come see me.

The front door closed behind him with a soft click.

Outside, the world was still spinning. Reporters still lingering, flashes still going off, Jimin already texting him nonsense from the car en route to his apartment, but in here?

It was just him.

And you.

Jungkook exhaled as he slipped out of his boots, the weight of eighteen months settling at his feet like dust. The air inside your home was warm, humid with the scent of ginger, sesame oil, and garlic—your cooking. His favorite. The smell hit him in the chest like a memory and a promise.

He dropped his duffel by the door, throat tight.

“I’m home,” he called softly, voice already laced with need.

From somewhere deeper in the apartment your voice floated back, cool and calm and unmistakably you.

“Get on your knees.”

His breath hitched.

The smile that crept across his lips wasn’t a happy one, it was relieved.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

Jungkook was already sinking to the floor.

His knees hit the wood with a quiet thud. He rolled his shoulders back and laced his fingers behind him, eyes fixed on the hallway ahead…waiting.

Breath slowing. Head bowed slightly. Heart racing in his chest like a drum called to war.

Just like that, his body remembered.

Even after months of rigidity, rules, and military order, this was what brought him peace. You were his structure. His command. His reward.

His cock hardened instantly in his fatigues, straining uncomfortably against the stiff material, but he didn’t adjust it. Didn’t move. Not without permission.

Jungkook closed his eyes.

God, he’d missed this.

Missed you.

Missed the sound of your voice, stern, soft, all powerful.

Missed the weight of your gaze on him.

Missed the way his body hummed the moment you took control.

And now he was here, finally home, hands folded neatly behind his back, knees pressed to the floor, and waiting patiently.

Ready.

Yours.

—

His knees had gone numb.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t fidget. Didn’t shift. Didn’t so much as glance around the room.

Jungkook knelt where you told him to, hands clasped behind his back, cock straining beneath the tight press of his uniform. And when the scent of your perfume slid around the corner, wrapping its fingers around his throat like silk?

He nearly whimpered.

Then you stepped into view.

And he did whimper.

Because you were in nothing but an apron. Thin cotton tied at the back, hem brushing your thighs, the curve of your hips bare, your chest barely concealed, nipples peaked beneath the soft fabric.

You tilted your head, not missing the way his breath hitched at the sight of you.

“Well,” you said, voice lilting like amusement dripped in honey, “they let you out early. Thought for sure they’d keep the kitchen staff for cleanup.”

Jungkook’s cheeks flushed.

“I wasn’t—”

You raised a brow. “You weren’t what, soldier?”

He shut his mouth fast, eyes lowering. “I wasn’t trying to argue, mistress.”

You hummed approvingly, arms crossing under your breasts. “Smart. Just a glorified cafeteria boy and still knows his place. I’m impressed.”

His cock throbbed at your words, the quiet cruelty in your tone, and the heat building behind your eyes.

And you knew it.

“Still so obedient after all this time,” you murmured, taking slow, measured steps toward him, heels clicking against the wood. “Still kneeling so pretty. Like nothing’s changed.”

You paused just a few feet in front of him. Close enough to see the way his throat bobbed. Close enough for him to smell the perfume on your skin and the faint hint of something sugary in your hair.

“But something has changed,” you whispered. Then, slowly, teasingly, you untied the bow at your back, and the apron slid forward an inch.

Jungkook’s eyes remained fixed on your feet, but you could see the tremble in his jaw, the flush on his neck.

You pulled the apron loose from your body, baring your chest, your stomach, the curve of your thighs—everything.

His breath stuttered.

“Be good,” you warned softly. “Eyes down.”

He didn’t move.

Not even when the apron dropped to the floor in front of him like a gauntlet.

You stepped out of it, bare now in every way that mattered, and paced around him like a flame licking at the edges of his restraint.

And still, he didn’t look.

Perfect.

“You’ve missed this, haven’t you?” you whispered, circling him like a predator. “Missed this house. This smell. This floor. Your place on it.”

“Yes, mistress,” he rasped, voice hoarse with need.

You stopped behind him, leaned in close.

“Missed me?”

His head bowed further, nearly to the floor. “More than anything.”

Your hand softly cupped his throat from behind, full of possession.

“You poor thing,” you murmured. “So starved for touch, and yet still so well trained. You’re mine, aren’t you, Jungkook?”

“Yes, mistress. Always.”

“Good.”

You moved back into view, standing before him once more.

“Now,” you said, stepping just close enough that the scent of your arousal reached his nose, “I’m going to cook while you continue kneeling like the good boy you are. And if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll let you taste what you’ve really been craving when I’m done.”

Jungkook bit down a moan and bowed his head again.

“Thank you, mistress,” he whispered, trembling.

Jungkook’s thighs ached. His back protested. His cock throbbed so hard it felt like it had its own pulse.

Still, he didn’t move and didn’t speak.

Just continued kneeling where you left him. Staring at the apron piled in front of him.

He listened to the rustle of cookware and the faint bubbling of sauce from the stove. The way your heels clicked against the floor as you moved through the kitchen. Occasionally, he caught the sound of you humming to yourself under your breath, unconcerned with his presence.

That alone made him dizzy.

He was here, in your home, finally, after months of nothing but letters and rules and routines. And you were treating him like the obedient little thing he was, like no time had passed at all.

It made his chest ache.

It made his cock ache worse.

By the time you returned, your steps slow and measured, the food steaming behind you on the dining table and your nipples tight in the cool air, Jungkook felt like he was seconds from begging.

But he stayed still.

And you smiled.

“Good boy,” you purred. “Eighteen months and you’re still perfectly trained.”

His breath left him in a shaky exhale.

You stepped closer, brushing a finger beneath his chin, tilting his head up ever so slightly until he dared to meet your eyes.

“I want you to go wash your hands, bunny,” you said sweetly. “Use the powder room. You can stand now.”

Jungkook obeyed immediately.

He rose in one fluid movement, stiff from stillness but graceful all the same. His cock strained visibly in his pants, but he made no move to relieve it. Only offered you a bow of his head and whispered, “Yes, mistress,” before padding toward the powder room off the kitchen.

He passed you on the way, close enough to feel the heat radiating from your skin, close enough to inhale the sweetness clinging to your collarbone. He caught only a flicker of your bare back as he disappeared into the hall.

He washed his hands in silence, trying not to groan when he adjusted himself briefly in his fatigues.

When he returned, you were already at the table, one perfectly crossed leg revealing the curve of your thigh. A soft hum passed your lips as you filled his plate. Rice perfectly fluffed, meat steaming, the banchans were fragrant and colorful. You filled your own next, then folded your hands in your lap.

“You may eat.”

It was the softest command he’d received all day.

And yet it hit him the hardest.

Jungkook bowed his head gratefully before picking up his chopsticks. The first bite of meat melted on his tongue. Tender, spiced, cooked with the kind of love no military cooking could ever mimic.

He moaned.

Loudly.

“Fuck, mistress,” he said before he could stop himself. “This is so good. I—”

Then he looked at you again.

And almost choked.

Because while he was there, tucked beneath the soft glow of dining room light and chewing on perfectly seasoned chicken, you sat across from him, completely naked. Wearing nothing but a pair of stiletto heels and a small smile.

Casually eating.

Unbothered.

Like you weren’t slowly driving him to madness.

“M-mistress,” he stuttered, chopsticks freezing midair. His eyes dropped from your face to your breasts, to the bare skin of your stomach, to the place where your thighs pressed together just beneath the table.

He swallowed hard.

You didn’t look up. Just plucked another piece of chicken from your plate and chewed slowly.

“What is it, Jungkook?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“I—uh—” he tried, shifting in his seat.

“Is your food not to your liking?”

“No, mistress! It’s—it’s perfect.”

You finally looked up, eyes glittering. “Then eat, bunny. I didn’t spend all evening in the kitchen just for you to drool over my tits.”

Heat slammed into his gut like a fist.

“Yes, mistress,” he whispered, red faced, and forced another bite into his mouth—eyes darting between his food and your legs beneath the table.

—

The first time your heel brushes his cock, Jungkook nearly drops his chopsticks.

It’s subtle at first, just the curve of your foot nudging between his thighs, tracing along the inseam of his fatigues. But even that has him blinking hard, trying to stay composed, trying not to groan around a mouthful of rice.

Then the pressure increases.

The point of your heel glides up the length of his cock beneath the table, cruel and delicate. Jungkook’s whole body jerks.

You look completely serene, chewing thoughtfully, sipping water like your foot isn’t pressing into his crotch with dangerous precision.

“Mistress,” he gasps softly, hips stuttering beneath the table.

You don’t look at him. “Did you follow the rules?”

He knows what you mean.

“Yes, mistress,” he whispers, voice strangled with restraint. “I didn’t touch myself. Not once.”

Your smile is slow and satisfied. “Not even once?”

“Not even once,” he repeats, breathless. “I—I thought about you every night. But I didn’t touch.”

“Mmm…” You hum in approval, still not looking at him. “Such a good boy.”

Jungkook makes a noise, something like a half moan, half exhale as you press firmer, dragging the tip of your heel down the underside of his cock to rest just above his balls. His pulse hammers under his skin and sweat beads at the nape of his neck.

It’s not just the teasing—it’s you. You and your heels and your control. The scent of roasted meat still lingering in the air. The faint glisten of body oil on your bare chest. And now the image of your foot sliding along the line of his cock like you own him.

Because you do.

He grips the table’s edge to ground himself. His food forgotten.

“You’re not eating,” you note, eyes finally flicking to him. “Are you full?”

“I—” Jungkook swallows thickly, his cock straining violently against his pants. “Yes, mistress. I’m done. Thank you for cooking.”

Your head tilts, pleased.

“You’re welcome, bunny.” Then you lean back, voice dipping low. “I made your favorite for dessert.”

Jungkook’s eyes go wide.

You slide your chair back with a low scrape of wood on wood, then slowly spread your legs.

Jungkook forgets to breathe.

You’re wet and glistening under the warm light. And not wearing a single thing but those devastating heels means he can see everything. The soft, shaved curves of your pussy. The glint of slick between your folds. The shadowed heat waiting just for him.

His mouth waters instantly.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers, barely audible.

You trace two fingers lightly over your inner thigh and smile. “You’ve been such a good boy, Jungkook. Do you want dessert now?”

He nods too fast, eyes locked between your legs like a starving man watching his first meal in months. “Yes, mistress. Please.”

You let your fingers slip lower, brushing just barely against your center as your voice goes saccharine sweet.

“Then crawl.”

He’s out of his chair in a second, already on his knees.

His fatigues scrape against the floor as he moves, but he barely notices. Not when you’re seated before him like a goddess in nothing but heels and power. His mouth is dry, his heart a war drum in his chest.

You spread your legs wider and Jungkook feels his pulse skip.

“Hands behind your back.”

The command is soft, but it cuts through him like a lash.

He obeys instantly, tucking his wrists behind him, spine straight, eyes locked on your dripping cunt. His cock aches where it’s trapped in his pants, throbbing in time with the tension that coils deep in his belly. But he doesn’t complain. He doesn’t move without your say so.

“Go ahead,” you murmur. “Eat.”

Jungkook leans forward slowly, savoring the moment. The scent of you hits first. All warm and musky, and familiar. He closes his eyes just for a second, inhaling like he’s been denied oxygen for eighteen months.

And then his tongue touches you.

You gasp as he groans, licking up the length of your slit with an eager stroke. His mouth latches onto your clit immediately, suction gentle but insistent. He moans again, tongue swirling, lips parting to press hot, open kisses into your folds like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

The sound of you drives him mad as he works your pussy slowly.

Jungkook tastes you like a man starved, tongue sliding through every crease, every soft dip, learning you all over again. But the more you squirm, the more he hears those little breathless sighs and choked moans from above, the more frenzied he becomes.

You reach down, fingers threading into his hair.

“Such a good boy,” you whisper, tugging him in closer. “My perfect, obedient boy.”

He groans, rutting his hips into the air at the praise, tongue fucking into you faster. His nose bumps your clit just right, and your thighs tense around his ears. Your heel presses into his back like a brand, keeping him in place.

“You missed this, didn’t you?” you murmur, breath hitching. “Missed worshiping your Mistress?”

Jungkook nods the best he can with his mouth stuffed full of your cunt, moaning against you like he’s already coming.

You’re close and he knows it. You always tremble right before. Your thighs quiver just slightly, and your fingers tighten in his hair, and your cunt starts to pulse around his tongue like it knows him.

“Don’t stop,” you warn, voice sharp and sweet. “You stop and you don’t get to cum tonight.”

He doubles down.

Flicks your clit faster. Presses his tongue deeper. Lets his jaw go slack so he can shake his head slowly between your thighs, building pressure just the way you taught him.

Your moan breaks into something breathless and high.

And then you’re cumming.

Hard.

Your thighs clamp tight around his ears, your hips bucking into his face, and Jungkook moans like he’s the one unraveling. He keeps licking through it, keeps drinking down everything you give him until your body slowly starts to relax.

You release his hair gently, your chest rising and falling in time with your breath.

Jungkook pulls back only when you nudge him, his chin slick, lips swollen and his eyes dazed with pure adoration. He waits, hands still behind his back, looking up at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

You lean forward and drag your thumb across his lower lip.

“Good boy,” you purr. “Now get undressed. Slowly. I want to watch.”

Jungkook rises to his feet with devotion in every movement. His fingers go first to the buttons of his fatigues, but he pauses, looking at you for permission. A single nod is all it takes. He begins to undress, slowly, just like you told him.

He peels off each layer like it’s an offering, uniform jacket first, folded neatly and set aside. Then his undershirt, tugged over his head with trembling hands. You watch him the whole time from your seat, your legs still spread, your slickness glistening between your thighs, heels propped wide.

And yet…

There’s a softness in your gaze now. Just for a second.

It makes his chest ache worse than his cock.

You’re smiling. Not smug or sultry, but happy. A smile that cracks the mask of power you wear like a second skin. Your eyes shine, your throat tightens slightly, and Jungkook watches your smile tremble as you whisper, “I can’t believe you’re really home.”

He freezes, shirt halfway off.

The breath he takes is shallow, shaky. His voice barely works when he says, “I missed you so much, noona. I thought about you every day.”

You rise from your chair and you close the distance between you in three small steps. Your fingers find his jaw, thumbs brushing just beneath his eyes. And for a moment, just a moment, you pull him into a kiss that’s heartbreakingly gentle.

No teasing. No control.

Just lips pressed to his like you’re afraid he’ll disappear again.

It’s him who makes a sound this time. A broken little whimper against your mouth. His arms twitch at his sides, needing to hold you, touch you, anchor you. But he doesn’t. Not without permission.

When you pull back, you’re flushed, breath shallow. You’re so visibly happy it knocks the air out of his lungs.

But then your gaze sharpens.

The softness is gone in an instant, replaced by the glint of control in your eyes that makes Jungkook’s knees weak.

“Did I tell you to stop undressing?” you ask.

He scrambles. “No, Mistress. I’m sorry.”

“Then why are you standing there like you forgot how to move?”

“I didn’t—I’m just—” He bites back the babble of excuses, ducking his head. “I’ll be good.”

“I know you’ll be good,” you say, circling him slowly like a wolf scenting prey. “You always are.”

You stop behind him.

Your palms brush over his back, down his sides, and he shivers when your nails lightly drag over his ribs.

“Get rid of the rest. Now.”

Jungkook obeys at once, pushing his pants and briefs down his legs with trembling urgency. His cock springs free, flushed dark, glistening with need and arching up toward his navel. He steps out of the rest of his clothes, then straightens, arms at his sides, chest rising and falling fast.

You step in front of him again.

Look down.

Smile.

“My, my. Look at you,” you murmur. “Still obedient. Still desperate, and so fucking hard for me.”

He whines, hips twitching forward instinctively.

Your hand shoots out, palm cracking lightly against his thigh. “Ah-ah. You do not fuck the air.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he whispers, head spinning.

You grab his chin and tilt his face down toward yours. “You’re not going to cum until I say so.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

You trail your fingers down his chest, past his navel, barely grazing the base of his cock. He moans, knees wobbling slightly.

“You’ve been so patient,” you whisper, brushing your lips over his jaw. “So well behaved.”

Your hand closes around him slowly.

He groans, cock twitching in your grip.

You pump him once. Twice. Enough to make his thighs tremble before you pull away completely.

“Go lie down,” you say. “We’re just getting started.”

Jungkook stumbles toward the bedroom without hesitation, cock bobbing with each hurried step.

And you follow, your gaze locked on your boy. Your boy who waited eighteen months to come home to you. Your boy who would burn the world just to kneel at your feet again.

—

He reaches the bedroom and pauses just inside the threshold, unsure if he’s allowed to climb onto the bed without being told.

But you’re already behind him, watching.

“Good boy,” you say softly.

Jungkook swears his knees nearly give out. Those two words hit deeper than any kiss, deeper than any touch. He feels them all the way in his gut.

“On the bed. Head at the pillows.”

He scrambles up, doing exactly as he’s told. His cock aches, heavy and flushed against his stomach, but he doesn’t dare touch it. Not without instruction.

You take your time walking around the room. Your heels echo softly against the wood floor, and the only thing Jungkook can focus on is the gentle sway if your hips with every step.

Then he hears the drawer and soft metallic clink of cuffs.

His breath catches.

You walk over to the bed, holding a pair of padded leather restraints in your hand. The sight of them sends Jungkook’s heart pounding. His hips twitch upward instinctively before he forces himself to be still.

“Hands above your head,” you say.

He obeys without hesitation, and you crawl onto the bed with the calm, practiced ease of someone who’s done this many times and knows exactly how to break him apart.

Your fingers brush over his wrists, and Jungkook swears he could come from just that.

“Still okay?” you murmur, checking his eyes.

“Yes, Mistress,” he says, voice breathless. “Please—yes.”

The cuffs go on gently, secured to the headboard with quiet clicks. They’re snug, but soft. Comforting, even. Like he belongs there.

You sit back on your heels and admire him.

There he is—spread out for you, skin flushed, chest rising and falling fast, cock leaking against his stomach, muscles twitching as he fights to hold still.

And when your hand trails from his collarbone down his chest, Jungkook moans, his arms flexing uselessly against the restraints.

“Look at you,” you murmur. “So obedient. So hard.”

He swallows. “I missed this.”

You smile, slow and wicked. “I can tell.”

You don’t touch him again. Not yet.

Instead, you shift to the end of the bed and sit between his spread thighs. Your hands push gently at his knees, encouraging him to stay open for you. Then you lean in and press a kiss to his inner thigh. Not his cock. Just beside it.

He moans, shivering at the softness of it.

Another kiss. Higher this time.

And another, near the base of his shaft.

He whines, tugging helplessly at the restraints.

“M-Mistress…”

“Something you want, bunny?”

He chokes on a breath. “Please touch me.”

“Oh?” Your lips graze the tip of his cock but never wrap around it. “You were so good for so long. Not even one touch while you were away?”

“No, Mistress,” he gasps. “I followed the rules.”

“Even when you couldn’t sleep?” you ask, voice lower now, sultry and curious. “Even when the barracks were dark and quiet and you were all alone… hard and aching for me?”

He whimpers.

“Yes, Mistress,” he says again. “I didn’t touch myself. Not once.”

You finally reach out, stroking a single fingertip along the underside of his cock.

He twitches violently, hips jerking upward before he can stop himself.

“Mmh,” you sigh. “You really are my good boy, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he pleads, voice already beginning to break. “Please—please let me cum.”

You wrap your hand around him.

Not to stroke. Just to hold him, and he moans, helpless under the weight of your grip.

“You don’t get to come yet,” you whisper. “You’re going to thank me properly first.”

Jungkook nods, trembling, eyes wide and glassy. “Yes, Mistress. Anything.”

You shift up the bed again and straddle his face.

His heart nearly bursts from his chest.

And then—you lower yourself slowly until your heat is pressed against his mouth.

He groans like he needs this more than air.

His tongue works desperately between your folds, lapping and sucking, nose buried in the soft swell of you, and your moans. Those soft breathy sighs make him throb helplessly in the air.

He licks like he’s praying.

You ride his face with a slow, controlled rhythm, fingers gripping his hair, and he lets you take everything from him, his breath, his restraint, his mind. When you finally come, shuddering and gasping, he moans beneath you like he just found heaven.

And when you lift off of him, soaked and radiant, you smile down at him like he’s your prize.

“Still want to cum, bunny?”

He’s breathless. “More than anything.”

You reach between his thighs and stroke him once, twice, just enough to make him cry out.

Then you climb off the bed, and leave him there.

Eyes wide.

Mouth parted.

Cock leaking.

And you say, cool and casual, “Then be patient. We’re not done yet.”

He watches you walk away from the bed, his entire body trembling with need. His cock pulses in the air, flushed dark and leaking, glistening at the tip with every beat of his heart. Every instinct screams at him to chase you, to reach for you, to do something.

But he can’t.

His wrists are still cuffed above his head. And you haven’t told him to move.

So he doesn’t.

Instead, he watches, helpless and hungry, as you walk over to the dresser and open the shallow velvet lined drawer. The one that holds all the toys you love to use on him. His eyes go wide when you lift the wand vibrator from its place.

You don’t say a word as you climb back onto the bed.

But your smile speaks volumes.

You straddle his thigh, kissing the inside of his knee, then the curve of his hip. He’s panting already. Shaking. Barely keeping his whimpers contained.

The wand hums to life in your hand.

And you barely touch the head of his cock.

“Ah—fuck!” Jungkook cries, hips bucking despite himself.

You pull the wand away instantly.

“Tsk,” you scold softly. “What did I say about staying still?”

“I-I’m sorry, Mistress,” he gasps. “I couldn’t help it.”

You hum, tapping the wand lightly against his thigh.

“I think you can help it. You just need… more practice.”

And then you begin again.

The wand returns to the base of his shaft this time, sliding slowly up the length of him before you lift it just as it kisses the swollen head. Again and again. No pressure. No friction. Just the constant vibration around him but never enough.

Jungkook moans, his hands clenching into fists above him, his abs twitching as he tries to keep himself anchored.

“Please,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Please, Mistress… please let me cum…”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hmm… no.”

You stroke him once with your free hand. Just once.

It’s devastating.

He cries out again, hips stuttering, the heat coiling too tight in his belly now, too fucking much to endure.

“You want to cum that badly, bunny?” you murmur, placing the wand against his inner thigh while your hand wraps around his cock.

“Yes,” he breathes, chest heaving. “Yes—please, I’ll do anything.”

Your grip begins to move. Slow, deliberate strokes, paired with the soft hum of the wand teasing the space just beneath his balls.

“Anything?” you echo.

He nods rapidly, moaning, breathless and ruined. “Yes. Yes, Mistress.”

You lean over him, your mouth just above his, voice a whisper of silk and steel.

“Then you’ll hold it.”

He sobs.

Because he knows what’s coming.

You stroke faster, the wand drifting closer, the pressure finally increasing. His body arches, tenses, his thighs trembling. He’s right on the edge.

You lean in again, licking a stripe up his throat before whispering, “Don’t you dare cum.”

He tries. He tries so hard. But he’s been waiting eighteen long months. His mind is foggy, body burning, nerves alight with the promise of release.

And it breaks him.

He comes with a choked cry, body convulsing under your touch as his release spills across his belly and chest, thick and hot and endless. His entire body shudders from the force of it.

And the moment he’s finished you stop. The wand powers off with a click. And your hand stills. Silence settles in the room, save for Jungkook’s panting breaths and the soft whine of his voice breaking.

“I’m sorry…” He sounds wrecked. Wrecked and afraid.

You climb up beside him and stroke his hair back from his forehead.

“I know,” you say softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That was beautiful, bunny. But I told you not to cum.”

Tears prick at his eyes.

“I tried—I tried so hard—”

You hush him gently. “You did. And I’m proud of you.”

You press your lips to his temple and uncuff his wrists slowly, gently, massaging each one after the release.

“But you’ll need to be punished.”

Jungkook nods, broken and grateful. “Yes, Mistress. Please.”

You smile. “Don’t worry. That’ll come later.”

You let him curl up in your arms after that, pressing slow kisses to his flushed cheeks and whispering praise in his ear. You stroke his hair, gently bring him back down. He clings to you, boneless, sated, and soft.

Eventually—your hand drifts back between his thighs.

He gasps softly.

“You didn’t think you were done, did you?”

The cuffs are gone, but his wrists still tingle with the phantom ache of restraint.

Jungkook blinks up at you, eyes glassy and red rimmed, his body limp where it sinks into the bed. He’s flushed everywhere, chest rising and falling, thighs twitching with leftover tremors, cum drying sticky across his skin.

You sit beside him, naked and composed, with a wet towel in hand and that same unreadable look in your eyes. He knows that look. Knows it so well.

It means you’re checking in.

You don’t speak at first, just reach out and gently clean him. Your touch is soft. Wiping his chest, his belly, between his legs. He doesn’t even flinch when you wipe over his sensitive cock, still hard, flushed and twitchy from being pushed too far too fast.

He moans softly instead, half lidded eyes watching you work.

When you’re done, you lean forward and press your forehead to his.

“Color?” you whisper.

His throat works around the swell of emotion. “Green, Mistress.”

You cup his cheek with your clean hand, brushing your thumb over the curve of his cheekbone.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he breathes. “Better than okay. I… I missed this. Missed you.”

The honesty in his voice carves right through you, and for a moment, the second time today, you falter. The hard edges soften. The roles blur. Your fingers slide into his hair and your lips meet his in a kiss that’s less command and more confession.

You whisper his name like a prayer. He whispers yours back like he’s scared it’ll disappear.

“Did I push too far?” you murmur, eyes searching.

Jungkook shakes his head immediately, pressing into your palm like a cat begging for affection.

“No. Please don’t hold back with me. I need this. I need you.”

You nod slowly, exhale against his jaw.

“Then I’ll take care of you. Just like always.”

You coax him to sit up so you can massage his shoulders and rub balm over the light marks left by the cuffs. He leans into every touch, humming softly, melting back against your body when you cradle him from behind. His hands come up to hold your forearms where they cross his chest, grounding himself in your presence.

“Thank you,” he whispers again, voice cracking with how much he means it.

You smile, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“My good boy,” you whisper.

And just like that—he shudders again. Moans at the praise, and his cock twitches back to life, still so responsive, so eager to please.

You notice, of course. You always notice.

“Looks like someone’s ready again,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly down his torso until he’s shivering in your grasp.

Jungkook whines.

“Yes, Mistress. Please…”

You smile against his throat, kissing your way down his pulse point.

“Then hands back behind your head. Knees spread. Stay still while I decide what I want to do with you next.”

He obeys instantly. Because he always does.

—

He can’t see you.

The blindfold hugs snug across his eyes, cutting off the last of the ambient light. His breathing slows, deepens, as he settles back into submission. The sound of the drawer opening sharpens every nerve. The soft clink of buckles, the whisper of leather.

He knows what’s coming.

And he wants it.

He kneels again, this time on the bed, wrists bound behind his back in the new cuffs you’ve buckled together. His chest rises and falls with anticipation, muscles flexing as he adjusts to the vulnerable position.

You take your time.

You always do.

He hears you step around him, feels the shift of air as you circle. Every molecule of him is attuned to your presence. The soft click of your heels. The slight change in the mattress when you climb up behind him.

And then—smack.

He jerks, breath catching in his throat as your hand lands clean across his ass. Not too hard or light. Just enough to make his cock throb where it hangs heavy between his thighs.

He moans. Instinctively shifts forward.

You click your tongue.

“Back in place, Jungkook.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he pants, throat dry.

Another slap, this time to the other cheek. He moans louder, head falling forward. You lean in, tongue dragging over the faint red mark as your fingers squeeze and knead the flesh lovingly.

“Such a responsive boy,” you whisper. “You missed this, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he breathes. “Missed everything.”

You hum, pleased, and trail your fingers lower until you’re gently stroking his cock. He’s rock hard again. A bead of precum paints the tip, smearing down your palm as you tease him with a featherlight grip.

“Mm,” you muse. “So obedient. So needy. And to think you didn’t touch yourself once…”

“I wanted to,” Jungkook admits, voice tight. “Every night. Every time I thought of you. But I—I kept my promise.”

You reward him with another stroke. Another kiss between the shoulder blades. Another slap across his ass that has him biting down on a moan that still escapes.

When you finally unbuckle the cuffs and guide him onto his back, he whimpers at the relief in his arms and the heat still coiling in his belly.

You whisper, “Stay still,” and fasten the cuffs again, this time to the headboard. Then you run your palm over his blindfolded face, your thumb dragging across his parted lips before you slide two fingers into his mouth.

“Suck.”

He does.

Desperately.

And as he sucks, he hears the soft click of the bottle. The squelch of lube. The glide of something familiar being prepped above him. His cock twitches violently in response.

“Color?”

“Green, Mistress,” he gasps, lips wet.

“Good.”

When you finally push his legs up and over your shoulders, lubed fingers pressing inside him with practiced ease, Jungkook’s whole body sings. He groans shamelessly, tears welling beneath the blindfold as he rocks into your touch.

And once you’ve stretched him enough after all this time, you slide the strap on into him.

He cries out at the stretch. At the fullness. At the sound of your moan as you bottom out inside him. He never thought he could feel owned and worshipped at the same time, but here he is, spread and trembling and completely yours.

You fuck him slow at first. Delicate. Measured. His ankles tremble on your shoulders, bound wrists yanking at the cuffs, head thrown back as you fuck him deeper with each thrust.

“God, you feel perfect like this,” you murmur, hands braced on his hips. “Taking me so well. Being so good for me.”

He sobs out a moan, completely undone.

“Say it,” you command softly. “Say who owns you.”

“You do,” he cries. “You own me, Mistress. Only you.”

You reward him with a sharper thrust, angling just right so the dildo taps against his prostate until he’s wailing through gritted teeth.

He doesn’t last long.

Between your rhythm, the slap of skin, the filthy praise pouring from your mouth, and the ache of need finally being met, Jungkook cums untouched and without warning, cock spurting over his abs and chest, whole body trembling like a man possessed.

And you don’t stop.

You slow down, soften your grip, and fuck him through every aftershock like you have all the time in the world.

The cuffs clink softly as his wrists tug against the headboard.

He’s panting hard, blindfold still in place, cum cooling on his stomach, thighs trembling from the force of his orgasm.

Silence stretches.

Too long.

Your strap has already slid out of him, your touch no longer bracing his hips.

And Jungkook’s stomach knots.

He hadn’t meant to. He swore he’d last. Swore he’d hold on until you told him to let go. That’s what a good boy does. That’s what your good boy would do.

But he didn’t.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice shaking. “Mistress—”

Still, no touch. No praise. Just quiet.

“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want to…” His words falter as panic creeps in. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

You’re still watching him, silent and still. It’s not punishment, not truly, but it’s your favorite kind of discipline: space to think.

Jungkook’s voice cracks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to finish without permission.”

The desperation threads between each syllable like a plea.

“I just— It’s been so long, I tried—but you feel so good, you’re always so good to me, I just—”

He cuts himself off with a gasp when your fingers glide up his trembling thigh, smearing through his own release to press gently over his still hard cock.

“Do you think good boys cum without asking?”

“No, Mistress,” he whispers.

“So what does that make you?”

His breath catches. “A bad boy.”

“Mm. You didn’t used to be,” you hum. “I guess the military made you forget your place.”

“No!” The panic returns. “I remember. I remember everything. Please let me make it up to you. Please let me touch you—please let me taste you—please—”

You chuckle softly, cruel in the gentlest way.

“Oh, now you remember who you are.”

He nods quickly under the blindfold. “Yes, Mistress. Always yours. I never forgot. I swear.”

You loosen the cuffs slowly, not with mercy, but with intent. Dragging out the anticipation until Jungkook is free but still stays put. He doesn’t dare move without instruction. He wouldn’t.

“On your knees,” you say quietly.

He scrambles upright, kneeling between your legs at the edge of the bed, the blindfold still in place, chest heaving, body flushed and sticky with sweat and cum.

Your voice softens as you tilt his chin up.

“Look at you,” you murmur. “All messy and desperate… begging just to touch me.”

“Yes,” he breathes. “Please let me. I need you. I need to make you feel good. I missed your taste. I thought about it every night.”

You hum, pleased. “Every night?”

“Every night, Mistress.”

You finally remove the blindfold.

Jungkook blinks through the low light, eyes adjusting quickly to find you sitting on the bed in front of him. Nude, glistening, your thighs parted in invitation, your expression cool but undeniably pleased.

His mouth waters instantly.

“Show me,” you whisper. “Show me how much you missed me.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

Jungkook leans in, kisses first. Long, hungry kisses to the inside of your thighs, your hips, the softness of your belly. It’s worshipful. Apologetic. Eager.

Then his tongue finds you again.

And everything else melts away.

He moans against your pussy, tongue dragging through your folds like he’s starving. Like this is his last meal. His hands grip your thighs, squeezing gently as he buries his face between your legs, nose bumping your clit, mouth licking and sucking with deep, unrelenting focus.

You sigh, threading your fingers through his hair. “That’s it,” you murmur. “There’s my good boy.”

The sound he makes is practically a sob.

He doesn’t stop.

Not even when his jaw begins to ache. Not even when his cock twitches back to life, heavy and needy between his legs. All that matters now is you and your pleasure, your satisfaction, your forgiveness.

When you cum, thighs trembling around his head, fingers fisting his hair, your cries like music in his ears, Jungkook moans so loud it vibrates against you.

And still, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop licking even after you come. If anything, your orgasm makes him hungrier.

Your thighs clamp around his head as you ride out the high, trembling with every flick of his tongue, every suck to your clit, every whispered moan from his lips that vibrates right through you.

But then he changes it up, just slightly.

You feel the brush of his fingers against your inner thigh, slow and cautious at first. One hand slips under to support your ass, the other glides up between your folds, slippery with the mess he’s already made of you. His mouth never leaves your pussy, not for a second, as he presses one finger in.

Then another.

You gasp, hips twitching. He crooks them gently, finding your spot almost immediately, tongue still lapping softly at your clit.

“Fuck, Jungkook—” you breathe, your head tipping back, a sharp moan spilling from your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your pussy, so low it’s more breath than sound. “I’m sorry for being bad, for finishing without permission. I promise I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you—just let me make you feel good again, Mistress. Please.”

You grip his hair, yanking slightly as your orgasm builds again, even faster this time with his fingers curling just right, his lips sealing around your clit like he knows what you need before you even ask.

“I need to make it up to you,” he whines, voice tight with emotion. “I’ll do anything.”

Your orgasm tears through you like a wave, loud and messy and soaked. You jerk against his mouth, grinding down as your cries echo off the bedroom walls. Jungkook groans, drinking in every second, like the sound of your pleasure is the absolution he’s been begging for.

When you finally start to come down, body trembling and thighs slick, your chest heaving, Jungkook doesn’t retreat. He lifts his head slowly, mouth and chin wet with you, eyes wild with devotion and need.

And then you feel it.

His cock, thick and hard like velvet wrapped steel, nudging against your pussy.

He’s rocking into you gently, barely restrained, the tip of his cock bumping your clit with every roll of his hips. Just enough friction to make you moan. Just enough to torture him.

“I need you,” he pleads, lips brushing your inner thigh. “Please, Mistress. Please let me inside. Let me make you feel good—let me show you I’m still yours. That I never stopped being yours.”

Your silence nearly undoes him.

He keeps going anyway.

“Please… Please… I’ll beg for the rest of my life if I have to,” he says, voice cracking. “I need to feel you around me—I need to feel you.”

You wait until he’s on the edge of unraveling, his cock glazed in your slick, his body shaking with how badly he wants it.

Then—

“You may.”

That’s all you say.

But it shatters something inside him.

Jungkook growls, fingers curling into the sheets as he lines himself up and sinks in, balls deep in one slow, shaking thrust.

“Oh my fucking god,” he gasps, body folding over yours, chest trembling, mouth slack. “So warm… so tight… I missed this—I missed you.”

His restraint breaks.

He starts to move, fucking you like a man possessed. Each thrust is deep, deliberate, full of that intoxicating blend of apology and addiction. He ruts into you with abandon, pressing kisses to your face, your throat, your breasts, your mouth, mumbling filth and praise between gasps.

“So good… so perfect… my goddess… my everything…”

You clench around him and he shudders, hips stuttering as your nails drag down his back.

“I’ll never cum without permission again,” he groans. “I’ll be the best boy, I swear. Just don’t stop. Please don’t stop needing me.”

Your reply is a moan, breathless and broken, and Jungkook takes it as gospel.

He keeps going until you’re shaking again, the coil tightening in your gut again. And this time, when you come, his name is the only thing on your lips.

—

You roll him gently off of you and onto his back, taking care not to jostle him too quickly. His breath catches. Still shaky, still caught somewhere between release and overwhelm, and you straddle his lap with slow intention, your thighs settling to either side of his warm, trembling body.

Your palms cup his face, thumbs brushing away the damp sheen across his cheeks and brow. His skin is flushed, pink with effort and emotion, eyes shut tight like he’s trying to trap something inside.

“Koo,” you whisper, voice low and laced with concern. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the center of his forehead. “Baby. Look at me.”

His lashes flutter. His eyes open.

And the moment they meet yours, something inside him breaks open.

Not violently, there’s no sob, no collapse, but a gentle crumbling. Like a final wall finally lowering. Like something tender and fragile unfolding after being kept hidden for too long.

“I’m okay,” he croaks, though his voice trembles. “I just… you’re here. I’m here. No more counting days. No more waiting. No more sleeping on a thin mattress thinking about you until I pass out.”

You nod slowly, a lump swelling in your throat as you lower your forehead to his. Your fingers slip into his sweaty hair, stroking through the strands as your nose brushes his.

“I’m so happy you’re home,” you murmur, lips brushing against his as you speak. “So happy you’re safe. That I can touch you… hold you. Hear you breathe beside me.”

He gives a small, watery laugh. “You were always the only thing that felt real. Everything else was just noise. I kept thinking if I just made it through one more week… one more day… I’d get to feel this again.”

Your lips find his. Your mouths molding together like they’d been waiting for this exact fit all along.

And then, without a word, he guides himself back inside you.

There’s no rush, no power play, no teasing or edge of dominance. Just the slow, aching stretch of being joined again as he gasps quietly beneath you and your fingers clutch at his shoulders like you’ll float away without the anchor of his body.

You both moan in tandem, foreheads still pressed together. He holds you close, palms cradling your hips, his thumbs tracing the softness of your skin with a kind of awestruck gentleness that makes your chest squeeze tight.

You move together slowly. Naturally. The pace isn’t dictated by pleasure, but by need. By the quiet, shared desire to savor this moment.

His hands drift upward, one settling at the curve of your spine, the other cupping your jaw as if to keep you from vanishing.

You’re both so close it’s hard to tell whose breath is whose. Whose heartbeat thunders louder. Your moans mix into the same air. Your warmth curls around him like a prayer answered.

“I love you,” he breathes suddenly, like the words slipped from his chest without permission.

Your hands tighten in his hair, your hips grinding down, your body trembling around him.

“Cum for me,” you whisper, voice hoarse with love. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

He sobs as he comes. Quiet, strangled, drawn from someplace deep and private. The kind of release that feels like surrender. The kind of release that feels like home.

You follow not long after, the warmth of him inside you and the raw emotion in his eyes unraveling you in the most beautiful way. Your body pulses around him, and for a moment, the two of you just hold each other.

And when the world returns in slow focus, the sound of your shared breaths, the heat between your bodies, the tremor in his hands as he runs them along your waist, you know nothing else has ever felt more right.

—

You both stay still for a long time, hearts hammering, limbs tangled. The heat between your bodies slowly cools into something gentle, something quiet. It’s not awkward or heavy. It’s peace. Relief. A long held breath finally exhaled.

Eventually, you run your fingers down his spine, murmuring, “Come on, baby. Let’s shower.”

Jungkook makes a small sound, something halfway between a hum and a pout, before nodding. “Okay.”

He moves slowly, almost reluctantly, as you guide him into the bathroom.

The soft light of the sconces glows against the marble tile and fogs the mirror as you turn on the water. Jungkook stands behind you, hands ghosting your hips as he watches the steam rise. You glance at him in the mirror and smile, then reach back and lace your fingers through his.

When the water is warm enough, you both step in.

You guide him under the stream first, letting it cascade over his hair and shoulders, rinsing away the sweat and salt of everything you just shared.

Despite being the one who served eighteen long months, who grew broader and more powerful in your absence, Jungkook melts into you like he’s the one being protected. He bends down so his forehead tucks into the curve of your neck. His arms encircle your waist. And he doesn’t let go.

You let the water soak your hair and his, then reach for the shampoo. He stays still as you lather your hands and thread your fingers into his dark, wet strands. His breath hitches, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm as your nails lightly scratch his scalp. You massage him gently, murmuring as you work.

“So good, baby. You’ve been so, so good for me. Even when you were bad.”

Jungkook exhales a soft whimper, burying his face deeper into your skin.

“You followed every command,” you whisper against his ear. “Took everything I gave you. Didn’t stop once, even when it got hard.”

He clings to you tighter.

“And you came home to me.” You tilt his head back and rinse the suds away. “You made it back. I’m so proud of you.”

Jungkook sniffles but says nothing, letting the praise settle deep in his bones as you move to clean the rest of him. He stands obedient and still, but every time you lean in to scrub his chest or run the washcloth down his thighs, his hands find some part of you to hold—your hip, your lower back, your shoulder. As if to anchor himself. As if to remind his body you’re real.

You wash yourself quickly once he’s done, and when you shut off the water, Jungkook instantly reaches for the towel and wraps you in it before grabbing one for himself.

You dry off together in the quiet, exchanging soft touches and even softer smiles. And when you’re both finished, he swoops you into his arms with no warning, bridal style, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You laugh against his chest, draping your arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“Carrying my entire world to bed,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nuzzle into him, letting your eyes flutter shut for a moment. “I missed you so much.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I missed you more.”

He carries you to bed and lays you down carefully, pulling the thick comforter up over you both before sliding in beside you. His arms wrap around you immediately, his body curling behind yours like he can’t stand to let there be any space between you. One of his legs hooks over yours. One arm slips under your neck, the other drapes over your waist.

You both lie like that, heartbeats slowly syncing, breaths easing into a shared rhythm.

“Are you really here?” he asks quietly, voice gravelly with exhaustion. “This isn’t… a dream?”

You reach back and cup his cheek, guiding his lips to yours in a soft, lingering kiss. “I’m here. You’re here. We’re okay.”

His grip on you tightens. “I never want to leave again.”

“You won’t have to,” you promise. “No more bases. No more night shifts. No more rationed phone calls.”

“Just us,” he breathes. “Just us.”

You nod and kiss him again.

“I love you,” he murmurs, the words feather light against your skin. “So much.”

“I love you, too.”

And then, finally, your eyes slip closed.

Jungkook’s breath warms the back of your neck. His thumb rubs lazy circles into your hip. And as the quiet of the room wraps around you, you fall asleep in his arms—safe, sated, and whole.

Home.