at you, his eyes searched yours as he did so. You gave him a smile back in return, right before he went down to teasing your nipples and softly playing with your boobs, feeling as if he hadn’t given them enough love, mentally telling them sorry as he began to kiss and such. Your heavy breathing signaling he had been forgiven during this imaginary conversation, giving them a kiss goodbye before shifting his focus.
Jungkook rose up, and finally had his attention back down at your opening again. You watched him intently with your legs raised up slightly, but widely opened for him.
He took his dick and gave your pussy a few light slaps, watching you tense up a bit with each slap.
“Don’t tease me,” you whined.
He smiled and looked up at you, “Be patient,” looking back down at the other part of you.
You had still been wetter than ever, if not more. He began to slide his dick in between your folds, when you started to let out your usual soft whimpers that typically built up to loud moans, he began to groan a bit.
The feeling of you and hearing you bringing him satisfaction, he continued this motion for a bit of time, not wanting to rush into things, and savor them.
You being impatient, suddenly sat up a bit and grabbed his member.
“Wait, you have to be pat—,”
“FUCK,” Jungkook moaned out as you moaned along with him, the feeling of him being inside you sending you both waves of chill.
“Ngh,” he groaned as you pushed him in deeper with his legs.
His eyes reached yours with a pleasurable look, “It’s my first time being able to interrupt you now,” you smiled a little, feeling somewhat awarded to do what he’d been doing all day finally to him, which was interrupting you.
“Still disrespectful as ever I see,” Jungkook’s face dropped, making you send a look of confusion.
That’s when it happened, a deep hard thrust.
“WAIT!!!” You moaned out loudly.
Thrust.
“Now I should wait after you’ve been doing whatever you want and keeping at it?”
Another thrust.
Despite him sliding into you so easily, Jungkook had been stretching you out with each deep long thrust. Moving his hips in a circle once he had been fully inside you, causing you to arch your back in from the pleasure.
“Now you have no words?”
Thrust.
He started things off slow as always, building you up, just so he could ruin you down. Each thrust felt better than before, you could feel him twitching inside you, happy that he was enjoying the feeling of you, and why would he not?
You were swallowing him whole, and had been clenching at him with each thrust, this combined with your brutal moans from his brutal thrusts made him want to cum inside you then and there.
“Tell me you’re sorry”.
Thrust.
You choked on a moan, desperate to find your ways as your eyes were being rolled back, “I’m, I’m sorry,” you moaned out.
Thrust.
“You’re what?” He demanded something more pathetic of you.
“I’m sor—,” his deep thrusts became faster now, “rrr,” a pattern with each one to say the least, “rrry,” you finally finished saying such, moaning it out completely.
Jungkook was furrowing his eyebrows, biting at his lip to stop the groans he had from pouring out, seeing you in such a state had caused him to feel immense pleasure as he felt you twitch around him.
His dick about to explode in any minute now.
Jungkook leaned down, and began to kiss you, it was remarkably sloppy, you both moaned in one another’s mouth as he continued on thrusting inside of you.
Your tightly wrapped your legs and arms around him, this made Jungkook let out a loud moan, pulling away from the kiss from how intense the feeling was.
“I missed you,” he whispered, not just saying it from being knee deep inside you, but because he meant it.
“I missed you,” he replied, reciprocating that same feeling.
As you both reached your high, you shared a deeper intimate kiss, hugging him tighter as you did so. As you finished before him, your head thrown back while your eyes rolled, Jungkook hit a few more deep slow strokes before doing the same, going back to that same slow rhythm.
You both laid there panting heavily after finishing, sharing a soft laugh together as you both tried to catch your breath.
“I’ll start the shower, then we can start the movie?” He asked you softly before placing popcorn kisses all over your face.
You laughed out of breath, “yes”.
a/n: okay guys, let me know if this shit is buns or not, after my three hour work went left I had to rewrite a lot, and it all had to come back to me for most of the beginning so it’s probably lacking a lot in the beginning.
Shit took me days to write, after rewriting the entire beginning again. It felt like the worse thing ever, and my computer is gone rn, so I won’t be writing for a while, wrote ts on my phone and I feel like I could be hit by lightening by now. I don’t even wanna add ts to the master list cause it’ll just be SOOOO MUCH WORK ON MOBILE. GAHHHHH. I’ll do it in the morning or something.
Hope you guys enjoyed, first time writing smut on here, and for any girl on guy in a while so idk if it’s all that good. JUST LMK GUYS PLEASE, I ACTUALLY NEED TO KNOW IF THE CLIHS WAS BLISS DURING THIS FAWK (im joking). Anyways, bye bye now :)))).
when you fall sick, your beloved boyfriend Jungkook stays by your side as caretaker, but your symptoms turn out to be something neither of you expected - you’re pregnant. What follows is fear, uncertainty, and two people trying to navigate an unplanned future together while holding on to each other.
02. 𖤐 WHERE LOVE LEARNS TO SPEAK. 【 f 】 \ 4.8k /
girldad!jk x mom!reader
In a home filled with tired mornings, messy floors, and gentle kisses between chaos, love grows quietly. Between ‘ma’ and ‘dada,’ between sleepless nights and small victories, you and Jungkook learn that family isn’t built in perfect moments, it’s built in the ordinary ones that feel like home.
03. 𖤐 DEBUGGING YOU. 【 f 】 \ 2.6k /
datascientist!jk x fem!reader
Jungkook has loved you since university, building his life around you. When a frustrating night leaves you quiet over a creative block, he worries he’s done something wrong and tries everything; bad jokes, affection, and silly drawings to make you smile again. In the end, he realizes that sometimes simply holding you close is enough.
04. 𖤐 THE SPRING WE FOUGHT FOR. 【 s, f, a 】 \ 23.4k /
fisherman!jk x fem!reader
Jungkook has nothing but the sea, and you have everything but freedom. Somehow, against your parents, your worlds, and everything in between, you fall in love anyway.
05. 𖤐 ACROSS THE FENCE. 【 f, a 】 \ 15.6k /
idol!jk x ceo!reader
what starts as quiet familiarity with global superstar Jeon Jungkook slowly becomes something more, until a fake dating scandal forces distance, jealousy, and emotional chaos between you both.
06. 𖤐 PIECES OF TOMORROW. 【 f, a 】 \ 9.1k /
nonidol!jk x fem!reader
after a miscarriage, you fall into deep grief while your overwhelmed husband, Jungkook, stays by your side, quietly supporting you as you both struggle through loss. Over time, through patience, love, and small steps forward, you slowly heal and begin rebuilding your lives together.
SERIES;
𖤐 WHERE DUTY MEETS FIRE - 01. 02. 【 s, a 】
prince!jk x princess!reader
forced into a political marriage you never chose, You arrive in a foreign court determined to hate everything about it—especially the prince you’re meant to marry. But Jungkook is not easily dismissed; where you resist, he remains, unwavering and quietly intent on keeping a bond you refuse to accept. What begins as defiance turns into something far more dangerous, as you are faced with a choice you’ve never been given before—to keep running, or to stay and understand the one person who won’t let you go.
𖤐 THE SEA DOES NOT FORGIVE - 【 s, a 】
piratejk x fem!reader
You are a pirate captain’s daughter caught between your father’s war and Jungkook, the enemy captain you shouldn’t want. After a battle at sea, you’re taken aboard his ship, where tension, loyalty, and attraction blur into something you can’t escape.
전정국 x fem!reader | drugdealer!jk • intrusive thoughts heaven •
FROM ME: hey everyone….this is a bit of an odd one but my mind is constantly wandering so oh well! i know it’s been kinda radio silence from me for like a week and a bit but i PROMISE im going to try and get my shit together so i can post more !!! i have nearly 700 followers and I literally couldn’t be more grateful 🥺 thank you to everyone who reads + enjoys my content ily <3<3<3 also have you guys seen the clips from the busan concerts??? they look so fucking hot omg
• main m.list • headcanons m.list • my archive.
𖤐 divider by
• the kind of man everyone warns you about
— everybody tells you not to get involved with jungkook. he has the exact kind of reputation that follows people into rooms before they even arrive — whispered conversations, dangerous stories, late-night rumors about money and fights and people being a little too scared of him.
— and honestly? the warnings should work. except then you actually meet him, and suddenly he’s leaning against the hood of a black car outside some dimly lit convenience store at two in the morning, tattooed fingers flipping a lighter open and closed while he watches you with those unreadable dark eyes.
— calm. lazy. way too attractive to be trusted. he talks to you like he already knows you’re going to become a problem for him.
— little smirks. quiet teasing. the kind of eye contact that lasts slightly too long.
— the worst part? he never flirts obviously, he just stands too close, looks at your mouth while you talk, lets his hand brush your waist casually when he moves past you.
— small things. subtle things. which somehow affect you more.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• late-night drives with dealer jk
— being alone with jungkook at night feels dangerous in a way that’s difficult to explain. there’s always music playing quietly in his car, always city lights reflecting against his rings while he drives one-handed through empty streets like he owns them.
— and he drives like he does everything else: completely calm. completely confident. half the time he doesn’t even look at the road when he talks to you, his attention keeps shifting back toward you instead.
— especially when you’re dressed up. he notices immediately, that slow glance up and down before his jaw tightens slightly and he looks away again like he’s forcing himself to stay normal about it.
— then later he’ll casually say something that completely ruins you. “you know you make it so hard to focus, right?”
— meanwhile HE’S the one sitting there looking unfairly good beneath streetlights with veins visible beneath tattooed hands and his chain resting against tan skin where his shirt hangs open slightly. it’s impossible not to stare at him, and he knows it.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• the kind of tension that feels addictive
— being around jungkook feels like making bad decisions on purpose. not because he pressures you into anything — honestly, he barely tries at all — but because everything about him pulls people in naturally. the confidence. the quietness. the way he watches instead of talks.
— he’s usually leaning somewhere when you see him. outside clubs at impossible hours, against black cars with cigarette smoke curling into cold air, in crowded kitchens during parties while everyone else gets louder and messier around him.
— and somehow, despite all the noise, he always notices you immediately. every single time. his eyes find yours across rooms like instinct. then comes that look. slow, heavy, completely unreadable unless you know him well enough to catch the tiny shift in his expression whenever you walk closer.
— because that’s the thing nobody tells you about jungkook: he’s patient, dangerously patient. he likes tension. likes dragging things out until every interaction starts feeling charged.
— small touches become unbearable with him. his hand brushing against your lower back while passing behind you in crowded rooms, his fingers lingering against yours slightly too long when handing you a lighter, his knee pressed against yours in the passenger seat while he drives through empty streets at night.
— none of it should matter that much. except with jungkook, every tiny thing feels intentional.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• soft moments with dealer jk nobody else sees
— nobody expects softness from him, that’s why it feels so intense when it happens. because outside of private moments, jungkook always seems untouchable — detached, hard to read, constantly in control of himself.
— then suddenly it’s three in the morning and you’re sitting beside him on the floor of his apartment kitchen eating takeout while he rests his head against your shoulder silently. completely exhausted. completely real.
— he gets quieter around you during moments like that. less teasing, less attitude.
— sometimes he’ll just watch you talk with this strange softness in his eyes like he can’t believe he lets himself relax around someone this much.
— and when he touches you then? it feels different too. slower, warmer, intentional.
— his hand sliding over your knee beneath the table absentmindedly, fingers tracing lazy circles against your wrist while listening to you speak, forehead resting briefly against yours when the conversation dies down naturally.
— those moments are probably the most dangerous thing about him. not the reputation. not the rumors. the fact that beneath all of it, he lets you see the version of him nobody else gets close enough to touch.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• dealer jk when he gets possessive
— jungkook isn’t loud when he’s jealous, he becomes calmer, which somehow feels much more dangerous.
— you notice it immediately too. the way his expression stills slightly when somebody touches your waist too casually at parties, the way he watches conversations from across rooms while swirling whiskey around expensive glasses slowly, the way his jaw shifts once before he finally walks over.
— then suddenly he’s standing behind you. one hand settling low against your hip, rings cold through thin fabric, his chest brushing lightly against your back while he leans down just enough for his voice to hit your ear quietly.
— “you done talking to him?” simple. controlled. possessive enough to make your stomach tighten instantly.
— afterward? he gets quieter with you, which is always a bad sign. because silent jungkook means he’s thinking too much.
— you’ll end up alone together eventually — maybe in his car, maybe outside some crowded party where music still vibrates faintly through walls — and he’ll just look at you for a second too long before speaking.
— “you like making me jealous?” the scariest thing is that he never sounds angry, just affected, like he hates how easily you get under his skin.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• the version of dealer jk nobody else gets
— despite everything people say about him, jungkook is strangely soft with you when nobody’s around. not openly affectionate, not dramatic, just quieter. more honest.
— sometimes after long nights, he’ll sit beside you on the couch with his head tipped back and eyes closed while your fingers move through his hair slowly. completely exhausted, completely relaxed for once. he trusts you in ways he doesn’t trust anyone else.
— which honestly feels more intimate than anything physical ever could. because this is the version of him nobody sees: the one who lets his guard down around you, the one who reaches for your hand absentmindedly while half asleep, the one who stares at you silently like he’s still confused by how badly he wants someone in his life.
— every now and then, during those quiet moments when the world finally stops demanding things from him, he’ll pull you closer against his chest and murmur softly against your hair: “you’re dangerous for me, you know that?”
— except he never sounds afraid of it. if anything, he sounds addicted.
:<:<:<:<:<:<:<
• dealer jk when he finally loses patience
— the thing about jungkook is that he stays patient for a long time. too patient.
— he lets tension build until it becomes unbearable for both of you. months of lingering stares, close calls, almost touches, conversations that feel way too charged for no reason.
— then one night something shifts. maybe someone else touches you too casually at a party. maybe you tease him once too many times. maybe he’s just finally tired of pretending he’s unaffected.
— whatever it is — suddenly his composure cracks. not loudly or dramatically, just quietly.
— he’d pull you somewhere private with one hand firm against your waist, expression darker than usual while the noise of the party fades behind you both.
— and for the first time, he stops pretending not to want you. his eyes drop to your mouth openly, his fingers tighten slightly against your hips, his breathing slows like he’s actively holding himself back.
— “you really don’t know what you do to me?” low voice. steady eye contact. the kind of tension that makes your stomach flip instantly.
— honestly? moments with jungkook always feel like standing too close to something dangerous on purpose.
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title: the ring-thing (champagne confetti - ghost track filler/deleted scene) pairings: heartthrob!jk, yandere!jk x fashion employee f!reader
genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s
beta read: lovely @chaoticpuff17
summary: Love wears gloves when doin' dishes - with dial-up screaming and pizza on the way, the ring shines again where it was always meant to be, and forgetting feels dangerously like peace you desperately need.
warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, hot mafa jungkook, oppressive and obsessive behaviour, yandere behaviour, wife kink, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, kitchen sex, creampie, doggy style, need of lube, dub-con ...
The kitchen is warm, the air thick with steam from the sink. You hum a tuneless song, your hands deep in the hot, soapy water as you scrub at a stubborn bit of cheese on the casserole dish. Suds climb your arms, a frothy, white lace. You’re focused, lost in the simple, domestic task.
You keep pretending like this is absolutely normal. Hard. Very, very hard. Time to time, your mind slips back to reality and looks at him with lost deer eyes that reflect nothing but how truly hollow you’ve become over the months. Then you snap back so he won’t start asking questions. You’ve come to far to lose yourself again.
You don’t hear him approach. You only feel a sudden change in the atmosphere, a shift in the air behind you. So you prepare. Prepare not to flinch when he slowly and softly lays his hands on your hips, sliding them up front, caressing your belly. His head comes near to smell your hair until it rests on your shoulder. Step two—do not shiver—never.
Jungkook’s lips leave a small trail up your neck, forcing you to make space for him and his wandering hands. His fingers drift down your arms, following the line of soap and water, until they catch your left hand abruptly.
You can feel the change in his hold. Warmth gone. The ring sits on the counter beside the sink, haloed by steam and stray bubbles, innocently gleaming like it hasn’t just betrayed you. You’d taken it off without ceremony—before you ran the tap water, before the heat wrapped around your hands, before you could talk yourself out of it.
He stills. The blue kitchen seems to hold its breath.
Slowly, he turns your hand palm-up, his thumb tracing the pale indentation where the band should be—not pressing. Just enough to feel it. Your throat tightens. You shut off the tap with your other hand. The silence is immediate, ringing.
“Where is it, Doll?” he asks. His voice is low and flat. “Where is your ring, beautiful?”
“I was just washing dishes,” you say. “I didn’t want to lose it in the water.”
He exhales through his nose, a quiet sound that isn’t quite a sigh.
“Of course,” he says, too smoothly. You focus on the sink, on the last trembling bubble sliding toward the drain. Your hands feel naked now, too light. And when you feel like you’re out in the clear—ready to breathe again—you aren’t.
“You could’ve put gloves on, love–”
He reaches past you, opening the drawer beneath the sink. Latex rustles softly as he pulls out a pair of yellow gloves, sets them on the counter beside the ring you still haven’t looked at.
“But you didn’t,” he finishes for you, almost gently. His fingers slide back to your wrist, thumb resting over your pulse. He feels it jump. Of course he does.
He nudges your hand toward the counter, toward the ring. You follow the pressure without realising you’ve agreed to it. The diamond catches the overhead light, throws it back at you—cold, sharp, perfect.
“Put it on,” he says softly.
Not please. Not can you.
You hesitate. Just long enough for his grip to tighten—not painful, never that—but unmistakable.
“Doll,” he murmurs, leaning in again, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Don’t make this heavier than it already is.”
You pick up the ring. It’s cool between your fingers. Too heavy for something so small. Sliding it back on feels like sealing an envelope you already know the contents of.
He watches the entire time.
When it settles into place, he covers your hand with his, palm to palm, pressing the ring gently into your skin like he’s reminding it where it belongs.
“There,” he says again, satisfied. “That’s better.”
There is no anger in his voice, no shouting. There is something far more terrifying in its place. A raw, unshakeable certainty.
He kisses your neck once—brief, proprietary—and steps away, already reaching for a glass like the moment has passed.
One of his hands slides down your neck, his fingers tracing your collarbone where his signature lies before his palm flattens against your chest, right over your heart. He can feel it hammering against your ribs, a frantic, trapped bird.
His other hand finds the hem of your shirt, and he pulls it over your head in one smooth, decisive motion. Your fate is sealed.
He spins you to face him before he seizes your lips in a hot, open-mouthed, demanding kiss. His tongue parting your lips with an urgency that steals the air from your lungs.
He unclasps your bra, his fingers deft and sure, and it falls away. Jungkook palms your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peak into hard, sensitive points. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.
He kneels before you, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight of him on his knees, looking up at you with that fierce, unwavering intensity, is almost enough to undo you completely. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants and pulls them down, along with your underwear, until you're standing completely bare before him.
He lifts your left hand, the one with the ring, and presses a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to the palm. His tongue flicks out, tasting your skin, and then he presses your hand, fingers splayed, against his cheek. The cold metal of the ring is a stark, thrilling contrast to his warm skin.
The first touch of his tongue in your pussy is a shock of pure, unadulterated pleasure. He knows exactly what he’s doing, his movements precise and relentless. He licks and sucks, his focus absolute, driving you higher and higher until your knees begin to shake. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your head falling back, your moans filling the quiet room.
“Fuck, Doll, you taste so sweet.” He mumbles into your cunt before he parts away from it.
You cry out at the loss, your body trembling with unspent energy.
He turns you around, his hands on your ribs, and presses your chest down against the hard, cool surface of the kitchen island. Your cheek rests on the smooth stone, the world tilting as you’re bent over, presented to him.
He kicks your feet apart with his own, a casual, proprietary gesture that sends a jolt of pure submission through you. One hand remains flat on the small of your back, holding you down. You hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, the metallic clasp echoing in the quiet room, followed by the soft hiss of his zipper. Your heart hammers against your ribs again.
“Promise me you’ll never take it off again,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Fucking promise, Doll.”
You can only manage a weak nod, your cheek scraping against the marble.
“Say it,” he commands, his voice hardening.
“I... I promise,” you whisper, your voice thin and reedy.
“Good girl.” He straightens up, and you feel the blunt, thick head of his cock press against your entrance. He doesn’t push in. He just holds it there, a taunting, throbbing promise. He runs the tip slowly up and down your slit, gathering your slickness, coating himself in your arousal.
You’re wet, but not nearly enough for what you know is coming. He’s big, and he’s not in a gentle mood.
He presses forward, just enough to stretch you, to make you feel the burn of an insufficient welcome. You gasp, your hands flying out to grip the edge of the island, your knuckles turning white.
“Please,” you breathe out, the word torn from you by the sharp, stinging stretch.
He pushes in another agonising inch, and the burn intensifies, a line of fire that has you arching your back.
“Please... wait,” you gasp, squirming against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s an immovable object. You need him to stop, but you need him to continue, and the contradiction is tearing you apart.
“You need lube?” It sends a shiver rolling straight through your spine. You gulp down and breathe the sudden heat rushing to your head out before replying to him.
“Just a little bit.” You whimper. “I’ll be good, I promise.”
He seems to consider your plea for a drawn-out moment, most likely getting fooled by the last comment, the only sound in the room, your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Then, just as slowly as he entered, he pulls out.
“Stay there,” he orders, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Don’t move.”
You press your cheek harder against the cool marble, waiting for him to return and fulfil his promise, the one you just begged for. Breathe—endure—wait. Meanwhile, forget it is him burying himself deep in you. Pretend you don’t care how well he knows your body and how good he can make you feel, only to fall out of the moment he makes you cum.
People are animals long before they are anything else. They circle pleasure the way deer circle salt licks, tongues numb with want, convinced the earth is generous because it keeps giving. They forget the trap because the bait tastes like mercy. Pleasure erases the past.
You were so far gone in your mind that the cold of the lube startles you out of it. He leans down, his breath hot on your ear. Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. His lips capture yours in a fierce, hungry kiss. His tongue explores your mouth, battling with yours. Because if you didn’t kiss him back, he’d get mad. Or at least he used to in the early stages of what he calls your “relationship”. You moan into the kiss, the way you know he likes it, and the way you know will get you turned on. Your body arching back against his.
He pulls back, his teeth nipping at your lower lip. His hand fists in your hair, using it to control your movements as he pushes into you. You can feel every inch of him, his cock hitting your cervix. He pulls back slowly, almost entirely, the ridge of his head dragging against your inner walls, making you whimper. Then he slams back into you, his hips meeting the flesh of your ass with a sharp, wet smack.
“You’re sensitive today,” he mumbles, but keeps his tempo while rocking his hips into your ass. His hand in your hair tightens, pulling your head back further as he leans down to kiss you again.
“So tight,” he hisses into your lips before slamming his hips into you harder. The rhythmic skin slaps align with his grunts and your own moans.
“You feel like home, you know?” The sentiment is so at odds with the raw, animalistic way he’s fucking you that it makes your head spin.
“My wife.” He says, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. Your heart skips a beat, a rush of emotions coursing through you. The certainty in his voice makes your eyes welled up with tears.
“Gguk–” you choke a moan when he snaps his hips even harder, making you arch yourself higher, your back meeting his toned torso. He uses the moment and lays his other hand on your throat, bringing you closer to his face. He places a soft butterfly kiss to your cheak, capturing the falling tear from your eye. Overwhelmed. You are overwhelmed.
“You gonna keep that ring on, love–” he whispers to your ear, his voice sounds hoarse from the tempo he keeps. “Or I’ll make it stay.”
His words are a promise, a threat, and a declaration all at once. His fingers tighten slightly around your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you aware of his control.
“I’m not letting you go.” The angle is perfect, his cock dragging against that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you with every pass.
You gasp as he continues to drive into you, his hips moving with a relentless rhythm. The sensation of his cock filling you completely, his body pressing against yours, sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. His hand on your throat, firm but gentle, adds an intensity that makes your heart race.
You can feel the tension coiling in your belly, a tight, hot knot that threatens to snap with every deep, grinding thrust. His hand leaves your throat and snakes around your body, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs it in tight, hard circles, matching the tempo of his hips.
“You gonna cum around my cock, Doll?” he grunts, his voice a harsh, guttural sound. “I can feel you clenching me so hard.”
Your body is betraying you, tightening around him with every brutal thrust, a desperate, instinctual reaction to the overwhelming pleasure. The knowledge that he can feel it, that he’s aware of how close you are, sends a fresh wave of heat through you. It’s humiliating and exhilarating all at once.
He shifts his angle slightly, and the new position has the thick head of his cock dragging directly against that spot inside you with every deep, grinding stroke. It’s too much. A raw, broken sob tears from your throat. The pressure in your belly is unbearable now, a white-hot knot of pure need that’s about to explode.
“Please–” you whimper, the word barely coherent.
“That’s it,” he growls, his rhythm becoming punishing, his hips slamming into you with enough force to bruise. “Let go. Give it to me.”
The command shatters what little control you have left. The knot in your core snaps, and your orgasm tears through you with the force of a hurricane. It’s not a gentle wave; it’s a violent, all-consuming crash. Your vision whites out, a silent scream ripping from your lungs as your body convulses uncontrollably.
Your inner walls clamp down around him, a series of powerful, rhythmic spasms that milks his cock, pulling him deeper.
He fucks you through it, his thrusts becoming erratic, more desperate, chasing his own end. With one final, powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and stills. You feel him pulse inside you, a hot, thick flood of his release filling you with a loud groan.
Your knees buckle the moment he slowly pulls his softening cock out of you.
“Easy,” Jungkook murmurs. His voice is different now. Lower, yes, but careful. Present. “I’ve got you.”
He presses his forehead to your shoulder and gently catches you from falling down. You can feel his cum dripping down your thighs, but you don’t dare to ask him to clean it. You know he’d shove it back.
Somewhere behind you, the neon numbers on the microwave blink 12:00, still flashing because you never reset it after the last blackout.
“You did so well,” he says quietly. Not triumphant. Not mocking. Proud, like he’s stating a fact he’s been holding onto. “Better than before.”
His thumb brushes under your eye, where the skin is warm and damp. He doesn’t rush you. Jungkook never does afterwards. At least, he lets you feel whatever you need. Even though he is not pleased with those feelings.
On the counter, his Discman lies abandoned, the headphones tangled, the little red anti-skip light still glowing like a watchful eye.
You nod, small, because words are slippery right now. Jungkook presses a kiss into your hair.
“You don’t shut down like you used to.”
That lands heavier than anything else.
“You talk to me now,” he continues, thumb tracing slow circles at your hip. “You tell me what you need. Even when it scares you.” A pause. Then, deliberate. “That’s progress. I’m proud of you.”
The word proud makes your chest ache.
He reaches past you for a bottle of water, the cheap plastic crinkling as he twists the cap. You take it with shaking hands, the taste flat and real, anchoring. Somewhere in the apartment, the modem suddenly screams to life, that unmistakable dial-up shriek, and Jungkook huffs a quiet laugh against your temple.
“Forgot I left it connected,” he mutters. “I’ll kick it off later.”
“You cold?” he asks. You shake your head and say:
“Hey….can we order pizza?”
His brows lift immediately, slow and exaggerated, like he’s inspecting a miracle in progress. He pulls back just enough to look at you properly, eyes flicking over your face as if checking for fever.
Summary: Your car breaks down in a rural town during a solo road trip and you barely manage to make it to the nearest repair shop. Jungkook, trusty mechanic and sweetheart, takes a look at your car and brings you to a - very icky - motel, where he can't bring himself to let you stay the night on your own...
Warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, mechanic JK, manly JK while still being a cutie and a gentleman, this is pretty much a damsel in distress situation, there's a cuck chair again lmao but no cuck in sight this time, lots of sweat bc it's hot there!! they're both soaked in multiple ways, alcohol and weed, making out a little high, fingering, oral (both receiving), PiV, multiple positions, JK gets a bit unhinged and pussy drunk during the deed and pulls a few surprising moves, bit of dirty talk (good girl mentioned)
A/n: There's a lot of yapping and story building for a oneshot. We love a good build up in this house.
Wordcount: 10.4k
Masterlist
”No, no, no…,“ you plead with your car, stroking the plastic covering behind the steering wheel with one hand. “Please don’t do this to me, we’re almost there!”
The engine light had already lit up some miles back, but you decided to ignore it and just pray you’d make it to your destination. But now, after driving along empty country roads, seemingly endless, with only a few small towns in between breaking the monotony of the scenery, the lights on your dashboard start to flicker and the radio keeps cutting out.
“Shit,” you curse out loud before asking your phone for the directions to the nearest auto repair shop.
Your already shitty air con has totally given up. Beads of sweat are starting to collect on your upper lip as you follow google maps through the scorching heat. Thank god it’s only a few more miles until you pull into a small town off the desert road. This little hick town seems to just be made up of one main road, with a few homes off to the side.
“In 0,2 miles your destination will be on the left,” your navigation lets you know. A minute later you pull up in front of the repair shop with your Buick Century and turn off the ignition. You exhale in relief, at least you made it to the garage. You don’t want to imagine being stranded at the side of the road in the desert, not in this weather.
You let your head fall on the steering wheel that you are gripping with both hands, already worried about how much money you’re going to have to throw at your rust bucket. You step out of your vehicle finally, looking around. There’s what seems to be a small convenience store across the street, a man in denim dungarees and cowboy boots sitting in front of it, smoking. You snort - all that’s missing is a damn banjo.
What comes to your mind immediately is the horror movie cliché of a car breaking down in some rural backwater town and what happens after. You’ve watched countless of them - Wrong Turn, House of Wax, The Hills have Eyes. You don’t have any plans to end up as a final girl to a clan of inbred hillbilly psychos. Hopefully, whatever is wrong with your Buick is fixed quickly so you can be on your way.
You walk into the repair shop through a glass door next to a bigger gate for cars to enter and look around for an employee, unsuccessfully.
“Hello?” you ask into the empty space. There’s a front desk, but it’s unoccupied. Please, don’t let this place be actually closed down already for the day.
“Back here,” you suddenly hear a voice sounding from further back. Relieved, you scan the perimeters to find the source, peeking around a corner.
You find the actual workshop of the garage, multiple cars with open hoods standing around, but you don’t see anyone. Reluctantly, you walk between vehicles, not sure if you are even allowed in here, until you almost stumble over legs sticking out from under some Toyota sedan.
“Um, hi?” you address the jeans-clad legs.
“One sec,” a voice replies and a moment later you hear tools clanking to the floor before a man emerges from under the car.
And, well, he’s really not someone you expected to find in a rural backwater town. It’s not the outfit either, he’s just wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, both smeared with motor oil and grease. What surprises you is the fact that one of his arms is covered in tattoos, down to his fingers, and his ears are decked out in multiple silver hoops. He smiles at you, a piercing through the side of his lower lip, while he wipes his hands on the bandana tied to his pants.
Usually, when you have to bring in your rust bucket, the mechanics crack some sort of unfunny misogynistic joke at your expense before trying to rip you off with unnecessary repairs you didn’t ask for. So that is what you steel yourself for when you tell the dude that your Buick started breaking down as he walks you to the front of the shop.
He clicks open the automatic garage door and tells you to drive your car inside for him to inspect it.
But, shit. When you try to switch on the ignition, it’s dead.
The mechanic comes up to your rolled-down window. “Doesn’t start huh?”, he correctly assesses. “Put it in neutral, I can just push it inside.”
“Sorry,” you mumble, trying to move the shift stick to neutral, without success. It doesn’t budge without the engine being on.
You shrug your shoulders at him in a helpless manner, making him laugh. “Ah, automatic,” he hums before opening the driver door and pulling a screwdriver from the back pocket of his jeans.
Without warning, he’s suddenly in your lap, leaning over you to access the middle console. You would’ve moved out of the way had he warned you. But now this, admittedly very attractive, guy is brushing his tattooed arm against your thighs all non-chalant as he wriggles his screwdriver around the plastic by the gear stick. With one last satisfied hum, he finally moves the stick to the neutral position.
You just dumbly stare at him with hot cheeks when he retreats from your space again and he tells you about some manual switch he pushed. “Oh, sorry,” he apologizes when he sees your startled expression. “I didn’t get dirt on you, did I?” He wipes at the fabric of your pants with his hands, grimacing at himself as in the process, as he actually does brush some grease on it, making him panic slightly. “Shit,” he mutters but you stop him before he can apologize again or spread even more black gunk on you.
“Don’t worry about it,” you laugh, his display of sudden clumsiness making you relax again. He stands up straight, scratching at his neck before collecting himself and moving to the back of your Buick.
“It’s good to go now. Just let go of the brake and steer, alright?” he yells from the back and then the car is slowly rolling. You can’t help stealing a glance at him through your rearview mirror.
His brows are furrowed and the muscles in his shoulders are tensed as he’s pushing the car by its bumper. You can even make out the vein on his forehead popping out a little. The fact that you’ve always had a thing for feats of strength is almost making you forget to steer until his voice forces your eyes to snap back to the garage in front of you.
“Little to the left,” he yells and you comply, maneuvering your car into the workspace.
You pull the handbrake and get out of the driver's seat once you’re in a good spot.
“I’ll pay to get your jeans cleaned,” he tells you with a lopsided smile as he eyes your soiled pants before he walks to the front of your Buick.
“Let’s take a look at your baby,” he says as he yanks open the hood. “I already have a suspicion.”
While he’s checking out the engine compartment, you take a stroll around the shop, trying to pass the time and ignore the dread blooming in your chest about how much this repair is going to cost you.
On the wall behind the counter you spot the usual sexy calendars of women in pin up clothing posing on the hoods of old-timers. Maybe he’s just like all the other mechanics you encountered after all. You quietly chuckle just as you spot another poster among the sexy ladies though. This one has a half-naked man propped against some motorcycle, probably a Harley Davidson. Oh, a man of varied tastes apparently. Feels a little out of place for this small town, once again.
When you hear the hood of your vehicle being slammed shut, you hurry back to the mechanic.
“Yup, I was right,” he tells you, trying to wipe some of his dark hair out of his face with the back of his hand, smearing grease on his forehead in the process. “Alternator’s shot.”
“That sounds … bad?” you reluctantly more so ask than state.
“It just needs to be replaced. Good news first, it’s not a lot of work so I’ll be done in like an hour,” he lets you know. “Bad news - I need to order it in.”
You groan, but you are relieved to learn that at least it’s not as expensive as you feared. The fact that this part will only come in tomorrow though - Shit.
He types your information into his computer and places the order for the new alternator.
“Are there any hotels or something close by?” you ask him once he’s done and comes back around the counter to lean on it.
He shakes his head with an apologetic look on his face. “The closest motel is like two towns over. And it’s a bit of a shit hole.”
That doesn’t sound too inviting, but given your choices, what else are you supposed to do?
“Can you give me the address? I’ll get an Uber to drive me there I guess.”
“Good luck on finding any Ubers out here. We’re basically out of their operating zone.”
Your shoulders slump in defeat as you let your hand holding your phone drop to your side again.
“I’ll take you,” he offers, already on his way to your Buick. “Get your bag.”
You would usually not consider getting into a car with a stranger, but your options are kind of limited here. He can probably sense your hesitation, because he cocks his head to the side and smiles. “Wouldn’t advise accepting rides from strangers, but I can’t have you stay on the street,” he speaks up. “I’m Jungkook, by the way. I’ll give you my ID and everything, you can send it to a friend with your location.”
This won’t help you if he decides to murder you, but you are tired and in need of a shower, so you just sigh and open your car, quickly packing some things you need for an overnight stay into your backpack before shouldering it.
Apparently it’s time to close shop, or maybe he can just decide since he’s the only one in here, but he leads you out the back and locks the door behind him. You won’t question it, you are just glad that you will be able to rest soon. The long drive was becoming torturous anyway.
“Where’s your car?” you ask, looking around the street behind the garage.
Jungkook grins and points towards - oh please - a motorcycle. No way. Well, maybe that explains the leather jacket that he put on just before. You were wondering why he needed it in this scorching heat.
“Pretty, huh?” he muses when you look at him with wide eyes. “It’s a Fat Bob 114.”
Oh sure, whatever that string of random words means. He can’t seriously expect you to get on the back of this. For a moment, you reconsider just walking the streets tonight.
“I don’t even have a helmet,” you try to weasel your way out.
To no avail, since he produces one from behind his back and hands it to you. “Good thing I keep a spare around.”
He’s already stuffing his own backpack into the satchel on the side of the bike, while you fiddle with the helmet. You’ve never even put one on before and when you plop it down over your head, your hair gets caught in front of your eyes.
You hear Jungkook’s muffled laugh and then he steps in front of you, pulling the helmet back off.
“Lemme help,” he mutters while pushing your hair behind your ears while he clamps the headgear between his thighs to free his hands.
The intimate gesture brings heat up your neck and all you muster is a quiet “Thank you.” Then he gently pulls the helmet down and closes the plastic visor with a grin.
“All set,” he pats the top of the protective headwear before putting on his own. He swings his leg over the bike and motions for you to get on behind him.
“Just hold on to me,” he tells you.
You somewhat clumsily climb on and consider just gripping the side of the machine, but as soon as he turns his keys and the bike roars to life, your survival instinct kicks in and you sling your arms around his waist.
He pulls off into the street and soon you’re leaving behind the small town and with it your broken-down car.
Jungkook, thankfully, seems to be considerate of his passenger, because you are pretty sure he’s not even going the speed limit. You still cling on to him for dear life, probably choking him out, but he does not complain. You’re not particularly fond of not being encased in metal while on the road is what you’re learning right now.
After a few miles and your body starting to cramp from clutching on to Jungkook and the bike, you pull up in front of a motel. The parking lot is full of trucks, rarely any regular cars. Jungkook helps you off the motorcycle and takes off his helmet. He seems to be wondering about the amount of trucks, as he raises his eyebrow. Carefully, he removes your helmet for you as well before you can even try to do it yourself. Your hair feels damp and matted, making you cringe slightly as you run your fingers through it.
Jungkook retrieves his backpack from the satchel and pockets the keys.
“This must be a regular stop for truckers to rest, huh?” you wonder out loud to which Jungkook shakes his head.
“Not usually.”
Picking through the small compartment of your backpack, you finally find some tissues.
“Can I just..?” you ask Jungkook, gesturing towards his face with the towelette.
He seems to be confused but doesn’t stop you from wiping at his forehead. You clean the smear of grease off his skin and pocket the tissue.
“That’s better,” you smile at him and when he locks his big soft eyes with you, the corners of his mouth upturned, it makes you gulp. His gaze flickers down to your lips for just a fleeting moment.
With both helmets in hand, he walks you to the check-in counter, where you find the most unenthusiastic-looking clerk you’ve seen in your life.
“Hello,” you address him. “I need a room, please.”
“Really?” he responds in a mocking tone. “Who would’ve guessed that?”
Jungkook slams one of the helmets on the counter, startling the guy.
“Mind checking if you have any available?” he intervenes, a fake smile plastered on his face. One could mistake it for a snarl if it wasn’t for his politeness. With his hand planted firmly on the counter and the muscles in his arm tensed, the clerk seems to have taken the hint.
Woah. Apparently he’s not one to mess around with. It’s kind of hot.
“Alright, alright,” the clerk gives in, suddenly very meek and sheepish, and checks his computer.
“Seems like you’re out of luck, everything’s booked,” he shrugs his shoulders. “There’s some trucker meet-up happening close by, they basically overran the motel.”
Jungkook and you sigh simultaneously. What the hell are you supposed to do now? You really don’t want to go on another road trip if you can avoid it. He pulls out his phone, scrolling furiously, probably trying to figure out an alternative as well.
“Ah, wait,” the clerk suddenly perks up. “There’s someone checking out in a bit. Once we’ve cleaned up the room, it’s yours.”
Oh, thank god. You couldn’t care less that the place is run-down and the employee is a shithead. You’ll just shower and head to bed anyway, maybe scroll a bit on your phone. The aesthetic or lack thereof doesn’t really matter, unless you’ll find suspicious stains on the pillows. Which, to be fair, is not that unlikely, now that you think about it.
“We have a bar,” the employee tells you with an exasperated sigh, as if this was the hardest he’s ever had to work. “You can wait there. It’s gonna be like 2 hours max.”
You nod and turn to Jungkook, who looks a little disgruntled.
“Uhm, will you come pick me up again tomorrow? I kinda don’t have a ride.” The fact that he has to drive you again is gnawing at your pride, but he said it himself, no Ubers around.
He looks at you, quizzically.
“I’m not gonna let you wait around here by yourself,” he shakes his head. “I’ll stay with you until the room’s ready.”
Before you can even start arguing that you don’t need an escort, he’s already placed his hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the bar. For whatever reason you just let it happen. You’re a grown woman, you don’t need a white knight to look out for you. But also, some company would be nice instead of sitting around all alone, just waiting for time to pass. Since he’s also nice to look at, why shouldn’t you indulge a bit longer.
The bar is just as dingy as the rest of the place. All the seats are worn, tears across the old leather. The room reeks of stale smoke and cigars so bad that you scrunch your nose as you step in.
There’s two guys sitting at the bar drinking beer. By the looks of it it’s not the first one of the day either. Probably some of the truckers the clerk mentioned.
Jungkook pushes you into the booth of a table, sliding in next to you without taking his eyes off the dudes at the bar, and shrugs off his leather jacket. Sitting next to each other when you’re only two people has always been weird to you, makes it kind of awkward to chat.
“What do you want to drink?” he asks from beside you.
You take out your phone, checking the time. It’s 7 pm. You could do with a beer as well, so you tell him and he moves out of the seat to get your drinks.
You watch him from your table, only to realize that the two men are staring you down, one even cocks his eyebrows at you. Disgusting. You pull a face at him, but that doesn’t seem to deter him at all, grabbing at his junk while his mate laughs along.
Jungkook is watching this play out, you can tell when his back stiffens. He’s coming back with two beers in hand, immediately sitting down next to you on the bench again, so close this time that your thighs are touching.
“What are you doing?” you ask him, surprised when he puts his arm on the backrest behind you.
“Sorry, but I’m not gonna let those two sleazebags get the impression that you’re here by yourself, no chance,” he grumbles before picking up his glass and taking a big gulp.
The fact that he’s doing this only for show makes you feel a tinge of disappointment, which is just dumb. He’s just being nice, you tell yourself, also reaching for your beer, trying to relax with him being so close to you. It’s not because he’s making you uncomfortable, rather the opposite. You just seriously need to chill.
“How much was it?” you ask him, pointing to your drink, to which he just waves you off.
“Take it as compensation for me putting grease all over your jeans,” he smiles at you.
For a while you two just sit there, his arm around you, sipping away on your beer quietly. Jungkook shoots the gross dudes death glares every now and then. To which you are thankful because the thought of being in here alone with them makes you shiver. Maybe you were in need of a white knight actually. Just this once.
“So,” Jungkook breaks the surprisingly comfortable silence. “Judging by your plates, you’ve been on the road for a while, huh?”
You hum in agreement. “Just a road trip to visit an old friend of mine. Never been to this part of the country.”
“I can tell,” he laughs.
“And you?” you proceed to ask. “Have you ever been out of these parts?”
Jungkook’s fingers tapping away softly on your shoulder while he talks makes blood rush to your cheeks.
“Not really, I grew up around here. Only gone as far as the surrounding cities.”
“So you like living here then?”
He shrugs his shoulders as if he doesn’t really have an opinion on it.
“It’s just, you don’t seem like a small town kinda guy,” you continue when he stays silent.
“Now, why’s that?” he looks at you with a smirk, visibly amused now.
You just motion at his tattooed arm and the piercings, trying not to say anything he might take offense to. It’s his home after all.
Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be offended at all, because he chuckles at your assessment.
“You know, the next city is just like an hour’s drive away,” he lets you know between laughs. “We’re not cut off from civilization. Not totally.”
You chat away for a while, mostly just small talk. He never takes his arm off your shoulder while you learn that he owns and runs the repair shop by himself and you tell him that you’re in between jobs right now.
You’re laughing at a funny remark Jungkook dropped when the clerk pops his head in.
“Room’s ready,” he lets you know before he trudges away again.
“Before you try to argue - I’m walking you to the room.”
You figured.
So after picking up the key from the front desk, you make your way outside and up some stairs to find your assigned room with Jungkook close behind. On your way there, you can hear some loud bellowing laughter from behind doors as well as a smashing sound, as if a vase or something broke. This really doesn’t feel that welcoming after all, you think as you yank open the dilapidated door. It’s not even hanging straight in its hinges, so you have to lift it up slightly so it doesn’t catch on the floor. Yikes.
Both of you walk inside and Jungkook looks around the room after putting the helmets on a wobbly sideboard.
“What a nice view,” you joke, having walked up behind him to the window, looking down at the parking lot. The laughter gets caught in your throat when you can hear someone loudly fighting outside. When you peek out the window again, you see that it’s two big guys shoving each other and yelling, beer bottles in hand. Please let this night go by fast, you plead silently. You brought your earphones so hopefully you can drown out anything that might go on outside, be it murder or an orgy. You thank whoever invented noise cancelling in advance.
Jungkook turns to you. “Look,” he starts with a serious expression. You have a feeling you know where this is going, so you walk up to the sideboard and push his helmet towards him.
“Thank you for everything, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Jungkook shakes his head and doesn’t move even an inch.
“I can’t let you stay here,” he says, decidedly. “Not by yourself. You’ve seen the kind of guys that hang around here!”
You liked his savior antics earlier, but you still have some pride left.
“I’m not some damsel in distress in need of saving,” you scoff and walk to the door. “I’ll just lock up and sleep by myself like a big girl.” You jokingly wiggle the lock around before realizing it’s almost falling apart at your touch. Oh. This actually doesn’t bode well with you.
Jungkook looks at your wide eyes with a quirked brow, waiting for you to reconsider what you just told him. And you do. Damn.
Then there’s suddenly more clamor seemingly right outside your door. As if someone was crashing into the wall. The look in your eyes turns to pleading. Now you’re actually hoping Jungkook’s offer, whatever exactly it entails, still stands.
“I’ll stay. Don’t worry,” he reassures you as if he just read your mind. Probably not that hard, considering the situation.
“Thanks,” you mumble while looking around the room. There’s exactly one bed, a dresser with a tiny TV on it and what you assume to be the door to the bathroom. And a worn-out leather arm chair.
Jungkook follows your gaze and takes the words out of your mouth when he speaks up.
“I’ll just stay in the cuck chair, you can go ahead and go to sleep.”
The good old cuck chair, a must-have of any rented room that’s worth anything. What would people do without it? Although this one actually seems like it’s been in heavy use. Ew. At least you’re not the one having to sit in it.
To your horror, this stuffy room has no air conditioning, only a ceiling fan above the bed that barely does its job. Opening the window is no use at this time of night either, as it’s still hot out.
“I could never get used to this heat,” you huff and sit down at the edge of the mattress, causing the bedframe to squeak. “Don’t think I can even sleep while it’s this hot,” you add, groaning.
Jungkook brings his stuff over to his designated spot for the night to keep watch of the door or whatever his plan actually is. Your knight in shining armor, you scoff to yourself. The fact that you’re sharing a motel room with some stranger is outrageous and very much out of scope of what you had planned for this trip. Even if said stranger is nice to look at. You watch him from the corner of your eyes as you kick off your sneakers and pull your legs up on the bed into a criss-cross position. His white shirt has gone see-through in the back from sweat and it’s sticking to him. No wonder - he’s been wearing a leather jacket and also you clung to his back earlier like a koala while driving here.
It's only around 9 pm when you check your phone and start scrolling through various social media apps, quickly getting bored. Beads of sweat are forming on your forehead, you feel like you’re being boiled alive sitting here in jeans, but you’re not about to strip in front of Jungkook, who’s also taken his spot in the chair with his phone in hand.
“Hey, you want to get some more beer?” you ask him, sure that you’ll be up for quite a while and beer always makes you sleepy, so that might help.
“Sure,” he nods, walking over to you and holding his hand out. “We can get some from the bar.”
You let him help you off the bed and slip back into your shoes. It’s a quick trip, Jungkook never taking his arm off your waist as he walks you through the premises.
Equipped with 4 cold bottles of beer you return to your room where Jungkook immediately opens one for you with a lighter from his back pocket.
The cool liquid goes down smoothly, making you sigh in content as you sit down on the end of the bed so you can actually face him in his spot where he is currently holding the bottle against his neck in an effort to cool off.
Striking up a conversation while you down the first drink, you inquire further about his repair shop.
“It’s been in the family for a few generations,” he lets you know. “I’ve been around cars since I was little, back when it was my grandfather’s still.”
“Did you ever consider doing anything else? College or something?” you wonder.
Jungkook laughs at the idea. “I’m way too dumb for a degree. And I like getting my hands dirty. Manual labor takes my mind off of things. I enjoy it.”
You get it, the road trip was supposed to serve the same purpose - taking your mind off what’s been troubling you. Could’ve figured that driving by yourself for hours makes your thoughts race instead. Maybe you’re dumb too.
Jungkook asks about you being in between jobs then, since you mentioned it to him earlier.
“I quit so I could leave my place for a while. Wasn’t that great of a job anyway, so no loss there.”
You put the now empty bottle on the ground and flop back on the mattress with your eyes closed, letting the ceiling fan blow hot air around you for a bit.
“You alright?” Jungkook’s voice chimes up.
“Yeah,” you hum out from your horizontal position. Mostly thanks to him, you ponder and find yourself glad your car started going to shit in his vicinity and not some place else. You just chill for a moment, trying to drown out the ruckus outside of your room. You’re in here, safe, protected. Jungkook is pretty beefy, so you’re not too worried about any truckers trying to bust their way into here. The ones that crossed your way so far looked out of shape. Not that you’re judging, you probably wouldn’t opt for a gym session after driving for hours on end either.
“Thank you again,” you sit back up, feeling like you're admitting defeat. “For staying with me. I’m sorry for all the troubles.”
Jungkook only replies with a smile and hands you the second bottle of beer. “I didn’t have any plans for tonight anyway. Your company beats watching TV alone by miles.”
He’d probably have air conditioning though and wouldn’t have to swelter in this dump. His face is shiny from the sheen of sweat, making his dark hair stick to his forehead, which he brushes away with his fingers continuously. Actually, maybe you got lucky having him stuck here with you, cause the fabric sticking to his chest is … really something. You reluctantly peel your eyes away from his muscles, not trying to be a creep after all he’s done for you. Can’t be ogling him like one of those sleazy truckers did to you earlier. Maybe it’s the beer finding its way to your brain or you’re just really not better than a man.
Your body doesn’t feel much drier than him, though you are sure the sweat doesn’t look even half as attractive on you.
While sipping on your third beer, you talk about more benign things, discovering that Jungkook and you share a lot of favorite bands and musicians. During your conversation, he keeps putting the glass bottle up to his face like he did earlier, obviously uncomfortable from being hot.
The ceiling fan only swirls the hot air around, but on the bed and directly under it, it provides at least some relief from the unrelenting heat while he’s suffering in the cuck chair.
“You know you could just come sit on the bed, right?” you interrupt him waving his hand in front of his face like a makeshift fan.
He pauses, considering your offer, and then sighs. “Nah, I’m stinky from working, don’t want to make it all gross.”
“Please, I don’t want to find you melted into a puddle in that fucking chair tomorrow morning,” you joke. “Sounds like one hell of a clean-up. Also, who’s gonna fix my car if you perish from overheating?”
“I might not be the first dead body in that chair, now that I look at it,” he wrinkles his nose as he gets up and eyes the worn-out leather.
“But I’ll take a shower first, if that’s alright with you,” he finally gives in.
“Sure,” you nod. “Go ahead. Haven’t checked out the bathroom - hope you won’t come out dirtier than before.”
Jungkook chuckles as he makes his way into the little side-room.
While you hear the shower run, you empty your beer and shoot your friend a message that your arrival will be delayed because of your shitty car.
Shortly after the water turns off, Jungkook sheepishly peeks around the corner.
“My shirt is soaked,” he tells you with an apologetic smile. “I’ll air it out and put it back on, yeah?”
His coyness makes you burst into laughter. How cute.
“Jungkook, your shirt has been see-through for the last 2 hours, I’ve seen it all. Now don’t be stupid and come sit with me.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh and throws his moist t-shirt on the sideboard, hoping it will dry down, before putting his shoes and socks next to yours by the door.
“Which side are you gonna sleep on?” he asks you, making you raise an eyebrow.
“I’m not going to put my greasy ass down where you have to sleep,” he explains and gestures at the smears on his pants. “This bed is probably already gross enough.”
You take a tentative whiff of the pillowcase on your side. “It’s actually not so bad,” you shrug your shoulders before patting the mattress on the unoccupied half of the bed, urging him to finally come and sit.
So, in this incredible turn of events, you’re now sitting shoulder to shoulder with a shirtless small-town mechanic, watching TV in a decrepit motel.
Switching through countless porn channels, you finally happen upon re-runs of The X-Files, which makes both of you perk up in excitement.
“I love Gillian Anderson,” you gush as her glorious red hair appears on screen.
“I love David Duchovny,” Jungkook replies with a sigh. “Gillian’s not bad either.”
His remark doesn’t surprise you as you recall the very bisexual collection of raunchy calendars displayed in his shop.
You both settle against the headboard, getting comfortable, and dive into the episode, following along as Scully and Mulder track down a mutant man that’s hiding in vents to eat people’s livers. Mulder has just foiled the abomination’s attempt to murder some family when Jungkook’s head suddenly drops onto your shoulder.
You can tell he’s asleep by the way his body is slumped against yours. So much for watching the door, huh?
His soft, slow breathing is fanning over your neck and you decide to just let him nap, watching the intro to the next episode roll. That is, until your back starts to hurt from your current position, so you shift slightly, which startles Jungkook awake.
“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry,” he looks at you horrified when the initial post-nap confusion has worn off. “Did I drool on you?”
You assure him it’s fine and that he did not. Jungkook stands up and stretches his arms over his head, your eyes following the movement of his bared muscles as he does. He yawns and shuffles over to the window, cracking it open and sticking his head outside.
The clamor has calmed down it seems, no more yelling and fighting audible, you realize in relief.
“I think we can keep this open now,” Jungkook decides. “It has cooled down like… at least 1 degree.”
You agree, even if it won’t help with the warmth, some fresh air won’t hurt.
“You should try and get some sleep,” he proposes. “I’m guessing you still have some miles to drive tomorrow.”
He’s probably right and you can feel the beer you had swimming around in your head, relaxing your body.
Jungkook goes to switch off the big light and settles back into the cuck chair. Apparently he’s not planning on resuming his little nap but is back on duty.
You pull off your socks, leaving you in jeans and a shirt still, which is not your preferred way of going to bed. Since you’re still hot, you just lie down on top of the duvet, turning to your side and pulling up your legs.
“Good girl,” Jungkook coos at you from across the room and you can feel his smirk without even looking at him.
The minutes pass by and you just toss and turn, not able to wind down at all.
“Can’t sleep, huh?” Jungkook asks when you reach for the phone on your nightstand after the futile 30-minute attempt to drift off has gone nowhere. You’re uncomfortable in your clothes, sweating, and your mind keeps straying to exactly the places you’ve tried to outrun with your road trip.
Before you swing your legs off the bed you reach to turn on the lamp on the bedside table as you don’t dig sitting around in complete darkness. You’re in the process of stretching your neck and shoulders while Jungkook rummages through his backpack. It seems like he found what he was looking for because he perks up.
“Wanna smoke?” he asks you, holding up a pre-rolled joint with a bright smile on his face.
You laugh and go through your own bag, producing a ready-to-go spliff as well.
“I’m taking this as a Yes,” Jungkook chuckles and moves to the opened window where you join him. You squeeze past him so you can hop up on the windowsill, sitting with your legs dangling in the air and your side leaning against the window frame.
Jungkook rests his upper body against the other side before he fishes the lighter out of his pocket and ignites the joint between his lips.
Passing the doobie between each other, you pick up the topic of his shop again, still curious.
“You plan on staying in your town forever?” you ask him. “Like, just keep the garage going until you’re too old to work anymore?”
He takes a drag and huffs out some smoke while he thinks about it.
“I like the mechanic work,” he starts. “But I’m not really keen on living the rural town life for the rest of eternity.”
“I knew you weren’t the type.”
“Yeah. But I just can’t let go of the shop. I thought about selling it before, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It would probably kill my dad if I did.”
“He’d want you to be happy, no?”
He hums pensively, takes another hit and hands you the joint. Jungkook lets his fingers linger on yours for a moment when he does. His side is pressing into your thigh since there’s not much space in the window. The way his eyes are locked on yours is making your breath hitch and you almost choke on the smoke you inhaled. You cough, which makes him reach behind you to stroke your back. Your free hand grabs his naked shoulder while you recover from the coughing fit.
Once you catch your breath and sit back up straight, Jungkook doesn’t return to his spot next to you, but instead remains in front of you, basically between your legs.
His hand slides away from your back though, holding on to the windowsill next to your leg instead.
“I didn’t really quit my job for the trip,” you sigh, looking down at your dangling feet. The weed really seems to loosen up your tongue tonight. “Just couldn’t do it anymore, it kept burning me out to a pathetic pile of ash.”
“I’m sorry,” Jungkook earnestly tells you, squeezing your arm lightly in a comforting manner.
Apparently your weed-riddled brain decides to just lay out all your business to him, because before you can stop yourself, you are already dropping the rest of your recent lore.
“’M driving through the whole country to my friend’s place because I found out I got cheated on. The breakup hit me quite hard after such a long time together. Needed to get far, far away.”
“Must be a fucking idiot,” Jungkook shakes his head and tries to catch your gaze, which makes you lift your head when he starts to crouch to look up at you.
He moves closer to you then, making your knees spread further to accommodate his frame. After flicking the butt of the joint out of the window, he places his palm on your thigh while his other hand comes up and brushes some of your hair behind your ear. His head is cocked to the side and you’re locking eyes, with his fingers still resting softly against your cheek.
It’s like time freezes and then you’re suddenly leaning forward and your lips collide, slotting together effortlessly, like they were never meant to be apart to begin with. You sigh against him as if you’re letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding and he uses the moment to slip his tongue between your parted lips. His hand has wandered to your neck while yours found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer, as your tongues dance against each other. All the stress of today just falls off you, like a lizard shedding his skin. The kiss is all-encompassing, leaving no room for any thoughts in your head other than taking away every inch of space between your bodies. As you make out, the palm on your thigh slowly caresses from your leg to your side and then back down to your ass, where it rests and squeezes ever so lightly. Even this soft touch makes your hips hitch towards Jungkook and you feel him smile against your mouth and exhale a laugh through his nose. You would be embarrassed if he wasn’t pressing himself into your crotch, holding you in place, obviously just as excited to feel you against his body. He nibbles on your lower lip before licking across it and then his face is suddenly gone from yours. You just stare at him all dumb and breathless, still entangled with him. His thumb brushes over your lip, wiping away the moisture left behind from the kiss and continues to put it in his mouth. You stifle a whine at the sight, trying to collect yourself at least a little bit, so you slide off the windowsill. Not taking into account Jungkook’s close proximity to you, the movement makes you rub yourself against his groin by accident. He’s not shy about the groan that leaves him at the contact, but he steps back a bit to give you space anyway.
“Want to give sleep another shot?” he asks you, brushing over your cheek one last time before removing his hand.
“Mhm,” you nod. “I’m gonna take a shower first though.”
“Good idea,” Jungkook sends you off with a pat to your ass, making your face heat up even more.
Oh, you really need a cold shower for more than one reason.
You finally step out of your sweaty clothes, dropping them in a pile on the bathroom floor. When the spray of water hits you, you sigh. It feels so good to finally wash away the grime. What you can’t rinse off is the tight feeling between your legs as you think about Jungkook, shirtless and sweaty, pressed to your body. You take a few minutes to just stand under the water raining down on you, fighting the urge to touch yourself, that’s how riled up the kiss has gotten you.
When you turn off the water and get out of the shower, you realize that there is only a small towel, nothing that could actually cover your body in any decent way. You only brought panties to the bathroom with you. The only thing you find attached to the door is a questionable bathrobe. Better than nothing, you think after inspecting and smelling it, deciding it’s clean. You quickly towel-dry your wet hair with the small cloth so you don’t look like a dog that got caught in the rain before slipping on your panties and the robe, closing it around you with its belt.
Jungkook has returned to the cuck chair when you come back out. He’s reclined back into it, leisurely stretching his spread legs out as he eyes you with heavy lids. He’s so fucking sexy lounging there in just his jeans, his upper body glazed by sweat, making his tattoo glisten in the dim light of the bedside lamp. You nibble on your lower lip absentmindedly, slowly stepping closer.
And he’s looking right back at you like he wants to ravish you. The slight tent in the front of his pants is reassuring proof that the kissing didn’t leave him unaffected either.
“Are you not hot in this?” he gestures at your robe while looking you up and down before sitting up straight.
“Are you not hot in your jeans?” you tease in response, making him chuckle.
“C’mere,” he curls his fingers at you to beckon you closer and your feet move before your brain even catches up.
Once you’re in reach, he grabs the belt of the bathrobe and pulls you into him, hands snaking to your backside when there’s no more room between you. He massages your ass cheeks through the soft fabric at an agonizingly slow pace and you’re already becoming impatient, so you take initiative and climb into his lap, your knees around his thighs. There’s just enough room in the chair for you to fit. With your arms locked around his neck, you immediately go in for another kiss, licking into him. Spurred on by your eagerness, his hands slip under your robe, making the belt slowly unravel with each movement of his palms against your naked skin underneath. You didn’t think it was possible in this heat, but you erupt in goosebumps when his fingers slide over your waist, up to the side of your breasts where he lets them linger before splaying them out to cup your tits.
“Your skin is so soft,” he mutters against your lips just as one of his digits brushes over a pert nipple, which makes you inhale a sharp breath. His mouth moves to the side of your neck, where he sucks on your skin, surely leaving behind bruises. The sensation makes you grind your hips down against his growing cock, craving friction. He groans into the crook of your neck, so you keep swiveling your lower body in his lap, both of your breathing increasing in speed as your arousal is escalating to new levels.
Finally, he’s had enough of the bathrobe covering his view of your body and when you let go of him, he slides it off your shoulders, dropping it to pool on the floor by his feet.
With your bare tits in front of his face, he hums in approval, his hands roaming the skin of your nude torso.
“Wow,” he sighs in appreciation, licking over his lips once before latching on to a nipple. The flicking of his tongue elicits a whimper from you and makes your back arch, pressing your chest closer to him.
You can feel the rough denim covering his dick though the thin fabric of your underwear, which is already going damp as you rub yourself over him again and again.
You lift yourself off his crotch, your hand finding his belt, undoing the buckle. When you struggle to open the fly of his pants one-handed, he removes his hand from your tit and looks up at you.
“You sure?” he asks you softly and when you nod, he helps you out by popping the button himself, so you just have to pull down the zipper. He lifts himself off the seat just enough to wriggle the jeans down to his thighs. His hard dick twitches excitedly when you palm him through his Calvin Klein boxers.
Jungkook reaches between you, his fingers finding your still clothed pussy, just ghosting over your core, tentatively. You instinctively press down into his touch, sighing, which impels him to run his digits over the moistened fabric harder. Feeling your arousal through the panties already, he pulls them to the side, giving him access to run his finger between your labia. “Like silk,” he muses quietly, before dipping in further, gathering your wetness.
“Dripping for me already,” he groans, his breath fanning over your neck now. “So fucking hot.”
His middle finger finds your entrance then and pushes in slowly before curling it once inside. You writhe in his hold, impatient to be filled by him. After pumping a few times, he slides in a second finger, the pads dragging across your walls which each movement of his wrist, making you whine.
When the thirst for his cock takes over you, you reach down to the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down just far enough to free his hard dick. He moans lowly when you wrap your fingers around him, squeezing before giving him a determined tug, your thumb spreading precum across his tip.
His fingers slip out of you then, leaving you clenching around air. His hand comes up on top of yours on him, engulfing your smaller one completely, guiding your pumps. Your juices on his fingers add to the glide, every stroke along his length now producing a nasty squelching sound.
With his free hand, he fishes out his wallet from his jeans, producing a single condom. You basically rip it out of his fingers, tearing the package open with your teeth. After slapping his own hand away from his dick with the back of yours, you roll on the rubber.
He takes hold of your wrist and gently twists you palm up under his face, then lets a drop of spit fall into it. You spread the drool around his shaft before lining yourself up to the tip of his cock.
Jungkook grips on to your waist as you lower yourself down on him until you’re flush to his crotch. The stretch makes you whimper as he slides into you, his own head falling back on to the chair with his eyes closed.
“Shit,” he mutters, voice strained. “You feel amazing.”
That’s enough encouragement for you to start moving, your hips going in circles as you bounce up and down. His cock curves just the right way to rub over your g-spot each time you slam your ass down into him.
His fingers have wandered to your ass cheeks, kneading at the supple flesh. He’s not guiding your movement, he lets you take the reigns as you ride him like your life depends on it.
The damn cuck chair is restricting you though, your knees confined by the armrests, you can’t get into it the way you know would blow his fucking mind. When you lift yourself off his cock, his head shoots back up, looking at you quizzically as you move off his lap and lower yourself on the floor between his legs. He spreads them immediately, accommodating you kneeling before him.
You peel off the condom, throwing it aside, before bracing yourself on his thigh with one hand. His palm comes down to land on top of your fingers running over the muscle of his upper leg. He caresses your hand as you close in on his cock, poking out your tongue to give it tiny kitten licks all over. His gaze never leaves you when your lips finally close around his leaking tip and he immediately twitches in your mouth with a whimper. Your lips are wet from precum and you let them run over his tip and down his shaft before taking him in properly. While you work your way down his length, your tongue flat against it, small whine-like sounds keep escaping him, contrasting the low groans he huffed out before and it’s making your head swim with need.
You hollow out your cheeks, sucking him down as far as you can go, your tongue swirling over his frenulum and through his slit on every upwards move. He’s too big to get all of him into your mouth, so you wrap your fingers around the remaining length, aiding with flicks of your wrist.
The groans from earlier begin to mix in between the higher-pitched whimpering, his fingers gripping on to yours harder as you keep going.
Jungkook is staring at you through the whole blowjob, mouth slightly agape, his chest heaving.
“So damn pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he muses between huffs, his free hand tangling into the back of your hair.
The praise goes straight to your pussy, throbbing and feeling neglected. You’re sure though it’s not going to be for long while you keep bobbing your head. And you were right, because soon after he peels you off himself gently by your hair, his other hand helping you up. He pulls you closer to him, slotting his lips against yours for a lazy kiss with his fingers grazing your jaw.
After breaking the kiss, he gets up, his sweaty back sticking to the leather producing a moist squelch, taking you with him and walking you over to the bed while stepping out of his jeans and boxers on the way. He lays you down on your back with an arm around you.
This time it’s him getting on his knees at the end of the bed. Jungkook grabs you by your waist and pulls you towards him, your legs spread around his head. He removes the panties still bunched up next to your pussy, taking a deep whiff of them before tossing them aside. He dips his head between your thighs immediately, mumbling against your core.
“You smell like heaven,” you can barely make out, his voice muffled by your skin, but it’s enough to make you moan at the dirty compliment. Maybe you have a praise kink that you weren’t aware of before, because he’s driving you insane.
The last thing you see before your head falls on the mattress is his twinkling eyes looking at you with hunger-blown pupils. Then his mouth is on you, his tongue running along your slit, lapping up the gathered arousal. Each pass of his tongue is pulling you further into oblivion and when he finally sucks your clit between his lips, all you can do is gasp and grip the bedsheets. His nose is pressed to your pubic mound as he lavishes at your pussy, relentlessly flicking over your most sensitive spot. He’s really not wasting any time, already having you right on the edge.
He alternates between his tongue and his lips in a mind-numbing rhythm and then two of his fingers push into you as well. Feeling him press his fingertips into your walls and working your clit at the same time has you arching off the bed.
“Don’t stop,” you plead, your orgasm approaching in a rapid pace.
With one last curl of his fingers inside you, you clench around them and come on his face. Your thighs close around his head, caging him in as your hips lift off the mattress accompanied by a strangled whimper. Your body twitches helplessly as he keeps lapping at your clit, bordering on overstimulation as your orgasm slowly ebbs down and you finally have to push his face away from between your thighs.
“Fuck, I could eat you out forever,” he groans, his lips and chin dripping in spit and your wetness as he reluctantly detaches from you. “I can’t get enough of your pussy. So sweet.”
You laugh breathlessly, slumping back on to your elbows. “Yeah, I could tell.”
He comes up from the floor, his palm wrapped around his rock-hard cock, stroking himself. When he looks down on you with hooded eyes, you grab his arm and pull him down. Jungkook chuckles as he lands on top of you, holding himself up with one arm so he doesn’t crush you.
His leg slots between yours and his cock drags along your hip, smearing precum on your skin when he crashes your lips together. After feverishly letting your tongues tangle and bodies rub against each other, giving you time to recover, he pulls away and rolls onto his back. Using the moment, you grab a condom from your backpack next to the bed before you follow along, swinging your leg over his thighs to straddle him. You put the protection on him with gentle hands, only tugging lightly a single time when you’re done. Hovering just above his twitching cock then, you start exploring his torso, fingers running across his abs up to his chest, feeling the taut muscle contract under your hands. You trace the tattoo that goes from his arm, over his shoulder down to his pecks. His nipples are hardened and you can’t resist brushing over them, small, dark and stiff, contrasting his pale skin. His hips hitch up at the teasing touch, making his cock glide between your labia. He whimpers and curses under his breath as he keeps sliding along your pussy, still puffy from the orgasm. The tip of his dick catches on your clit with every hump, your body now moving in sync to his motions, increasing the delicious friction.
On your last slide downwards, you angle your hips and with you still being soaked and spit-slick, his cock enters you without resistance. His hands on your ass tighten their grip as he sucks in a harsh breath. You can’t hold back your own drawn-out moan as your pussy is finally being filled out again. With your fingers splayed on his abdomen for support, you lift up slightly just to slam back down. There’s no slow start, you’re not playing around, immediately gyrating your hips with every bounce, your pussy gripping his cock tightly like it’s trying to rip it off.
The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping on skin, wet squelching every time you move back down on his cock and a symphony of both your moans echoing off the walls.
Jungkook lets you lead again, but after a while, he can’t help but thrust up into you, matching your rhythm and speed. You straighten out your back so you can reach behind you, cradling his balls, massaging them while you rock in his lap, before dipping down further to press into his taint firmly, pulling another whimper from him.
“Damn,” he presses out, his dick pumping into you. “You’re the best fucking ride of my life.”
With his cock dragging along your walls, you let yourself fall forward and his arms close around your lower back, holding you close. You rest your head against his shoulder, your ass still drawing circles on him, your cheeks ricocheting every time your hips meet. At this angle, your clit is now rubbing against him, making you gasp at the much-needed friction while he shoves into you from beneath. It doesn’t take long for you to get close again, so you grind down harder, chasing your high.
When your moans increase in volume, Jungkook digs his hands back into your ass.
“That’s it,” he breathes against your ear. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”
His words unravel you immediately, the coil in your stomach snapping and you come for a second time with a cry, the intensity almost overwhelming. Your pussy clenches around him tightly, making him groan through gritted teeth under you. You sob into his shoulder while you try to keep riding out your orgasm with trembling thighs and your whole body convulsing.
Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to calm down this time. With strong arms, he lifts you off him and on your back. He stares down at you with dark eyes as he positions himself between your legs before he grabs the back of your knees and basically folds you in half. Jungkook rams his cock back into you without warning, the bed creaking loudly under the pistoning of his hips. You can do nothing but take his delicious slams into your sensitive pussy, too fucked out to contribute, your breathing coming out in shallow huffs between moans.
With a particularly harsh thrust, you hear a bed slat crash into the floor. Jungkook doesn’t seem to care that he’s not only taking you apart, but also the bedframe, rapidly approaching his orgasm judging by the stuttered grunts that reverberate around you. You feel like you’re getting vertigo from Jungkook all over and inside you, the effects of you coming so hard still lingering, having you blissed out and your brain comfortably empty.
It doesn’t take long for his movements to go choppy.
“Fuck, how are you still so tight… so… perfect,” he struggles to grit out between heavy breaths before his hips still and he releases his load inside you accompanied by stuttered moans. The fingers on the back of your thighs dig into your skin, probably leaving marks, as he continues pumping into you sloppily until your pussy has milked every last drop of cum out of him and he can’t hold himself up any longer. His body gives out, trembling, and he lets go of your legs before collapsing on top of you.
With his face in the crook of your neck, he exhales a shaky, incredulous laugh. Your fingers tangle into the back of his hair, caressing his scalp while he comes down. You are close to drifting off with Jungkook’s weight pressing into you, a calming feeling washing over you, when his voice startles you awake again.
“Are you okay?” he asks you with a hoarse voice, lifting himself off you, taking off the condom and settling against your side instead. His arm finds your middle and he pulls you closer.
“Better than the bed,” you giggle sleepily.
Reluctantly, you move out of his embrace, not willing to risk having to continue your road trip with a bladder infection.
“I’ll be right back,” you let him know.
You traipse to the bathroom to pee and when you come back, Jungkook is on his back, snoring lightly. You quickly pull on a baggy t-shirt and some panties and climb back into bed, careful not to wake him. When you snuggle into his side, his mouth curls into a smile and he hums.
“I’m taking you to breakfast before we go back tomorrow,” he mumbles with a sleep-tinged voice before drifting back off.
Masterlist
A/N: Thank you so much for reading :] Please consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed, or if you're shy, feel free to send us an anonymous ask! <3
— In which a long, busy work night leaves them feeling tired and distant. After a showcase for Hazel's interior design, Jungkook cannot handle the space between them anymore. He takes Hazel to their bedroom to reclaim her body. It is a night of rough, emotional, and intense where they finally break the distance and remember how much they love each other.
— established relationship | lil angst to smut | hardcore | possessive jungkook | filthy talk | comfort nest | wc:2k+?
— A/N: this is a scheduled post. Been busy w so many things:( i miss yall here😭🫶🏼 sending hugs to yall i will be back soon i promise girlies
…
The keys felt heavy and cold against Jungkook’s palm as he locked the front doors. It was just after 11:00 PM. Inside, the large, open space of Suzel Gallery was finally empty. The air smelled like expensive wine, floral arrangements, and the perfume left behind by the wealthy guests.
For the last five hours, the entire room had been packed with people. Hazel’s latest interior design showcase had been a massive success. She had spent the evening standing under the bright lights, looking completely breathtaking in a tight, elegant dress that clung to her waist.
Jungkook had spent the night managing the high-end culinary side of the event. He cooked and oversaw the kitchen staff, but his eyes never truly left his wife. From across the crowded room, he watched people hover entirely too close to her.
He saw the way rich clients looked at her skin. He saw how they smiled at her laughs. He watched them try to place a hand on the small of her back while discussing the room layouts and fabrics.
Every single second had been pure torture for him. A dark, tight knot of intense possessiveness had been building in his chest all night. It was a heavy hunger that made his jaw clench until it ached. He hated the world looking at what belonged completely to him.
Hazel stood near the main desk. Her shoulders were slightly slumped now that the crowd was gone. She was exhausted. Her feet ached from her heels, but her eyes were still bright with pride.
She looked up when she heard the heavy thud of the front door closing. She could feel the thick, tense energy coming off Jungkook the moment he walked toward her. He didn't look tired. He looked focused, his dark eyes wide and unblinking as they locked onto her face.
"Is the staff gone?" Hazel asked. Her voice was a soft, quiet whisper in the massive, empty room.
"Everyone is gone," Jungkook said. His voice was incredibly deep. It was rough from the long night but completely firm.
He didn't say anything else. He walked straight up to her. His long strides cut the distance between them in seconds. Before she could even take a breath, his large, tattooed hands came up. He caught her by the waist and lifted her effortlessly onto the edge of the long wooden reception desk.
Hazel gasped. Her hands instinctively flew to his broad shoulders to steady herself. "Jungkook, wait—what about Suhwi? The babysitter is still at the penthouse with her."
"She’s fine," Jungkook muttered. His forehead came down to rest heavily against hers. His skin was burning hot against the cool air of the gallery. "Mrs Han texted me twenty minutes ago. Suhwi has been fast asleep in her crib since ten. She’s completely safe."
The mention of their daughter calmed the tiny bit of anxiety in Hazel’s chest. But the force of Jungkook's grip on her hips made her heart begin to hammer violently against her ribs. He was holding her so tightly his knuckles were turning white against the fabric of her dress.
"You tore me apart tonight," he ground out. His lips brushed against her jawline. His breath was hot and ragged. "I spent five hours watching every single person in this room look at you. I watched them try to touch you. I watched you smile at them. I wanted to drag you out of here the second we opened the doors."
"They were just clients, Jungkook," she whispered. Her fingers locked into the dark strands of his hair. She pulled him closer because the tone of his voice was making her whole body melt. "It was just business."
"I don't care," he growled low in his throat. His mouth finally crashed down onto hers.
It was a gentle or comforting kiss. It was a deep, wet, completely desperate demand. He tasted entirely of the pent-up frustration he had been holding back all evening. His tongue slid into her mouth with a heavy, driving rhythm that matched the frantic beat of his heart.
Hazel let out a soft groan into his mouth. Her legs opened up instinctively to wrap around his waist. She pulled his hard frame as close to her as humanly possible. She had missed him just as much. The busy weeks of managing her design brands and caring for their toddler had left them both completely starved for each other’s skin.
Jungkook broke the kiss for a split second. His chest heaved as he looked down at her flushed face. "I need this dress off you right now," he muttered. His hands were already moving to the zipper at her back. "I hate it. I hate that other people saw you in it. I want every single bit of the outside world off your skin."
With a sharp, determined pull, he slid the dress down her shoulders. He pinned her arms down as he stripped the expensive fabric away. He didn't care about being careful with the clothes. His only focus was the smooth, warm skin hidden underneath.
Within seconds, she was sitting naked on the dark wood of the desk. She was completely exposed to him under the dim, lingering spotlights of the gallery.
Jungkook stepped back for a fraction of a second. His eyes darkened to a near-black as he took her in. His gaze was like a physical touch. He mapped out every line of her body, from the soft curve of her breasts to the wetness already gathering between her thighs.
"Look at you," he whispered dirtily. His hands slid down to grip her knees, pulling them wider apart. "You're already shaking for me. You're so wet, Hazel. You want me just as bad."
"I do," she cried out softly. Her hands reached for his shirt, desperately trying to pull the fabric over his head.
Jungkook stripped his own clothes off in one quick, impatient motion. He threw them onto the floor. His large, heavily tattooed body was completely rigid with muscle. His length was fully hard and twitching against his stomach.
He didn't waste another second. He stepped right back into her space. His large hands slid under her bottom to lift her slightly off the wood. He aligned himself with her wet opening.
He didn't drive in fast. He stayed right there. The hot, slick tip of him rubbed against her swollen clit. He teased her body until she was sobbing out his name. Her hips lifted off the desk to beg for the penetration.
"Tell me who you belong to," Jungkook commanded softly. His thumbs pressed hard into the soft skin of her inner thighs. He held her completely still so she couldn't force him inside yet. "Tell me right now, Hazel."
"You... I belong to you," she gasped. Her eyes were wide as she looked directly into his fierce gaze. "Only you, Jungkook."
With a slow, massive, completely deliberate push, he slid all the way inside her. The tightness was overwhelming. It was a physical sign of how much tension had built up over the long hours of the night. Hazel let out a loud, high gasp. Her fingers scratched against his chest as he stretched her open, filling her up to the absolute brim.
"Fuck, Hazel..." Jungkook choked out. His head fell forward into the crook of her neck.
He stopped moving completely. He remained perfectly still inside her, letting his length pulse deep inside her. Her internal muscles clamped tightly around him like a glove.
"You feel so warm," he whispered against her skin. "So fucking perfect. You're squeezing me so hard I can barely breathe."
"Move, please... just move," she whimpered. Her legs tightened around his lower back. She tried to force a rhythm to ease the thick pleasure burning between them.
"We are going to take our time," he muttered. His hips finally started to shift in a slow, torturous circle.
He pulled back until he was almost entirely out. He let the cool gallery air hit her wet skin before driving all the way back in with a heavy, deep stroke that hit her deepest spot.
The rhythm was slow but incredibly heavy. Each in-and-out motion was designed to make her feel every single millimeter of his size. The sound of their skin slapping together began to echo softly in the quiet gallery. It was a wet, heavy noise that made Hazel's mind completely turn to mush.
Jungkook was using his full weight. He pressed her down onto the desk with every single push. His chest was dripping with sweat that fell onto her collarbones.
He was completely re-establishing his claim on her. He used the slow, hard friction to erase every single person who had looked at her that night. The dirty words coming from his mouth were thick with lust and raw love.
"You're my wife," he whispered. His movements picked up just a fraction of speed as he felt her internal muscles begin to ripple around him. "Every single inch of this body is mine. Nobody else gets to see you look like this. Nobody else gets to make you feel this way."
"Jungkook... I'm going to break," she cried out. Her head was shaking from side to side as the heat built up to a blinding peak.
"Let it break," he growled. His hands moved to her waist. He lifted her hips higher to change the angle, driving into her with short, fast, and brutal strokes now. "Come for me, Hazel. Let me feel how tight you get when you come."
The tension in her body snapped completely. Hazel’s internal walls clamped around him in a tight, violent spasm as her climax hit her. Her eyes rolled back as she screamed his name into the empty room.
The tightness of her release pulled the control right out of Jungkook. With a loud, guttural shout, he buried himself to the absolute hilt. He held her body completely still against the wood as he poured a heavy, burning wave of come deep inside her. Their hearts hammered together in the quiet dark.
The heavy thud of their hearts slowly calmed down as they lay joined on the wooden desk. Jungkook didn't pull away immediately. He kept his forehead pressed against Hazel’s shoulder, his breathing ragged and uneven. The silence of the empty gallery felt completely different now—the sharp, tense angst from earlier had finally cracked, leaving behind a raw, heavy warmth.
Before either of them could speak, a sharp buzz broke the quiet. Jungkook’s phone was vibrating against the wood of the desk right next to Hazel’s leg. He let out a low breath, reaching out to grab the screen.
It was a call from the elderly nanny who stayed at their penthouse to watch over their twenty-one-month-old daughter, Suhwi. Jungkook swiped the screen open, his voice deep and slightly thick as he answered. "Hello?"
"She is fast asleep, Jungkook," the nanny’s quiet, reassuring voice came through the speaker. "She had a small bottle at midnight and went right down. You two don't need to rush. Everything here is completely peaceful."
"Thank you," Jungkook murmured, relief smoothing out the tight lines around his eyes. "We are on our way back now."
He hung up the phone and looked at Hazel. The lingering motherly worry in her eyes completely melted away, replaced by a deep, dark heat. Knowing their baby was safe and deeply asleep meant the rest of the night belonged entirely to them.
"Let's go home," Hazel whispered, her fingers tugging at his hair.
They cleaned up quickly, the tension between them shifting from a frantic hunger into a heavy, burning necessity. The drive back to the penthouse was a blur of dark city streets. Jungkook drove with one hand, his other hand gripping Hazel’s thigh tightly, his thumb rubbing small circles into her skin. They didn't talk. They didn't need to. The quiet inside the car was bursting with sexual tension.
They were greeted by Mrs. Han the moment the elevator let out a soft ting. Having already spotted them through the small security camera screen mounted beside her door, she stepped out just as they reached the doormat. A warm smile spread across her face as she welcomed them. In return, they offered a polite bow.
The moment they stepped inside their apartment at 12:30 AM, Jungkook didn't even let Hazel take off his jacket properly. He kicked the front door shut, locking out the rest of the world, and gathered her up in his arms. He carried her straight past the living room and into their master bedroom, shutting the door with a firm click.
The soft amber light from the hallway crept in through the cracks, casting long shadows across the large bed. The gentle, slow pace they usually took completely vanished the moment Hazel reached out and ripped his shirt down his arms. She wanted him rough. She wanted to feel the hard, unrelenting force of his body to erase the weeks of exhaustion and separation.
"Take me, Jungkook," she panted, her back hitting the soft mattress as he pinned her down under his massive frame. "No more waiting. Don't be gentle with me tonight."
A dark, feral look took over Jungkook’s face. He didn't say a word. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them flat against the pillows on either side of her head, his large body completely caging her in. His length was fully hard again, twitching against her wet thighs, ready to claim her for the second time.
He didn't use any preamble. He lined himself up and slammed deep inside her with a hard, unrelenting thrust that made Hazel’s head fly back against the pillows. A loud, sharp gasp tore from her throat as he filled her completely, stretching her tight walls to their absolute limit.
"Ah! God, Hazel..." Jungkook groaned out, his jaw clenching tightly as her internal muscles clamped around him like a vice. He didn't pause to let her adjust this time. He immediately pulled back, sliding almost all the way out before driving back in with a heavy, punishing speed.
The rhythm was rough and fast, a primal release of all the built-up stress they had been carrying. The wet, slick sound of their bodies slapping together filled the quiet bedroom, a loud, heavy noise that made Hazel's blood run hot. Jungkook was moving like a man possessed, his broad, tattooed shoulders glistening with sweat as he hammered into her over and over again.
He shifted his grip, letting go of her wrists to slide his hands under her hips. He lifted her lower body off the bed, tilting her at a sharp, steep angle that allowed him to go even deeper. This new position forced his length to strike her deepest, most sensitive spot with every single push, making her hips shake violently.
"Look at how you're taking me," Jungkook muttered dirtily, his voice rough and low against her ear. "You're so fucking tight for me, Hazel. Every time I push inside you, you're squeezing me so hard it feels like you're trying to break me."
"Because you're too big... you're hitting everything," she sobbed out, her eyes tightly shut as the blinding pleasure took over her mind. She was completely at his mercy, her body bouncing against the mattress under the weight of his heavy, ruthless thrusts.
"Open your eyes. Look at me," he commanded, his strokes becoming faster, shorter, and more brutal. He wanted her to see the raw, intense love mixed with the filth in his eyes. "I want you to see exactly who is inside you. Tell me who owns this body, Hazel. Tell me right now."
"You... Jungkook, you do," she screamed softly into the quiet room, her hands reaching up to claw at his back, leaving long pink marks across his skin. "Fuck me harder, please. Just don't stop."
The dirty words coming from her mouth broke the last bit of his control. Jungkook let out a low growl, his movements turning wild and frantic. He was like a bunny on heat, his groin slamming against her backside as he shifted her onto her hands and knees, taking her from behind in a deep, possessive doggy-style position.
The sudden change in angle was devastating. Hazel buried her face in the pillows, her bottom lifted high as Jungkook gripped her waist with white-knuckled intensity. He drove into her from behind with a fast, heavy, unrelenting speed that left her completely breathless. Every single push was deep, thick, and filled with a desperate need to be as close to her as humanly possible.
"You're my wife," he panted, his sweat dripping onto her bare back as he hammered into her. "My perfect, dirty girl. Look at how beautifully you take me from behind. You're stretching around me so perfectly."
The friction was creating a burning heat between them, the pleasure building up to a volatile peak. Hazel’s body began to shake uncontrollably, her internal walls convulsing around his length as a massive, violent climax hit her nervous system. She wailed into the pillow, her muscles squeezing him with an iron grip.
The feeling pulled the release right out of Jungkook. With a loud shout, he buried himself to the hilt, holding her hips completely still against his groin as he poured a heavy, burning wave of come deep inside her. His entire frame trembled violently, his muscles locking up as he rode out the massive release, completely spent.
The frantic, heavy sounds of the room slowly faded away, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing. Jungkook stayed buried inside her for a long minute, his heavy chest pressed flat against her back, his arms wrapped around her waist to keep her close. He was completely exhausted, his strength entirely drained by the intense, raw release.
Slowly, carefully, he slid out of her with a quiet, wet sigh. He didn't let her move away. He immediately gathered her up in his large arms, flipping her over onto her back and pulling her into the center of the soft comforter. He pulled the thick blanket up over both of their shoulders, sealing them inside their soft comfort nest.
Jungkook shifted onto his side, propping his head up with one hand while his other hand reached out to stroke her hair away from her face. His dark eyes were incredibly soft now, full of a sweet, romantic worship as he looked down at her flushed skin.
"Are you okay, sweetheart?" he whispered, his voice deep and gentle in the dark room.
Hazel nodded, a soft, tired smile tugging at her lips. She looked completely relaxed, the tight knot of stress in her chest entirely replaced by a warm, heavy satisfaction. "I'm perfect," she murmured, her voice sleepy. "I feel so light now."
"Good," he said softly, leaning down to press a sweet, lingering kiss to her lips. It wasn't hungry or demanding anymore; it was a slow, lazy taste of pure reassurance. He pulled back just an inch, his thumb gently wiping away a line of sweat from her temple. "You tore me apart tonight, Haze. I love you so much it frightens me sometimes. When we're apart like that, I feel like I can't even breathe properly."
"I know," she whispered, reaching up to touch his face, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "The distance was killing me too. But we're right here now. You always bring me back."
"Always," Jungkook promised, his large hand sliding down to cover her stomach, pulling her body flush against his front until there wasn't a single millimeter of space between them. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin, his heart beating a slow, steady rhythm against her ribs.
They lay there in the quiet dark of the penthouse, completely anchored to each other.
…
Note: This couple is part of my series, Bread and Breath. You can read this as a standalone story, but if you’d like to explore more of my work, feel free to check out the full series.
synopsis: Every night you slip out your bedroom window, heart hammering against your ribs as you run toward the low rumble waiting in the dark and to Jeon Jungkook, the town bad boy biker with tattoos and an attitude that would send your daddy into his grave. but you didn't care, because underneath all that rugged exterior was a man who knew how to take care of you in more ways than one.
warnings: smut mdni, fluffy, reader calls her dad "daddy" (not in a sexual way btw), dumbification, rough sex, sex on a motorcycle, oral (f & m. rec- he eats you out over your panties), anal, doggystyle, hair pulling, spiting, creampie, ass slapping, pussy slapping, lots of dirty talk, size kink, corruption, he calls her a whore, tit slapping, etc.
✶﹐word count: 11k | support me on my patreon! | kofi
The soft glow of your laptop screen illuminated the cozy chaos of your bedroom, casting gentle shadows that danced across the walls painted in your favorite shade of blush pink. It was a little after 11 PM, and the world outside your window had long since settled into the quiet hush of night. You were nestled in the center of your bed with your legs crossed beneath you, surrounded by a fluffy army of plushies that made the mattress look more like a plush wonderland than a place for sleeping.
There was the oversized bunny with floppy ears you’d won at a carnival last summer next to the pastel unicorn with the sparkly horn that always seemed to watch over you, and dozens more, teddies, kitties, and dreamy-eyed creatures in every hue of pink, lavender, and cream, all piled around you like loyal guardians. You loved them fiercely; they brought a sense of comfort and whimsy to your otherwise busy college life, softening the edges of late-night study sessions like this one.
Your fingers tapped steadily across the keyboard as you finished up the last few paragraphs of your assignment, the cursor blinking patiently while you refined your citations. String lights hung in delicate loops behind your headboard, their warm white bulbs twinkling like captured stars, wrapping the room in a soft, ethereal ambiance that made everything feel a little more magical, just the way you loved it to be. They reflected off the glossy surfaces of your plushies and the faint sheen of your pink comforter, creating a haven that was entirely yours.
Over your ears sat your favorite headphones, the cushy ones that blocked out the rest of the house, filling your mind with the elegant strains of classical music. A piano concerto flowed through you, the sounds of rich, intricate melodies by Chopin that soothed your thoughts and kept your focus sharp even as fatigue tugged at the corners of your eyes.
A gentle knock sounded on your door, soft but distinct enough to cut through the music. You paused, lifting your head and sliding one side of the headphones off your ear. The door creaked open just a bit, and there stood your father, his familiar silhouette framed by the hallway light. He leaned against the doorframe with that warm, tired smile he always saved for moments like these, when he was proud of you. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he took in the scene of you in your oversized hoodie, with your laptop balanced on a pillow, plushies scattered like a protective circle, and the soft glow of the string lights. You smiled back at him, a genuine, sleepy curve of your lips that mirrored his own.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said quietly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere you’d built. “Just wanted to check in before we turn in. Your mom and I are heading to bed. Looks like you’re powering through that homework, huh? I’m proud of you, burning the midnight oil like that.”
You felt a little rush of warmth at his words, the simple validation settling comfortably in your chest. “Yeah, almost done,” you replied. The classical music still played faintly from the headphones around your neck, a delicate backdrop to the moment. You set your laptop aside carefully, mindful not to disturb the plushies, and gave him your full attention. “Goodnight, Daddy.”
He chuckled softly, that fond nickname always drawing out his gentler side. Stepping a little further into the room, he reached out to ruffle your hair lightly, careful not to mess up the cozy nest you’d created. “Goodnight, muffin. Don’t stay up too much later, okay? Get some rest. Love you.”
“Love you too,” you murmured, The latch clicked softly, leaving you alone once more with the piano melodies and the comforting weight of your stuffed companions. You turned back to your laptop with a soft sigh, slipping your headphones fully back over your ears. Your fingers resumed their steady rhythm on the keys, polishing the final sentences of your assignment. The house was quiet now, your parents’ footsteps having faded down the hallway minutes ago, leaving only the occasional creak of the old floorboards and the distant hum of the refrigerator downstairs.
You were just about to save the document when your phone buzzed softly against the comforter beside you, the screen lighting up with a familiar name that made your heart skip.
Jungkook ❤️: wyd angel?
A little smile tugged at your lips as you quickly typed back, thumbs flying over the screen. “Finishing up some homework. Why, what’s up?” You hit send and waited, biting your lip in that absentminded way you always did when thinking about him. The reply came almost immediately.
Jungkook ❤️: Come outside. I’m parked out front.
Your eyes widened, and before you could even process it, the low, unmistakable rumble of his motorcycle engine cut through the stillness of the night. The sound of it was deep, throaty, and way too loud for this hour. Vroom, it vibrated through your window, sending a jolt of panic straight through your chest. You froze, heart hammering as you strained to listen for any movement from your parents’ room down the hall. Had they heard? Were they getting up? You snatched your phone again, typing frantically.
“Babyyyy my parents are sleeping 😭”
His response popped up with a little teasing edge that you could practically hear in his voice:
Jungkook ❤️: Better come out before I wake them then...
You let out a quiet, nervous giggle, the thrill mixing with the rush of adrenaline. There was no saying no to him— not when he showed up like this, not when the pull between you was this strong. You moved quickly but carefully, setting your laptop aside on the nightstand and peeling off your oversized hoodie. Underneath, you kept things simple and cute: just your delicate lace bra, the material soft and barely-there against your skin. You slipped on your favorite baby pink off-the-shoulder cozy sweater as it draped gently over your curves and exposing the smooth line of your collarbones and one bare shoulder.
Your silk sleep shorts stayed on, paired with your fluffy bunny slippers that made little padding sounds as you moved. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed it, you looked adorable, soft even, and impossibly tempting, a look that always made Jungkook’s eyes darken with want.
With one last check to make sure the hallway was clear, you crept downstairs, avoiding the creaky third step like you’d done a hundred times before. The front door eased open with barely a whisper, and the cool night air kissed your skin as you stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind you with a soft click. The moment you spotted him leaning against his sleek black motorcycle under the streetlight, your feet carried you faster. You broke into a light run across the lawn, and Jungkook opened his arms just in time for you to jump straight into them.
His strong hands gripped your ass possessively as he caught you, pulling you flush against his chest with a low chuckle. A firm smack landed on one cheek, the sound sharp in the quiet night and sending you into a fit of breathy giggles against his neck. “Missed you, angel,” he murmured, voice rough and warm, his breath tickling your ear as he held you there, your fuzzy slippers dangling off the ground.
“I missed you too,” you mumbled shyly into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with leather and that faint hint of motor oil that always clung to him. His tattoos peeked out from under the sleeves of his jacket, dark ink against his skin, a stark contrast to your soft pink sweater and innocent bunny slippers.
He set you down gently but kept one arm looped around your waist, that signature smirk playing on his lips as he looked down at you. “Wanna go for a ride?” The question was laced with suggestion, his eyes gleaming under the streetlight.
You nodded eagerly, no hesitation. He handed you the spare helmet, helping you secure it before swinging his leg over the bike. You climbed on behind him, pressing your body close and wrapping your arms tight around his toned waist, feeling the heat of him even through his clothes. The engine roared to life again with that powerful vroom, and you held on even tighter as he pulled away from the curb, the wind whipping past as you left your quiet suburban street behind.
This was your secret rhythm, two years strong. Sneaking out almost every night once your parents were asleep, letting the older boy with the dangerous tattoos and the rumbling motorcycle whisk you away. They’d never approve of him, not in a million years: the way he looked, the way he lived, the way he fucked you stupid and left you breathless and addicted every single time. But none of that mattered when you were with him. The familiar streets blurred by— neighborhood lights giving way to wider roads and eventually the path toward his apartment building. You rested your helmeted head against his back, savoring the speed and the closeness, your thighs squeezed around him as the night air rushed over your bare legs.
Finally, he slowed and turned into the underground garage of his building, the engine’s growl echoing off the concrete walls before he killed it and parked in his usual spot. You climbed off, legs a little shaky from the ride, and he took your helmet off for you, setting it aside. Instead of leading you straight upstairs like usual, he turned to face you fully, his hands settling on your hips as he backed you gently against the bike. His expression was serious now, something heavier in his dark eyes.
“I need to ask you something,” he said, voice low and steady.
You looked up at him expectantly, tilting your head, still riding the high of the ride and the thrill of being in his arms. “What is it?”
Jungkook’s thumb brushed over your hip, tracing small circles through the soft fabric of your sweater. “When are you planning on telling your parents about us?”
The question hung in the air, catching you completely off guard. Your breath hitched, the cozy pink haze of the night suddenly sharpening as you stared back at him, heart pounding for a whole new reason. You looked down at the soft hem of your baby pink sweater, fingers nervously twirling the fabric between them as the weight of Jungkook’s question settled over you like the cool concrete air of the underground garage.
The fluorescent lights overhead hummed faintly, casting long shadows across the sleek black motorcycle and the painted lines on the floor. Your bunny slippers shifted against the ground as you fidgeted, the silk of your sleep shorts brushing teasingly against your thighs. The thrill of the ride and the warmth of his earlier touches still lingered on your skin, but now a different kind of nervousness bloomed in your chest. Now, you felt vulnerable and exposed under his steady gaze.
“I… you know how my dad is, Jungkook,” you began softly, voice barely above a whisper, eyes still fixed on the pink fabric twisting in your hands. “He’s so strict, and Mom too. They have all these expectations about who I should be with, someone from college, someone stable and safe. They still see me as their little muffin who needs protecting. They’d never understand this… us.” The words tumbled out in a rush, laced with the familiar guilt of your double life, the late-night escapes, and the two years of hiding something that meant everything to you.
Jungkook stepped closer, his tall frame casting a gentle shadow over you. With tender fingers, he reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the touch lingering as he cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. His thumb stroked slowly along your jawline, the touch felt warm and reassuring, the rough pad of it a contrast to your soft skin. “I don’t care about any of that, angel,” he murmured, voice low and sincere, dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I love their daughter. I’m in love with you, the real you, with your plushies and your pink room and the way you light up when you see me. I want them to know I exist. I want to be part of your life, not just the secret part.”
The words hit you like a warm wave, sending a deep blush blooming across your cheeks and down your neck. You weren’t fully used to hearing him say it so openly—“I love you”—even after two years. It still made your heart race wildly in your chest, butterflies erupting in your stomach like a flock of wild things taking flight. Your lips parted slightly, a shy, overwhelmed smile tugging at them as you leaned into his touch, savoring the way his palm felt against your flushed skin. The garage felt smaller, more intimate, the distant echo of city sounds far above fading into nothing.
Suddenly, his hand dropped from your cheek, and his expression shifted. His voice came out softer than you’d ever heard it before, sounding vulnerable, almost hesitant, a rare crack in his usual confident demeanor. “Are you… ashamed of me?”
Your eyes widened instantly, heart clenching at the raw edge in his tone. “No! Of course not, Jungkook,” you exclaimed, reaching up to grab his hand and hold it tightly between yours. The words rushed out with fierce determination. “I could never be ashamed of you. You’re everything to me. It’s just… my parents are so uptight. They have this perfect picture in their heads, and you, with your tattoos, and your bike, the whole vibe— they wouldn’t approve right away. But if you really want this, if you want to meet them… I’ll do it. I’ll be strong for us. I promise.”
Jungkook studied your face for a long moment, taking in the way your brows furrowed with resolve, your cheeks still pink, and your eyes bright with sincerity. You looked so adorably determined, standing there in your sweater and bunny slippers in the middle of his gritty garage, you were like a sweet dream crashing into his reality. A low, affectionate chuckle rumbled from his chest, the sound of it warm and relieving as the tension eased from his shoulders. “Okay, baby,” he said, nodding slowly, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “We’ll talk about it again soon. No rush.”
The heavy conversation dropped like a curtain falling, leaving the air between you charged. You felt a surge of relief and affection, grabbing at his hand more firmly and tugging him gently toward the elevator that would take you upstairs to his apartment. “Come on,” you whispered playfully, trying to pull him along with a small, hopeful smile, your fluffy slippers padding softly on the concrete.
But Jungkook shook his head, that familiar smirk returning to his face, full of intent. He didn’t budge, rooted in place like he had all the time in the world. You tilted your head, curiosity sparkling in your eyes. “What are you thinking about in that big head of yours, huh?”
He stepped even closer, backing you against the motorcycle again, his hands finding your waist as he leaned in. His voice dropped to a husky murmur, eyes gleaming with that fantasy he was about to confess. “I’ve always had this fantasy of you… sprawled across my bike. naked and needy for me. Right here in the garage, where anyone could potentially walk by if they’re not careful.”
You looked down shyly, heat flooding your face in a fresh, deeper blush that spread all the way to your ears. The image he painted sent a thrill racing through you, mixing nervousness with undeniable excitement. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sweater again as you peeked up at him through your lashes. “Really?” you asked softly, voice breathy and uncertain but undeniably intrigued.
Jungkook hummed in confirmation, a deep, satisfied sound that vibrated through his chest. Without warning, his hands gripped your ass firmly again, squeezing the soft flesh through your silk shorts and pulling you flush against him. Another sharp smack landed on your cheek the sound echoing slightly in the garage and drawing a little gasp from your lips. A low growl escaped him, raw and hungry, as he lifted you effortlessly, strong arms flexing under his jacket as he sat you right on the seat of the motorcycle.
The cool leather of the bike pressed against the backs of your thighs. Before you could fully adjust to the new position, Jungkook’s hand grabbed your jaw with just the right amount of firmness— guiding, not forcing— and he kissed you hard on the mouth. The kiss was deep, demanding, and full of pent-up passion, his lips claiming yours as the garage faded away around you.
The kiss deepened instantly into something hard and consuming, as Jungkook’s mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole the breath from your lungs. His tongue pushed past your lips, tangling with yours in a sloppy, heated dance. The taste of him flooded your senses. You moaned softly into his mouth, the sound vibrating between you as your manicured nails, pretty pastel pink to match your sweater, raked down the front of his clothed chest. The fabric of his shirt and leather jacket bunched slightly under your touch, but you could feel the solid, sculpted muscle beneath, the skin warm and firm. Each pass of your nails drew a low rumble from deep in his throat, encouraging you to press harder, to explore more.
His strong hands gripped your waist possessively, fingers digging into the soft curve there through the thin pink fabric. With effortless strength, he leaned you back along the sleek length of the motorcycle, guiding your body until the cool metal and leather of the seat supported you. The back of your shoulders pressed against the sturdy handlebars, arching your torso in a way that left you deliciously exposed and vulnerable under the dim garage lights. The position felt thrillingly precarious— the bike steady beneath you but the risk of the open garage adding an edge of excitement that made your pulse race.
Your bunny slippers dangled from your feet, one slipping slightly as your legs parted just a little for balance. The silk of your sleep shorts rode up higher on your thighs, and the cool air kissed your exposed skin, contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from Jungkook’s body hovering over you.
He broke the kiss only to trail his lips along your jawline, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses and gentle nips that made you shiver. His breath was hot against your skin as he moved lower, lavishing attention on the elegant line of your collarbone now beautifully exposed by the off-the-shoulder sweater. The soft fabric had slipped further down one arm, baring more of you to him, and he took full advantage of it as his tongue traced the delicate bone, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder.
Your hands wandered greedily over his broad shoulders, sliding along the smooth, worn leather of his biker jacket. You could feel the powerful muscles shifting underneath as he moved, admiring how incredibly toned he was, every inch of him sculpted from hours on the bike and in the gym. The way the jacket hugged his frame, the faint scent of leather and cologne mixing with the garage air, made him look so dangerously hot, like the ultimate forbidden fantasy come to life right there between your thighs.
“God, you’re so huge,” you whispered breathlessly, your fingers squeezing at his biceps through the jacket, marveling at the sheer size and strength of them. They flexed under your touch, hard as steel yet warm and alive, and the words slipped out in a reverent, needy little murmur that made your cheeks burn hotter.
Jungkook pulled back just enough to let out a deep, amused laugh, “Yeah? You like that, angel?” Before you could respond, his hand shot up to grip your jaw firmly, tilting your face up to his. With a wicked gleam, he leaned in and spit directly into your open mouth, the act so bold and intimate that it sent a fresh wave of heat straight to your core. Then his lips crashed back onto yours, kissing you even harder, tasting himself on your tongue as the sloppy makeout resumed with renewed intensity.
His hands moved with purpose now, sliding under the hem of your sweater. In one smooth, practiced motion, he lifted it up and over your head, the soft fabric whispering against your skin as it was tossed aside onto the nearby workbench. You were left in just your delicate lace bra and silk sleep shorts, the cool garage air raising goosebumps across your newly exposed torso.
Jungkook’s gaze darkened with lust as it roamed over you, drinking in every inch. His large hands cupped your breasts over the intricate lace, squeezing gently but firmly, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks that were already hardening under his touch. The sensation pulled a sharp gasp from your lips, your head lolling back against the motorcycle’s handlebars, eyes fluttering half-closed as pleasure sparked through you. Your back arched instinctively into his palms, offering more of yourself to him, the position leaving you beautifully displayed with your shoulders pressed back, chest pushed forward, and pink lace straining against his fingers.
The garage felt smaller, hotter, every sound amplified: your heavy breathing, the faint creak of the bike beneath you, and the low, appreciative growls escaping Jungkook as he continued to explore your body with reverent hunger. Jungkook’s mouth stayed fused to yours for a long, heated moment, the sloppy makeout growing even messier as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth with dominant hunger.
His hands never left your breasts, cupping the soft, lace-covered mounds fully in his large palms, squeezing and kneading them with just the right pressure that made sparks of pleasure shoot straight down your spine. He pulled back from the kiss with a wet pop, his lips shiny and breathing ragged, dark eyes locked on your flushed face before drifting lower. With a low, appreciative hum, he tugged the delicate lace cups of your bra downward in one smooth motion, freeing your tits to the cool air of the garage. Your nipples pebbled instantly under his gaze, and Jungkook didn’t hesitate, he latched onto one sensitive bud with his mouth, teeth grazing lightly before sucking hard, tongue swirling around the peak.
“Fuck, I love these tits,” he growled against your skin, the vibration sending shivers through you as he switched to the other nipple, nipping and sucking with greedy devotion. “So fucking perfect for me, angel. Always so soft.” His words were muffled against your chest, each pull of his mouth drawing louder, breathier moans from your parted lips.
You arched your back further against the motorcycle’s handlebars, pressing your chest eagerly into his face, one hand tangling in his dark hair while the other gripped the leather of his jacket for support. The position left you beautifully stretched out— shoulders braced, hips shifting restlessly on the bike seat, silk shorts riding higher up your thighs as pleasure built in slow, pulsing waves.
His free hand began a teasing descent, sliding down your stomach and slipping beneath the waistband of your silk sleep shorts. Jungkook groaned deeply the moment his fingers brushed against your soaked core, the sound raw and masculine, echoing softly in the underground garage. “So fucking wet already,” he murmured, voice thick with lust as he rubbed along your folds through the thin barrier of your panties. “This little pussy is dripping for me, isn’t it, baby?”
You whined his name desperately, “Jungkook, please…” the sound needy on your lips, as your hips bucked toward his hand practically begging for more friction. Your manicured nails scratched lightly at his scalp, tugging at his hair while your head lolled back again, exposing the elegant line of your throat. The cool metal of the handlebars dug into your shoulders, grounding you even as everything else felt like it was spinning with heat and want.
Jungkook chuckled softly against your breast, before he unlatched with one final, slow lick. He pulled back just enough to look up at you, eyes gleaming with dark affection. “So needy,” he cooed, voice dripping with mock sympathy as he continued to stroke you lightly. “My adorable little thing, always so desperate for my touch. Such a good little whore for me.” The filthy praise made your cheeks burn hotter, a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you at his words. He finally gave you what you craved, his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties to circle your swollen clit with slow with deliberate stroke, firm enough to make your thighs tremble but not enough to push you over the edge just yet.
Your whines grew louder and more impatient, filling the quiet garage as you rocked against his hand. Jungkook grinned at your reaction, then suddenly dropped to his knees in front of the motorcycle, the move fluid and eager. He yanked your body forward on the seat with strong hands on your hips, pulling you closer to the edge so your pussy was perfectly positioned for him. You gasped sharply at the sudden shift, gripping the handlebars for balance as your slippers brushed against his sides.
He started slow with pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the first one side, then the other, nipping gently at the soft flesh while his hands held your legs apart. His breath ghosted over your clothed center, making you squirm.
Then his mouth was on you, trailing kisses directly over your soaked panties. He moved the fabric of your silk sleep shorts fully to the side but left your panties in place, pressing his tongue flat against the thin, damp material and licking a long, slow stripe up your center. The sensation was wet heat through the fabric, the teasing barrier, had you gasping loudly, your hand flying to his hair again and yanking hard as pleasure jolted through you.
Jungkook groaned in response, the sound vibrating right against your core, and then he began making out with your pussy over the panties like it was your mouth, deep, sloppy kisses, tongue swirling and sucking at your clit through the lace, nose pressed against you as he devoured you with filthy enthusiasm. Every lick and suck was deliberate, drawn out, building the ache inside you higher and higher while keeping you right on that delicious edge.
He knelt between your spread thighs, completely focused on your pleasure, the motorcycle steady beneath your arched body. Every swirl of his tongue around your swollen clit sent jolts of electric pleasure racing through your body, the barrier of the panties only heightening the teasing friction.
His large, tattooed hands gripped your soft thighs firmly, fingers digging into the plush flesh as he spread them even wider apart, opening you up completely for him. The rough handling made your silk sleep shorts ride up further, the fabric bunching uselessly at the side as he held you exactly how he wanted, now vulnerable, exposed, and utterly at his mercy. The motorcycle creaked slightly beneath you from the shifting of your weight, your shoulders still braced against the handlebars, back arched in a graceful curve that pushed your chest and hips forward. Your fluffy bunny slippers dangled helplessly in the air, one of them nearly slipping off as your legs quivered under his strong grip.
Soft, breathy moans spilled from your lips without restraint, filling the quiet garage with the sweetest sounds. “Jungkook… oh god, that feels so good,” you praised him in that gentle, angelic voice he adored so much, the one that always made his cock twitch and his possessiveness flare.
“You’re so good to me. I love your mouth, baby… please don’t stop.” Your words were laced with genuine adoration and desperate need, each moan and whimper encouraging him further. Your fingers threaded deeper into his dark, silky hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp in rhythmic motions that drew low groans from him, the vibrations traveling straight to your core. You pushed his head deeper into your needy pussy, hips rolling subtly against his face as you chased more of that delicious pressure, completely lost in the sensation of his tongue worshiping you through the damp lace.
Jungkook responded with renewed hunger, his growls muffled against your soaked panties as he devoured you like a man starved. He sucked your clit through the fabric with just the right amount of intensity, then flattened his tongue again for broad, messy strokes that left the material drenched and nearly translucent. His hands kept your thighs pinned wide open, thumbs stroking the sensitive inner skin in soothing circles even as his grip remained firm and commanding.
Your praises continued in that soft, melodic tone, broken only by little gasps and whimpers whenever his tongue hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Yes… just like that, Koo…I’m so wet for you…” The words seemed to spur him on, his movements growing sloppier, more passionate, as if your voice was the only thing he needed to stay right there on his knees for hours.
Jungkook finally pulled back from between your thighs with one last, lingering lick over your soaked panties, his lips shiny and his breathing heavy. He rose slowly from his knees, towering over you as he stood between your spread legs. His hands made quick, impatient work of shedding the rest of his clothes, first shrugging off his leather jacket with a rustle of fabric, then yanking his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.
The sight of his toned, tattooed torso coming into view made your mouth water. He pushed his pants and boxers down his powerful thighs in one go, kicking them aside along with his boots until he stood completely naked before you, every inch of his muscular, inked body on full display under the dim garage lights. His cock stood hard and heavy, thick and flushed, curving slightly upward as it throbbed with need.
You leaned up on your elbows, the cool metal of the motorcycle’s handlebars still pressing into your shoulders as you watched him with wide, hungry eyes. With a shy but determined little smile playing on your lips, you reached behind your back, unhooking your bra and pulling the delicate lace down your arms. You flung it somewhere behind you, not caring where it landed, leaving your bare tits fully exposed to the cool air and his burning gaze. Your eyes stayed locked intently on his the entire time, soft and sweet, and full of adoration even as desire darkened them. A small, innocent smile curved your mouth, your angelic expression and the filthy position you were in making Jungkook’s cock twitch visibly.
He wrapped a large hand around his thick length, stroking himself slowly up and down as he drank in the sight of you; sprawled half-naked across his bike. The way his fist moved over his cock was mesmerizing, veins standing out along his forearm, tattoos shifting with each stroke.
He leaned down to kiss you, but you shook your head gently, placing a small hand on his firm chest and pushing him back just enough. “Wait,” you whined softly, voice breathy and needy. “I want to suck you off, Jungkook… please.”
“You don’t have to, angel,” he murmured, voice rough with restraint, still slowly pumping his fist over his length.
You huffed cutely, bottom lip pushing out in a pretty pout. “But I want to… like, really bad.”
Jungkook let out a deep, affectionate laugh at your determination, the sound warm and husky as he nodded. “Alright, baby. Come here then.”
You slid off the motorcycle with shaky legs, the cool concrete of the garage floor meeting your slippers as you dropped gracefully to your knees in front of him. His dark eyes followed every movement, intense and possessive, watching as you replaced his hand with your own smaller one. Your manicured fingers wrapped around his thick cock, barely able to close fully around his impressive girth. You looked up at him sweetly as you leaned in, spitting directly onto his throbbing length, the warm saliva dripping down his shaft. Then you began jerking him off slowly, your fist gliding smoothly with a wet, obscene sound, twisting gently at the head on every upstroke.
You tapped the swollen tip of his cock against your soft, bare tits, smearing the mixture of your spit and his precum across your skin in teasing little slaps. Jungkook groaned deeply, hips twitching forward as he watched the filthy sight. “Fuck, you’re so sexy like this,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “My pretty little angel on her knees for me… so fucking perfect.”
You hummed happily at his praise, the vibration traveling through your throat as you finally leaned forward and took him into your warm, wet mouth. Your lips stretched around his girth as you began sucking him off with slow, devoted bobs of your head, tongue swirling around the underside of his cock while your hand continued to stroke what you couldn’t fit yet. The garage filled with the wet, sloppy sounds of your mouth working him, mixed with his low groans and your soft, muffled moans of enjoyment.
Jungkook’s large hand cradled against your jaw and cheek, his thumb gently stroking the flushed skin there as he felt the bulge of his own thick cock moving inside your mouth with every bob of your head. The sensation seemed to drive him wild, his dark eyes fixed intently on the way your cheek hollowed and swelled, a low, continuous groan rumbling from deep in his chest.
“Fuck, angel… you have no idea how perfect you look right now,” he praised, voice hoarse and dripping with lust. “That sweet little mouth stretching around me, taking me so deep. You’re such a good girl for me, baby. My pretty princess on her knees, sucking my cock like you were born for it.” His words wrapped around you like velvet, making your pussy clench with fresh arousal even as you focused entirely on pleasuring him
Your smaller hand worked tirelessly along the thick base of his shaft that wouldn’t fit fully into your mouth, stroking with smooth, twisting motions while your lips and tongue lavished attention on the rest. The blowjob grew increasingly sloppy and wet, saliva dripping freely down your chin, coating his length, and spilling onto your bare tits in shiny trails.
Your nails occasionally grazed his thighs or cupped his balls lightly, adding another layer of sensation that made his hips jerk forward instinctively. You moaned around his cock, the vibrations traveling straight through him as you lost yourself in the act, eyes watering slightly but never breaking the sweet, adoring gaze you kept locked on his face.
Emboldened by his praises, you pushed yourself further, relaxing your throat and sliding all the way down until your nose pressed flush against his abdomen. You held there for a few intense seconds before shaking your head slowly from side to side, the movement making his cock rub against every sensitive part of your throat. The feeling was overwhelming, but you loved it, loved the way it made him curse under his breath and tighten his grip on your jaw.
Finally, you pulled back with a dramatic gasp, strings of thick saliva connecting your swollen, glossy lips to his throbbing, glistening cock. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, hand immediately returning to stroke him fast and slick while you looked up at him.
A soft, breathless giggle escaped you at the sight of his absolutely fucked-out expression, his eyes heavy-lidded and glassy with pleasure, lips parted and jaw slack, dark hair messy from your fingers earlier. He looked completely wrecked, and the power of knowing you did that to him sent a thrill racing through your body.
“Shit, baby… I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” Jungkook warned, his voice strained and rough, hips twitching into your fist as he fought for control.
Still giggling softly, you tapped the swollen, leaking tip of his cock against your soft, spit-covered tits again, smearing the messy combination of your saliva and his precum across your skin in teasing little pats. The filthy sight made his cock jump in your hand. You tilted your head innocently, batting your lashes up at him with that sweet, needy expression he could never resist. “Will you fuck me now, Koo?” you asked in that soft, breathy voice, still gently stroking his length. “Please? I need you so bad…”
He nodded almost immediately, a dark, predatory smirk breaking through the haze of pleasure on his face. “Yeah, angel. I’ll fuck you real good. Gonna give this tight little pussy exactly what it’s been begging for.”
Without another word, his strong hands grabbed your waist with effortless power. In one swift, fluid motion, he flipped you over onto the motorcycle. You let out a surprised little gasp as your body was maneuvered, ending up lying back along the sleek, cool body of the bike once more. The leather seat and metal frame pressed firmly against your bare back and shoulders, the handlebars digging into your upper back and shoulder blades in that familiar, slightly uncomfortable but thrilling arched position. Your head tilted back over the front of the motorcycle, hair cascading down, while your bare tits heaved with anticipation and your legs parted naturally around his hips. The cool garage air kissed every inch of your newly exposed skin, making you shiver as you looked up at him with wide, needy eyes.
Jungkook didn’t waste a single second. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your sleep shorts and panties, yanking them both down your thighs in one rough, impatient tug. He pulled them all the way off, tossing the delicate fabrics aside somewhere on the garage floor, leaving you completely naked and spread open on his motorcycle. His gaze raked hungrily over your body. You skin flushed and your nipples hard, dripping pussy glistening under the dim lights, as he stepped fully between your trembling thighs, his thick cock brushing teasingly against your inner thigh.
He wrapped one strong hand around his thick, throbbing cock, stroking it slowly as he gazed down at your dripping pussy with dark, hungry eyes. Then, with deliberate teasing, he tapped the swollen, leaking tip firmly against your swollen clit. The sudden contact made you yelp sharply, a high-pitched, needy sound that echoed softly in the underground garage. Pleasure sparked hot and electric through your core, your hips jerking instinctively upward.
Your hands flew up to his arms, sliding reverently up and down the toned, tattooed muscles there— feeling them flex and shift under your palms as he held you in place. The feeling of your soft, delicate touch and his hard, inked strength only made everything feel more intense.
He hooked one of your legs up and over his broad shoulder with ease, the new angle opening you up even more and stretching the muscles in your thigh deliciously. Your other leg he bent toward your chest, folding you nearly in half on the motorcycle seat so that your soaked pussy was completely exposed and presented to him. The position left you feeling vulnerable yet incredibly desired, your body folded and offered up like his personal feast. Jungkook dragged the thick head of his cock up and down your slick slit slowly, coating himself in your wetness, nudging teasingly against your entrance and then back up to your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of it filled the quiet space, making your cheeks burn hotter.
“You want it, angel?” he asked, voice low and rough, eyes locked on yours with that intense, commanding stare. “Want my cock stretching this pretty little pussy?”
You whined desperately, nodding your head quickly, hair shifting against the motorcycle as your hips tried to chase the teasing pressure. “Yes… yes, please, Jungkook,” you breathed out, voice trembling with need.
He smirked, still sliding his tip along your folds, pressing just slightly against your entrance before pulling back again. “How bad do you want it, baby? Tell me.”
You cried out, the words tumbling from your lips in a needy rush. “Really bad! I want it so bad, Koo… please, I need you inside me. I can’t take it anymore…”
Satisfied with your desperate plea, Jungkook slapped the thick head of his cock against your clit again, harder and rougher this time. The sharp smack sent a jolt of overwhelming pleasure-pain shooting through you, drawing a loud, broken moan from deep in your throat. Your back arched sharply against the bike, nails digging into his arms as your body trembled.
Without any further warning, he pushed inside you in one powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your tight, dripping heat. He set a rough, quick pace right from the start with deep, punishing strokes that made the motorcycle creak beneath you with every snap of his hips. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the garage, mixed with your breathy moans and his low, guttural groans. Each thrust dragged perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you, the angle from your folded position making him feel impossibly deep, stretching you open so deliciously that stars burst behind your eyelids.
His large hands greedily grabbed at your tits, squeezing the soft, bouncing flesh roughly as he pounded into you. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot like this, angel,” he growled, voice deep and strained with pleasure, eyes devouring the sight of you falling apart on his bike. “Look at you… taking my cock so well. You love me fucking you like this, don’t you? Love how I tear this tight little pussy up?”
You could only nod weakly at first, head lolling back against the motorcycle as overwhelming pleasure rendered you nearly speechless. Your mouth hung open, soft whimpers and broken moans spilling out with every deep thrust that punched the air from your lungs. Jungkook wasn’t satisfied with your silent response. He leaned over you slightly, still driving into you hard, and demanded, “Speak up, baby. Tell me.”
“Yes— yes, I love it so much!” you cried out, voice shaky and breathless. “I love your big cock so much, Jungkook… it feels so good, you’re so deep”
A sharp slap landed on one of your tits, the sting blooming beautifully across your skin as he tweaked and pinched your hardened nipple between his fingers, rolling it roughly. The mix of pain and pleasure made your walls clench tightly around his thrusting cock. He kept up the merciless pace, hips moving roughly, your entire body jerking and bouncing with every powerful stroke. You were being fucked dumb, eyes glassy, thoughts scattered, reduced to nothing but moans and the overwhelming sensation of him ruining you so perfectly on his motorcycle.
You mumbled incoherently about how good it felt, “So good… Kook, it’s so deep… feels amazing…” Your hand drifted down between your bodies, fingers desperately seeking your clit to chase even more pleasure, but Jungkook was faster. He smacked your hand away with a firm swat, replacing it with his own rough fingers.
He circled your swollen clit with expert pressure, matching the rhythm of his hips while his other hand continued smacking and groping your tits, alternating between sharp slaps and soothing squeezes. The combination sent you spiraling— pain and pleasure blending into one intoxicating wave that made your thighs shake and your pussy flutter around him.
His cock continued hitting so deep inside you with every thrust, the head brushing against that sensitive spot over and over, building the pressure higher and higher. Your bunny slippers bounced helplessly in the air, your nails digging into his arms as you held on for dear life, completely lost in the raw, filthy ecstasy of being claimed so thoroughly by him. His groans and growls grew louder and more primal, vibrating through his chest as sweat glistened on his tattooed skin under the dim garage lights.
The wet, filthy sounds of his thick cock driving into your soaked pussy filled the air, skin slapping skin, your juices coating his length and dripping down with every brutal thrust. You lifted your head weakly, eyes glassy and half-lidded, staring down the length of your folded body to watch in mesmerized awe as his glistening cock disappeared completely into your tight, stretched pussy only to pull back out shiny and wet before slamming in again. The sight was obscene and intoxicating, your soft folds parting around his impressive girth over and over.
He noticed your dazed gaze and let out a deep, breathless chuckle, still pounding into you. “You like how that looks, angel? Watching my cock wreck this pretty little hole?”
You nodded weakly, barely able to form words. “Yes…” you mumbled, voice hoarse and broken.
Jungkook slowed his pace for a moment, drawing out each thrust into a powerful, deliberate slam that jolted your entire body. The change in rhythm made you tremble uncontrollably, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Your hands moved shakily upward, reaching above your head to grip the cool metal handlebars behind you for support. Your knuckles turned white as you held on, back arched even more dramatically, tits bouncing with every deep impact. Soft, breathy whines spilled from your lips as the pressure became overwhelming. “I’m gonna cum… Koo, I’m gonna cum…”
“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, baby?” he growled, voice thick with lust as he watched you fall apart beneath him.
“Uh huh, uh huh— fuck, don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” you begged desperately, nodding frantically, tears of overwhelming pleasure pricking at the corners of your eyes.
That was all the encouragement he needed. Jungkook picked up speed again, fucking you even faster and harder, chasing his own high with deep, animalistic thrusts. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, holding you in place as he drove into you. “Look at you… so small under me, so fucking beautiful,” he rasped, eyes roaming over your flushed, writhing form. “I love this pussy so much, love this body, love fucking you stupid like this. You take me so perfectly every time, angel.”
You couldn’t even form real words anymore. The pleasure had melted your brain into a hazy fog, and all you could manage were soft, repeated little affirmations. “Uh huh… uh huh… uh huh…” The sounds slipped out with every brutal thrust, your head tossing weakly against the motorcycle as your body shook.
“My dumb little whore,” he cooed affectionately, voice rough yet tender as he slammed into you. “Gonna cum on my cock? Tell me.”
“Yes— yes!” you cried out, the word breaking into a loud, drawn-out moan as your orgasm crashed over you hard. Your pussy clenched violently around his thrusting cock, walls fluttering and spasming as waves of intense pleasure ripped through your entire body. You writhed and trembled beneath him, back bowing sharply off the bike, nails scraping against the handlebars while broken moans and whimpers poured from your lips. Your thighs shook, bunny slippers flopping wildly as the climax consumed you completely.
Jungkook followed right after with a deep, guttural groan. He pushed himself as deep as possible inside you, hips flush against yours as he came hard, thick ropes of cum flooding your pulsing pussy. His cock twitched and throbbed with every spurt, his body tensing above you as he rode out his release, growling your name under his breath. The garage fell into a heavy, satisfied silence broken only by your shared ragged breathing.
Jungkook stayed buried deep inside you for a few long, lingering moments, savoring the way your pussy continued to flutter and milk every last drop from him. Finally, he pulled out slowly, obscene slap of his cock leaving your soaked entrance making you whimper softly at the sudden emptiness. A thick trail of his cum mixed with your own arousal leaked from your pussy, dripping down your thighs and onto the leather seat of the motorcycle beneath you.
His hands immediately moved to caress your sides with surprising gentleness, sliding up and down your flushed, sweat-slicked skin as if grounding you after the intensity of your shared orgasms.
He leaned down over your arched body, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue fought against yours in a slow, messy battle, tasting, claiming, and soothing all at once. The kiss was hungry yet tender, full of the deep affection he held for you even in the middle of something so filthy. His cock, still hard and glistening, stood tall and proud against your thigh, twitching with renewed interest. It wasn’t unusual for him to stay ready for multiple rounds; your nights together often stretched on for hours, and tonight felt like one of those nights.
You whined softly against his mouth, pulling back just enough to look up at him with hazy, needy eyes. Your chest heaved, tits still flushed from his earlier attention, and your body trembled slightly from the aftershocks.
“Tell me what you need, baby,” Jungkook murmured, voice low and rough, one hand gently cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed your swollen bottom lip. His dark eyes searched yours with that perfect mix of dominance and care.
Shyly, despite everything you’d just done, you averted your gaze for a second before whispering, “I want you to take me from behind… please.”
A wicked smirk spread across his face. “Yeah? Turn around for me then, angel.” He helped you up with strong but careful hands, maneuvering your boneless body into the new position on the motorcycle. He guided your upper half to drape along the seat and sleek body of the bike, your cheek and chest pressed against the cool leather, face turned toward the handlebars. Your knees rested on the padded seat, back arched deeply, and your ass raised high in the air, perfectly presented to him as your knees sunk slightly into the seat as you gripped the edges for balance.
Jungkook’s fingers immediately found your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles as he spat on his other hand. He rubbed the saliva up and down your dripping entrance, spreading the mixture of your combined fluids. You were already soaking wet, his cum still leaking steadily from your pussy, making everything slick and messy. He lined the thick head of his cock up with your entrance, ready to slide back into your heat, but you let out a needy little whine.
“Noooo, baby…”
He paused instantly, pulling back slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “No?”
You wiggled your ass back toward him invitingly, biting your lip as heat flooded your cheeks. It took him a second, but understanding dawned in his eyes, darkening them further with raw lust.
“You sure?” he asked, voice dropping even lower, one hand gently squeezing your ass cheek.
You nodded at first, then remembered what he wanted. “Yes… I’m sure. Fuck my ass, Jungkook. Please.”
A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat at your words. He sent a firm smack to your ass, the sharp sound echoing in the garage as the flesh jiggled under his palm. “Fuck, angel… you’re gonna kill me saying it like that.” He took his time, spitting on his cock and rubbing the head against your tight entrance, teasing and preparing you carefully even as his breathing grew heavier with anticipation.
Jungkook took his time, knowing it had been a while since you’d done this. He rubbed the thick, spit-slicked head of his cock against your tight entrance in slow, teasing circles, pressing forward just enough for the tip to breach the tight ring of muscle before gently pulling back out. The shallow thrusts were careful and deliberate, stretching you open little by little. Each time he pushed in, only the head and a couple of inches sank inside before he retreated, letting your body adjust to his impressive girth. The sensation was intense, burning pleasure mixed with that familiar fullness that made your head spin and your breath hitch.
His hands roamed soothingly up and down your waist and sides, fingers stroking your soft skin in long, comforting caresses. “Relax for me, angel,” he murmured, voice low and husky. “That’s it… you’re doing so good. Taking the tip so nicely.” He coaxed you gently onto his cock, hips moving in that slow, shallow rhythm while his palms mapped every curve of your body, grounding you and helping you ease into it.
You were breathing heavily, soft moans slipping from your lips with every careful push. After a few moments, you whispered breathlessly, “I’m okay… you can go deeper, but slow please.”
“Of course, baby,” Jungkook replied tenderly, leaning down to press a kiss between your shoulder blades. He gradually sank a little deeper on the next thrust, still moving at that measured pace, giving you time to adjust. The slow drag of his thick cock inside your ass had your toes curling in your fluffy bunny slippers, overwhelming pleasure building deep in your core. He listened intently to every sound you made, your heavy, shaky breathing and the soft, needy moans that grew louder as he worked himself further inside you.
You flipped your hair to one side, turning your head to look back at him over your shoulder. The moment your eyes met his, his gaze darkened with raw lust, pupils blown wide. He glanced down to where your bodies were joined, watching intently as your tight hole stretched around his cock. “Fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “You’re opening up so good for me, angel. Taking my cock in your pretty ass like such a good girl.”
Emboldened by his praise, you wiggled your ass back against him, pushing yourself further onto his length. Jungkook let you take control, holding still as you began to fuck yourself back onto his cock. “That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, voice rough with restraint. “Use me. Fuck yourself on it.”
You whined desperately, whispering a string of “yes yes yes” as your hips started moving faster. You took more and more of him with each backward push until finally, after several moments of breathless effort, you sank all the way down, taking him completely inside your ass. Your hips moved of their own accord, rocking and grinding back against him in a needy rhythm, chasing that deep, full pleasure.
“It feels so good,” you gasped, tripping over your words as the sensations overwhelmed you. “Your dick is so big… so deep… it’s the best dick I’ve ever had, Koo… fuck, I love it…” You were going dumb again, babbling praises between breathy moans, completely lost in the feeling of being stuffed so full by him.
Jungkook’s cocky smirk returned as he watched you fuck yourself on him. He brought a firm hand down on your ass with a sharp smack, the sound ringing out in the garage. He gripped the soft flesh hard, molding and spreading your cheeks between his strong fingers, admiring the way you stretched around him. “That’s my girl,” he growled, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Taking every inch like you were made for it.”
Each backward roll of your hips drove him deeper, the stretch and fullness making your head spin with overwhelming pleasure. Finally, Jungkook’s patience snapped. His strong hands pressed down on your shoulders, sinking your upper body lower until your cheek was pressed flush against the cool leather seat of the motorcycle. The new angle arched your back even more dramatically, ass raised high and presented to him like an offering. Without warning, he took full control and began a sharp, punishing pace, thrusting hard and fast, using your ass like his own personal fleshlight. The sudden intensity made you cry out loudly, your body jolting forward with every brutal snap of his hips.
His hand tangled into your hair, fingers twisting in the strands as he yanked your head up, forcing you to arch even further. “Oh my fucking god—” you groaned, the words tearing from your throat in a broken, desperate sound as he fucked you relentlessly. The pace was merciless now, deep and powerful, his thick cock driving into your ass over and over, stretching you wide and hitting spots that made your vision blur. Tears of overwhelming pleasure streamed down your flushed cheeks, dripping onto the leather seat beneath you.
You were babbling complete nonsense, words melting into incoherent moans and whimpers. “Koo— ah, fuck, it’s so much— too good, please” Your voice cracked and trembled with every thrust that punched the air from your lungs. Jungkook’s free hand slid down between your trembling thighs, his fingers finding your swollen, dripping clit and rubbing fast, tight circles that made your legs shake violently. The dual stimulation, his cock ruining your ass while he played with your pussy, pushed you right to the edge again.
Suddenly, he sent a sharp smack directly to your soaked pussy, the wet slap landing right over your sensitive folds and clit. You jolted forward hard with a loud, broken cry, fresh tears spilling down your face as the sting bloomed into white-hot pleasure. Jungkook didn’t slow down for even a second. He kept fucking you hard and fast, hips slamming against your ass, hand still tangled in your hair while his fingers continued rubbing and occasionally smacking your pussy, mixing pain and pleasure until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
Jungkook kept his sharp rhythm. His hand stayed tangled in your hair, keeping your head arched up while your cheek occasionally pressed into the cool leather seat. Sweat slicked both your bodies, the garage air thick with the scent of sex and leather. His voice came out rough and breathless as he leaned over you, lips brushing near your ear.
“You gonna cum again for me, angel?” he growled, voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. “Tell me, baby. You close?”
You nodded weakly against the seat, face half-buried in the leather, tears still streaking down your flushed cheeks. “Fuck yes…” you mumbled, voice hoarse and broken, barely coherent. “Yes, Koo… so close”
He continued for a few more powerful seconds, driving into you with deep, punishing strokes that made your vision spark with white-hot pleasure. Your second orgasm crashed over you even harder than the first. A loud, shattered moan tore from your throat as your body seized up, ass clenching tightly around his thick cock. Waves of intense pleasure ripped through you, making your thighs shake violently and your knees buckle slightly on the motorcycle seat. You writhed beneath him, slippers flopping helplessly as your pussy gushed and your ass pulsed rhythmically around him, milking his length with every spasm. Tears flowed freely now, mixing with the sweat on your face as you cried out his name over and over.
Jungkook groaned loudly at the feeling, his hips stuttering for a moment before he chased his own high with renewed ferocity. “Fuck— yes, just like that,” he grunted, gripping the soft flesh of your ass hard with both hands, fingers digging in deep enough to leave marks. He pushed in as deep as he could go, grinding and thrusting through your orgasm as his own release hit him hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep into your ass, pulse after pulse as he kept moving, fucking his release into you with shallow, possessive thrusts. “Shit, your ass feels so fucking good wrapped around me… milking me dry, baby. Taking every drop like such a good little whore.”
He kept groaning and grunting with each spurt, hips pressing flush against your ass as he emptied himself completely. “That’s it… my princess loves taking my cum deep in her ass, doesn’t she? Fuck, you’re so perfect, squeezing me so tight.” His hands kneaded and spread your cheeks, holding you open as he gave a few final, lazy thrusts to push his cum deeper inside you, savoring the way your body continued to flutter around him.
The garage fell into a heavy, panting silence, broken only by your shared ragged breathing. Jungkook stayed buried inside you for a long moment, one hand gently stroking down your spine while the other kept a possessive grip on your hip, both of you coming down from the intense high.
Finally, with a soft, reluctant groan, he pulled out of your ass carefully, his cum leaking out of you in a warm, messy trickle that dripped down your thighs and onto the motorcycle seat. The sudden emptiness made you whimper softly, your body completely spent. You flopped limply against the leather seat of the bike, cheek pressed to the cool surface, limbs loose and trembling. Your chest rose and fell with heavy, satisfied breaths, hair messy and sticking to your flushed skin, a dreamy, fucked-out smile playing on your lips.
For a few moments, there was nothing but comfortable silence between you— just the distant hum of the city above the garage and the sound of your slowing heartbeats. Then, out of nowhere, a soft, bubbly giggle escaped your lips. It started small and quickly grew into quiet, happy laughter that shook your shoulders.
Jungkook raised an eyebrow, a fond smile tugging at his own lips as he watched you, one hand still gently stroking along your spine. “What’s so funny, angel?” he asked, voice warm and amused, leaning down to brush a strand of hair out of your face.
You turned your head slightly to look at him, eyes sparkling with affection despite how wrecked you felt. “Nothing… I just… I love you,” you whispered sweetly, the words slipping out so easily and sincerely that it made your chest feel warm and full. “So much.”
His expression softened instantly, that signature cocky smirk melting into something tender and genuine. “I love you too, baby. More than you know.” He helped you up with careful, strong arms, supporting your shaky legs as he lifted you off the motorcycle. You leaned heavily against his chest, letting him hold most of your weight while he grabbed a clean rag from his workbench. He wiped you down gently, first between your thighs, then your ass, cleaning away the mess with slow, attentive strokes, murmuring soft praises the whole time. “You did so good for me tonight… my perfect girl.”
Once you were cleaned up, he slipped his leather jacket around your bare shoulders, the warm fabric engulfing you in his scent. He pulled you close again, cupping your face with both hands and kissing you deeply, slow and sweet this time, full of love rather than hunger. His lips moved softly against yours, lingering, pouring every unsaid feeling into the kiss.
When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, noses brushing. “Let’s get you upstairs, yeah? Shower, cuddles, and all the plushies you want when we get back to your room later.” He scooped you up bridal-style with ease, feet dangling as he carried you toward the elevator, pressing one last gentle kiss to your temple. “My sweet angel… I’m never letting you go.”
⤷one-shot!! in which.... jungkook shows up every Friday for six months to ask your father for permission to marry you, and gets rejected every time. Still, he returns each week with flowers, pastries, and stubborn determination. Meanwhile, you have no idea your boyfriend has been secretly trying to “apply” for the role of your husband behind your back.
I'm gonna marry her anyway (Magic!-Rude)
pairing: 전정국 x fem!reader
Genre: romance | slice of life | comedy | fluff | bittersweet
warnings: jk is down baddd, he's SOO in love, jk's a bit delusional tho, peak romance trope btw, he loves to pamper y/n, he would do everything all again without question, crying, happy tears, respectfully he wont give up, Jungkook is the sweetest
word count: 7.2k
Every Friday at Four
If someone asked you to describe your boyfriend, you would probably say something annoyingly sweet.
Kind. Talented. Loyal.
The sort of person who remembers the name of the stray cat that lives behind your apartment building, not only he remembers it but buys extra cat food and leaves it out in little dishes. The sort of person who buys two of everything because he knows you'll steal half of his anyway, and he'd rather plan for the theft than risk you going without. The sort of person who texts "Did you eat?" at 2 PM and then again at 6 PM and then again at 9 PM, and actually waits for an answer each time, and sends follow-up questions if you take too long, "What did you eat?" and "Was it good?"
What you would not say is: "My boyfriend spends his Friday afternoons getting rejected by my father."
Mostly because you don't know what's happening, and sweet Jungkook intends to keep it that way.
The first time he drives to your parents' house, he almost turns the car around.
Three times… scratch that…actually, four.
The fourth time is especially embarrassing because he has already parked. The engine is off. The keys are in his hand. He's committed, and yet his hand keeps drifting toward the ignition like it has its own agenda, like it wants to go home.
He sits behind the steering wheel, staring at your childhood home. The house itself isn't scary. It's just a house with white walls that need repainting. A small garden where your mother has beautiful flowers. A blue mailbox that has your last name on it with faded stickers that are peeling at the edges. Normal things.
Unfortunately, your father lives inside, and your father is terrifying. Not in a dramatic movie way, he doesn't threaten people or is part of the mafia, and he definitely doesn't own weapons or has a scar across his face.
It’s the fact that he looks at people the way professors look at exam papers, as if he's found three mistakes in the first paragraph and is debating whether he should continue reading or just fail you now and save him some time.
Jungkook swallows. His palms are sweating against the steering wheel. This is ridiculous… What if your father hates him? What if he laughs? What if he says no?
Then you'll ask again.
He grabs the box of pastries from the passenger seat and gets out before his courage disappears completely.
The door opens, and your father appears. For a moment, nobody says anything. The silence stretches and Jungkook becomes suddenly, painfully aware of every part of his body. He bows politely. The low and respectful kind of bow that says I come in peace, I mean no harm, please don't destroy me.
The silence grows longer, and our dear Jungkook begins wondering if people can die from awkwardness. If that's a medical condition, and if he should have written a will. Your father stares, Jungkook bows a little deeper. His back protesting.
Finally, your father speaks. "Did my daughter send you?"
"No, sir." Jungkook's voice comes out steady.
A pause. Your father's eyes narrow slightly, scanning him like he's reading a label. "Did something happen to her?"
"No, sir."
"Then why are you here?"
Jungkook suddenly forgets every sentence he prepared during the drive. All those carefully constructed arguments inside his overthinker mind, all those practiced phrases…gone, evaporated.
Wonderful
He manages a nervous smile. It feels crooked on his face, too big, too desperate. "I wanted to talk to you."
Your father doesn't move. "About?"
For a fleeting second, Jungkook considers pretending he came to discuss the weather. The weather is safe, but unfortunately for him, that would make even less sense than his actual reason, and also, he's pretty sure your father can smell lies the way other people smell smoke.
"Sir, I love your daughter."
Your father blinks a few times. "Oh."
Jungkook nods. Encouraged. Maybe this is going well. Maybe the hard part is over. Maybe…it is not going well.
"That's unfortunate," your father says, and steps aside to let him in.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
Five minutes later, they're sitting at the kitchen table.
Jungkook has never seen such an intimidating kitchen before. Everything is clean and organized. He is afraid to touch anything. Your father places a cup of tea in front of him. The gesture is kind, but the expression on your father's face is not kind. Not in a malicious way, it’s the expression of someone who has watched young men come and go from this exact house, who has learned that most of them are not worth the time it takes to memorize their names. Jungkook suddenly understands where you inherited your stubbornness from.
"So," your father says.
"So," Jungkook echoes, and he immediately hates himself for echoing. He's not a parrot. He's a grown man. He has tattoos. He pays taxes, and he should be able to handle a conversation without turning into a robot.
"You love my daughter."
"Yes, sir."
"Why?"
Why? Because you're funny, because you laugh with your entire body, throwing your head back, because you cry during movies and then deny it, because you pretend not to like affection and attention and then complain when he stops giving it, which is confusing and annoying and completely endearing, because loving you happened so naturally he didn't notice it until he was already too deep in love with you.
He clears his throat. All of this is too much to say to your father. "She's amazing," Jungkook says.
Your father's face remains unreadable. "That's your argument?"
Jungkook panics. His brain, which had just started working again, shuts down completely. "No, sir."
"Good."
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
An hour later, Jungkook has somehow been interviewed more thoroughly than a job applicant for a position that requires government clearance.
Career plans. Finances. Future goals. Emergency savings. Apartment size. Life insurance. Retirement planning. Your father asks about his parents, his siblings, his thoughts on home ownership versus renting, his opinion on private schools versus public schools for hypothetical future children that Jungkook is definitely not ready to discuss but finds himself discussing anyway because when your father asks a question, answering feels mandatory.
At one point, your father asks what kind of husband he intends to be. Jungkook answers honestly. It's the only answer he has, the only one he's sure of. "The best one I can."
Something shifts in your father's expression, only for a second. Maybe it was approval…or pity…or maybe even indigestion. Who knows…Then comes the final question and the most important one.
The reason Jungkook is here, sweating through his nice shirt
His heartbeat speeds up. He sits straighter, tries to look like the kind of man who deserves what he's about to ask for.
"Sir."
Your father waits. He knows what's coming. Jungkook can see it in the set of his shoulders and the slight tilt of his head.
"I want to marry her."
Your father folds his hands and looks directly at him.
And says:
"No."
Like he was declining extra napkins. Like Jungkook had offered him a flyer for a kebab place he wasn't interested in. Like this whole hour meant absolutely nothing.
Jungkook stares. Surely there's more, surely there's a ‘but’ or an ‘unless’ or a ‘however’ waiting in the air, ready to step on stage and save this moment from being exactly what it sounds like.
There isn't.
Your father takes another sip of tea.
Jungkook blinks. His mouth feels dry. His ears are ringing. "Sir?"
"No."
"I understand, but—"
"No."
"Can I ask why?"
Your father nods. "You can."
Jungkook waits. Your father waits too.
Nothing happens.
"...Why?"
"Because I said no."
Jungkook nearly laughs. Not because it's funny, but because otherwise he might cry, and he's pretty sure crying in your father's kitchen would be the final nail in a coffin that's already been nailed shut, buried, and had a parking lot built over it.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
The drive home feels longer. His pride aches took, his heart too…everything aches, actually, in a way that makes him wonder if this is what adulthood feels like. He should probably be upset, and angry, and embarrassed that he poured his heart out to a man who responded with a single syllable.
But Jungkook finds himself smiling, a small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth while he waits at a red light because beneath the frustration is something unexpected.
Your father didn't laugh or mock him or send him out, and he didn’t tell Jungkook to find someone else’s daughter to love and cherish. He didn't say Jungkook wasn't good enough, wasn't successful enough, wasn't worthy. He just said 'no', and then he said it again, and then he kept saying it until Jungkook ran out of questions. He smiles because for two whole hours, he listened.
And Jungkook overthinks about it… a man doesn't spend two hours questioning someone he doesn't care about. A father doesn't interrogate a future son-in-law candidate unless the answer matters… unless the person sitting across from him is a real possibility.
‘No’ wasn't the end.
Jungkook glances at the road ahead, next Friday isn't far away. Five days, six hours, maybe less if he leaves work early. He can survive five days. He can survive anything if there's a chance at the end of it.
That evening, you're both sprawled across his couch, casually stealing fries from his plate. Your own plate sits untouched, still full, but you keep reaching for his anyway. Not because they're any different, just because they're his. This is the thing that you always do, and Jungkook loves it; it’s predictable and is exactly what he wants to come home to, exactly what he's fighting for.
Jungkook watches you. You glance up, caught, a fry halfway to your mouth.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Suspicious. Very suspicious. You narrow your eyes, and he sees your father in you for just a moment.
"What are you smiling about?"
He shakes his head. He can't tell you. Not yet. Not until he has something real to offer, something earned, something that proves he's serious. "Nothing."
You throw a fry at him. It bounces off his forehead and lands in his lap. You look proud, as if you've accomplished something significant, and your boyfriend laughs. Suddenly, the rejection doesn't feel so heavy anymore, because at the end of the day, every difficult conversation leads back to this. To you, to the future he's trying to build, one Friday at a time.
Jungkook picks up another fry. You steal that one too, quick as a cat, and he lets you. He doesn't even try to stop you. He watches you eat it, watches you chew, and for now, he lets you.
After all, he has bigger battles waiting for him next Friday. And the Friday after that. And however many it takes until your father finally says yes.
Now, 6 Months later
You are folding laundry when your phone buzzes against the coffee table, skittering like an insect that can't decide where to die. It's a text from him.
jk: Still at work, might be late for dinner, don't wait up
You smile because, of course, he is. He's always at work, or the gym, or somewhere building his body while you eat instant noodles in sweatpants that have a hole in the left thigh. (no shame)
What you don't know is that your boyfriend is not at work. Your boyfriend is currently sitting in his car in front of your parents' house. He's been here before. Many times. 6 months of Fridays, to be exact, which is 24 Fridays, which is 24 times he's climbed out of this same car with his heart hammering against his ribs.
Jungkook checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looks good. He looks great, actually, black sweater, hair styled in that particular way that took him 45 and 3 YouTube tutorials. He looks like a man who deserves a ‘yes.’ He looks like a man who is about to get another 'no', but hope, as they say, is a stupid and beautiful thing that dies slowly.
"Okay," he whispers to himself. "Okay. This time."
He reaches into the backseat for the flowers, peonies this week, because last week your mother mentioned she liked them and Jungkook remembered. He bought pastries again from that French place across town that requires a reservation three days in advance. Your father sees him coming up the walk through the living room window, and he doesn't move.
"Who is it, dear?" your mother calls from the kitchen.
"Nobody," your father says, which is technically true because, as far as he's concerned, Jungkook hasn't earned the right to be somebody yet.
"Nobody" rings the doorbell. Your father counts to ten before he stands. He opens the door.
"Sir," Jungkook says.
"Jungkook," your father says, like he's surprised, like he hasn't been watching the car sit in the driveway for fifteen minutes. "Again?"
"Yes, sir. If you have a moment."
"I suppose I have a moment."
This is their ritual. Your father steps aside to let him in, and Jungkook enters your childhood home. He can smell your mother's cooking from the kitchen. Something with garlic. His stomach growls, which is embarrassing, but your father pretends not to notice because even he has limits to his cruelty.
"Flowers," Jungkook says, holding them out. "For Mrs. … he clears his throat…for your wife."
"She'll appreciate them."
"And these are from Maison Blanc. The almond croissants you mentioned."
"You remembered."
"I remember everything, sir."
This is the part where your father should feel bad. This is the part where a normal person would see the earnestness in this young man's face. Your father is not having any of it. "Sit," he says. "I'll make tea once again."
They sit in the living room. The couch is old, and Jungkook sinks into it the way he always does, while your father sits in his armchair. The tea is green and bitter. Jungkook hates green tea, but he drinks it anyway.
"So," your father says.
"Sir," Jungkook begins, and he sets down his cup because his hands are shaking again and he doesn't want to spill on the carpet. "I know I've asked before. Many times. But I'm here to ask again."
"Mhm."
"I love your daughter. I have loved her for…" He pauses, does the math "…two years, four months, and sixteen days. Not that I'm counting. I mean, I am counting. I have a calendar. That sounds creepy. It's not creepy. It's —"
"Jungkook."
"Yes, sir?"
"Deep breath, son."
Jungkook takes a deep breath. Your father watches him.
"Sir, may I have your blessing to marry your daughter?" The question hangs in the air between them.
Your father takes a sip of tea. He thinks about you, his daughter, his only child, the person who once cried for three hours because her goldfish died and then forgot about it by dinner time. He thinks about the way you looked at Jungkook the first time you brought him home, like he was made of magic and promises. He thinks about the way Jungkook looks at you, like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he would burn down every building between here and the sea if you asked him to.
He thinks, good.
Then he says: "No."
Jungkook nods. He expected this, but something in his chest still sinks, still curls up small and wounded. 25 rejections. 25 times he's asked.
"Can I ask again why, sir?"
"Because," your father says, and he leans forward, and Jungkook recognizes this posture. This is the posture of a man about to deliver a lesson. "You still flinch when I say no."
"I … what?"
"You flinch. Your shoulders go up, your eyes go down. You look like a dog that's been kicked." Your father's voice is not unkind, but it is firm. It is the voice of a man who has spent thirty years teaching high school English and knows exactly how to make a point land. "If you want to marry my daughter, you need to be able to hear 'no' without breaking. You need to be able to hear 'no' and keep standing anyway."
Jungkook stares at him. "You want me to… you're testing me??"
"I'm teaching you," your father corrects. "There's a difference."
"How long?"
"Until you stop flinching."
"And if I never stop flinching?"
Your father smiles. "Then you're not the man I thought you were, and my daughter deserves better."
They sit in silence. From the kitchen, your mother's voice rises in a question about dinner, and your father calls back that they'll be a while.
"You can go," your father says. "Unless you want to stay. Daeun made enough for three."
Jungkook should go. He knows he should go. He's supposed to meet you in two hours, and he needs to shower, and he needs to practice his smile so you won't know that he's been here again, that he's been rejected again, but the smell of garlic is making him dizzy with hunger, and your father's face has softened in a way it never has before, and something in Jungkook makes him stay.
"I'd like to stay," he says. "If that's okay."
Your father nods. "Set the table, then. You know where the plates are."
He does. He knows where everything is. He's been here enough times to have memorized the layout of your childhood home. He knows your father takes his coffee black and your mother hums when she cooks. He knows these things because he loves you, and loving you means loving where you came from, even when where you came from keeps telling him no.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
You just got out of the shower when he texts again.
jk: “omw saved you some dumplings. It was a coworker's bday today.”
Y/n doesn’t question anything. You don't know about the tea, or the conversation, or the way your father's eyes went soft when Jungkook finally laughed at one of his jokes. You have no idea that somewhere in your childhood home, there's a drawer where your father keeps the cards Jungkook has brought. And you definitely have no idea that your father talks about Jungkook to his friends, calls him "that persistent kid" with something like pride in his voice. You don't know that your boyfriend is learning how to be the kind of man who doesn't flinch. You don't know that his heart that's been broken so many times and still beats hopeful.
He thinks about you. He thinks about the way you look when you first wake up, he thinks about the way you laugh, he thinks about getting down on one knee and offering you everything he has, which is not much, which is everything. Because many months ago, he made a promise to himself that he would do this right, that he would have your father's blessing.
You text him
You: hurry up, I'm hungry, and the TV show just started!! <3
Three socks and a suspicion
You are standing in front of your open sock drawer when you realize something is wrong with your boyfriend. Not wrong-wrong, not cheating-wrong or lying-wrong or has-a-secret-family-in-a-whole-different-country-wrong.
Jungkook has been... off.
Not distant, if anything, he's been more present than usual, texting more, calling for no reason, showing up at your apartment with food he claims is "leftover from the guys" but is clearly freshly bought because since when does Namjoon eat salmon with lemon dill sauce? Since when does anyone in that dorm eat vegetables that aren't covered in cheese? (again, no shame)
You hold up three socks. None of them match.
"You're thinking loudly," Jungkook says from your bed, where he's sprawled on his stomach, scrolling through his phone. He always knows when you're thinking. It's one of his most annoying qualities as a boyfriend.
"I'm not thinking," you lie.
"Your forehead does this thing." He finally looks up, and his eyes… those big, dark eyes that you fell into like a well you never wanted to climb out of… crinkle at the corners. "It wrinkles. Right here."
"Maybe I'm just getting old."
"You're 23."
"24 in three months."
"Ancient," he agrees, solemn as a funeral. "Should I buy you a cane? Or maybe one of those chairs that lifts you up?"
"Jeon Jungkook."
"Yes, my elderly girlfriend?"
You giggle and throw a sock at him. "You've been weird lately," you say.
"Weird how?" he asks, and his voice is casual, perfectly casual, too casual.
"I don't know. Distracted. Happy distracted. Like you're not telling me something."
Something flickers across his face. Something that looks almost like panic, or maybe hope, or maybe a little bit of both.
"Maybe I am," he says, and then he smiles and pats the space on the bed next to him. "Come here. I'll tell you, angel."
You go because you've always been weak when it comes to him. After all, he could ask you to follow him into a burning building, and you'd follow. The bed dips under your weight.
"Tell me," you say.
"I can't."
"Jungkook."
"I literally can't. It's not my secret to tell…But I promise it's a good secret. The best secret, and when you find out." He stops and swallows… "when you find out, I hope you'll say yes."
Your heart does something complicated in your chest, a backflip, a small, confused seizure. "Say yes to what?"
"Everything," he whispers.
You should push. You know you should push, but he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world, and you forget how to form words. You forget your own name. You lean in to kiss him because that's the only thing your brain will allow, you kiss him and he kisses you back.
Your mother knows.
She's known since week three, when she came home early from her book club and found Jungkook washing dishes in their kitchen while your father dried. They were arguing about baseball, and your father was laughing. She stood in the doorway and watched them.
"Mrs. Y/L/N" Jungkook had stuttered when he saw her, dropping a plate back into the sink with a splash that soaked his shirt. "I can explain."
"Can you?" she'd asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Not really. No. I'm sorry."
She'd looked at your father, who was doing a terrible job of looking innocent. Your father, who had told Jungkook ‘no’ 13 times at that time, showed no signs of stopping.
"How long?" she'd asked your father.
"13 weeks," he'd said, like he was proud of it. Like this was an accomplishment.
"And how many more?"
"We'll see."
Your mother had sighed then, it's the sigh of a woman who has been married to this man for 22 years and has learned that some battles are not worth fighting. She'd picked up a towel, started drying the plate that Jungkook had abandoned, and said: "He likes the almond croissants from Maison Blanc. But the chocolate ones are better."
Jungkook had stared at her. "You're not... mad?"
"Oh, I'm furious," she'd said, and smiled. "But I'm also hungry, and you two have clearly been eating without me, so you're taking me to dinner. Somewhere expensive."
That was week 13.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
Now it's week 27, and your mother has become Jungkook's accomplice. She texts him recipes your father likes. She has, on two occasions, lied to you about where Jungkook is on Friday afternoons, which makes her feel slightly guilty, but she's never seen your father have this much fun. Not at your graduation, not at your sister's wedding, not when he finally beat his brother at golf after 15 years of losing. This ridiculous ritual of weekly interrogation is the most fun he's had in decades.
"He's coming today," your father says now, not looking up from his newspaper. It's Friday. It's 3:30. He checked the clock four times in the last hour.
"I know," your mother says.
"He's bringing those almond things."
"You love almond things."
"I tolerate them," he corrects.
She sits down across from him. "You know you're going to ahve to say ‘yes’ eventually."
"Do I?"
"Yes. Because, despite your best efforts, you like him. You like him more than you liked Minji's husband, and you liked Minji's husband enough to cry at their wedding."
Your father sniffs. "I had allergies."
"You had feelings." She reaches across the table and touches his hand. "When are you going to tell her?"
"Who?"
"Your daughter. The person this actually concerns."
Your father is quiet for a long moment. Outside, Jungkook's car pulls up, and your father straightens his shoulders and puts on his mask of indifference to become the man who says ‘no.’
"When he stops flinching," your father says. "Or when she figures it out. Whichever comes first."
"And if she never figures it out?"
Your father smiles. It's a small, complicated smile, the smile of a man who has spent his life teaching other people lessons they didn't know they needed to learn. "Then she's not as smart as I raised her to be," he says, "and Jungkook will have to keep coming forever."
The doorbell rings. Your mother gets up to answer it, leaving your father to his newspaper and his anticipation and his strange, stubborn hope.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
Jungkook is not flinching today.
He's thought about it all week, actually, ever since your father said those words like a challenge.
He's practiced in the mirror. He's practiced in the shower. He's practiced saying ‘no’ to himself, which felt ridiculous but also necessary.
He stands on your parents' porch with lilies-of-the-valley in one hand and chocolate croissants in the other. He switched because he suspects your father is tired of pretending to like almonds.
I will not flinch, he thinks.
Your mother opens the door. "Chocolate," she says, looking at the box. "Smart boy."
"I have it on good authority that almonds are overrated."
"Your authority is correct. Come in. He's in his usual spot."
The living room is the same as always. The couch is waiting to swallow him. The armchair is waiting to judge him. Your father is waiting to break his heart, gently.
"Sir," Jungkook says. He doesn't sit. Not yet.
"Jungkook." Your father folds his newspaper. "You're early."
"I couldn't wait."
"Eager to be rejected?"
"Eager to try."
They sit. The tea is prepared, black today, not green, which Jungkook takes as a good sign, or maybe just as your mother intervening on his behalf. The chocolate croissants are placed on a plate.
"So," your father says.
"Sir," Jungkook says, and he sets down his cup, and he looks your father directly in the eyes, and he does not look away. "May I have your blessing to marry your daughter?"
Your father opens his mouth to say ‘no.’
Jungkook does not flinch or move, and your father notices. Your father notices, and something shifts in his expression like seeing a student finally understand the lesson.
"No," your father says.
Jungkook does not flinch.
"Okay," Jungkook says. "I'll ask again next week."
Your father leans forward. "Why?"
"Because I love her. Because I want to do this right. Because… because you saying ‘no’ doesn't change what I want. It just changes how long I have to wait."
Your father is very still. From the kitchen, your mother is listening, holding her breath, ready to intervene if necessary.
"And if I never say yes?" your father asks. "If I keep saying ‘no’ until you're old and gray and she's moved on to someone else?"
"Then I'll keep coming," Jungkook says, and he means it. "I'll keep coming because this isn't about you. It's about her. And she deserves someone who doesn't give up just because it's hard."
Your father looks at him for a long time. "You're not flinching," your father says quietly.
"No, sir. I'm not."
Your father sits back. He picks up his tea. He drinks it, slowly, thoughtfully, like he's tasting something new. "The chocolate croissants are better," he says finally. “Do you think I’m being cruel to you?”
"No, I understand you’re being careful."
"Do you?"
"I have a sister," Jungkook says. "She's younger, if someone wanted to marry her, I'd want them to work for it. I'd want to know if they were serious." He pauses, chooses his words carefully. "I don't think you're cruel, sir. I think you're scared. And I think that's okay. Because I'm scared too."
Your father laughs. It's a short, surprised sound, like a cough that turned into something better. "You're scared? Of what?"
"Of not being enough. Of messing up. Of all of it…marriage, forever, being someone's whole world. What if I'm bad at it? What if I hurt her? What if I try my best and my best isn't good enough?"
Jungkook realizes he's said too much, but your father doesn't attack. He just nods, slowly, like he's hearing an answer to a question he didn't know he was asking.
"So that's why you flinched," your father says. "Not because of me. Because of the fear."
"Yes, sir."
"And now?"
Jungkook thinks about the fear, which is still there; it will always be there, he knows that now. He thinks about the future, which is uncertain, which is terrifying, which is beautiful because it contains you.
"Now I'm scared," he says, "but I'm here anyway."
"Next week," your father says. "Bring the almond croissants. I changed my mind. I like them better."
"Yes, sir."
"And Jungkook?"
"Yes?"
Your father turns around and smiles, "Stop calling me sir. My name is Seojun."
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
You are eating a salad when Jungkook finally shows up, two hours late.
"Sorry," he says, dropping onto your couch with the boneless grace of a man who has been through something and survived. "A meeting ran long."
"Liar," you say, but you're smiling because he's here. He's always here, because even when he's keeping secrets, he's keeping them with such obvious love that you can't really be mad.
"Am I?"
"You're wearing a hoodie. You don't wear a hoodie to meetings."
He looks down at himself, surprised, like he hadn't noticed. "Huh. Guess I'm caught."
"Guess you are. Where were you, really?"
"I was," he says slowly, "learning how to be brave."
"Jungkook…”
"And I think," he continues, "that I'm almost there, almost ready., my love." He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers are warm. "Soon," he promises. "Soon you'll know everything.”
"Okay," you say. "But if this secret is bad, if you're secretly a criminal or you have a twin, I'm going to be mad."
He pulls you close, rests his chin on your head, and you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek. "I love you," he says, like it's a promise, like it's a prayer, like it's the only true thing in the world.
"I love you too," you say..
The Blessing
You are standing in the middle of your apartment holding a spoon when the world changes. Your mother calls, and her voice, when you answer, sounds strange.
"You need to come home," she says. "This Friday. Four o'clock."
"Mom, I have work-"
"Four o'clock," she repeats, "And honey? Don't tell Jungkook."
"Mom...?," you say slowly, "what's going on...?"
But she already hung up.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
Jungkook knows something is different. He's known since Tuesday, when your mother texted him with instructions for this Friday that were more specific than usual.
Daeun: Wear the blue shirt, and bring the small box, not the big one. She's suspicious enough already.
He's been carrying the small box for four months. It lives in his gym bag, wrapped in an old T-shirt, tucked between his protein powder and his backup headphones. He's taken it to work, to the convenience store at 2 am, when you wanted ice cream. He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. The blue shirt, your favorite.
Today feels different. Today feels like the last time, one way or another. He drives across town with the box in his pocket and his heart in his throat. He doesn't know you're already there. He doesn't know that your mother finally broke, finally told you everything, finally couldn't stand keeping the secret for one more day. He doesn't know that you're sitting in your childhood bedroom right now, listening to your mother's rushed explanation to you, “Every Friday, for 6 months, he…” with your hands shaking and your eyes filling with tears that you can't quite name.
Are you angry? You should be angry. He kept a secret. A big one. A secret that involved your father and pastries and some kind of ongoing test that you apparently needed to pass without knowing you were taking it. But underneath the anger is something else that feels like being chosen, over and over again.
"Why didn't you tell me?" you ask your mother, and your voice sounds small, like a child's.
"Because he asked us not to. Because he wanted to do it right. And because your father was having too much fun to stop."
"He's been rejecting him? For 6 months?"
"29 times," your mother says. "This will be 30."
"That's…" you stop, because you don't know what that is. Cruel? Romantic? "Where are they?"
"Living room…waiting."
You stand up. Your legs feel unsteady, and you walk to the door, opening it and hear:
"You're late," your father says.
"Traffic," Jungkook replies, and his voice is steady.
You walk slowly and silently down the hall. You can see them through the doorway. Your father in his armchair, the throne, Jungkook on the couch.
"So," your father says. "This is 30."
"Yes, sir."
"You know what I'm going to say."
"I think so," Jungkook says. "But I'd like to hear it anyway."
"You stopped flinching," your father says. "Week 26. Do you remember?"
"I remember."
"I thought that would be it. I thought I'd say ‘yes’ then, and we'd be done with this." Your father leans forward. "But then I realized… flinching was just the first test. The easy one. The real test is what you do after."
Jungkook is very still. "And?"
"And you've shown up," your father says. "29 times. Through my bad moods and my stupid questions and that week where I made you help me clean the garage because I wanted to see if you'd complain."
"I didn't complain, sir."
"Yes, that's right."
You are holding your breath. You realize this only when your lungs start to hurt, when the edges of your vision go blurry. You let it out, slow and silent, and you watch your father's face.
"Jungkook," your father says.
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you love my daughter?"
"More than anything."
"Will you keep loving her? When is she difficult? When she's tired? When she's been your wife for 20, and the newness has worn off, and you're left with just, with her ordinary flaws?"
Jungkook doesn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Will you keep showing up?"
"Every day," Jungkook says, and his voice breaks slightly, but he doesn't flinch. He doesn't look away. "Every Friday. Every Tuesday. Every day that ends in Y, I'll keep showing up until you believe me, and then I'll keep showing up so you don't forget."
"Jungkook," your father says.
"Yes, sir?"
"My name is Seojun."
"I know, sir. I mean — I know, Seojun."
Your father stands up. He walks to Jungkook, who stands too, automatic, respectful, ready for whatever comes next. He puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder.
"Yes," your father says.
Jungkook's face crumples for a blink…the relief, the exhaustion, the pure happiness of finally being enough.
"Seojun," your father corrects, but he's smiling. "And you're welcome. Now…" he steps back, clears his throat "…you have a question to ask, don't you? Might want to get to it. She's standing right behind you."
Jungkook turns.
You are crying. You didn't realize you were crying, but your face is wet, and your hands are shaking, and you can't seem to make your mouth form words. You look at him. at your boyfriend, at this stubborn, persistent man who loved you enough to endure 29 rejections just for the chance to propose properly.
"You…" you start, and your voice breaks. "You idiot. You absolute…why didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted to- " he starts, and then stops, because you're walking toward him, and then you're in his arms.
"I would have said yes," you mumble into his shoulder. "Week one. I would have said yes."
"I know," he says.
"Ask me," you say.
"What?"
"Ask me. You came here thirty times to ask him, now ask me."
Jungkook's hands are shaking. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out the small box. It's worn from being carried, from being hidden.
He gets down on one knee. Your mother appears in the doorway, raising the phone to record this, to capture it, to prove that it really happened.
"Okay," Jungkook says, and he's crying now too; you realize the tears tracking down his face in the most undignified, most beautiful way. "Okay. I've been practicing this. In the car. In the shower. In my head, about a thousand times." He opens the box. The ring is simple, exactly right, exactly you. "I love you. I've loved you for two years and four months and thirty days. Your father told me I wasn't ready. But I think- I hope- I'm ready now. Will you…" He stops, swallows, starts again, " …will you marry me? Will you let me keep showing up? Will you be my family, officially?"
You look at him. You look at your father, who is wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and pretending he's not. You look at your mother, who is crying, who has been waiting for this for weeks when she first saw Jungkook washing dishes in her kitchen.
You look at Jungkook.
"Yes," you say. "Yes, you idiot. Yes, I'll marry you. Yes to all of it. Yes, forever."
He puts the ring on your finger. He stands up, and he kisses you.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
Later, after the crying and the laughing and your father insisting on opening the good wine that he's been saving for something important, you sit on the porch with Jungkook, your hand in his, the ring catching the light.
"30 Fridays," you say. "You came here 30 times."
"29 rejections," he confirms. "One yes."
"Was it worth it?"
He looks at you. He looks at you like he looked at you the first time, like he'll look at you when you're old and gray and arguing about whose turn it is to take out the trash.
"Every single one," he says. "I'd do 30 more. 300. However many it will take."
You lean your head on his shoulder.
Inside, your father is telling your mother that he knew Jungkook would make it, that he never doubted, that he was just testing him to be sure. Your mother is rolling her eyes and pouring more wine and smiling in a way that says she knows exactly what really happened. That her husband has already accepted your boyfriend somewhere around week twelve, and has been pretending otherwise ever since.
But that's their story.
This is yours.
The future is waiting.
It's going to be exhausting and beautiful and completely worth it.
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— In which eight months of perfect harmony are shattered by a single, sharp sentence. What starts as a silly argument over weekend plans turns into a cold, suffocating silence when Jungkook accidentally triggers a trauma you thought you’d outrun. Now, trapped in a "shutdown" you can’t control, you have to watch as he fights the urge to walk away, choosing instead to stay and wait for you in the dark. It’s a story about the messy, unglamorous work of unlearning your past to save your future.
— established relationship | first intense argument | childhood trauma mentions | hurt/comfort | emotional growth | non-smut | patient jungkook | communication is key!! |wc:4k — Req by @goldenjjksworld 🧡 — Dividers: @chrisssiren 🤎
…
The eighth month of a relationship is a strange, beautiful middle ground. You are no longer on your "best behavior" 24/7, but you haven't yet reached the stage of effortless, decades-long predictability. For you and Jungkook, this was the sweet spot. You knew his coffee order by heart, and he knew exactly which playlist to put on when you had a long day of creative work. It felt safe.
That evening started with the kind of comfortable domesticity you had come to cherish. The apartment was warm, the scent of a failed attempt at a new pasta recipe lingering in the air. Jungkook was sitting on the edge of the sofa, scrolling through his phone, while you were trying to organize a cluttered shelf nearby.
The disagreement started over something incredibly small: a weekend trip.
"I already told the guys we’d probably join them at the cabin," Jungkook said, his voice casual, not looking up from his screen.
You paused, a stack of books in your hands. "Wait, this weekend? I thought we were staying in. I have a deadline for my draft, and you said you wanted to help me with the new product shots for the shop."
Jungkook sighed—a small, tired sound. "It’s just two days, and I haven't seen them in a while. You can bring your laptop. It’s not a big deal, right?"
"It is a big deal if we already had a plan," you countered, your voice steady but rising slightly. "I’m trying to get this business off the ground, Jungkook. I can't just drop everything because you 'probably' told them we’d come."
Jungkook finally looked up, his brows furrowed. He was tired from a long day of practice, and the frustration he’d been suppressing bubbled to the surface. "It’s not about dropping everything. It’s about being flexible. Sometimes it feels like if things don't go exactly your way, you just... stall."
"I don't 'stall,'" you snapped, feeling a defensive heat creep up your neck. "I prioritize. There’s a difference."
"Is there?" Jungkook stood up, tossing his phone onto the cushion. He wasn't yelling, but his voice had that sharp, competitive edge he used when he was pushed too far. "Because whenever things get a little complicated or stressful, you start overthinking and making everything a hurdle. You’re so focused on your own little world that you forget there’s someone else here trying to move with you."
You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that your "little world" was the career you were building from scratch, but he wasn't finished.
"Honestly," he muttered, turning to grab a glass of water from the table, "it’s like I can't ever fully rely on you to just... be there without a thousand conditions. You’re always looking for a reason to stay guarded."
The room went icy.
It wasn't a loud sentence. It wasn't even the meanest thing someone could say in an argument. But the word rely and the accusation of being guarded hit a tripwire deep inside your chest.
Suddenly, you weren't in your apartment with Jungkook. You were years back, hearing a similar tone from a voice that should have loved you unconditionally—someone telling you that your needs were a burden, that you were "too much" and "too difficult" to deal with. Your brain didn't process it as a lovers' spat anymore. It processed it as a threat.
The air in your lungs felt thin. You looked at Jungkook, who was now leaning against the kitchen counter, looking slightly guilty for the sharpness of his tone but still waiting for a comeback. He expected you to fire back, to defend yourself, to keep the "silly" argument going until you both got tired and apologized.
But you couldn't.
The familiar, heavy curtain of silence began to fall. It started in your throat, a physical tightening that made swallowing difficult. Then it moved to your limbs, making them feel heavy and disconnected. You didn't want to be angry at him; in fact, you could see the slight regret in his eyes already. But the "shutdown" wasn't a choice—it was a door locking from the inside, and you didn't have the key.
You carefully placed the books down on the table. You didn't look at him.
"Hey," Jungkook said, his voice softening. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just frustrated. Let’s just talk about the schedule properly."
You didn't answer. You walked past him toward the bedroom.
"Are you serious?" he asked, his frustration returning, fueled by the sudden lack of feedback. "Are we doing this? You’re just going to walk away because I said one thing you didn't like?"
You stopped at the doorway, your back to him. You wanted to say, It’s not that I don't like it, it’s that it hurts. You wanted to say, Please don't use those words with me. But the words stayed trapped behind the wall of your trauma. To speak would be to show the wound, and your brain told you that showing the wound was dangerous.
You stepped into the room and gently closed the door.
Outside, you heard Jungkook let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Fine. Great communication. Truly."
You sat on the edge of the bed, the silence of the room ringing in your ears. You knew, logically, that you were making it worse. You knew that shutting him out was a flaw—a reflex you hadn't outgrown. You loved him, and you knew he loved you. But as you stared at the wall, the weight of the words he’d spoken felt like a physical barrier between the bedroom and the kitchen.
Eighty-five feet of hallway felt like a thousand miles. The silence had officially begun.
Inside the bedroom, you sat perfectly still. The "shutdown" wasn't just a lack of words; it was a sensory experience. It felt like being submerged in deep water where every sound from the surface was muffled and distorted. You could hear Jungkook moving in the living room—the clink of a glass, the heavy thud of him sitting back down on the sofa, the restless tapping of his foot. Each sound felt like a physical pressure against your chest.
You hated this. A rational part of your brain was screaming at you to stand up, open the door, and say, “I’m sorry I froze, let’s talk.” But the rest of your body was in survival mode. To your nervous system, Jungkook’s comment about being "unreliable" hadn't been a critique of a weekend schedule; it had been a confirmation of your deepest fear—that you were fundamentally difficult to love.
When you were younger, silence had been your only shield. If you didn't speak, you couldn't be blamed. If you stayed quiet, you were invisible, and if you were invisible, you were safe. Now, as an adult in a loving relationship, that shield had turned into a cage. You felt the guilt pooling in your stomach, heavy and bitter. You knew you were punishing him with your silence, even though you didn't want to.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, Jungkook was vibrating with a mixture of confusion and mounting irritation.
He stared at the closed bedroom door, his chest tight. He was a man who lived loudly—he spoke his mind, he laughed with his whole body, and when he was upset, he wanted to hash it out and move on. To him, the silence felt like a weapon. It felt calculated, even though it was anything but.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” he thought, dragging a hand through his hair. “Every time I’m honest about how I feel, she just disappears?”
He felt a flash of resentment. He had worked hard to be a good partner, to support your business, to be the "reliable" one. Seeing you pull back felt like a rejection of everything he had invested over the last eight months. He wanted to knock on the door and demand an explanation. He wanted to tell you that it wasn't fair to leave him hanging in the middle of a conversation.
But then, he stopped.
He remembered a night three months ago, early in the relationship, when you had briefly mentioned how your parents used to stop speaking to you for days as a "lesson." You had said it with a forced laugh, dismissing it as "just how things were," but Jungkook had seen the way your fingers trembled as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
His anger flickered, replaced by a cold, sobering realization.
He looked down at his hands. He had used the word unreliable. He had told you that you were guarded. To him, they were just words born of frustration. To you, they were the echo of a ghost.
The silence stretched for hours.
Around 11:00 PM, you finally emerged. Your throat felt dry, and your head ached from the internal tension. You walked into the kitchen to get water, moving like a ghost. You saw Jungkook still on the sofa, the TV on but muted, his eyes fixed on the blank screen.
As you passed, he looked up. His expression wasn't angry anymore—it was exhausted.
“Do you want to talk now?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.
You looked at him, and for a second, the wall almost crumbled. You wanted to reach out. But then you saw the flicker of expectation in his eyes, the "demand" for a resolution you weren't ready to give yet, and the wall reinforced itself. Your throat tightened.
You didn't say a word. You filled your glass, drank the water in a few quick gulps, and walked back toward the bedroom.
“Seriously?” Jungkook’s voice cracked slightly. He didn't follow you this time. He just stayed there, shadowed by the dim light of the TV. “You’re just going to pretend I’m not even in the room?”
You closed the door again, but this time, you leaned your forehead against the wood. Tears finally began to prick at your eyes. You weren't pretending he wasn't there. You were painfully aware of every breath he took. You were just terrified that if you opened your mouth, you would fall apart, and you didn't know if he would be there to catch the pieces or if he would just see the mess and finally decide he’d had enough.
The silent treatment wasn't just hurting him; it was isolating you in a way that felt like drowning. And for the first time, you realized that if you didn't learn how to swim, you were going to take the person you loved down with you.
Jungkook didn't sleep. He spent most of the night on the sofa, the cushions feeling less like furniture and more like a raft in the middle of a dark ocean. He was used to fixing things—broken electronics, a difficult dance routine, a bad mood. But this? This was a silence he couldn't muscle his way through.
By 4:00 AM, his mind was a chaotic loop of frustration and guilt.
“I’m the one who should be mad,” he told himself, staring at the ceiling. “She’s the one who shut down. She’s the one who walked away.” He thought about the weekend trip, the work he’d put into the relationship, and how much it hurt to be treated like a stranger in his own home. He felt a surge of pride—the part of him that wanted to stay silent too, just to show her how it felt. A "tit-for-tat" strategy that his ego whispered was only fair.
But then, he looked at the bedroom door.
He thought about the way your shoulders had slumped when you walked to the kitchen. You hadn't looked like a person winning a fight; you looked like a person who was lost.
Jungkook sat up, rubbing his face with both hands. He realized that if he chose his pride, he might "win" the argument, but he would lose you. And the thought of a life without your quiet laugh, your messy baking sessions, and the way you leaned into him when you were tired was far more terrifying than the thought of swallowing his pride.
“She isn't doing this to hurt me,” he realized, the thought landing like a heavy stone. “She’s doing this because she doesn't know what else to do.”
As the sun began to peek through the blinds, Jungkook stopped focusing on the argument and started focusing on the person. He knew he couldn't force you to talk. If he pounded on the door and demanded a conversation, you would only retreat further into your shell. He needed to build a bridge, not a battering ram.
He spent the morning in a state of quiet, focused energy. He didn't try to initiate a conversation when you finally came out of the bedroom to start your day. He didn't huff or puff or give "loud" sighs to let you know he was bothered. Instead, he simply existed in the same space as you, providing a calm, non-threatening presence.
He saw you sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at your laptop, your fingers hovering over the keys but never typing. You looked paralyzed.
Without a word, he moved into the kitchen. He didn't ask if you wanted anything. He just brewed a fresh pot of coffee—the roast you liked, not the one he preferred. He placed a mug next to your hand, along with a small plate of the brownies you had made the day before.
He saw your hand twitch toward the mug. You didn't look up, but your posture softened by a fraction of an inch.
Jungkook didn't linger. He didn't wait for a "thank you." He just went back to the living room and began to clear a space. He moved the cluttered boxes, straightened the rug, and set up a small, comfortable area with pillows on the floor near the window—a place where you usually felt most creative.
He was setting the stage for safety.
Throughout the day, he felt the urge to snap, to ask, "How much longer is this going to last?" but he suppressed it. He was learning a new kind of strength: patience. He realized that his desire to save the relationship had to be bigger than his desire to be heard.
By the late afternoon, the tension in the apartment hadn't disappeared, but it had changed. It was no longer sharp and jagged; it was soft and expectant.
Jungkook took a deep breath and sat down on the floor in the space he had cleared. He didn't call your name. He just waited. He was proving to you that he wasn't going anywhere—that even in the silence, he was reliable. Even when you were guarded, he would stay.
He was waiting for you to realize that the door wasn't locked from the outside. He was just waiting for you to turn the handle.
…
The evening light filtered through the window, casting long, amber shadows across the floor. You had watched Jungkook all day. You watched him choose patience over anger, and every time he moved through the apartment without slamming a door or throwing a cold glance, a brick from your internal wall crumbled.
He was sitting on the floor in the little nook he’d cleared for you. He wasn't on his phone; he wasn't distracting himself. He was just... there. Presence was his peace offering.
Your legs felt heavy as you finally stood up from the kitchen table. The silence was starting to feel less like a shield and more like a suffocating weight. You walked over, your heart hammering against your ribs, and sat down on the floor a few feet away from him.
Jungkook didn't jump to speak. He didn't demand an apology. He just looked at you, his large eyes soft and weary.
"I’m sorry," you whispered. The words felt like sandpaper in your dry throat. "I’m sorry I... stopped."
Jungkook reached out, not to pull you into a hug yet, but just to rest his hand on the floor between you, an invitation. "I’m sorry too," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have used those words. I was frustrated about the trip, but that was no excuse to call you 'unreliable' or tell you that you're always guarded. I know why you stay guarded, and I shouldn't have thrown that in your face."
The honesty of his apology made your eyes sting. You looked down at your lap, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. "When you said that, it felt like... like you were seeing me the way my past saw me. Like I was a problem to be solved instead of a person."
Jungkook nodded slowly. "I see that now. But we need to talk about the silence, too." He moved a little closer, his voice calm but firm. "When you shut down, I feel like I’ve been evicted from our life. I’m standing right in front of you, but you’re a thousand miles away. I want to respect your space, but I can't fight for us if I’m the only one in the ring."
You bit your lip, the guilt finally finding a voice. "I don't do it to hurt you. It’s like... a reflex. My brain thinks if I don't speak, I can't make it worse. But I realize now that the silence makes it so much worse for you."
"It does," Jungkook admitted, his thumb tracing the pattern on the rug. "It’s okay to be hurt. It’s okay to be triggered. But you have to tell me, even if it’s just one sentence. Tell me 'I’m triggered and I need an hour,' or 'That word hurt me.' Give me a map, so I don't get lost trying to find you."
You looked up at him, seeing the vulnerability he was showing. He was an "alpha" in so many parts of his life—confident, strong, capable—but here, he was making himself soft just so you wouldn't feel threatened. It was a realization that hit you hard: a relationship isn't just about being loved for your best parts; it’s about someone seeing your flaws and staying to help you work through them.
"I don't want to be the person who shuts down forever," you said, your voice gaining a bit of strength. "I want to be better for you. Because I want this... us... to be forever. I need to learn to trust you with the 'messy' version of me."
Jungkook finally reached out, taking your hand in his. His grip was warm and grounding. "Then let’s practice. Next time I say something stupid—because I will, I’m human—don't run to the bedroom. Stay in the room. Even if you’re just sitting there being angry, stay in the room with me."
You squeezed his hand back, a small, tearful smile finally breaking through. "I'll try. I really will."
"That’s all I need," he whispered. "We don't have to be perfect. We just have to be present."
For the first time in twenty-four hours, the air in the apartment felt light enough to breathe. The argument hadn't been swept under the rug; it had been dismantled, piece by piece, through the very thing you feared most: being seen.
…
The weeks following the air in the apartment felt lighter, not because the problems had vanished, but because the fear of them had. You no longer walked on eggshells, and Jungkook no longer treated every disagreement like a battle to be won.
It was a Tuesday evening, and the coffee table was a chaotic spread of your brownie business spreadsheets and Jungkook’s messy handwritten lyrics. The "S and M" logo you had been working on sat open on your laptop screen.
"I think we should go with the pastel cream for the packaging," you murmured, mostly to yourself. "The dark brown is too heavy."
Jungkook looked up from his notebook, leaning over to squint at the screen. "I like the cream. It looks... approachable. Like you."
You smiled, but then your eyes snagged on the calendar. "Oh, wait. Friday. You have that recording session, and I have the bulk order for the assorted samplers. We’re going to be in each other's way in the kitchen again, aren't we?"
A month ago, this realization might have sparked a sharp comment about space or a defensive remark about whose work was more "urgent." You felt that familiar spark of anxiety—the urge to preemptively protect your workspace.
Jungkook noticed the tiny shift in your posture—the way your shoulders climbed a fraction of an inch toward your ears. He didn't ignore it, and he didn't poke at it.
"Yellow?" he asked softly, his voice humored but sincere.
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and laughed. "Maybe a very pale lime green. Not a full yellow yet."
"Okay," he said, closing his notebook. "If it's lime green, let's solve it now before it turns bright red. I can move my setup to the bedroom for the afternoon so you have the counter space for the brownies. Then, when you’re done, we can clear the table and have dinner. Deal?"
"Deal," you said, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
It was a small moment, but it felt monumental. You hadn't shut down. You hadn't retreated into the "survival mode" of your childhood. You had acknowledged the friction, and he had met you halfway with a solution.
Later that night, as you both lay in the quiet of the bedroom, the city lights filtering through the curtains, you turned to him. "I realized something today," you whispered.
Jungkook shifted, pulling the duvet up. "What’s that?"
"I used to think that a strong relationship was one where people never fought. I thought if we hit a wall, it meant we were failing," you confessed, tracing the tattoos on his arm. "But I think I was wrong. The wall is where the growth happens. If we didn't hit it, I'd still be hiding behind my silence, and you'd still be shouting to be heard."
Jungkook turned on his side to face you, his expression uncharacteristically soft. "I think the same thing. I used to think being a good partner meant being 'right' all the time. But being right is lonely. I’d much rather be wrong and be with you."
He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your forehead. "You’ve been doing so well, you know. I see you trying. I see you staying in the room even when you want to run. I know how hard that is for you."
"It’s getting easier," you admitted. "Because I know that even if I fall apart, you aren't going to use it against me. You’ve given me a safe place to be 'messy.'"
"That's the goal," he whispered. "Eight months down, and a lifetime of 'messy' to go."
You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady, reliable beat of his heart. You weren't the same people who had argued over a weekend trip a few weeks ago. You were older, wiser, and more deeply connected.
Love is about the hard, unglamorous work of unlearning your own defense mechanisms. It’s about choosing to stay when every instinct tells you to bolt.
As you drifted off to sleep, you didn't feel the need to be guarded. For the first time in your life, the weight of your words didn't feel like a burden—it felt like a bridge. And on the other side, Jungkook was waiting, ready to walk across it with you, every single time.99
Been meaning to read this for quite some time. Her defense mechanism hit a little too close to home for me, and I almost didn’t want to keep going. But the way they worked through that moment—through that communication—was so mature and beautifully handled. What really stays with me is how well the silence is written. People assume that speaking up, just saying how you feel, is simple. But when your nervous system has learned a certain pattern over time, opening up feels less like talking and more like climbing a wall covered in thorns. This story felt so real. I genuinely loved reading it. 🩶
— In which everything started with a cruel campus bet that broke your trust and exposed his worst side. But when the public drama threatened to ruin both your reputations, the dean forced you two into a fake relationship to clean up the mess. For three months, you wore a fake smile for the cameras while sharing a toxic, angry passion behind locked doors. Now, the contract is officially over, the bet is in the past, and Jungkook has completely ignored you just like you asked. But as the quiet days pass, the cold realization hits you hard: you hated the bet, but you are completely addicted to him.
— sequel / continuation | the bet aftermath | forced proximity | fake relationship | heavy angst & sadness | emotional realization | cold shoulder / ignoring | crying in the rain | soft reconciliation | comforting / relieved smut | explicit language | content warning: past toxic behavior, deep emotional heartbreak, intense physical friction, and explicit sexual content. | wc: 16.8k
(P-01) read part one here
…
The loud, roaring sound of a motorcycle engine didn't just break the quiet on the street corner—it completely shattered it.
You didn't even have to look up from your phone screen to know exactly who it was. That specific, annoying, heavy metal rattle could only belong to one person in this entire city. Jungkook.
A week. It had been exactly seven days since the high school graduation gala. Seven great days since you had found the audio file of his cheap little locker-room bet and sent it directly to the entire high school database right before the valedictorian speech. The fallout from your little stunt had been amazing. The golden boy, the untouchable alpha biker king of the senior class, had been completely ruined in front of his wealthy friends, his sports scouts, and his proud parents. His precious reputation was completely dead. For a whole week, the group chats had been exploding, his friends had been scrambling to defend him, and Jungkook had gone completely dark. You had single-handedly destroyed his entire social kingdom, and you didn't feel a single bit of guilt. He deserved every bit of it.
You checked your watch, decided you had spent enough time enjoying your success, and picked up your purse. You slung it over your forearm, stood up from the outdoor table, and walked toward the edge of the sidewalk.
But just as you stepped away from the cafe, the heavy black sports bike swerved sharply around the corner. Its front tire aggressively hit the concrete curb right in front of your feet. People walking on the sidewalk scattered quickly with sharp gasps, murmuring angrily about the crazy driver. But you didn't flinch. You didn't run back inside the shop. You stood your ground right on the pavement, your eyes full of cold, unbothered dislike as the engine finally sputtered and stopped, leaving a heavy, suffocating, tense silence on the street.
Jungkook swung his long leg off the machine, the kickstand hitting the pavement with a loud, metallic clang. He looked absolutely dangerous, like a storm waiting to happen. He was wearing his signature beat-up black leather jacket over a tight grey shirt that showed how tense his chest was. His knuckles were raw and scraped, as if he had been punching brick walls all week, and his dark hair fell messily over his eyes. But it was his face that caught your attention. His jaw was clenched so tight the skin looked strained, and his eyes were completely bloodshot, burning with a mix of anger and intense embarrassment.
He took three long, aggressive steps toward you, stopping right in your personal space, blocking out the sunlight.
"Get on," he growled. His voice was incredibly rough, a low command that practically vibrated with how much he wanted to tear something apart.
You let out a sharp, mocking laugh, deliberately crossing your arms over your chest and looking him up and down as if he were nothing but dirt on the sidewalk. "Are you deaf, Jeon, or just incredibly stupid? The game is over. You lost. Go cry into your motorcycle."
Before the last word could even leave your mouth, his hand shot out like a flash. His thick, calloused fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist, pulling you forward so fast and hard that your shoes scraped loudly against the concrete. The sudden movement brought your body directly against his heavy chest, and the familiar, overwhelming smell of rain, expensive cologne, and motor oil instantly hit you.
"I said," he hissed, his face just inches from yours, his teeth bared in a snarl, "get the fuck on the bike. We aren't doing this where everyone can see."
"Let go of me, you absolute loser," you spat, digging your heels into the ground and trying to rip your arm out of his iron grip. But he didn't care about your resistance. The mean energy between you two was like a solid wall, suffocating and hot. He didn't care that people from the cafe were staring through the window. He didn't care about his dignity anymore because you had already taken it all away. He was just acting on pure, unhinged anger.
With a rough, impatient grunt, he didn't wait for your permission. He grabbed your waist with his free hand and practically lifted your body, throwing you onto the high back seat of the motorcycle. Before you could scramble off the opposite side, he hopped onto the front seat, grabbed both of your hands by the wrists, and forced them around his waist, locking them there with a tight, backward grip that you couldn't break. He kicked the starter, and the engine came alive with a deafening scream.
"Hold on, or fall off and break your neck. I don't care either way," he yelled over the noise of the exhaust.
The bike launched forward like a rocket, the sudden speed forcing your chest right against his broad, leather-clad back. He tore through the city streets like a madman, weaving dangerously between luxury cars, cutting off traffic, and running through yellow lights without even tapping the brakes. The wind ripped through your hair, and you spent the entire ride cursing his name into the wind, telling him exactly how much you hated him. Your heart was hammering wildly against your ribs—not because you were scared of the dangerous speed, but because of the toxic, heavy physical tension that always exploded whenever you two got anywhere near each other. This wasn't new. This was a disease between you two.
A few minutes later, the bike skidded sharply into a dark, hidden alleyway behind an old, abandoned warehouse. The tires screeched to a sudden stop, kicking up dust. The engine hadn't even fully died before Jungkook cut the power, grabbed your waist again, and practically threw you off the seat.
Your back hit the cold, rough brick wall of the alley with a dull thud, knocking the breath out of you for a second. Before you could even draw a full breath to scream at him, Jungkook lunged forward, crowding your space completely. He slammed his palms flat against the brick wall on both sides of your head, trapping you inside the tight cage of his body. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. His chest was moving up and down in ragged, furious gasps, his eyes staring down at you with pure malice.
"You think you're so smart, don't you?" he shouted, his voice echoing loudly off the narrow alley walls. "You thought it was funny? Ruining my name? Blasting that audio to the entire school?"
"Funny?" You mocked, tilting your chin up, refusing to show even a single ounce of weakness. You looked directly into his furious dark eyes and smirked, making sure your voice was as mean and cutting as possible. "It was hilarious, Jeon. Seeing your arrogant face turn completely pale when everyone found out you bet a motorcycle just to try and get me into bed? You looked pathetic. Your friends looked stupid. Your cheap little wager was a total joke, and your win was fake. The bet was yours, but I took the prize."
His eyes darkened to a terrifying, pitch-black shade of rage. He leaned in even closer, until his nose almost touched yours. "You arrogant, heartless bitch," he growled, his face dipping lower, his hot, angry breath hitting your lips. "You completely destroyed my life this week. Do you have any idea what you did? My boys won't even look me in the eye. They think I'm a joke. The university sports scouts are calling my coach, asking questions about my character. You took everything I worked for."
"Good. You deserved every single bit of it," you snapped back, placing your hands against the front of his heavy leather jacket and shoving him with all your strength. He didn't move an inch. He felt like solid, immovable stone against you. "You thought you could play me like a game? You thought I was just some rich, naive princess you could break in three weeks just so you could get a new ride? I told you from day one—you are nothing to me, Jungkook. Just a desperate, trashy biker trying to climb out of the gutter by using me."
"Shut up," he snarled, his hand suddenly flying down to grip your jaw. His thumb dug hard into your cheekbone, squeezing your face until your mouth was forced slightly open. "Shut your mouth. I hate you. I hate every single word that comes out of your mouth. I hate the way you look at me like I'm dirt."
"Then move, you psycho!" you yelled against his tight grip, your hands flying up to grip his wrists. You dug your fingernails deep into his skin, scratching him until you felt him bleed, but he didn't even flinch. "Get your filthy hands off me! Get away from me!"
"I can't!" he suddenly roared, his entire body physically shaking against yours. The pure anger in his eyes suddenly turned into something far more dangerous, a twisted, desperate, feral hunger that he clearly hated himself for having. "That's the fucking problem. I hate you so much it makes my blood boil, but I haven't been able to sleep for seven days because all I can think about is how much I want to rip that smug, bratty look off your face."
The tension in the alleyway instantly became suffocating, so thick you could barely breathe. The hatred between you two was huge, a living thing, but it was completely mixed with a heavy, frantic sexual friction that you had been feeding in secret for months. You had ruined each other in the back of his car, in dark corners of parties, and in filthy club bathrooms—never out of love, but always using each other's bodies purely as weapons to see who would break and beg first.
"You won't break anything, Jeon," you whispered, your voice full of pure dislike and venom, even as your heart rate went through the roof from his closeness. "You're a loser. You'll always be under my heel, begging for my attention."
"Let's see who's underneath who," he growled.
He didn't kiss you gently—he completely attacked you. His mouth crashed onto yours with brutal, unforgiving force. It was a rough, painful clash of teeth and lips, with absolutely no softness or romance at all. It was just a feral need to win, to dominate, to force you to submit. You bit down on his bottom lip hard, deep enough to taste the sharp, metallic taste of his blood, but he didn't back off. Instead, he only groaned darkly into your mouth, his hands moving roughly down from the wall to grip your hips. He lifted your body slightly off the ground, pinning you even tighter against the rough brick wall until the friction hurt.
"You're mine," he muttered frantically against your lips, his breathing completely wild as his hands ripped at your clothes with a desperate, angry rush. "Say it. You're my prize, no matter what the bet was. I still took you."
"Never," you gasped out, getting one hand free to tangle your fingers in his dark hair, pulling hard enough to force his head back so you could look at his desperate, messy expression. "You're a dog, Jungkook. Look at you. You're begging me right now in a dirty alley. Look at what you've become."
"Yeah, I'm a dog," he growled, his eyes wild and unhinged as he shoved your skirt up, his touch burning hot and rough against your bare skin. "But I'm the one tearing you apart right now."
The encounter that followed was rushed, rude, and entirely toxic. There was no love, no sweetness, no comfort—just two mean, hateful people using each other to let out a week's worth of pure rage and frustration. Every single touch was an aggressive claim, every gasp a battle for control. He pushed your body to its absolute limit against that cold brick wall, his dirty, possessive talk full of anger, constantly reminding you exactly how much he hated your high-and-mighty attitude, while you threw his ruined reputation and his dead sports career back in his face with every breath you took. You used your bodies to hurt each other, to punish each other for the damage you had caused, driving each other to a wild, angry finish that left you both completely breathless, trembling, and messed up in the dark corner of the alley.
When it was finally over, he let you down slowly, his boots hitting the gravel. He didn't pull away immediately; his forehead rested heavily against the brick wall right next to yours, his chest still moving fast as he tried to catch his breath. The silence between you two was deafening, heavy with the weight of what you had just done.
You didn't wait for him to speak or recover. You pushed his heavy shoulder away, pulling your clothes back together with shaking fingers, your face instantly locking back into a cold, unbothered mask of high-society ice. You stepped away from him, smoothing down your clothes and fixing your hair in the reflection of a warehouse window as if nothing had happened at all.
Jungkook stayed leaning against the wall, his eyes dark and intense, tracking your every single move. He looked like a wild animal that was furious, breathing heavily, and nowhere near tamed.
"Don't ever look at me in public again, biker," you said coldly, adjusting your purse back onto your arm and looking down at him with total disgust one last time. "You're still just a small, pathetic part of my win."
…
Two weeks passed by quickly in the city. You spent every single day enjoying your massive victory over Jungkook. You went to expensive dinners with your family, hung out at high-society cafes with your wealthy friends, and packed your bags for the next big step in your life. Every time you checked your phone and saw the empty group chats where his name used to be, you smirked. You had completely cleanly separated your world from his greasy lifestyle. You thought you had won the war for good.
You were completely wrong.
The mandatory pre-university leadership camp was held at a giant, elite campus hidden deep in the forested hills far outside the busy city. It was a special place designed only for the incoming freshman class. Specifically, it was for the top-tier academic students and high-status luxury athletes who were expected to rule the university social scene. You arrived in a sleek, expensive black car, looking totally immaculate in a crisp white designer outfit. You were fully ready to claim your spot as the undisputed queen of the freshman block.
You checked into the main girls’ residential hall, which was a massive, modern building with tight security gates. As you unpacked your heavy suitcases in your private room, you felt a great sense of relief. There were hundreds of new students here from all over the country. The camp was split into competitive trade groups and leadership tracks for boys and girls. You figured the campus was big enough that you wouldn’t even have to look at the lower-class side of the property.
But you forgot how stubborn and stupid Jungkook could be.
The very second Jungkook found out you were on the camp property, he made it his absolute, personal mission to make your life a living hell. He didn't care about the strict camp rules, he didn't care about the angry counselors, and he certainly didn't care about personal boundaries. He was like a dark, annoying shadow that you just could not shake off. He was everywhere you turned, nagging you and pushing your buttons.
It started on the very first afternoon during the big orientation assembly in the grand hall. You were sitting near the front row with a group of high-society girls, politely listening to the camp director speak on the stage. Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors at the very back of the hall groaned open with a loud creak. You didn't even have to turn your head to know exactly who it was. The entire atmosphere in the room shifted instantly, turning heavy, cold, and incredibly tense.
Instead of taking a seat at the back with the rest of the rough sports recruits, Jungkook walked straight down the center aisle. He was wearing his signature scuffed black leather jacket over a tight white tank top, his hands shoved carelessly into his pockets. He walked with a slow, arrogant stride that made every single freshman student turn and stare at him. He didn't look at the stage or the presenter. His dark, bloodshot eyes were locked entirely on the back of your head.
Before you could even process what was happening, he slid right into the empty row directly behind your chair.
The moment the camp director paused to change a slide on the projector screen, you felt a hot, heavy breath brush against the shell of your ear. Jungkook leaned forward tightly, his broad chest pressing hard against the back of your wooden chair.
"Look at you, sitting there like a little saint," he whispered. His voice was incredibly rough, low, and dripping with pure, unadulterated mockery. "Did you miss me, princess? Because I've been counting the days until I got to ruin your neat little life again."
You didn't turn around to look at him. You kept your eyes fixed straight ahead on the stage, your jaw clenching so hard your teeth hurt. "Shut up, Jeon. Go find a trash can to sit in. It suits your cheap aesthetic much better."
He let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated right through the wood of your seat. "Make me, brat."
That orientation assembly was just the beginning of a nightmare. For the next two days, his constant nagging and public tormenting became a full-blown war between you two. He didn't just annoy you in secret when no one was looking; he did it right in front of everyone, amping up the mean energy between you two by two hundred percent. He wanted everyone to see how much he detested you, but he also couldn't seem to stay away from you for a single hour.
During the morning trade group seminars, where the boys and girls were strictly supposed to sit on opposite sides of the classroom, Jungkook completely ignored the rules. He would walk right past the counselor, cross the room to the girls' side, and pull up a chair directly next to your desk. He would loudly interrupt your presentations, mocking your high-society vocabulary and laughing at your structured business plans.
"That's a very pretty speech," he sneered loudly in front of the entire class during a difficult marketing module. He leaned back dangerously in his plastic chair, locking his thick, muscular arms over his chest, staring at you with a smirk that made you want to slap him across the face. "But out in the real world, nobody cares about your daddy's money or your polished manners, princess. You wouldn't survive a single day on a real, gritty street."
The entire classroom went dead silent. The other freshman students looked back and forth between you two, absolutely terrified of the explosive, suffocating friction that filled the air.
You turned your head slowly, looking down at him with eyes full of absolute, icy hatred. "And you wouldn't survive a single day without acting like a loud, desperate dog begging for my attention, Jungkook. You're only here because the university needed a token charity case for their football team. Don't speak to me as if we are on the same social level."
His arrogant smirk instantly vanished. His dark eyes flashed with a dangerous, feral rage that made him look like a predator. His jaw clenched so hard the muscle leaped under his tanned skin. He leaned across the small gap between your desks, his body crowding yours as his voice dropped to a harsh, lethal whisper. "Keep talking that trash, brat. We both know exactly how you look when you're under my heel in the dark. You aren't as untouchable as you pretend to be in front of these rich idiots."
"You're a disgusting, pathetic loser, Jeon," you spat back, your voice equally low, sharp, and vicious. "Get away from me before I have the advisors throw you out of this camp like the garbage you are."
But he didn't stop. He didn't back down at all. He followed you everywhere you went on the campus. When you walked down the residential hallways to go back to your room, he would suddenly appear from a dark corner, blocking your path with his large, broad frame. He would force you to stop just inches from his heavy chest. He would stand there for minutes, staring down at you with a mocking grin, refusing to move a single inch until you physically shoved him out of the way with all your strength.
When you went to the camp cafeteria to eat lunch, he would bring his tray and sit at the table right next to yours. He would loudly make fun of your expensive health food and your snobbish, high-society friends until your entire group felt completely uncomfortable and left the hall. He was constantly nagging you, constantly pushing your buttons, and whispering nasty, degrading insults in your ear whenever he passed you in the crowded corridors between lectures.
By the evening of the second day, you were completely vibrating with fury. The mental and physical tension between you two had reached a massive boiling point. Every single time he looked at you, it felt like a physical strike to your pride. Every time you snapped back at him, you made sure your simple words were packed with maximum venom, specifically designed to rip open his bruised ego and remind him of his ruined reputation.
You absolutely hated him. You loathed his arrogant walk, his rough voice, his stupid leather jacket, and the constant, annoying way he refused to leave you alone for even a second. But deep down, underneath all that blinding rage, a dark, toxic physical dependency was starting to stir in your stomach again. The suffocating friction of your constant fighting was feeding a dangerous, obsessive hunger that neither of you could control.
As you walked back to your dorm block alone on the second night, your hands were literally shaking with rage from his latest insult in the lobby. You adjusted your purse tightly on your arm, your eyes dark as you stared at the empty path ahead.
Jungkook was purposefully sabotaging a major team project of yours in front of the advisors, showing he was completely willing to ruin your academic perfect streak just to get a reaction out of you. He wanted to see you break. He wanted to see you cry or beg him to stop. But you were far too stubborn for that.
He was pushing you to your absolute limit, and you were fully ready to break him in half. You wanted to see him crawl. Little did you know, the final night of the camp was quickly approaching, and the territory war between you two was about to explode into something far more dangerous, raw, and filthy than just mean words in a classroom.
…
The final night of the mandatory pre-university leadership camp arrived much faster than you expected. Outside the grand stone residential block, the air was thick with the heavy smell of burning pine wood and cheap smoke from the massive bonfire. Everyone from the incoming freshman class was celebrating the end of the three-day social hell. They were drinking, laughing loudly, and hooking up carelessly in the dark shadows of the tall trees.
You stood near the very edge of the fire, looking completely beautiful, polished, and cold. You were holding a small plastic cup, looking around the crowded courtyard with a thoroughly bored expression. But you weren't actually bored at all. You were waiting. Your eyes kept scanning the crowd, looking for a specific, annoying trouble maker.
It didn't take long for him to appear. Across the roaring, hot flames, you finally saw him. Jungkook was leaning carelessly against a thick wooden post, a half-empty beer hanging loosely from his thick fingers. He was wearing his usual beat-up, heavy black leather jacket over a tight grey shirt, his dark hair messy and falling over his forehead. He looked like a total thug among the clean-cut, wealthy university crowd. His dark eyes weren't focused on the fire or his friends. They were locked onto you, burning with that constant, annoying, aggressive stare that had been tormenting you for three days straight.
You smirked, a nasty, petty little plan forming in your mind. You were so completely sick of his non-stop nagging, his public insults, and the way he constantly blocked your path in the hallways. It was time to completely crush his pride in front of the entire campus.
You turned your back on him completely and deliberately walked over to a high-status guy from the elite sports track—a tall, wealthy guy named Sijun, who had been trying to get your phone number since day one. You stepped right into Sijun’s personal space, tilting your head back and letting out a loud, fake laugh at something stupid he said. You lightly touched his arm, making sure your body language was as flirty, teasing, and inviting as possible.
Through the flying sparks of the bonfire, you watched Jungkook’s reaction. It was instant, aggressive, and spectacular.
Jungkook’s entire body went completely stiff. His jaw clenched so hard you could actually see the bone shifting under his tanned skin. He set his beer down on a nearby table so hard the liquid splashed out over his knuckles. The casual, mocking look on his face vanished completely, replaced by a pure, animalistic jealousy that turned his eyes pitch black. He looked like a predator ready to kill.
You gave Sijun another sweet, fake smile, but before the guy could even reach out to touch your waist, a heavy, rough hand grabbed your shoulder from behind, tearing you away.
"Move," Jungkook growled at Sijun. His voice was so deep, rough, and full of raw violence that the other guy actually took a step back, his eyes widening in shock.
"Hey, man, what's your problem?" Sijun started, trying to act tough in front of the crowd.
Jungkook didn't even look at him. He stepped right between you two, his massive, broad chest completely blocking Sijun from your sight. He looked down at you, his breathing heavy, his face twisted in a furious snarl. "I said, she's leaving with me. Get the fuck out of my way before I break your face in half."
"Jungkook, stop acting like a psychotic dog," you spat, trying to push past his heavy frame, but he grabbed your bare wrist with a grip like iron.
He didn't say another word to anyone. He just pulled you. He dragged you away from the bonfire, your heels dragging in the dirt as you cursed his entire existence. You shoved his broad back, you dug your nails into his wrist, but he didn't care about the pain. He was completely blind with possessive rage.
He pulled you straight toward the main girls' residential block, completely ignoring the strict security gates and the camp rules. He knew exactly where your room was, and he was going to use it to corner you. He forced you down the quiet corridor, grabbed your keys directly from your trembling hands, unlocked the door, and threw you inside, slamming it shut behind him and locking it with a loud, heavy click.
The private bedroom was clean, modern, and neat, with a large, comfortable bed sitting right in the center of the room. You two had hooked up in secret so many times before—in the cramped back seat of his motorcycle-hauling car, in dark, dirty alleys against brick walls, in the locked stalls of public bathrooms. But you had never used an actual bed. This was the first time you were in your own room with a proper mattress, and the energy in the air was suddenly two hundred times meaner and more suffocating.
"Are you out of your mind?!" you screamed, turning around and throwing your plastic cup right at his chest. The liquid splashed all over his shirt, but he didn't even blink. "Who the hell do you think you are? You don't own me, Jeon! You're nothing but a trashy, embarrassing biker!"
"Shut the fuck up!" Jungkook roared, stepping forward and slamming his palm against the wall right next to your head. His face was flushed, his veins popping out on his thick neck. "You think you can just use other guys to play games with me? You think you can flirt with that rich loser right in front of my face just to satisfy your sick, bratty ego?"
"I can do whatever the fuck I want!" you shouted right back, shoving your palms against his chest, trying to push his heavy frame away. "I wanted to remind you of your place! You're a loser, Jungkook. Your reputation is dead because of me, and you're still following me around like a desperate, pathetic dog begging for scraps!"
"Yeah? You think I'm begging?" he hissed, his dark eyes fixed on your lips with an obsessed, hateful hunger. "I'm not begging for anything, you heartless bitch. I'm taking what's mine."
"I am not yours!" you screamed, hitting his chest hard with your fists. "I loathe you! I hate every single thing about you!"
"I fucking detest you too!" he shouted back, his voice cracking with pure, unhinged frustration. "I hate your rich princess attitude, I hate your smug little smirk, and I hate how much I'm addicted to this poison!"
Before you could yell another insult, Jungkook grabbed your wrists, twisting them behind your back and forcing your chest up against his. He didn't kiss you gently—he completely attacked you. His mouth slammed onto yours with a brutal, punishing force that made your teeth click together. It was a rough, nasty clash, completely full of hatred and raw, suffocating lust. You bit his bottom lip hard, drawing blood instantly, but the taste of copper only made him wilder. He groaned darkly, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, tasting like alcohol and anger, dominating you until you were gasping for air.
You fought him, kicking his shins and twisting your body, but the physical friction was like a match hitting gasoline. The hatred between you two had morphed into a sick, desperate dependency. You wanted to ruin him, and he wanted to break you.
With a rough grunt, Jungkook didn't break the kiss as he lifted you completely off your feet. He marched over to the center of the room and threw you flat onto your private bed.
The bed creaked loudly under the sudden impact. Before you could even scramble back or lift your legs to kick him away, Jungkook drove his heavy body right between your thighs, pinning you down under his massive weight. He grabbed your hands and slammed them down into the mattress on either side of your head, his thick fingers locking with yours so tightly it hurt.
"First time in a real bed, princess," he panted, his hot, bloody lips hovering just millimeters above yours, his eyes completely wild and obsessed. "Let's see how much noise that high-society mouth can make when I'm tearing you apart on your own mattress."
"You won't do shit, Jeon," you gasped out, your voice dripping with venom even as your lower body melted against the heavy heat of his crotch. "You're just a dirty, aggressive prick. You're nothing to me."
"Shut your mouth," he snarled.
He reached down with one hand, his rough, calloused fingers gripping the hem of your expensive white skirt and ripping it up to your waist with a brutal, impatient tug. He didn't care about being gentle. He didn't care about your clothes. He unbuckled his heavy leather belt with a loud, metallic clatter, his breathing completely ragged as he shoved his trousers down, freeing his thick, rock-hard length. It was fully hard, throbbing with angry desperation, and completely covered in wet precum.
He didn't use protection, he didn't use foreplay, and he didn't give you a second to adjust. Jungkook grabbed your hips with a bruising, tight grip, his knuckles turning white, and drove his massive dick all the way inside you with one single, violent thrust.
A loud, sharp gasp tore from your throat as your back arched off the bed. It was so intense, so raw, and completely full of a mean, biting friction. The bed frame groaned loudly against the floor under the force of his entry.
"Look at you," Jungkook growled, his face twisted in a mix of pleasure and pure malice as he immediately started pumping his thick dick into you with a fast, heavy, unforgiving rhythm. "You're so tight, so wet for a guy you claim to hate. Tell me how much you hate my dick while I'm digging into you like this, brat."
"I... I fucking hate you, Jungkook!" you cried out, your hands instantly flying up to grip his broad shoulders. You dug your fingernails deep into his back, scratching long, bloody red lines through his skin, trying to hurt him as much as he was hurting your pride. "You're a monster... a disgusting, desperate monster!"
"Yeah, keep talking that trash," he panted, his thrusts getting harder, faster, and more brutal, making your private bed shake and rattle against the wall. "But you're the one begging for it. You've been begging for this dick all week with that dirty, mocking mouth of yours."
He suddenly reached up, his large, rough hands ripping your top open completely, exposing your bare breasts to the air. Jungkook stopped moving for a split second, his dark, bloodshot eyes locking onto your boobs with a terrifying, wild obsession. He looked absolutely starved, his pupils completely blown out as he stared at your chest, his jaw clenching tightly. He gripped your breasts roughly, his thick fingers sinking into the soft flesh, squeezing and bruising them so hard it left dark red marks.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a dark, feral rasp as he stared directly into your eyes, watching every single expression of forced pleasure and rage on your face. "I am completely obsessed with these. I've been thinking about ripping this shirt off you and sinking my teeth into these boobs for three fucking days. You belong under me like this, taking every single inch of my dick."
He bent down, his mouth attaching to one of your nipples, biting and sucking it brutally while his lower body kept up the heavy, relentless pounding of his dick inside you. You let out a loud, high-pitched scream, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling harshly to get him off, but your body was completely betraying your mind. The desperation and rage in his movements were driving you completely over the edge. You hated how much pleasure was mixing with the pain, hated how wet and needy your core felt against his thick shaft.
Jungkook suddenly changed his position, flipping you over onto your stomach with a rough, impatient tug. He pulled your hips up, forcing you onto all fours, exposing your wet entrance completely from behind. He didn't waste a single second. He grabbed your waist, his large hands sinking into your skin, and slammed his hard dick back inside you from behind with a deep, violent thrust that knocked the wind right out of your chest.
"Ah! Jungkook, stop! Your dick is too deep!" you cried out, your face buried in your pillow, your hips shaking from the sheer, deep force of his penetration.
"I won't stop," he snarled in your ear, his chest slamming against your bare back with every single heavy, fast stroke of his dick. He was hitting your spot perfectly from this angle, driving you completely insane. "You wanted to play games with me? This is what you get. You take every single bit of my rage, princess."
He reached his large hand underneath your stomach, his fingers sliding down through the thick, wet juices dripping between your thighs. His large, thick thumb found your swollen clit instantly. He started making tight, heavy, fast circles against your clit, applying a brutal, steady pressure while his dick kept pounding into you from behind without a single pause.
The combination was completely lethal. Your mind shattered. You screamed out a loud, desperate cry as a massive, violent orgasm tore through your body, your internal walls clenching around his thick dick so tightly that he groaned out loud in pure agony. You were enjoying it as if it would last forever.
"Yeah, come on my dick, brat," he panted darkly, his thumb never stopping its heavy, circulating motion against your sensitive clit. He kept rubbing it harshly, forcing your body to stay in a constant state of overwhelming climax. He was making you come again and again, your body shaking and convulsing on your own bed, tears of pure, frustrated pleasure leaking from your eyes. "Don't you dare close your eyes. Keep coming. Let me feel how ruined you are for my dick."
"Jungkook! Please... I'm going to pass out...!" you sobbed, your head thrashing against the mattress as your body experienced back-to-back, crushing orgasms under the non-stop circulation of his thumb. You were entirely helpless, completely at the mercy of his sick, obsessed desperation.
"Never," he growled, his voice a feral roar as he felt his own release building to a boiling point. He pulled his thumb away just to grab your hips with both hands, lifting you higher, and delivered three final, devastatingly deep, violent thrusts that shook the entire room.
With a loud, animalistic shout, Jungkook came right in you, pouring his massive, hot, thick cum deep into your twitching, ruined core. His entire body went rigid, his muscles trembling violently as he held his dick buried inside you to the absolute root, his heavy chest heaving against your back.
The silence that followed was heavy and completely suffocating.
Jungkook stayed inside you for a long minute, his breath hot against your neck, his fingers still tightly hooked into your hips. The dirty toxicity of what you had just done was vibrating in your private room.
Slowly, he pulled his dick out, leaving you collapsed flat on your ruined mattress. He stood up, his dark eyes tracking the thick white cum running down your inner thighs. A smug, dominant, completely obsessed look returned to his face as he slowly buckled his leather belt.
You didn't wait for him to speak. You pulled your ruined skirt down with shaking, cold fingers, your face instantly locking back into that frozen mask of pure, unbothered high-society ice. You stood up from your bed, your knees trembling so hard you almost fell, but you forced yourself to stand straight. You wiped your lips with the back of your hand, looking at him with absolute, icy disgust.
"You're still just a footnote, Jungkook, but…" you whispered coldly, “that was so good,” your voice steady despite the complete destruction of your pride. "Now get out." You knew he wouldn’t.
You walked straight toward the bathroom, leaving jungkook standing alone in the dark of your bedroom, his lip bleeding, his chest heaving—utterly ruined, but completely, totally addicted to the poison between you two.
The steam from the hot shower did absolutely nothing to wash away the heavy, suffocating tension that was practically glued to your skin. You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, your hands slightly shaking as you pulled on a clean, oversized black silk button-down shirt. You buttoned it all the way to the top, hiding the dark red marks Jungkook had left on your skin just minutes before. You wiped the vapours off the glass, staring at your reflection. Your lips were slightly swollen, and your eyes looked completely dark, furious, and fiercely proud. You forced your face back into that perfect, icy, unbothered high-society mask.
You weren't going to let him see you broken. Not after what just happened on your mattress.
You turned the brass handle and stepped back out into the main bedroom.
The heavy scent of sex, expensive cologne, and copper still hung thick and suffocating in the air. Jungkook hadn't left. He was sitting right on the edge of your ruined bed, his long legs spread wide, his elbows resting on his knees. His scuffed black leather jacket was thrown carelessly onto your pristine white desk chair, and his grey shirt was completely wrinkled. His dark hair was damp, hanging messily over his eyes, and his bottom lip was still stained with a tiny smear of dried blood where you had bitten him. He was lazily rolling an expensive silver lighter between his thick, calloused knuckles, the clicking sound breaking the quiet of the room.
The second the bathroom door clicked open, the lighter stopped. His dark, bloodshot eyes snapped up, locking onto you with that same terrifying, obsessed, feral hunger that never seemed to burn out. He tracked your movement as you walked gracefully across the room, completely ignoring his presence.
You walked straight to your vanity, picking up a silver hairbrush. "I thought I told you to get the fuck out of my room, Jeon," you said, your voice completely smooth, cold, and dripping with total disgust. You didn't even look at him through the mirror. "The charity hours are over. Go back to the gutter."
Jungkook let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated deep in his broad chest. He stood up slowly, his massive frame instantly making your private bedroom feel incredibly small and cramped. He walked over to you, his boots heavy against the floor, until he was standing directly behind your chair. He didn't touch you, but the intense heat radiating off his body was entirely overwhelming.
"You think you can just wash me off and pretend nothing happened, brat?" he whispered raspy in your ear, leaning down until his lips almost brushed your hair. His eyes in the mirror were completely locked onto your face, watching for any sign of weakness. "Look at your eyes. You're still completely vibrating from my dick. Your little high-society mask is cracked, princess."
You slammed the hairbrush down onto the marble vanity with a loud, sharp crack. You turned your chair around quickly, forcing yourself to look directly up into his arrogant, smirking face. You were just inches from his chest.
"My mask is perfectly fine, Jungkook," you hissed, tilting your chin up, refusing to give him even a single inch of control. "You think because you threw a tantrum on my bed that it changes anything? You are still a nobody. Tomorrow morning, I go back to ruling this camp, and you go back to being the trashy sports recruit that everyone laughs at behind his back. Your little alpha biker act doesn't work on me anymore."
The smirk on his face instantly vanished. He lunged forward, slamming both of his large, rough hands onto the arms of your chair, trapping you completely inside the cage of his body. He leaned in until his nose almost touched yours, his breathing suddenly turning ragged and furious.
"You really don't know when to shut your mouth, do you?" he growled, his voice a low, lethal snarl. "I just ruined you on that mattress. I made you scream until your voice went hoarse. I had my dick so deep inside you that you were sobbing for me to stop, and you still want to talk down to me?"
"Because you're pathetic!" you shouted right back, matching his rage completely, your eyes burning with absolute, fiery hatred. You reached up, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down even closer until your lips were almost touching. "Look at you! You're completely obsessed with me. You hate my money, you hate my family, you hate my status, but you can't even breathe if I'm not in the room. You dragged me out here because you couldn't stand seeing another guy look at me. You're a dog on a leash, Jungkook, and I'm the one holding it."
"Keep talking," he panted, his eyes dropping to your lips with a desperate, wild, unhinged hunger that he clearly loathed himself for having. His hands gripped the sides of your chair so hard the wood groaned. "Keep pushing me, brat. See what happens to this room if you don't shut the fuck up right now."
"Do it then," you mocked, a cruel, beautiful smirk spreading across your face as you felt his dick already getting hard again against the edge of your chair. "Show me how much of a psycho you are. Break another camp rule. Let everyone find out that the golden boy athlete is completely, totally ruined for the girl who destroyed his life."
Jungkook let out a feral roar of pure frustration, his grip suddenly flying from the chair to lock tightly around your jaw. He squeezed your face roughly, forcing your mouth open slightly as he crashed his lips back onto yours. It was a brutal, unforgiving, hateful kiss, full of all the desperate rage and toxic dependency that was driving you both completely insane.
…
The leadership camp ended, and the official university semester started a few days later. The massive, historic campus was beautiful, filled with grand stone buildings, green lawns, and hundreds of wealthy students walking around in expensive clothes. You felt completely back in your element. You wore a flawless designer outfit, your luxury bag slung neatly over your arm, as you walked through the main quad. You were ready to rule the university social scene, just like you had planned.
But your peace did not last long. Jungkook was still around, a dark, dangerous shadow on the edge of your perfect world. He didn't ride a cheap student scooter; he rode his heavy black sports bike right across the university paths, the engine roaring loudly, purposefully disrupting the quiet. Every time he drove past you, he would slow down, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a heavy, possessive glare that made your blood boil. The mean, toxic energy between you two hadn't faded at all. If anything, it had grown twice as sharp.
By the second week of classes, a new problem walked into your life. His name was Yunjin, the wealthy, arrogant student body president. He was a senior from an incredibly powerful high-society family, and he was used to getting whatever he wanted. The moment he saw you at a campus welcoming gala, he made it his mission to pursue you. He started showing up at your lecture halls, sending expensive flowers to your department, and trying to use his high status to corner you into a date.
To you, Yunjin was just an annoying pest. But to Jungkook, Yunjin was a target.
From his motorcycle parked across the university quad, Jungkook watched everything. He watched Yunjin walk up to you after your morning business seminar. He watched Yunjin lean in close, trying to touch your elbow to guide you toward his luxury sports car. Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped in his tanned cheek. His dark eyes turned completely pitch black with a psycho, obsessive jealousy. He absolutely loathed you, but the mere thought of another man’s hands anywhere near your skin made his blood turn to pure fire.
The explosion finally happened on a Friday night during a massive, crowded campus party held inside the old fraternity castle. The music was thumping loudly through the floors, the air hot and thick with the scent of alcohol and perfume. You had walked away from your high-society friends to find a quiet hallway near the back of the building, needing a break from the suffocating crowd.
Suddenly, a hand gripped your wrist, pulling you back. It was Yunjin. He looked a bit drunk, a smug, arrogant smile on his face as he blocked your path against a row of vintage wooden lockers.
"Come on, princess," Yunjin said, his voice dripping with an annoying, rich-boy confidence. "Stop playing hard to get. I know you want to leave this trashy party with me. Let's go back to my apartment."
"Let go of me, Yunjin," you said, your voice dripping with absolute, freezing ice as you tried to pull your arm away. "You're embarrassing yourself. Get your hands off me right now before I make your life miserable."
Yunjin laughed, stepping closer, his grip tightening on your wrist as his other hand reached up to touch your waist. "Don't be like that. You think you're too good for me? Your family would love for us to—"
He didn't get to finish his sentence.
Out of the shadows of the dim hallway, a heavy black leather sleeve shot forward like a lightning bolt. A thick, calloused hand grabbed Yunjin by the collar of his expensive designer shirt and violently ripped him away from you.
Before Yunjin could even process what was happening, Jungkook’s fist crashed directly into his jaw with a sickening, heavy thud.
Yunjin flew backward, his body slamming hard against the wooden lockers. But Jungkook wasn't done. He looked completely feral, his dark hair falling messily over his bloodshot eyes as he lunged forward. He grabbed Yunjin by the front of his shirt, lifting him slightly off the ground, and drove a brutal, unforgiving punch straight into his face. Then another. And another.
"Jungkook, stop!" you shouted, your eyes widening as you watched the sheer, unhinged violence.
Jungkook didn't listen. He drove his knee into Yunjin's stomach, dropping the older student to the floor. Yunjin lay there, bleeding heavily from his nose and lips, groaning in pure agony. Jungkook stood over him like a wild predator, his chest heaving up and down in ragged, furious gasps. His knuckles were completely split open, covered in thick, dark red blood. He kicked Yunjin’s side one last time before turning his terrifying gaze slowly toward you.
Before you could even draw a breath to yell at him, Jungkook lunged forward, grabbing your waist and slamming your back hard against the metal lockers. The loud clang echoed through the empty hallway. He crowded your space completely, trapping you within the heavy, suffocating cage of his body. He smelled like sweat, raw leather, and copper blood.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" you screamed right into his face, your hands slamming against his chest to push him away. He didn't budge a single millimeter. He felt like solid, immovable stone. "What is wrong with you, Jeon?! You can't just assault the student president in the middle of a campus party! You're going to get expelled, you psycho!"
"Do you think I give a single shit about this school?!" Jungkook roared back, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp that shook the metal lockers behind you. His face was just millimeters from yours, his hot, angry breath fanning across your lips. "You think I was going to stand there and watch that rich prick touch what belongs to me?!"
"I do not belong to you!" you shouted back, your simple words packed with maximum venom, your eyes burning with a fiery, stubborn hatred. "I am not your prize, Jungkook! You don't get to dictate who talks to me or who touches me! You're a nobody! A trashy, violent biker who belongs in a prison cell!"
"Shut the fuck up!" he snarled, his hand suddenly flying up to grip your jaw with a bruising, desperate force. His thumb dug brutally into your cheekbone, forcing your mouth slightly open, making you look directly into his wild, obsessed eyes. "I don't care how much you hate me, brat. I don't care if you leak another audio or try to ruin my life again. But nobody else gets to touch you. Nobody else gets to look at you like that. If I see another man put his hands on your skin, I will fucking kill him. Do you understand me?!"
The physical friction between your bodies instantly became suffocating, burning hot in the cold hallway. You could feel his thick dick already pushing hard against your thigh through his jeans, fully aroused by the raw violence and the absolute desperation of his jealousy. He looked entirely crazy, completely consumed by a sick, toxic dependency that he clearly loathed himself for having, but couldn't control for a single second.
"You're a psycho, Jeon," you whispered, your breathing turning ragged as your heart rate went through the roof from his sheer closeness. Your body was completely betraying your mind, melting against his heavy heat even as you glared at him with icy dislike. "You're completely ruined for me."
"Yeah, I am," he growled darkly, his eyes dropping to your lips with a feral hunger. "And I'm taking you down to hell with me."
He dragged your hand and hide you in a room beside. He didn't use a bed, he didn't care about the bleeding senior groaning on the floor just a few feet away, and he didn't give you a second to think. Jungkook reached down, his rough hand ripping your skirt up to your waist. He unbuckled his leather belt with a loud clang, freeing his thick, rock-hard dick, and drove it all the way inside you from the front with one single, violent thrust that pinned your hips brutally against the metal lockers.
A sharp, loud gasp tore from your throat, your fingers instantly digging deep into the leather of his jacket as he began to pump his dick into you with a fast, heavy, unforgiving rhythm. The loud, wet sounds of his dick slamming inside your tight core filled the hallway, mixed with his dirty, possessive talk.
"Tell me whose dick this is," he panted darkly, his face dipping down to bite your shoulder hard, leaving a deep bruise. "Tell me you're mine, you arrogant bitch."
"Never... Jungkook... ah!" you cried out, your head hitting the metal locker behind you as he hit your spot perfectly, driving you to a wild, angry orgasm within minutes. Your internal walls clenched tightly around his thick shaft, making him groan out loud in pure, obsessive pleasure.
"You're mine," he growled, his thrusts getting harder and more brutal until he delivered a final, deep surge, coming violently inside you, pouring his thick, hot cum deep into your core.
He held you there for a long minute, his chest heaving, before slowly pulling his dick out. He buckled his belt, gave you one last dark, mocking look, and walked away into the shadows, leaving you leaning against the lockers, completely breathless, ruined, and totally addicted to the poison.
…
The Monday morning after the fraternity party, the campus felt entirely different. The wild rumors about Yunjin’s bad fall had already reached every corner of the university. But instead of the usual whispers in the hallways, there was a heavy, anxious silence. Everyone knew that a massive storm was coming for the sports department, and you were right at the center of it.
You sat in the back of the campus café, your posture perfectly straight, holding a cup of black coffee. You wore a crisp, tailored cream blazer and matching trousers, looking every bit the pristine high-society heiress you were raised to be. Your face was a flawless wall of ice, but inside, your mind was racing. Jungkook had crossed a line that couldn't be erased with a simple bribe or a fake story. He had beaten the student body president into a hospital bed, and he had done it because of you.
The bell above the café door chimed sharply. You didn't need to look up to know who it was. The sudden shift in the room's energy—the way the surrounding students immediately lowered their voices and looked away—told you everything.
Jungkook walked in, his heavy boots thudding against the polished wood floor. He looked completely out of place in the bright, modern café. He was wearing his signature scuffed leather jacket, a plain white t-shirt, and dark jeans. His dark hair was messy, falling over his forehead, and his knuckles were still heavily wrapped in white athletic tape. He didn't look at anyone else. His dark, bloodshot eyes locked onto you with that same terrifying, obsessive glare that never seemed to fade.
He didn't ask for permission. He pulled out the chair directly opposite you and sat down, leaning his broad chest forward against the small table. The heavy scent of leather, rain, and cold air immediately pushed away the smell of roasted coffee beans.
"You look beautiful when you're plotting someone's murder, princess," Jungkook whispered, his voice a low, rough rasp that went straight down your spine. He lazily spun a metal house key between his wrapped fingers, the clicking sound sharp and regular. "Are you figuring out how to get me expelled, or are you just remembering how hard you were shaking against those metal lockers on Friday night?"
"Keep your voice down, Jeon," you hissed, your voice a sharp, icy whisper as you glared at him with absolute disgust. You set your coffee cup down with a controlled, quiet click. "You think you're untouchable because the dean hasn't called the police yet? You threw away your entire football career for a stupid, violent tantrum. You're pathetic."
Jungkook let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated deep in his chest. He stopped spinning the key and leaned even closer, his face just inches from yours across the narrow table. "I don't give a single shit about the football career, and you know it. I saw that rich prick putting his hands on your skin, and my mind went completely black. I'd break his jaw again today if he stood in front of me."
"You are completely insane," you spat, your jaw clenching tightly as you felt the dangerous, suffocating heat radiating off his body.
"I'm crazy for you, brat," he whispered back, his dark eyes flashing with a wild, unhinged intensity that made your breath catch. "And the worst part is, you love it. You love knowing that I'm willing to ruin my entire life just to keep another man from touching you."
Before you could fire back another cruel insult, the screen of your expensive phone lit up on the table between you. The caller ID displayed a name that made both of your expressions instantly freeze: Office of the Dean.
You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, sliding your finger across the screen and lifting the phone to your ear. "Hello?"
"Miss Choi," the dean's voice sounded incredibly grave, stripped of the usual polite warmth he used when speaking to your family. "Please report to my office immediately. And if Mr. Jeon is currently with you—as my security cameras suggest he is—bring him with you. We have a severe crisis to discuss."
The line went dead. You lowered the phone slowly, looking across the table at Jungkook. The smug, dominant grin had completely vanished from his face, replaced by a serious, hard expression.
"The dean wants both of us. Right now," you said, your voice shaking slightly before you forced your icy control back into place.
Jungkook didn't say a word. He stood up, grabbing his leather jacket, and waited for you to rise. For the first time since the leadership camp, you weren't fighting each other in a dark corner. You were walking side-by-side toward the main administration building, a strange, toxic united front against a common threat.
The dean’s office was massive, lined with heavy oak bookshelves, leather chairs, and large windows looking out over the grand university quad. Dean Harrison sat behind his large mahogany desk, his face pale and completely stressed. On the corner of his desk lay a thick, yellow manila folder.
"Sit," the dean said shortly, gesturing to the two leather chairs in front of him.
You sat down gracefully, crossing your legs, while Jungkook dropped heavily into the chair next to you, his long legs spread wide, looking completely unbothered by the authority in the room.
"Do you two have any idea the kind of disaster you have brought to my university?" Dean Harrison started, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. He slammed his hand down on the yellow folder. "This folder contains the official medical report for Yunjin. A broken jaw, a concussion, three fractured ribs. His family is one of the largest financial donors to our business school. They are currently threatening to file criminal assault charges against Mr. Jeon, and they want a full public investigation into why this happened."
You kept your expression completely blank. "Surely this can be handled quietly. An accidental fall—"
"It wasn't a fall, Miss Choi!" the dean interrupted sharply, glaring at you. "Yunjin’s father knows it wasn't a fall. And worse, he knows why it happened. He has an anonymous tip claiming that Mr. Jeon assaulted his son over a personal grievance involving you. If this goes to a public court, the media will tear this university apart. A wealthy heiress, a scholarship athlete from the gutter, and a brutal assault in a fraternity hallway. It’s a tabloid dream."
Jungkook leaned back in his chair, a dark, dangerous smirk playing on his lips. "So what are you going to do, Dean? Expel me? Go ahead. I'll pack my bags by noon."
"Shut up, Jungkook," you snapped under your breath, glaring at him.
"No, Mr. Jeon, I am not expelling you," the dean said, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing. "Because if I expel you, your athletic contract terminates, the story becomes public, and Yunjin’s family pulls their funding. But I cannot let this slide. I have received a very specific compromise to save the university's reputation."
The room went completely silent. You felt a cold dread pooling in your stomach.
"What compromise?" you asked smoothly, though your fingers dug tightly into the leather of your luxury bag.
Dean Harrison looked directly at you, then at Jungkook. "For the next three months, until the end of the semester, you two are going to be completely inseparable. Officially."
You froze. Jungkook’s smirk completely vanished.
"What the fuck does that mean?" Jungkook growled, his body instantly going rigid in the chair.
"It means, Mr. Jeon, that to explain the tension and the fight, the university is releasing an official statement that you and Miss Choi are in a committed, long-term relationship. The narrative we are giving the board—and Yunjin’s family—is that Yunjin crossed a severe line with Mr. Jeon's partner, and the fight was an unfortunate, emotional escalation between two boyfriends. To make the story believable, you two will attend every university gala, every football dinner, and every public campus event together. As a couple."
"Absolutely not," you said, your voice cracking as your high-society mask completely shattered. You stood up from your chair, your eyes wide with pure, chaotic panic. "You want me to pretend to be dating a trashy, violent criminal? My family will never allow this! My reputation will be completely dragged through the dirt!"
"Your family already knows, Miss Choi," the dean said quietly, looking at you with a look of pity. "I spoke to your father an hour ago. He agreed that a temporary, controlled public relationship with an athlete is far better than a public scandal involving a brutal assault and a criminal trial. He has already ordered your PR team to clear the statement."
You felt like the ground was crumbling beneath your feet. You turned your head slowly to look at Jungkook. He was staring at the dean, his dark eyes completely unhinged, his breathing turning heavy and ragged. The thought of being forced into the light with you—of having his secret, toxic obsession turned into a public show—was driving him completely crazy.
"And if we say no?" Jungkook asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low rumble that made the dean flinch.
"If you say no, Mr. Jeon, you go to prison for felony assault. And Miss Choi’s family faces a multi-million dollar lawsuit that will ruin their stock prices," Dean Harrison said, standing up and closing the folder. "The statement goes live on the university portal at 5:00 PM. I suggest you two figure out how to look like you love each other before the cameras find you. Good day."
Ten minutes later, you were standing in the quiet, isolated courtyard behind the administration building. The autumn wind was cold, rustling the dry leaves on the ground, but you couldn't feel the chill. Your mind was a complete, chaotic mess of rage, panic, and sheer disbelief.
A heavy, rough hand suddenly grabbed your upper arm, spinning you around with a brutal force that knocked your bag to the grass. Jungkook slammed your back hard against the cold stone wall of the building, crowding your space instantly until his broad chest was pressed flat against yours. He looked completely feral, his jaw clenching so hard a vein was throbbing wildly on his temple.
"Are you happy now, princess?!" he roared right into your face, his hot, furious breath fanning across your lips. His wrapped hands slammed against the stone on either side of your head, trapping you completely in the suffocating cage of his body. "You wanted to play your little high-society games? You wanted to push me until I broke that rich prick's face? Now look what your perfect world did to us!"
"Get your hands off me, Jungkook!" you screamed back, your hands slamming against his chest, trying to push his massive frame away, but he felt like a solid wall of iron. "You think I wanted this?! You think I want the entire campus thinking I belong to a trashy, embarrassing thug like you?! This is your fault! Your psycho, pathetic jealousy ruined everything!"
"Don't you dare call me pathetic!" he hissed, his dark, bloodshot eyes locking onto yours with an absolute, terrifying obsession. He leaned in until his nose almost brushed yours, his voice dropping to a dark, gravelly whisper that made your knees turn to water. "You think this is a game? For the next three months, I have to watch you walk around this campus with my name attached to yours. Every single person is going to look at you and know that I'm the one who owns you. Every rich loser is going to know that this body belongs to me."
"I don't belong to you," you whispered, your breathing turning ragged as the physical friction between your bodies became completely overwhelming. You could feel his thick dick already pushing hard against your thigh through his jeans, fully hard and throbbing from the pure, chaotic rage of the situation. "It’s a lie, Jungkook. It’s just a fake story for the board."
"There is nothing fake about how much I want to rip your clothes off right now," he growled darkly, his eyes dropping to your lips with a desperate, wild hunger. "If the whole school thinks we're together, then I don't have to hide into the shadows anymore. I don't have to wait for a locked door to take what's mine."
He didn't give you another second to argue. Jungkook reached down with one rough hand, his fingers grabbing the waistband of your trousers and pulling you tightly against his hips. He unbuckled his heavy leather belt with a loud, metallic clang, freeing his thick, length, and drove it all the way inside your tight core from the front with one single, violent thrust that pinned your hips brutally against the stone wall.
A sharp, loud gasp tore from your throat, your fingers instantly digging deep into the leather of his jacket as he began to pump his dick into you with a fast, heavy, unforgiving rhythm right there in the shadow of the administration building. The sheer risk of being caught, combined with the absolute fury of the dean's ultimatum, made the friction between your bodies feel like pure, burning fire.
"Tell me whose girlfriend you are," he panted darkly against your ear, his mouth dipping down to bite your neck hard, leaving a deep, dark mark that no blazer could hide. "Tell me you're my princess while I'm digging into you like this."
"Jungkook... ah! Someone's going to see... stop!" you cried out, your head hitting the stone wall behind you as he hit your spot perfectly, driving you to a wild, angry orgasm within minutes. Your internal walls clenched tightly around his thick shaft, making him groan out loud in pure, obsessive pleasure.
"Let them look," he growled feral, his thrusts getting harder and more brutal until he delivered a final, deep surge, coming violently inside you, pouring his thick, hot cum deep into your core.
He held you there for a long minute, his forehead resting against yours, before slowly pulling his length out. He buckled his belt, gave you one last dark, possessive look, and walked away, leaving you leaning weakly against the stone wall, completely breathless, ruined, and realizing that the next three months were going to be a total, living hell.
…
The luxury gala didn't end in a dramatic explosion or a secret room. It ended in absolute, freezing silence. After the dean’s announcement, something shifted inside both of you. The constant fighting, the screaming matches, and the angry, desperate physical clashes suddenly felt completely exhausting. It was like a fire that had burned so hot it finally ran out of oxygen, leaving behind nothing but cold, heavy ash.
Three months passed not with violence, but with a strange, unnerving distance.
The winter snow came early, covering the grand stone buildings of the university in a thick, quiet blanket of white. To the campus, you were still the "power couple." You walked side-by-side to dinners, sat next to each other in macroeconomics, and let the photographers take their pictures. But the moment the cameras stopped flashing, Jungkook’s hand would drop from your waist. He wouldn't look at you. He wouldn't tease you. He would just turn on his heel, hop on his heavy black sports bike, and disappear into the freezing winter nights.
The contract was officially ending at midnight. Tomorrow, the university portal would release the pre-written statement announcing your "amicable breakup due to busy schedules." You were finally getting your perfect, clean, high-society life back. No more gutter athlete, no more scandals, no more threats to your family status.
You should have been ecstatic. But as you stood in your private bedroom packing your designer bags for the winter break, your chest felt completely hollow.
Your room was neat and perfectly clean, but every corner of it reminded you of him. The edge of the mattress where he sat rolling his lighter, the vanity where you had screamed at him, the heavy scent of his leather jacket that seemed permanently trapped in your curtains. You realized, with a sickening jolt of pure angst, that the hatred had turned into something far worse: a toxic, deep-rooted dependency. You didn't know how to breathe in a room that didn't have his suffocating heat in it.
At 11:00 PM, your phone vibrated on the desk. It wasn't a call. It was a single text from an unknown number, but you knew exactly who it was.
The old stone bridge. Now.
You didn't hesitate. You pulled on a thick wool coat, wrapped a black scarf around your neck, and stepped out into the freezing night. The campus was completely dead, the students already gone for the holidays. The only sound was the sharp crunch of your boots against the fresh snow.
When you reached the historic stone bridge overlooking the frozen black river, you saw him. Jungkook was leaning his broad chest against the stone railing, staring down at the ice below. He was back in his scuffed, old leather jacket and a dark hoodie, the snow collecting on his wide shoulders. The white athletic tape was completely gone from his knuckles, leaving behind long, jagged, pink scars—permanent reminders of the violence he had unleashed for your sake.
He looked completely exhausted. The arrogant, smirking, dominant biker king was gone. In his place was a twenty-year-old guy who looked utterly broken by the weight of a world he never belonged in.
You walked up to the railing, standing a few feet away from him. The freezing air turned your breath into white mist between you.
"The dean's office confirmed the statement goes live in an hour," you said, your voice cutting through the quiet. You tried to make it sound smooth, cold, and unbothered, but the high-society mask felt incredibly heavy and cracked. "By tomorrow morning, we're officially strangers again, Jungkook."
Jungkook didn't turn his head. He let out a low, bitter chuckle, a cloud of white vapor escaping his lips. "Strangers. Yeah. That’s what your father wants, right? Clear the slate. Pretend the trashy scholarship kid never existed."
"This is what we both wanted," you whispered, your fingers tightening into fists inside your coat pockets to keep them from shaking. "You hated my status. You hated my family. You called me a heartless bitch every single day."
"Because you are," Jungkook said softly. He finally turned his head to look at you, his dark, bloodshot eyes swimming with a raw, miserable desperation that made your heart completely drop. There was no lust in his gaze right now—just pure, unfiltered ache. "But the worst part is, I didn't care. I let you ruin me. I threw away my reputation, my spot on the team, and my sanity just to be the dog on your leash."
He stepped closer, his heavy boots cutting through the snow until he was standing right in front of you. He didn't grab your jaw roughly. He didn't pin you against the stone wall. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out his scarred hand and let his bare fingers gently touch your frozen cheek. His skin was burning hot, a sharp contrast to the freezing wind.
"Look at me and tell me you hate me," he whispered, his voice cracking with a deep, painful sadness. "Look me in the eyes, princess, and tell me that these three months meant absolutely nothing to you. Tell me you won't miss the poison."
You stood perfectly still in the freezing wind, your face slowly hardening back into that flawless, untouchable high-society mask. You didn't flinch away from his touch, but your eyes turned entirely vacant and cold, staring directly into his desperate, bloodshot gaze without a single hint of warmth.
"It meant absolutely nothing, Jungkook," you said, your voice completely smooth, level, and dripping with an icy, unbothered dislike. You reached up, calmly but firmly catching his wrist, and pushed his rough, scarred hand off your cheek. "You were a chore. A mandatory sentence I had to serve to keep my family’s name out of the tabloids. Did you honestly think a few months of hiding in dark corners would make me forget who you are?"
Jungkook froze, his hand dropping heavily to his side as your words sliced through him like broken glass. The raw, miserable desperation in his eyes instantly fractured, replaced by a stunned, hollow shock. His chest stopped heaving, his jaw clenching so tightly that a muscle leaped under his tanned skin.
"You're a sociopath," he whispered, his voice shaking with a dangerous, deeply wounded angst as he stared at your completely calm expression. "You're standing here looking at me like I'm a total stranger. I ruined my entire life for you, and you don't even care."
"I never asked you to," you replied coldly, wrapping your expensive wool coat tighter around your shoulders and taking a step backward, completely out of his space. "Tomorrow morning, I go back to ruling this university, and you go back to the gutter where you belong. Enjoy the snow, Jeon. Our contract is officially over."
The university portal released the official statement at exactly nine o'clock the next morning. It was short, polite, and completely clinical. It used terms like "mutual decision" and "focusing on individual academic goals." Within hours, the campus gossip shifted to upcoming winter exams and holiday travel plans. The suddenness with which the world moved on was dizzying.
For the first few weeks, you convinced yourself that the silence was exactly what you had been begging for.
You returned to your old routine. You sat in the front row of your business seminars, walked through the quad with the university’s elite, and spent your evenings matching your family’s expectations. Your high-society mask was back in place, flawless and unbothered. There were no more threats of lawsuits, no more dean’s ultimatums, and no more chaotic, violent disruptions to your structured life.
But as the winter semester transitioned into the crisp, early days of spring, the realization didn't just hit you—it settled into your bones like a slow, agonizing poison.
The realization hit hardest during the quiet, mundane moments of the day. It happened when you walked past the metal lockers in the back hallway of the old fraternity building, your eyes involuntarily dropping to the floor, searching for a trace of copper or the heavy scent of raw leather. It happened when you sat through a two-hour macroeconomics lecture, your skin burning with a phantom heat because the seat next to you remained completely empty.
You had spent three months screaming that you hated his suffocating presence, but the absolute absence of it was driving you completely insane.
The truth was ugly, raw, and humiliating: you didn't know how to exist in a world that wasn't spinning on Jungkook's axis. The perfect, quiet, respectful high-society peers who surrounded you suddenly felt entirely superficial. Their polite conversations bored you. Their gentle, careful touches felt entirely meaningless. You had grown so deeply, pathologically addicted to the raw, unfiltered honesty of Jungkook’s hatred and obsession that the clean world felt like a total simulation. You had pushed him away to save your pride, and in doing so, you had trapped yourself in an icy, pristine cage of your own making.
And the worst part was, Jungkook was doing exactly what you told him to do. He was treating you like a footnote.
He didn't seek you out in the shadows. He didn't park his heavy black sports bike across the quad to glare at you. He completely, officially ignored you.
You saw him for the first time in two months during a warm spring afternoon outside the university athletic complex. He was walking out of the training facility with a group of his teammates, his scuffed leather jacket thrown carelessly over one broad shoulder. His dark hair was longer now, hanging messily over his forehead, and his tanned face looked hard, focused, and entirely distant.
Your breath caught in your throat, your boots freezing against the concrete path as your paths crossed. Your eyes locked onto his profile, every defensive wall inside you instantly crumbling, desperately waiting for that familiar, dark, bloodshot glare to snap onto your face. You were ready for the mean energy, the toxic tension, the silent accusation—anything to prove that the thread between you hadn't completely snapped.
Jungkook didn't even turn his head.
He walked right past you, his shoulder brushing inches from yours without a single stutter in his stride. His dark eyes remained fixed straight ahead, completely vacant, treating you with the exact same cold indifference you would show a total stranger or a piece of campus furniture. He didn't clench his jaw. He didn't look angry. He just looked completely, entirely checked out.
He had taken your words on the frozen bridge as the absolute final law. You had told him he was a chore, a mandatory sentence, and that he belonged in the gutter. So, he had left you alone in your high tower.
You stood frozen on the sunny path as his laughter faded into the distance with his friends. The physical friction you used to fight so hard against was entirely gone, replaced by a freezing, hollow void in your chest that made it difficult to draw a single breath. You had won the war, your reputation was entirely intact, and your family’s name was perfectly clean.
But as you stared at his retreating back, the tears you had suppressed for months finally burned the backs of your eyes. You had broken the biker king, but as the crushing weight of the realization hit you day after day, you finally understood that you had completely destroyed yourself in the process.
Spring arrived fully on campus, but the warmth did absolutely nothing to thaw the freezing winter inside your chest. The cherry blossoms were blooming, the lawns were green, and students were sitting outside in the sun, laughing and talking about the upcoming summer break.
You sat by the large glass window of the university library, surrounded by expensive leather-bound textbooks. You looked beautiful, as always. Your hair was perfect, your designer clothes were neat, and your face was a flawless, calm mask of high-society elegance.
But behind that mask, your mind was completely fracturing.
The realization didn't leave you alone for a single hour. It followed you everywhere like a dark, heavy shadow. It hit you when you woke up in the morning to a quiet, peaceful room—and realized you hated the peace. It hit you when you looked at your hands and remembered how they used to shake with a wild mix of fear, anger, and electric heat whenever he was near.
You had spent months telling yourself that Jungkook was a monster, a dirty biker who was ruining your perfect life. But now, the truth was screaming in your ears every single night: You were the one who ruined everything.
He had given you his raw, unfiltered honesty. He had thrown away his reputation, his safety, and his pride just to keep another man's hands off your skin. He had shown you a wild, desperate passion that made you feel completely, intensely alive. And how did you repay him? You stood on that frozen bridge and used your high-society status like a sharp knife, slicing his heart to pieces just to save your own massive pride. You had looked him in the eyes and called him a chore. A footnote. Trash.
Every single cruel word you spat at him was now bouncing back, suffocating you in your own high tower. You had your clean reputation. You had your family's approval. You had your perfect, rich life back.
And you were completely, utterly miserable.
The sadness was a physical ache deep in your chest, a heavy stone that made it hard to swallow, hard to breathe, and hard to sleep. You were starving for the poison. You were starving for the mean energy, the toxic friction, and the dangerous way his broad body used to trap you against the walls. You would have given up your family's entire fortune just to have him yell at you one more time. To have him look at you with that psycho, obsessive jealousy.
But Jungkook was gone. Truly, officially gone.
Later that afternoon, you were walking down the long, empty corridor of the business department, heading toward your advisor's office. The hallway was quiet, the polished floors reflecting the dim overhead lights.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door at the end of the hall opened.
Your heart violently stopped. Your breath caught in your throat, a sharp gasp tearing from your lips.
It was him.
Jungkook was walking toward you, alone. He was wearing his signature scuffed leather jacket, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His dark hair was messy, casting a shadow over his eyes. He looked completely distant, his broad shoulders slightly tense as his heavy boots thudded softly against the floor.
The distance between you two was closing fast. Twenty feet. Ten feet. Five feet.
Your entire body started to vibrate from the sheer, overwhelming closeness. Every defensive wall you had ever built completely turned to ash. The pride was gone. The high-society ice was completely melted. Your eyes filled with hot, burning tears as you stopped walking, your body trembling, silently begging him with your eyes to look at you. To see how broken you were. To see how much you regretted every single thing you said on that bridge.
You slightly reached your hand out of your coat pocket, your fingers twitching, ready to grab his sleeve, ready to beg for his touch, ready to drop to your knees and tell him that you were the one who was pathetic.
Jungkook didn't even blink.
He didn't slow his pace. He didn't tighten his jaw. He didn't look at your face, your hands, or your tears. His dark eyes remained completely vacant, fixed on the empty space somewhere behind you. He walked right past you, his leather sleeve brushing sharply against your arm—a brief, brutal flash of his burning heat—before he kept moving down the hall.
He treated you like air. Like a ghost. Like an absolute nobody.
Your hand dropped back to your side, completely empty. The tears finally spilled over your eyelashes, hot and fast, running down your pale cheeks in the middle of the public hallway. You didn't care who saw you. You didn't care about your high-society mask anymore.
The final, crushing realization hit you with full, devastating force: Jungkook wasn't acting. He wasn't trying to punish you, and he wasn't playing a game. He had truly, completely taken your words to heart. You had told him they were nothing to each other, and so, he had wiped you out of his universe entirely.
You had broken him so deeply on that bridge that he had finally learned how to stop loving you. You were completely free from the gutter athlete—and you had never been more alone in your entire life.
Three more weeks passed like a slow, grey blur. The spring semester was officially drawing to a close, and the campus was slowly emptying out as students finished their final exams and headed home for the long summer break.
You had stopped crying in public hallways. Instead, a quiet, heavy numbness had taken over your life. You spent your days moving mechanically from your empty apartment to the quiet corners of the university library, a ghost trapped in a beautiful, wealthy routine. You had completely accepted your punishment. You had broken his heart, and in return, he had completely erased you. It was fair. It was just. But it was killing you slowly from the inside out.
On a rainy Thursday evening, the sky turned a dark, bruised purple, pouring a cold, steady sheet of rain over the stone campus. You stayed late in the library, staring at the same page of a textbook for three hours, unable to focus on a single word. By the time you finally packed your designer bag and walked out, the campus was pitch black, completely deserted, and freezing.
You opened your umbrella and started walking down the isolated stone path toward the university gates. The wind was howling, blowing the cold rain sideways, cutting right through your expensive trench coat. Your boots splashed through deep puddles, the sharp, lonely click of your heels swallowed by the heavy roar of the storm.
Suddenly, a loud, violent CRACK echoed through the dark.
You gasped, jumping back as a massive, heavy oak branch, snapped by the fierce wind, crashed directly onto the concrete path just two feet in front of you. The impact sent a spray of sharp wood splinters and freezing water flying into your face. In your panic, your foot slipped on the slick, wet grass at the edge of the path.
Your umbrella flew out of your hand, caught by the wind, as your balance completely failed. You braced yourself to slam hard onto the freezing concrete.
You didn't hit the ground.
Instead, a pair of thick, incredibly strong arms shot out of the darkness, catching you right around the waist. The force of the catch pulled your back flush against a broad, massive chest. The familiar, overwhelming scent of wet leather, rain, and a deep, burning heat instantly filled your senses, making your mind completely explode.
Your heart violently stopped. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't move.
"Are you completely blind, brat?"
The voice was a low, rough rasp, muffled slightly by the roaring wind, but it went straight down your spine, shattering every single frozen piece of your soul.
Slowly, your trembling body turning around in his grip, you looked up.
It was Jungkook.
He was standing right there in the pouring rain, his dark hair completely soaked, clumping messily over his forehead and eyelashes. He wasn't wearing a hood. Water was streaming down his tanned face, dripping off his sharp jawline and soaking the collar of his scuffed leather jacket. His bare hands—the long, pink scars on his knuckles stark against his pale skin—were still wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you up as if he never intended to let you fall.
But he wasn't glaring at you with that mean, toxic energy. He wasn't looking at you with that wild, unhinged fury from the past. His dark, bloodshot eyes were wide, completely soft, and filled with a raw, exhausted, and desperately protective anxiety. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving against yours, his hands trembling slightly against your coat.
He had been following you. Even after weeks of ignoring you, even after you told him he was nothing, he had been walking in the shadows behind you in the freezing rain, just to make sure you got home safe.
The realization hit you so hard your knees completely turned to water. The high-society ice didn't just crack—it completely disintegrated, washed away by the rain. Every ounce of pride, every bit of your defensive walls, and all the crushing sadness of the last few months came pouring out at once.
A high, broken sob tore from your throat. You didn't push him away. You didn't slap his chest.
Instead, your hands flew out of your pockets, your fingers digging desperately into the wet leather of his jacket, pulling yourself completely into his space. You buried your face right into his broad chest, sobbing violently, your shoulders shaking as months of hidden pain, regret, and intense longing finally broke free.
"Jungkook... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," you choked out against his chest, your voice completely ruined, tears of pure, raw angst mixing with the rain on your face. "I lied on the bridge... I lied about everything... Please don't ignore me anymore... Please, I'm so sorry..."
Jungkook let out a low, ragged gasp, a sound of pure, aching agony vibrating deep in his chest. Hearing you cry, hearing you break down and beg, completely shattered whatever control he had left.
His massive arms tightened around you with a sudden, desperate force, lifting your feet slightly off the wet concrete as he crushed you against his body. He buried his face deep into the crook of your neck, his hot breath burning against your frozen skin. He held you so tightly it felt like he was trying to pull you inside his own ribcage, his large hands rubbing your back in frantic, unpolished circles.
"Shh... stop crying, brat... just stop," Jungkook whispered, his voice completely cracked, raw, and trembling with a deep, emotional vulnerability you had never heard from him before. He pulled back just an inch, his large, wet hands coming up to cup your face with an unbelievable, heartbreaking softness. His thumbs gently wiped the tears and rain from your cheeks. "I'm right here. I've always been right here. You think I could actually leave you alone? I tried. I swear to God I tried to hate you, but I'm too fucking ruined for you."
You looked up into his eyes, your vision blurred by tears, seeing the absolute, undeniable truth. The biker king hadn't stopped loving you. He had just been bleeding in silence, waiting for you to come down from your high tower.
"I don't want the perfect life," you sobbed, leaning your face directly into his warm palms, completely melting under his touch. "I don't care about the reputation, Jungkook. I just want the poison. I just want you."
Jungkook let out a broken, beautiful laugh, his eyes shining with his own unshed tears in the dark. "It's not poison anymore, princess," he whispered against your lips, his forehead resting gently against yours as the rain poured around you. "It’s just us."
The heavy roar of the storm faded the moment Jungkook pushed open the door to his off-campus apartment. It was a small, cluttered space that smelled of motor oil, rain, and the familiar, grounding scent of his cologne. For months, this room had been a battlefield of sharp words and angry tension. Tonight, as the lock clicked into place behind you, it felt like the only safe harbor left in the world.
The transition from the freezing rain to the warmth of the apartment was instant, but neither of you moved to turn on the lights. The only illumination came from the amber glow of the streetlights outside, casting soft, long shadows across the wooden floorboards.
You stood near the entryway, your clothes damp and your shoulders still trembling slightly from the aftershocks of your breakdown. Jungkook didn't say a word. He stepped close, his movements stripped of all his usual rough, impatient speed. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his large hands reached out to unbutton your wet trench coat. He peeled the heavy fabric from your shoulders and set it aside, his fingers brushing against your neck with a gentle, steady warmth that made your chest ache with a profound sense of relief.
When you looked up at him, the dark, manic obsession that usually burned in his eyes had completely softened into something quiet and deeply reverent. He looked at you as if you were something fragile, something he had spent a lifetime searching for and had finally brought home.
"You're freezing, brat," he whispered, his voice a low, gentle rumble in the quiet room.
"I'm okay," you breathed, your voice still thick from crying. You reached out, your fingers curling around the hem of his damp leather jacket. "Just... don't go far."
A soft, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips—a look so rare and completely beautiful it made your heart stutter. "I’m not going anywhere. Never again."
He shed his heavy jacket, letting it drop to the floor, and guided you toward the small bedroom in the back. There was no chasing you into dark corners, no slamming your back against a cold wall, and no angry demands for your submission. He pulled back the thick, dark blankets of his bed and waited for you to crawl inside before slipping in right beside you.
The moment his broad, bare chest pressed against your back, the last remaining pieces of your high-society armor completely turned to dust. He wrapped his massive arms around your waist, pulling you securely against his torso, his chest heaving with a deep, content sigh as he buried his face in your damp hair. For a long time, you just lay there in the dark, listening to the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against your shoulder blade, letting the pure relief of being held wash over you.
When he finally shifted, rolling you onto your back, the air between you felt entirely different from anything you had ever shared. The frantic, desperate friction of the past three months was entirely gone.
Jungkook leaned down, his large, scarred hands framing your face with a tenderness that made tears prick the backs of your eyes. His mouth met yours in a kiss that was slow, deep, and completely filled with an aching devotion. It wasn't an attack or a claim; it was a conversation, a quiet apology for every scar and every cruel word that had passed between you on that frozen bridge. You melted completely into the mattress, your hands coming up to cradle the back of his neck, pulling him closer as you drank in his heat.
"I love you, princess," he murmured against your lips, the confession raw, quiet, and completely unforced. "I'm sorry I let you think I could ever walk away."
"I love you too, Jungkook," you whispered back, the words breaking through your throat with an absolute, undeniable certainty. "Don't ever let me go back to that tower."
"Never," he promised.
His hands moved down your body, tracing the curves of your skin through your clothes with a slow, worshipful pace. When he removed the rest of your damp clothing, it wasn't with a violent rip or an impatient tug. He took his time, his eyes following every inch of your skin in the dim amber light, his jaw clenching not with rage, but with a profound, overwhelming awe.
He rose above you, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world. Jungkook unbuckled his belt slowly, setting it aside without a sound. When he guided his thick, hard length to your core, there was no sudden, bruising thrust. He rested his forehead against yours, his dark eyes locking onto your gaze with an absolute, undivided focus.
Slowly, with a gentle, deliberate pressure, he eased his thick dick inside your tight, incredibly wet core.
A soft, trembling gasp escaped your lips, your eyes closing for a fraction of a second before his rough thumb gently nudged your chin up, silently asking you to look at him. As he sank all the way to the root, filling you completely, the sensation wasn't a burning fire—it was a deep, healing warmth that seemed to stitch the fractures in your soul back together.
Jungkook let out a long, ragged breath, his muscles trembling slightly as he held himself still inside you, letting your body adjust to his size. He began to move with a slow, heavy, and incredibly smooth rhythm. Every single stroke was deliberate, deep, and filled with a tender care that made your hips rise naturally to meet him.
There was no rush, no fear of being caught, and no mean energy driving his movements. It was just the soft friction of skin against skin, the quiet sound of your shared breathing, and the steady, unbreakable connection between your hearts. Your fingers traced the smooth skin of his back, feeling the ripple of his muscles as he loved you with a quiet, patient desperation.
"You feel so perfect," he panted softly against your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving behind soft, warm kisses instead of bruises. "My beautiful, perfect girl."
The pleasure built slowly, rippling through your veins like sweet, liquid gold. It wasn't a violent explosion that left you ruined; it was a beautiful, ascending wave that carried both of you together. Your internal walls began to pulse tightly around his thick shaft, your breathing turning into small, soft whimpers of pure, unadulterated relief.
Jungkook's pace quickened just a fraction, his thrusts becoming slightly deeper, heavier, but never losing that profound, gentle protective edge. He slipped his hand down between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit, applying a soft, rhythmic pressure that perfectly matched the steady slide of his dick inside you.
The combination was entirely overwhelming in its sweetness. You arched your back slightly, your eyes locked onto his dark, loving gaze as a soft, trembling orgasm rolled through your body. You cried out his name into the quiet room, a sound of pure surrender.
Hearing his name on your lips broke the last of his restraint. Jungkook let out a low, gravelly groan, his body going rigid as he delivered two final, deeply loving surges. With a sharp, breathless gasp, he came deep inside you, pouring his thick, hot release into your core, filling you up until you both felt completely whole.
He didn't pull away immediately. He collapsed softly against you, shifting his weight so he wouldn't crush you, but keeping his body wrapped tightly around yours. He pulled the thick blankets over both of your shoulders, shielding you from the remnant chill of the storm outside.
As the quiet night settled over the apartment, you rested your head against his chest, your fingers intertwined with his scarred hand. The contract was over, the high tower was empty, and the world outside could say whatever it wanted. For the first time in your life, as you fell asleep to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you were completely, beautifully free.
…
(🤍) I hope I managed to do justice to your patience! Since so many of you wanted this to be a series, I made this part extra long. Sadly, I don’t think I’ll be continuing it any further because I feel like this story has reached its natural ending. Do let me know what you think!! 🤍