in which your friend felix introduces you to his friend group. you immediately know you're not going to get along with their leader. he's arrogant, controlling and becoming your number one enemy. but neither of you can deny the deep-rooted desire for each other.
mdni!
warnings: heavy sexual themes, enemies, fem reader, jerking off, mentions of porn, name calling (bitch/whore/slut), a little sprinkle of degradation, deep throating (choking on his cock), use of toys (vibrator), oral, fingering, marks (hickeys/bites), bondage, safe words, spanking, unprotected sex, breeding (let me know if i forgot anything), mentions of food
wc: 9.6k
based on this drabble
felix should have warned you before introducing you to his group. instead, he had only grinned the entire drive over, one hand lazily drumming against the steering wheel while saying things like “just don’t let chan scare you off.” as if that could have prepared you for what would happen.
but you understood the second you walked in. the room shifted around him. conversations paused when he spoke. people looked at him before making decisions. even sitting back against the couch with one arm slung over the backrest, chan carried himself like he owned the place and everyone inside it.
and apparently, everyone let him.
your first impression of him settled quickly: arrogant. controlling. the kind of man who expected obedience simply because he existed.
his first impression of you formed just as fast. too observant.
he noticed the way your eyes tracked everything, the way you watched interactions instead of trying to force yourself into them. most people met him and got nervous. eager to please. careful with their words.
you didn’t. worse, you looked at him like something didn't sit right.
felix introduced you with an easy grin, entirely unaware of the tension that sparked the moment chan’s gaze landed on you.
chan leaned back slightly, eyes dragging over you once before he gave a curt nod. “heard a lot about you.” you smiled politely but your tone sounded anything but. “ditto.”
a few people in the room choked on their drinks. felix looked between the two of you like he’d just realised he accidentally lit a match near gasoline.
chan's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. and that was the beginning of it.
after that, it became a pattern, predictable in the most irritating way possible. every time you showed up, chan noticed immediately.
it didn’t matter if he was mid-conversation, or across the room pretending not to pay attention, the second you walked in, his focus shifted. like some invisible thread pulled tight between you.
you noticed it too. the way his eyes found you first. always. and somehow, every single interaction between the two of you turned into a fight.
“we’re ordering from rossi’s,” chan announced one night from the kitchen, barely glancing up from his phone. “rossi’s is awful,” you said immediately.
a silence fell over the room. han muttered, “oh, here we go.” chan looked up slowly. “awful?”
“their pasta tastes microwaved.”
“it’s italian. one of the only italian places around here."
“that doesn’t automatically make it good.”
he stared at you for a second too long before scoffing softly. “you always this difficult?”
you leaned against the counter. “you always this bossy?”
his mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile.
that should’ve warned you. because after that, he started seeking you out. deliberately.
if you sat somewhere, suddenly chan needed that exact spot. if you disagreed with something, he’d argue just to keep you talking longer. if someone else interrupted your banter, he looked annoyed by it.
and the worst part? you kept engaging. every single time.
“move,” he told you one evening when you stole his usual seat on the couch. you looked up from your drink. “there are six other places to sit.”
“that’s my spot.”
you scoffed, “sounds made up.” the room went quiet again. felix was already grinning into his drink.
chan stepped closer, towering over the couch while you refused to move even an inch. “you enjoy testing me.”
“you enjoy acting like a fucking dictator.”
“someone has to keep order around here.”
you snorted. “order? how dramatic."
his eyes narrowed. yours sparkled with amusement.
and there it was again, that awful little pull between irritation and entertainment that neither of you seemed capable of escaping.
because no matter how much chan acted annoyed by you, he kept looking for reasons to provoke you. he’d throw comments your way from across the room just to watch you snap back.
he learned exactly what got reactions out of you. the fastest way to make you glare. the quickest way to make you roll your eyes. the comments that made your lips twitch because you were trying not to laugh.
and god, he loved when you laughed. especially if it was usually at his expense.
“you know,” you said one night after he interrupted somebody for the fifth time, “normal people let others finish speaking.”
“normal people have useful things to say.”
you groaned in annoyance, “see? this is exactly why i can’t stand you.”
“funny." he drawled, eyes fixed on you over the rim of his drink, “why do you keep talking to me then?"
your stomach flipped annoyingly hard at that. because he was right. you looked away before anyone noticed the heat crawling into your face.
but later that night, while everyone else talked around him, you caught chan watching you from the other side of the room, completely focused, making it feel far more dangerous than the arguing ever had.
chan realised something was wrong the first time you followed him without actually being there.
he was at the studio, headphones hanging around his neck while he stared blankly at the unfinished track glowing on the monitor in front of him. one hand tapped impatiently against the desk. the bass loop repeated. and repeated. and repeated.
all because his brain kept replaying something stupid you’d said three nights ago. “you always act like you’re in charge even when nobody asked you to be.”
he could still hear the smugness in your voice. could still picture the look on your face when you’d said it.
“for fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath, dragging both hands over his face. it was ridiculous. you were ridiculous. annoying. argumentative. impossible.
so why the hell was he thinking about you while trying to work? even worse, why did the thought of you make his chest tighten strangely?
he shoved the feeling away immediately. hatred. obviously. that had to be what this was.
except hatred usually didn’t make his pulse jump every time his phone lit up with a message in the group chat, secretly hoping it was you.
hatred shouldn't make his cock hard. and it definitely shouldn't make his thoughts slip to you when he was jerking off.
hatred shouldn’t have made him notice your absence the second he walked into felix’s apartment friday night.
he asked about you before he could stop himself. felix looked up so fast it was almost suspicious. “damn,” he said slowly. “you didn’t even say hi first.”
chan frowned immediately. “i was just asking.” felix smirked at that, “sure you were.”
he ignored the grin spreading across felix’s face and scanned the room again anyway. you weren’t there. and suddenly, the night felt off. quieter, less entertaining. he hated that most of all.
and once he noticed it, he couldn’t stop noticing it. every room he entered, his eyes searched for you automatically. every conversation felt slightly duller when you weren’t interrupting him halfway through it. every joke landed flatter when it wasn’t making you roll your eyes.
it got worse after that. at the gym, he caught himself thinking about the way you looked at him whenever you argued, so... unimpressed. like you enjoyed challenging him just as much as he enjoyed provoking you.
this was the first time he felt the pressing need to jerk off. to the thought of you.
he rushed home from the gym, cock already half-hard in his pants. had been for the past hour. even an ice-cold shower did nothing.
he dropped his gym back to the floor, making his way to his room immediately, dropping onto his bed. he ran his hands over his face, grabbing his hair.
"fuck you." he said into the empty room before grabbing his hard on through his shorts, squeezing it.
he didn't want to do it, jerking off to you. his pride, his ego, screamed at him to stop. to not do this with you on his mind. he grabbed his phone, unlocking it with one hand while his other slipped into his pants.
porn should do it. watching any other chick, hearing her moans instead of your fucking laugh in his mind. porn used to be his remedy when his mind wouldn't shut up about you. but right now it did nothing. he only saw you. only heard you.
he groaned in frustration, closing the tab on his phone, forcing his hand to stop working his cock. it twitched desperately in his fist, demanding more.
he wanted to text you. to tell you to stop invading his thoughts. tell you how much he hated you. for being so fucking mouthy. for making it impossible for him to jerk off properly. to demand you to do something about it. but he knew you'd only mock him for it.
his thumb moved on its own as it opened his photo gallery. he didn't notice what he was searching for until he found pictures of the last time you hung out with the group.
he loved the shirt you were wearing back then. loved how it made your tits look. fuck. suddenly he was thinking about your tits, wondering what they'd feel like in his hands. he imagined you arching your back, leaning into the touch as he grabbed them, squeezed them, pinched your nipples until you were whimpering.
his hand started moving on his cock again without him realising. his mind was too far gone. he thought about swirling his tongue around your nipples, sucking on them, wondering what your moans would sound like.
but he didn't only want to suck your nipples. he wanted to suck the soft flesh surrounding them. sucking, biting until it left a mark. right on your precious tit. he'd cover you in them, leaving marks all over you. fuck, you'd look so beautiful when he was done with you.
he noticed his fist jerking his cock only when he groaned involuntarily, his eyes fixated on the screen, on the picture of you. he wanted you. needed you. so bad it made his balls tighten.
he felt his orgasm approaching. fuck no, he couldn't cum to the thought of you. no matter how many times he thought of you while jerking off, he always managed to distract himself enough, think of anything but you when he found his release.
but right now he couldn't stop. couldn't stop imagining leaving his marks on you. he wanted to spank you until your butt cheeks were all red and covered in his handprints. finally making you realise who was in fucking charge.
the thought of you surrendering to him, to having his way with you, finally made him come undone. he gave his cock a few more strokes, tearing his gaze away from his phone, head thrown back against the pillow. and he blew his fucking load to the thought of you, whispering your name into the dark room.
after that, chan started gravitating towards you unconsciously. if you were in the kitchen, suddenly he needed a drink. if you were outside, he somehow ended up outside too. if you sat on the couch, he’d lean against the wall closest to you without even realising it. and then there was the hugging thing.
god, he hated the hugging thing. you hugged everyone. felix. the other members. friends arriving. friends leaving. everyone except him.
the first time he noticed it, irritation flared so fast it startled him. the second time, it became impossible not to watch.
you’d grin at somebody, arms wrapping around them casually while chan stood nearby pretending not to care. pretending not to notice. pretending he didn’t immediately wonder what it would feel like if you touched him like that. if your tits pressed against him. your scent surrounding him.
it got even worse when someone else made you laugh. especially men.
one night, seungmin had you nearly doubled over at the kitchen counter, laughing so hard you grabbed his arm for balance.
chan felt something ugly twist in his chest. before he even realised what he was doing, he crossed the room. “what’s so funny?” he asked flatly.
your laughter faded slightly as you looked up at him.“nothing you’d enjoy.”
“try me.”
"you don’t have a sense of humor.”
seungmin laughed awkwardly before quickly excusing himself the second chan looked at him.
coward.
you narrowed your eyes immediately. “did you just scare him off?”
“if he got scared that easily, that’s his problem.”
“you’re unbelievable.”
“then stop talking to me.” he said quietly, stepping closer.
the words settled heavily between you. your expression flickered for half a second. and christ, that was another problem entirely.
because lately, every time you looked at him, he forgot for a moment that this was supposed to be hatred at all.
a few days later, a heavy summer storm hit the city. and it had gotten bad fast.
rain hammered against the streets hard enough to blur the city lights, thunder rumbling low and heavy overhead while you hurried towards the studio building with your jacket pulled uselessly over your head. you and felix had made plans to go out for dinner after the studio tonight.
by the time security let you upstairs after recognising you as “one of felix’s people,” you were completely soaked. your shoes squeaked against the floor as you pushed open the studio door with an exhausted sigh already forming, only for it to die immediately when you saw who was inside.
chan sat alone in the swivel chair in front of the mixing desk, one arm resting against the armrest while music played quietly through the speakers.
of course. you sighed dramatically. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”
he glanced over his shoulder lazily. “nice to see you too.”
“where’s felix?”
“not here, obviously.”
you rolled your eyes, already pulling your phone out.“helpful as always.”
“i try.” but when chan turned fully in the chair, whatever sarcastic response he’d been about to make stopped short.
his eyes dragged over you slowly. rainwater clung to your clothes, your shirt damp enough to stick to your skin, droplets still sliding down your neck and disappearing beneath the fabric. his dick twitched. for once, chan looked genuinely speechless.
your stomach flipped annoyingly at the expression on his face. “take a picture,” you muttered.
his jaw tightened immediately, like he’d just been caught doing something illegal. before he could answer, your phone buzzed.
felix: « storm’s too bad. roads are fucked. can’t make it tonight sorry 😭»
you stared at the message in disbelief. “you’re joking.”
“what?”
“felix bailed.”
chan snorted softly. “smartest thing he’s done all week.”
and then the power cut out. the room dropped into darkness instantly. you jumped hard enough to knock your knee against the couch beside you. “shit—”
a laugh echoed through the dark. “you scared of a little darkness?”
“absolutely not.”
“you literally jumped just now.”
a flashlight flicked on a second later, illuminating the room dimly from below as chan leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too entertained by your suffering. the lighting made him look unfairly attractive. which only irritated you further.
“what, no candles around?” you asked dryly. “could make this whole thing a little cosier.”
his brows lifted. “this is a fucking studio.”
“and?”
“not exactly a place that calls for romance.”
you snorted. “pity. you probably bang a lot of chicks here considering you’re basically married to the studio. could’ve at least provided them with ambiance.”
chan barked out a laugh at that. an actual laugh. "trust me,” he said, eyes glinting in the flashlight glow, “i don’t need romance for that.”
“oh, i’m sure your personality alone does all the heavy lifting.”
“you saying i’m charming?”
“i’m saying you’re bossy. probably sucking up to people if you want something.”
he shook his head slowly, still staring at you in that intense way that always made your heartbeat feel uneven.
outside, thunder cracked loudly enough to rattle the windows. you crossed your arms instinctively, suppressing a shiver.
unfortunately, chan noticed immediately. his eyes narrowed slightly as another tremor ran through you. “you’re freezing.”
“i’m fine.”
“you’re shaking.”
“wow,” you deadpanned, “your observational skills are incredible.”
he rolled his eyes before reaching behind him blindly, grabbing a black sweater from the couch and tossing it towards you.
it hit your chest. you looked down at it suspiciously. then back at him. “…you own sweaters? wow. didn't expect that with you always running around in your stupid tank tops." you loved the stupid tank tops.
“hilarious.”
you held the sweater between two fingers. “this thing probably reeks of ego.”
“put the fucking hoodie on.”
you snorted softly, still not moving. “i think i’d rather suffer.”
“christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “stop being so fucking stubborn.”
“make me.” the words slipped out too naturally. too easily. and the second they did, the room changed.
chan went still. the flashlight from his phone cast shadows across his face as his eyes locked onto yours with dangerous intensity.
your pulse skipped. his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting again. slowly. oh, he knew exactly how to make you less stubborn.
“careful,” he said quietly. your breath caught despite yourself.
but instead of backing down, you tilted your head slightly. “or what?”
his eyes darkened slightly at that. the storm outside seemed louder suddenly, rain hammering against the windows while the studio sat in near darkness around you.
chan leaned back slowly in the chair, one hand still holding his phone loosely against his thigh. “you really don’t know when to stop talking.”
you clutched the sweater against your chest. “you say that like you aren’t the one constantly starting arguments with me.”
“because you make it easy.”
“or maybe you’re obsessed with hearing yourself speak.”
he laughed quietly under his breath. “see?” he murmured. “there it is.”
“what?”
“that mouth.”
heat crept annoyingly up your neck. you tried to ignore it. “you mean the one that hurts your feelings every other day?” you said sweetly.
“please.” his gaze dragged over you again, slow enough to make your stomach tighten. “if anything, i think you enjoy getting my attention.”
you scoffed immediately. “you’re unbelievable.”
“you came here soaked out of your mind during a storm.”
“to see felix.”
“sure.”
“god, your ego is exhausting.”
“and yet you ended up alone with me.”
the words landed heavier than they should have. you hated that your heartbeat reacted instantly. and chan noticed, your flushed face making him way more aroused than it should.
his eyes narrowed slightly, like he was studying every tiny shift in your expression.
“you know what your problem is?” you said, mostly to regain control of the conversation.
“enlighten me.”
“you think everybody wants you.”
one corner of his mouth pulled upward. “you saying you don’t?”
your breath caught for half a second. just enough. his expression changed immediately the moment he noticed. to satisfaction? or interest? something far more dangerous underneath both.
“wow,” he said softly. “that almost sounded convincing.” you glared at him. “you’re insufferable.”
“and you’re nervous.”
“i’m cold.”
“right.” his voice dipped lower on the word. you hated the way it affected you. hated the way the flashlight glow caught against his jaw, the way his eyes stayed fixed on you like he was trying to peel apart every reaction you had.
outside, thunder cracked again. you instinctively stepped closer to him. not close enough to touch. but close enough for him to notice.
a mistake. because chan's gaze dropped briefly to your bare legs before lifting back to your face.
“put the fucking sweater on,” he said quietly this time. “why? worried about me?”
his eyes held yours. “more than i should be.”
the room went painfully still after that. your pulse stumbled hard enough to make you angry.
you ended up leaving the studio an hour later once the rain calmed enough to be manageable again. not before chan practically shoved the sweater at you a second time after catching you trying to hand it back. “put it the fuck on,” he said flatly.
“wow. so caring.”
“don’t flatter yourself.”
you rolled your eyes, but you still wore it out into the storm. and annoyingly enough, by the time you got home, you realised it smelled exactly like him.
cedar wood and clean laundry. you hated that.
hated it even more when you caught yourself pulling the sleeves over your hands and burying your face into the fabric for half a second while kicking your shoes off near the door.
“oh, this is bad,” you muttered to yourself immediately. because now your apartment smelled faintly like chan too.
meanwhile, back at the studio, chan sat alone in the chair staring at his phone like it had personally offended him. the power had returned twenty minutes ago. music played softly through the speakers again. but he hadn’t gotten any work done since you left.
his mind kept replaying the way you looked wearing his sweater. sleeves hanging past your hands.
your hair still slightly damp from the rain.
fuck.
he scrubbed a hand over his face aggressively. this was getting ridiculous. you were annoying. stubborn. mouthy. constantly arguing with him.
he did not fucking care whether you got home safe. so why was he still staring at your contact like a man possessed? his thumb hovered over the keyboard. stopped. started again. stopped.
don’t text her. seriously. don’t. you’d never let him live it down.
he tossed the phone onto the desk. picked it back up thirty seconds later. “for fuck’s sake,” he muttered.
before he could overthink it again, his fingers moved.
chan: « got home okay? »
he stared at the message the second it sent, immediate regret settling in. what the hell was wrong with him? his phone buzzed less than a minute later. and despite himself, his heart kicked hard against his ribs.
« no actually. died halfway there. »
his mouth twitched instantly. god. there it was again. that stupid rush every time you answered him.
« tragic. hope my hoodie survived though. »
you snorted softly to yourself while curling further into your couch.
« barely. still reeks of your fucking ego. »
he leaned back in the chair, smiling before he could stop himself, like an idiot.
« you still wearing it? »
your eyes narrowed at the message.
« why? you miss it? »
three dots appeared almost immediately. disappeared. appeared again. you stared at your screen way too intently.
« maybe i just don’t trust you with my clothes. »
heat crept into your face annoyingly fast.
« relax. i’m not trying to steal your precious hoodie. »
« already did. »
your stomach flipped. you hated how much you liked this version of him. because somehow, over text, the banter felt even more entertaining. like all his attention narrowed directly onto you. you bit your lip before typing back.
« you this annoying with everyone or am i special? »
this time, his reply took longer. far longer. chan stared at the message for a while, jaw tightening slightly because the answer came too easily.
you’re the only person who talks back.
you’re the only one i think about this much.
you’re the only one who gets under my skin.
instead, he typed:
« don’t let it get to your head. »
a couple days later, you found yourself back at the studio again. mostly because felix had begged you to bring him lunch after claiming he was “seconds away from starving to death.” dramatic.
you sat cross-legged on the couch while felix inhaled noodles beside you, rambling about some artist they'd been working with while music played quietly through the speakers.
you were halfway through making fun of him for nearly setting the break room microwave on fire earlier when the studio door opened.
and immediately, your attention shifted. chan walked in wearing all black, headphones hanging around his neck, one hand pushing through his hair tiredly before his eyes landed on you.
his expression barely changed. but his heartbeat did. fast enough to irritate him instantly. because there you were again, sitting comfortably in his space like you belonged there now. laughing, talking, wearing that exact expression that always made him want to argue with you just to keep your attention on him longer.
“look who decided to show up,” you said casually.
“look who keeps invading my studio.”
felix looked between the two of you with immediate interest.
chan dropped into the chair across from you before his eyes narrowed slightly. “did you bring my hoodie?” you blinked innocently. “no.” his brows lifted. “no?”
“that’s what i said.”
“you keeping it now?”
you snorted softly. “maybe i like it.”
his gaze flickered over you slowly. "should i be worried?”
“depends,” you said lightly. “you emotionally attached to it?”
“not usually.”
felix looked absolutely delighted. “jesus christ,” he whispered to himself.
you ignored him. mostly because chan was still staring at you with that infuriatingly focused expression that made you feel overly aware of yourself.
“i can go get it right now if you’re gonna be dramatic about it,” you said.
the smart response would’ve been no. he knew that. he should’ve said: don’t bother. it’s just a hoodie. bring it whenever.
instead, his mouth betrayed him. “go ahead.”
you stared at him for a second before laughing in disbelief. “you are such a fucking pain in the ass.”
“you took my hoodie.”
“you told me to wear it!"
“didn’t say permanently.”
you narrowed your eyes at him while felix openly watched the exchange like live entertainment. “see?” you muttered. “this is exactly what i mean. you always need things your way.”
“and you always pretend you don’t like giving me a hard time.”
“i could think of a million things i'd rather do.”
“sure.” god, that smug look on his face made you want to throw something at him.
instead, you leaned back against the couch dramatically. “well, too bad. i’m not going home right now just because you snapped your fingers.”
his jaw twitched slightly. “fine,” he said after a second. “i’ll pick it up tonight after the studio.”
your heart stumbled instantly, hard enough to genuinely piss you off. because suddenly all you could think about was chan standing inside your apartment. wearing that look, talking to you in that low voice, being alone with you again.
you forced yourself to stay casual. “fine.” but the word came out thinner than you intended.
his eyes stayed on you for one extra second too long before the corner of his mouth tilted upward slightly, satisfied. like he’d already figured out exactly what that idea did to you too.
a little after eight, your phone buzzed. you stared at the notification longer than necessary.
« address. »
your thumbs hovered over the keyboard while your heartbeat steadily picked up speed. this was a bad idea. letting chan into your apartment, alone, at night, after whatever the hell had been happening between you lately, felt objectively stupid.
his hoodie sat freshly washed and perfectly folded on your desk like evidence of a problem you refused to acknowledge. you should’ve just brought it to the studio earlier.
after another minute of overthinking, you sent him your address anyway. the three dots appeared almost immediately.
« be there in thirty. »
your stomach flipped. “this is so fucking stupid,” you muttered to yourself. and yet you still fixed your hair before he arrived. fucking pathetic.
exactly thirty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. of course he was punctual. you had no idea why the smallest thing about him annoyed you this much.
you grabbed the hoodie quickly before opening the door just enough to shove it towards him immediately. “here. now leave.”
chan looked down at the folded sweater in your hands before slowly lifting his eyes back to your face. “cute welcome.”
“you came for the hoodie. here it is."
instead of taking it right away, he leaned one arm against the doorframe casually. his gaze stayed fixed on you while he finally took the sweater from your hands. and then he noticed it. the scent. your detergent.
his fingers tightened slightly around the fabric. fuck. he hated how much he liked it. hated the immediate thought that crossed his mind.
you narrowed your eyes. “why are you looking at it like that?”
“nothing.”
“you’re literally glaring at your own hoodie.”
“i’m thinking.”
“dangerous hobby for someone like you.”
his mouth twitched. there it was again. that tiny almost-smile that only ever seemed to appear around you. “you washed it.”
“obviously.”
“didn’t think you had it in you.”
you scoffed immediately. “god, you’re annoying.”
“you say that every time you see me.”
“because it remains true every time i see you.”
he laughed quietly under his breath before his eyes drifted past you briefly into your apartment. “you gonna make me stand out here all night?”
“that was actually the plan.”
“rude.”
“you'll survive.” but despite the sarcasm, you stepped aside anyway.
the second chan walked past you, the atmosphere shifted. you shut the door quickly behind him before you could overthink the fact that you were now alone with him again.
his eyes landed on you again almost immediately. “you nervous?” he asked suddenly. you blinked. “what?”
“you keep fidgeting.” you immediately stopped moving out of spite. “you’re imagining things.”
“am i?”
“yes.”
he hummed softly, unconvinced. “interesting.”
“what is?”
“you only get defensive when i’m right.”
“and you only talk this much when you want attention.” his brows lifted slightly. "you think i want your attention?”
you laughed once in disbelief. “please. you practically orbit around me at this point.”
that hit harder than intended. you could tell immediately by the way his expression shifted.
chan stepped closer slowly, enough to make your pulse spike.
“careful,” he said quietly. “you’re sounding very confident for someone whose heart is racing right now.”
your breath caught. “you’re insufferable.”
“you already said that.”
“because you keep proving it.”
“then tell me why,” he murmured, eyes dropping briefly to your mouth, “you still let me in?"
the tension snapped tighter instantly.
“don’t flatter yourself,” you said, though your voice came out weaker than intended. “you came here for a hoodie.”
“right.” the way he said it made heat spread low in your stomach. because suddenly it very much did not feel like this was about the hoodie anymore.
the room felt unbearably small now. every sarcastic comment, every lingering glance, every argument between you two over the past weeks suddenly sat heavy in the air between you.
chan stayed close. close enough that you could see the tension in his jaw every time you opened your mouth again. which, naturally, only made you want to push him further.
“you know,” you said lightly, even though your pulse was completely betraying you now, “for someone who supposedly can’t stand me, you spend an awful lot of time in my personal space.”
his eyes narrowed. “you think this is me trying to be close to you?”
“i think you’re obsessed with annoying me.”
a humourless laugh left him. “trust me,” he murmured, “if i wanted to annoy you, you’d know.”
your stomach tightened hard at the tone of his voice. but you still crossed your arms stubbornly. “wow. terrifying.”
chan couldn't help but stare at your arms crossed over your tits. those goddamn tits. “you should be scared.”
“of what?”
his gaze locked onto yours completely. “of how much i’m trying not to lose my patience with you right now.”
the words hit like a physical thing, your breath catching slightly. his expression darkened. “there it is,” he said quietly. you swallowed once. “there’s what?”
“that look.”
“what look?”
“the one you get when you stop pretending you hate this.”
heat flooded your face instantly. “you’re delusional.”
“am i?” he stepped even closer. your back nearly brushed the edge of the counter behind you now. every instinct screamed at you to move. you didn’t. because despite the tension winding painfully tight in your chest, despite how impossible he was, you wanted him close.
“you talk too much,” chan muttered suddenly, eyes fixed on your mouth now instead of your eyes.
you scoffed softly, though it came out shakier than intended. “yet you’re always listening.”
“that’s the problem.” your heartbeat stumbled at his low voice. “do you have any idea,” he said slowly, “how fucking badly i want to shut that smart mouth of yours?”
silence crashed between you. your breath came shallow now. because suddenly all the tension between you two finally had a name. and judging by the way chan looked at you, he’d stopped trying to deny it entirely.
you should’ve stepped away. should’ve said something sarcastic. something sharp. something safe.
instead, your eyes flicked briefly to his lips before you whispered, far too softly: “what’s keeping you then?”
that was it. whatever restraint chan had left snapped instantly. his hand caught your jaw almost desperately before he crashed his mouth against yours. like he’d been holding himself back for weeks and finally lost the fight.
the kiss was all heat and frustration and ruined patience. you kissed him back immediately, fingers gripping the front of his shirt as his other hand braced against the counter beside you.
and god, chan kissed exactly how he argued: intense and demanding. like he tried to be in control even in the heat of the moment.
a quiet sound caught in his throat when you pulled him closer, like he couldn’t quite believe this was finally happening either.
his forehead pressed briefly against yours when he pulled back just enough to breathe, both of you visibly affected now. and then the idiot actually muttered: “still think i’m annoying?”
you let out a breathless laugh despite yourself. “the most annoying."
his mouth curved against yours again. “yeah,” he murmured, already kissing you again, “but you kiss me anyway?"
you snorted against his lips. "just trying to see whether your ego is justified."
a dark chuckle escaped chan's throat, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, his erection pressing against your lower belly.
"think you can impress me with a hard cock?" chan's hands twitched at that. he wanted to smack that smug expression of your face so badly. wanted to make you shut that goddamn mouth of yours.
instead, he inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. "watch it." he said through gritted teeth, trying to hold onto his last bit of self control.
"or what?" you replied confidently, looking up at him, smiling way too sweetly. chan's breaths came out heavier, his hips grinding against you instinctively.
"or i will show you exactly what this cock is capable of doing to you. and spoiler alert, you're not gonna like it."
you snorted at that. actually snorted, right in his face. "yeah? think you're gonna break me, channie?" the soft nickname on your lips were his complete undoing. his cock twitched, you felt it through the fabric. he placed his hands on the counter on either side of you, pulling back but caging you in. he could no longer be this close to you, he had to get his cock away from you. because he was about to snap.
"you have no idea what you're doing to me." he spoke, voice rough. a smug expression crossed your face, you leaned forward, breath hot against his ear as you whispered, "what if i know exactly what i'm doing to you?"
his hand shot up, grabbing your hair so hard it hurt, tilting your head back. you couldn't help yourself but moan out, legs clenching together. chan smirked, grip tightening in your hair, "you fucking like that? being manhandled? where's your fucking smugness now?"
you stared at him, hating how your body betrayed you. "fuck you, chan." you muttered. but that only encouraged him. he knew he had you.
"that the only comeback you can think of?" he mocked, his other hand now grabbing your jaw, holding your head in place. he pressed his body against you again. "c'mon, put that smart mouth to work. i dare you."
but you remained silent, breaths coming out in puffs as you tried to calm your racing heart. "where did your attitude go, hm?" he asked, pushing his leg between yours. he pressed his thigh against your core, making your breath hitch, looking at you with mocking eyes.
"you asked me if i think i can break you? yes, i can. tell me to stop and i will leave right through that door. but if you say yes to this, i will make sure you forget your own fucking name."
he waited. patiently. for any answer. for a simple yes or no. you blinked up at him, mind racing, until you finally nodded your head confidently. "is that a yes?" he asked, tone still mocking. "use your fucking words." his tone was commanding as ever. but he needed to hear it, needed your verbal consent.
"yes—" you choked out. and after that, all hell broke loose.
a low sound escaped chan's throat, his grip on your hair tightening, yanking your away from the counter and towards the couch. it hurt, the way he was handling you. he pushed you towards the sofa, finally letting go of your hair. "undress." he said, standing tall in front of you, arms crossed as he watched you. "i'm not gonna ask again."
your fingers trembled slightly as you started undressing yourself, eyes never leaving his. "for fuck's sake." chan muttered, clearly impatient. he smacked your hands away, basically ripping your clothes away. his hands roamed over your body, feeling your warm skin against his fingertips. you felt better than he could have ever imagined. he groaned, his mouth suddenly back on yours. the kiss was laced with desperation as his hands grabbed your tits, squeezing them through your bra before taking it off with skilled fingers. "fucking perfect." he muttered more to himself than you.
he pinched your nipples hard, needing to know how you react to it. you hissed, biting your lip, gaining a smirk from chan.
he pushed you down on the couch, standing tall in front of you. his thumb traced over your lower lip. "open." he grabbed your hair, tilting your head back. "tongue out." your jaw clenched slightly, not wanting to obey him, wanting to challenge him. but when his grip in your hair tightened painfully, you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. chan leaned forward, spitting into your mouth before sliding two fingers along your tongue. he moved them further into your mouth, his cock twitching in his pants.
"i'm gonna show you how to put that smart mouth of yours to good use, yeah?" he muttered as he started sliding his fingers in and out of you. you wrapped your lips around them, looking up at him. he pulled your hair harder, tilting your head further, retrieving his fingers from between your lips and smacking your cheek hard. "fucking answer when i'm talking to you."
your breath caught in your throat, eyes watering the slightest bit. "well right now, you're all big words and no fucking action." your snappy response earned you another slap against your cheek, coating it with your saliva that was still on his fingers.
"you fucking bitch." chan just shook his head, unable to believe that you still had the audacity to talk back. he yanked your hair. hard. moving you to lie on your back, head on the armrest of the couch. he pulled you further until your head was hanging over the edge.
he was already working on his pants, pulling them down, freeing his cock, right over your face. he gave it a few strokes, watching you. he didn't waste another second, tapping it against your lips. you smelled him, the saltiness of his precum coating his tip.
he didn't push in, not yet. he smeared his precum over your lips. "tap my thigh three times in a row if it gets too much. understand?" he asked, growing more impatient by the minute. you nodded. fucking nodded. "words, sweetheart." he said through gritted teeth.
"i understand." you said.
"good girl."
"don't fucking call me that. i'm not your good girl."
chan only grinned at that. "you'd rather i keep insulting you?"
"i'd rather you finally put that cock to use." you snapped back. he smacked your tit, making you flinch. "yeah, i fucking should. shut that goddamn mouth of yours for once."
and with that, he pushed his cock past your lips, his hips snapping involuntarily, shoving his length down your throat. "fuck—" he cursed loudly, watching your throat, how it took shape of his length. "holy—"
you immediately gagged around him, not having expected him to just shove his entire length in with no further warning.
and he fucking kept it there, making you choke, cutting off your air supply. you tapped his thigh three times, and he immediately pulled back, realising that he got caught in the moment. you immediately took a deep breath, coughing.
"you want to be treated like a fucking whore, then fucking take it like one."
"you're a fucking asshole, bang chan, you know that?"
a dark chuckle erupted from somewhere deep inside him. "yet you still take my fucking cock like you're my own personal slut." and before you could say anything, he rammed his cock back into your mouth, deep down your throat.
his hips moved in quick little thrusts, fucking your mouth till you couldn't breathe, pulling back to let you get some oxygen before repeating his movements. his hand reached for your throat, squeezing it, feeling the pressure of his own hand around his cock buried deep down.
you choked. hard. your body started jolting until he finally pulled out, a long strip of saliva still connecting your mouth to his cock.
"you're trying to fucking choke me to death?" your voice sounded hoarse, your throat so raw it hurt to talk. chan just grinned down at you, his fingers smearing your own saliva all over your pretty lips. you caught his finger, biting it.
"fuck! you bitch!" chan called in surprise, withdrawing his hand, connecting it to your cheek with a hard smack. and of all possible things you could have done, you fucking moaned at his action. "you're un-fucking-believable." chan muttered through gritted teeth.
"on your hands and knees." he ordered, voice way too calm for the storm inside him. you snorted. "don't fucking boss me around like that."
chan was losing his patience. he grabbed you, handled your body with a strength that left you breathless as he flipped you over on your stomach. "don't make me tie you the fuck up."
you snorted again. fuck, it drove him wild. he wanted to punish you for fucking breathing. "be my guest. i don't own any ropes."
a slow, wicked grin spread on chan's face. "oh, trust me. i can get very creative." and with that, his hands left you and you heard him wander off. you turned your head to the side, watching him waltz around your apartment like he fucking owned the place.
"what the fuck are you doing?" you snapped, already shuffling to get up.
"if you dare move even a fucking inch, i'm gonna spank your ass till it's burning red." your breath hitched at his words. but that still didn't stop you from rising to your feet and following him. who did he even think he was?
you found him in your bedroom, picking up a belt that was stored neatly in one of your drawers. he looked ridiculous. going through your stuff, half naked, his stupid cock still glistening with your saliva.
you stood there, butt naked, crossing your arms over your chest. "stop fucking going through my stuff."
"why? hiding something you don't want me to find?"
you snorted, "no. just don't like fucking assholes going through my things."
he walked past your bed, opening the drawer of your nightstand. "oh my god! you have no fucking respect!"
you knew what he would find. and you couldn't care less. he held up your pink vibrator a few seconds later, grinning like he found a precious treasure. "cute." he muttered.
"oh wow, blame a girl for owning a goddamn vibrator."
chan turned around, standing in front of you, vibrator in one hand, belt in the other. "you get yourself off with this thing?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"yes." you replied confidently but couldn't suppress the soft flush spreading from your neck to your face. chan grin only widened. his eyes travelled past you, landing on a light scarf hanging over the back of your desk chair. "perfect." he muttered, walking past you to grab it. "remember how i told you not to fucking move?"
you rolled your eyes, "remember how i told you not to boss me around?"
chan came up behind you. you could feel the heat radiating from his body. he threw the vibrator and the scarf on the bed. your eyes followed the items. "you know, that scarf is actually my favourite, if you ruin it—"
"don't care." he cut you off, grabbing your wrists, yanking them behind your back harshly. he tied the belt around them, making you gasp.
"and the only thing i plan on ruining," he moved his hands up your arms, fingertips ghosting over the skin, giving you goosebumps. "is you."
his lips connected to your shoulders, leaving a few kisses till he reached your neck. his arms snaked around you from behind, pulling you flush against him, his cock hard against your butt. he bit your neck hard, making you hiss, before sucking the flesh, making sure to leave a fucking mark.
he pulled back slightly, watching the skin change colour, grinning in satisfaction, before repeating it a little further up. your ass ground against his cock, making him suck your skin harder.
"fuck, you like getting marked like a fucking whore?" he whispered against your skin, his hands squeezing your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you moan. "chan—"
you moaning his name like that was his complete undoing. he needed more. needed more of you moaning his name, screaming it.
he grabbed the small vibrator from the bed, turning it on and guiding it over your hardened nipples. you pressed yourself harder against him, soft moans now constantly leaving your lips. he started grinding his hard cock against you, moving the vibrator down to your cunt, running it over your clit lazily. you arched your back, your hips starting to move against the toy. "chan, please—" you couldn't suppress the soft whimper, no idea where the sudden needy tone came from. but it made him lose his mind.
he threw you on your bed, yanking your ass up before you could even gather yourself, your hands still tied tightly behind your back.
he started wrapping your scarf around your thighs in figure 8s, tying them together. once he was done, he took a step back, admiring the view. you turned your head to the side, pressed against the mattress, ass in the air. you tried to get a glimpse of him. he stood there, swallowing hard, just... watching you.
"you're a fucking weirdo, bang chan."
his eyes didn't move away from your bare core, "shut up or i will gag you." he said as his eyes finally met yours. he moved closer to the bed, leaning forward, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of your face. "if anything gets too much, you use the word 'red' and i will stop immediately, okay?" you blinked at him a few times. the fact that he still ...cared, despite the hatred, despite you riling him up constantly, made something warm settle in your chest. "okay."
his hand started caressing your butt cheeks, way too softly. the serious expression on his face was replaced by a smirk. and then he smacked you. hard. you couldn't move, hands tied together, thighs tied together. all you could do was flinch.
"you should learn to fucking listen. if i tell you not to move, you don't fucking move." another smack. you opened your mouth, wanting to protest. he cut you off with another deliberate slap. "don't you fucking dare talking back right now." he said, making you grin. fucking grin.
"god—" he shook his head, his next smack making you wince from the sting. and then his finger just entered you with no fucking warning. you moaned out loud in surprise, moving back against his touch.
chan let out a dark chuckle. "you're so fucking desperate, it's pathetic." he said, his finger moving in and out of you with ease. "so fucking wet."
his free hand slapped your ass again, so hard it left a handprint. he added a second finger, curling them inside you, making you moan involuntarily. "fuck, chan—"
his cock twitched at you moaning his name again. fuck, that did things to him. "again." he muttered, teeth clenched, trying to keep any bit of self-control. "moan my fucking name again." he pumped his fingers faster, curling them at just the right spot, his name leaving your lips in soft moans, driving him insane.
he dropped to his knees, pulling his fingers out of you and burying his face into your cunt. "fuck!" you cried out, body jolting forwards. he grabbed your hips harshly, holding you in place as he fed on you like a man starved.
"tastes so fucking good." he groaned against you, his tongue swirling around your clit a couple of times before licking up to your entrance, pushing inside you. he reached for the vibrator again, turning it on, bringing it to your clit, while his tongue moved in and out of your hole.
you ground your cunt against him, moaning shamelessly as you felt your orgasm build up. "chan—" you moaned and he knew. he wanted to deny you the orgasm, wanted to edge you, to make you feel as desperate as you always made him feel. but he couldn't. not when you were moaning so sweetly. not when your cunt was grinding against his face so desperately.
your legs started trembling and he threw the vibrator away. it scattered on the floor somewhere as chan grabbed your hips harder, fingers digging into you so hard, they'd leave bruises. he held you in place, burying his face deeper inside you.
"just fucking come on my face already." he murmured into you, big hands moving to your ass, squeezing the cheeks harshly.
you tried to hold back your orgasm, not wanting him to feel even the slightest amount of pride for making you come. and he noticed. noticed the way you tried to hold back.
"for fuck's sake!" he groaned, pushing two fingers back inside you, curling them right where you needed them, making you cry out.
"stop being so fucking stubborn." his fingers pumped into you relentlessly, hitting your g-spot again and again, making you see stars, head spinning. until you finally could no longer hold back. with one last flick of his tongue over your clit, you came undone. he guided you through your orgasm and you could feel his fucking grin against your cunt.
"that's it." he murmured, clearly satisfied with himself. "just shut the fuck up." you snapped. bad idea. he smacked your cunt so hard, it made you lose balance, collapsing onto the mattress. with your legs and hands still tied, you couldn't lift yourself up, legs still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.
chan just chuckled darkly behind you, giving his cock a few pumps, watching you being completely at his mercy. he's been dreaming about this, fantasising about it. his eyes wander over your body, spotting every goddamn mark he left. bites, hickeys, fingerprints. he loved it. but he needed more.
he reached forward, grabbing your hair and yanking you back. his breath was hot against your ear, his cock pressing against your ass. "i'm gonna fuck you now, yeah? fill that pretty little cunt. mark you properly."
he gave you a few seconds to protest, but you didn't. you were still catching your breath, body still trembling. he let go of your hair, starting to undress himself. you didn't want to look. you knew he was handsome as fuck, didn't need a proof of that. but you couldn't help turning your head, watching him over your shoulder. fuck.
"stop staring." he said, not even looking up as he neatly placed his clothes over the chair at your desk. your eyes traced his toned body, all the way to his perfect ass. goddamnit.
"don't fucking flatter yourself." you snorted, but your words lacked any bite. chan ignored it, standing behind you, cock fucking throbbing and all. "ass up." he ordered. you struggled against the restraints, trying to move back onto your knees.
"fucking pathetic." chan murmured as he gripped your hips and pulled you up. his hands sprawled over your butt cheeks, squeezing them. you hissed. they still hurt from earlier.
chan just watched you for a while, with you getting impatient. "stop staring." you repeated the words he just threw at you, grinning to yourself. his hands flinched against your butt cheeks, ready to smack the shit out of you, but he took a deep breath instead.
he spit down on his cock, using one hand to spread his saliva over it, before pushing inside you with no further warning. "fuck!" you cried out, jolting forwards. "godfuckingdamnit chan!"
you were so fucking wet, he just slid right in, all the way. he gritted his teeth, trying not to think too much about how fucking good you actually feel. trying not to think about how he actually, finally, has his cock buried inside your fucking cunt. trying not to think about— fuck. his cock twitched inside you, realising how your walls are clamping down on him.
it pissed him off. how good you felt. how warm you were. how fucking wet. how much he wanted you, even though he finally had you.
he grabbed your hair, wrapping it around his hand, yanking you back forcefully, his cock buried to the hilt. he yanked until you were pressed against his chest. "i'm not gonna last long if you keep clenching your fucking walls around me."
your soft moans turned into a snort. "who's pathetic now? you haven't even fucked me properly, channie."
he lost it at the sweet nickname on your lips. his free hand smacked your ass. hard. grabbing your hips. the grip in your hair tightened as he started moving. his hips snapping brutally, each thrust into your sensitive cunt making you whimper.
"you drive me fucking insane." he murmured against your neck before biting down hard, making you cry out in surprise. he groaned against your skin, keeping a steady rhythm. you cried out his name again, and again, making his head spin.
he let go of your hair, forcing you to fall onto the mattress, grabbing your hips, fucking deeper into you. his pace brutal and intense. until your legs could no longer hold you up. they shook so violently, you collapsed onto the mattress.
but he didn't stop. he adjusted to the changed angle within seconds, pushing your hips further down, hips slamming against you, fucking you into the mattress. he moved one hand between your shoulder blades, the other staying on your hip, almost his entire weight holding you down.
"chan—" everything was overwhelming and the familiar knot started tightening in your stomach. his cock rubbed against that sweet spot deep inside you, making your walls clench violently around him as you came hard.
chan cursed under his breath, your orgasm triggering his own. his thrusts become sloppy, desperate to fill your cunt with his load. desperate to fucking breed you.
with a guttural groan, he stilled deep inside you. his arms shook slightly as he emptied himself into you. you felt it, his thick load warm inside you. "fuck, that's it." he murmured almost inaudible, his hips doing small micro thrusts.
he removed his hands from you, placing them on the mattress beside you. but he didn't pull out. not yet. he reached for the belt around your hands, undoing it, freeing you.
you were both breathless, panting heavily. chan's hand reached for your face, swiping some loose strands away. "you okay?"
your body was sore. you were hyper aware of every mark he left on you, your skin burning. but you nodded. the intensity of both your orgasms was enough to make up for the soreness.
he pulled out slowly, sitting back, watching you. your legs were still tied together, looking absolutely perfect to him.
when his cum started dripping out of you, his eyes widened, addicted to the view. "fuck," he groaned, fingers catching the thick liquid, smearing it over your cunt. when more started dripping out, he groaned.
he collected every drop, pushing two fingers inside you. "chan?!" you called out in surprise, but his name died on your lips, turning into a moan. his mind was fucking gone, as he started fucking his cum right back into you with his fingers.
"fucking appreciate the load i gave you." he said, voice dark. he smacked your ass, fingers pumping in and out of you, pushing his cum back inside.
"don't lose a single fucking drop or i'll have to fill you up again."
and right then, fucking his seed back into your cunt, having you whimper at his touch, moan his name with a broken voice, one thing became perfectly clear to him. that he didn't want this to be a one time thing. already too obsessed with the way your body reacts to his.
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life was supposed to go forward the way you had always been told.
find someone, fall in love, get married, have kids.
that was the formula - the routine of every day life that you, yourself, had agreed to. it was supposed to be easy and carefree, the type of love that felt natural and yet definite. it was supposed to be certain.
jeon jungkook.
the love of your life. no one, nothing, could compare to him; the one constant in your life since you were no older than five. two years older than you, he had been the object of your infatuations even then, and though you both harboured a crush on one another as you grew up, it was only when you were 14 that you both actually pursued something.
you both came from broken homes, with your parents entangled in the world of drugs and abuse, his absent more times than present. you had each other though, and that was all either of you had ever really needed - that much had been true for years. it didn’t take long to fall in love with him, not when he treated you like blooming flowers in the first touch of spring; you were more than just his girl. you were his y/n.
no one blinked when he proposed, everyone half expecting it, and neither of you had wanted to wait to plan a lavish wedding when you were both the only constants in each other’s lives. and so, with cheap rings, a random dress you had found at the bottom of your wardrobe and his scuffed shoes - you had become husband and wife.
jungkook was the best partner you could have ever asked for. money was tight in the beginning as he threw himself into his job, making sure he had enough to spoil you rotten even if that meant coming home exhausted. it killed you to see him working so hard, but he never complained, not even once. it was done in the pursuit of his sweet wife, and therefore just.
he quickly began climbing the ranks, his intelligence unmatched, his speed and efficiency making him a force to be reckoned with. in a mere seven years, he had managed to go from the lowest ranking worker in the company right to head office, before formally being announced as ceo.
it was unheard of. people like him, people like you, they didn’t live like this. it felt like over night your entire life had changed, as the tiny, one bed apartment transformed into a penthouse suite in your city’s most reputable area, your beaten down car now more lavish than you could ever dream of. your clothes - silks, linens and luxurious patterns. you were a changed woman, all at the hands of your husband.
that was when the cracks had began to form.
the late nights began, jungkook holed up in his office for far longer than anyone else at the company, stacks of paper all around as he tried to crack numbers before the next day could bring its own workload. you didn’t mind at first, more so worried over anything else.
you packed late dinners, going up to his office and eating them with him just to keep him company, to ground him which he needed more than you could ever realise. he would sit you on his lap as he worked, all whilst you napped peacefully on his shoulder as though this was perfectly normal.
the first few months, it worked. after that, it could no longer hide the gaping hole that had begun to appear.
missed dinners. missed dates. jungkook showing up at two in the morning despite everyone else going home at five in the afternoon - this wasn’t normal. wasn’t healthy. the amount of arguments that were being caused due to his workaholic nature was alarming, especially considering neither of you had ever even raised your voices to one another prior to this.
your heart was getting heavier and heavier.
not because you doubted his love for you - that wasn’t even a question in your mind, that much was certain. if anything, jungkook loved you too much, entirely and wholly, with every single decision made in his life somehow tracing back to you in one way or another. whether it was purchasing things, buying them with the intent of impressing you, making you happy or smile. every opportunity, every signed contract, every bastard fucking meeting that he could feel so deeply in his bones was done with the intention of giving you a life so soft you would never experience hardship again.
that was where the problem lay.
jungkook didn’t know how to love in a way that could nurture your relationship through this, and so, he did the only thing he could. he sacrificed.
slowly, painfully, the realisation that somewhere between the neglect, the late nights and unanswered phone calls, your husband had stopped being your husband at all. he had become a mere ghost in your shared home.
the night you had made your decision was one that felt imprinted in your memory.
it was past midnight, the harsh light of your phone reminding you with each passing moment. the rain was harsh too, with it being the middle of autumn, causing you to curl deeper into the covers on your bed but it did nothing to chase the cold away. dinner had long gone cold downstairs, with your housekeeper giving you a long, sad look before leaving to her own home, patting you on the shoulder in comfort.
your heart hurt so fucking much.
your phone was untouched, with messages sent hours prior despite the lack of response.
‘where are you?’
‘are you coming home tonight?’
‘jungkook, you promised.’
‘i miss you.’
you felt pathetic. humiliation ran up and down your veins at the thought of having to beg for a morsel of attention from your husband, but what else were you supposed to do? what else could you do? loneliness had a tendency to do that to people.
the sound of the front door finally opening had your eyes looking up, no longer staring into space, thinking. overthinking.
jungkook finally stumbled in, hours and hours late, shoulders tense and black coat half wet due to the rain outside. his phone had died hours ago, and his brain was a jumble of numbers and stakeholders, still muttering under his breath over something one of his colleagues had said. he was exhaustion personified.
“baby.” he exhaled deeply upon the sight of you still up.
1:47am.
you stared at him, unable to focus on anything in particular as your reddened eyes somehow glinted in the moonlit essence of the room. his heart ached.
“you missed it again.” you whispered, barely audible.
another dinner sat cold. jungkook had noticed it on his way up, muttering a small fuck under his breath, but seeing you now? something had changed, something was different and the sight scared him to death.
“i know, i..”
“you said you’d be home for six.”
“i know baby, i’m so sorry, we had an emergency shareholders meeting and it was just..fuck.”
“it’s always an emergency.” you muttered bitterly.
the silence that followed felt suffocating to you both.
he carefully placed his things at the door before approaching you slowly, as though you were a wounded fawn struck by an arrow from his own back - it was his fault. he knew that, he could see it.
“i’m trying.” he whispered softly, as he crouched to meet your eyes.
that was the worst thing of all - of course he was trying. you knew he was, you could see it in every single thing he did but that was the part that made it so much more painful. it was unbearable.
tears burned harshly behind your eyes, lip openly trembling as you stared at the only man to have ever felt your affection, the love of your life. the same man that would set himself on fire just to keep you warm, who had done this all for you - even you knew that but, the pain. you weren’t sure when loving him had started to hurt this badly.
“i don’t need..i don’t want any of this, jungkook.” you corrected as your voice cracked, hands gesturing to the too large room. “don’t care about penthouses or cars, or money..”
“it’s not about that.”
“then what is it about?” you cried, months and months of neglect finally collapsing all at once. “because i’m losing you anyway.”
the devastation that appeared on his face would have floored you on any other occasion, but the horrible feeling that had taken over was consuming you from the inside out. you couldn’t rid yourself of your thoughts, the looming decision that had grown and grown and grown, so much so that it felt bigger than you in both mind and body. you couldn’t stop the tears even if you wanted to.
“i feel so lonely.” you admitted honestly, a broken sob leaving your lips. “you’re all i have..all i’ve ever had and i feel lonely.”
the words physically wounded him as he felt his own tears begin to form, a horrible realisation fluttering through his body - this wasn’t fixable. he could see it now, the utter pain in your eyes, the way your body shook as you cried, and though he was crouched in front of you, arms wrapping around you; it wasn’t enough.
“i’ll fix this. i’ll fix this, fuck. y/n..” he shook, holding you so tightly, his heart beating out of his chest. “give me time. give me a chance. give me something, give me anything.”
you only cried harder at his words, collapsing entirely as the sobs racked through your body violently. you knew he meant it, knew he meant every single word, and you genuinely believed it too but you were tired.
so, so tired.
you knew that the love between you, no matter how deep, could not survive on patched up apologies and promises no longer.
the separation happened three weeks later.
perhaps that was too cruel of you - you should have given him more time, more chances, another opportunity to prove himself to you so he could actually begin repairing something that had already long collapsed before he had ever realised the damage. staying felt too painful, as though you were prodding delicate skin with a million sharpened blades. for once in your entire existence, you chose yourself.
you hated yourself for it.
you could no longer survive off of the memories of who your husband had once been, the once sweet teenage boy who slept on the streets with you just so you’d feel safe from the grasps of your parents. the man who had ran home to tell you about his promotion, who then sobbed in your arms at the mere prospect of getting to give you the life you deserved. oh, how each and every fibre of your being yearned for him, how it knew him by breath alone and yet it wasn’t enough. nothing could possibly hurt more.
packing your things nearly killed him. you remembered it vividly.
jungkook stood silently in the doorway of your shared bedroom, watching numbly, as though his soul had left his entire body as you packed up remnants of a life once shared with him. cardboard boxes were filled with your books, your makeup, your silly trinkets you had acquired together - the sight of you crying as you packed your wedding album so delicately was enough to have him bite back his own sob, shaking his head at the reality of the situation.
he hadn’t stopped you. it was the worst part.
jungkook was intimidating to most; hardened by his life experiences and the struggle he had been raised in, his only priority for the past decade being you. you didn’t like to go into his work, knowing he was quite literally a different person there - efficient, yes, but also ruthless. and yet, he stood, watching you as though his eyes couldn’t comprehend the scene in front of him, tears wiped harshly from his face in fear that it would only upset you more.
even in moments like this, he put you first.
his hands sat caged on either side of him, as you sobbed, and sobbed and sobbed. he wanted nothing more than to pick you up, cradle you, cherish you the way he so desperately wanted but in his love for you came your happiness. he was a man devoted to you, and he couldn’t cage you somewhere you no longer felt happy staying - he loved you too much to ever do that.
the divorce proceedings were somehow so much worse.
the media frenzy surrounding jeon jungkook, the elusive ceo who was known for his mysterious persona and dark eyes, was quite literally unbearable. the sudden separation exploded all over the tabloids and the internet, with headlines appearing faster than either of you could keep up with. the hate was too much, to which jungkook stepped in to silence everyone behind the scenes, throwing an insane amount of money at journalists to keep your name out of their filthy mouths. wife or not, you were one half of him and he’d be damned if you were spoken of in anyway that wasn’t praiseworthy.
you couldn’t even look at him during the hearings.
god, you tried. you wanted to, managing to sneak little glances where you caught him already staring at you, despair all over his face, but you couldn’t handle it, tears streaming out of your eyes almost immediately. he knew you loved him. he could see it, clear as day.
he looked sick, as though he hadn’t eaten for weeks, the mere sight of you enough to sustain him until the next meeting, where your feet lightly brushed against one another underneath the table in a subconscious way.
he barely spoke, only choosing to actually speak when he was asked a question, but other than that, he spent his time in the meetings staring at you longingly. he’d whisper a soft “don’t cry” whenever he’d see you tear up, your lip quivering each time you snuck a glance over, despite knowing it was breaking you.
he signed everything over to you immediately. his lawyers had practically choked, eyes wide as he silenced them almost harshly for even suggesting anything otherwise, your own eyebrows pulling together as you tried to reject. you didn’t want his money, you didn’t want what he had worked so hard for.
the penthouse, the cars, the accounts. every. fucking. thing.
“jungkook..” you had whispered through tears at the table, addressing him for the first time in so long. “i don’t want any of this, it’s yours. you’ve worked so hard.”
hearing you was enough to provide the energy he had been lacking, the very blood in his bloodstream pumping harder as he shook his head at you, offended.
“i got those things for you. it never belonged to me..was always yours.” he whispered back, causing you to look down with another choked sob.
it was the final hearing that truly cemented the empty hole inside of you.
your hands shook violently, so much so that you were unable to pick up your pen and sign away your marriage, the one thing you needed to do to finally let him go. everyone in the room frowned as they watched you, face flooded with tears as your digits simply refused, as though your body rejected the notion as being entirely unnatural. they all felt pity for you, for both of you - you both were clearly in love, and they couldn’t understand the gravity of the situation between you.
jungkook had stood from his side of the table, walking over to you until his hand had softly encapsulated your own, your quiet sobs only growing harsher at the feel of the one person you had been craving for so long. he held it, guiding you to your own, helping you write your name on the dotted line despite every part of his body aching.
ex-husband.
the thought should have killed you.
once it was signed, he held onto your hand, too scared to let go as the documents were taken, your lawyers and his slowly leaving the room, leaving you be. you should have let go, should have pushed him away as he no longer had any tie to you - you weren’t married, you weren’t together. alas, the thought felt sacrilegious.
instead, he knelt, knees hitting the hardened floor below you as your red eyes met his properly. entirely.
“i’ll fix this.” he promised you, voice no longer shaking, as you could hear the depth of his promise to you. “i don’t care how long it takes, baby, but you’ll come back to me. i’ll come back to you better, i’ll be worthy. i promise you, y/n.” he whispered.
another sob climbed up your throat, mean and harsh, as your body collapsed against the chair you were sat in, your emotion taking a complete hold over you.
because even then, after everything, you knew his words to be true. you knew home would be waiting.
—
eight months had passed now, and soon came the first touch of summer. the bleak sky had become brighter, clouds hibernating and birds chirping as the world became warmer, accommodating for the transition into what most would describe as a joyous time. unfortunately for you, your body was still recovering from what could only be described as the most traumatic stage of your life thus far.
everything felt unnatural and wrong - you were trying to keep up despite it moving a million miles around you.
even after all this time, your stomach still dropped whenever you’d see anything that referred to him as your ex husband, as though your mind and heart needed a moment to catch up. how could jungkook ever simply become an ex anything to you?
he had existed in your life for so long that removing him felt akin to ripping a vital organ out of your body, all whilst expected to function entirely normally. how could you? you suppose you were failing, really, with the way you moved through life out of necessity instead of want.
the tabloids loved him now more than ever. it was the paradox of tragedy, you assumed, as you knew how badly the world yearned for a broken hearted lover.
the youngest ceo in the country’s history, a billionaire bachelor - the elusive businessman was on the top of every social hierarchy, whilst people spoke about you in hushed whispers. the only woman to have ever gotten away. who were you? why did you leave? why did he leave you with so much?
he had become so much colder after the divorce, and people picked up on it like rats with forgotten food.
the media had always labelled him as an intimidating man, but now, there was no way of denying it. there was something unsettling about the pictures that were being papped of him, your hungry eyes taking him in top to bottom, nibbling your lip - he looked so different. broad shoulders remained the same, but he seemed bigger, no doubt taking out his pain in the gym. it was the look in his eyes, however, that had your stomach in knots.
he looked dead whilst alive.
jeon jungkook was heartbroken, and the world knew it clear as day.
he had dealt with it the only way he knew how - by burying himself six feet deep into his work, knowing he had nothing to come home to, often times sleeping in his office just so he could ignore the silence of his house.
meanwhile, you had spent the last eight months trying to learn how to exist without him.
the humiliation at first was all you were reminded of, as you realised how deeply you had intertwined into him and vice versa. the silence in your once shared penthouse was so unbearable that you had moved into a tiny two bedroom apartment, using the spare as a storage unit for all of your books. on your nightstand still sat a picture of you both, as you secretly cried over it most nights. you couldn’t even sleep unless you wore one of his hoodies, despite his scent having washed off months ago - it was the comfort of knowing you still had a part of your marriage with you.
you missed him in every small, stupid, awful way imaginable.
the feeling of his hand, heavy and strong, on your thigh as he drove you around. the way he would cage you into any surface he could find just to smother you in kisses, or even the way he would whisper into your ear stupid jokes that had you giggling too loudly for the world to hear.
you missed your husband. you missed jungkook.
everyday you battled with the regret of your choice, especially once you’d see the way his under-eyes had sunken with the lack of sleep and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it out loud. you couldn’t live that way again, not with the neglect - not with your past trauma from your parents.
jungkook knew the gravity of his actions, knew you needed to heal and reason with them before he could come back to you but fuck, it hurt so bad to wait.
sometimes, during your weaker moments, you found yourself searching him into your phone in the dead of night, breathing out an audible sigh of relief at the confirmation he was still openly single. it was pathetic, that much you knew, but it was selfish beyond anything else. so cruel to want the man you left to be alone, simply because he still belonged to you.
you had attempted to rebuild your life slowly, carefully piecing together fragments of yourself that existed before all of this had happened. your days were quieter now, so much lonelier but it was enough to keep your mind from spiralling every second of every waking day.
some habits, however, refused to die.
his contact remained as the only favourited number in your phone, as you spent all of your time rereading old messages, despite it ending in tears. if only you knew he too did the same, with his photo album on his phone his most used app as he stared at you nightly, often falling asleep with your picture shining brightly on his screen.
you still loved him. he loved you even more.
that could never change.
-
the first flowers came on a random tuesday.
you had just experienced one of the worst days you’d had in a while, with a final meeting with one of your clients going to shit after you realised hours of work and designs had somehow corrupted, and then deleted. by the time you had returned home, you were sure the world had seen your teary state, your body heavier than usual.
as you searched your bag for your keys, your eyes peered up, noticing them.
your breath caught.
sitting neatly outside your apartment door. a bouquet, large but elegant - white gardenias. the flowers you had held at not only your wedding, but the ones jungkook would buy you for your anniversary each year.
your flowers.
your chest ached so violently you found yourself gasping for air as your legs gave out below you. you slid down the wall, fingers brushing against the delicate petals as you looked for a note, only to realise there wasn’t one. you didn’t need to see who they were from, only one person knew you well enough and your heart felt like it had been split into two as you took them in.
it wasn’t your anniversary, wasn’t any special kind of occasion, and yet here they were. bright, promising, sweet.
your vision blurred with heavy tears as the painful feeling in your body grew, throat tightening with emotion before reaching out and taking a hold of them, breathing the flowers in openly.
the scent alone was enough to destroy you.
he was everywhere, all of the time - even now. especially now.
the flowers had become a norm, a pattern that was only recognisable to you, and completely deniable to any other person looking in. you were smarter than you looked and you knew what was happening, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to call it out.
your favourite restaurant somehow managing to accommodate you always despite the line or packed out reservations list, or the paparazzi that often bullied you for your attention outside of your home mysteriously disappearing. even your car, that you had dented slightly, appeared in perfect condition as you walked down to go to work one morning, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
your chest bloomed with realisation.
jungkook.
he never appeared himself, no. never. it was unsettling really, the reminder that he was powerful and could have things done with a flick of his wrist - he was sure to never make you privy to it, so you’d always feel like he was the same boy you had met all those years ago. now? he had every intention of showing you the empire he had built for you and you alone. he lingered around you and your life like a floating ghost, invisible but permanent. you truly couldn’t get rid of him even if you tried.
three weeks later is when you felt yourself reaching breaking point.
for the first time in months, you were finally leaving the house to actually do something for fun. your best friend, yejin, who’s husband yoongi was ironically jungkook’s best friend, had forced you to come out for a drink. nothing intense, merely a nice bar where the drinks were smooth and the company was good, with slow jazz playing in the back.
exhaustion was heavy in your bones but you listened, doing your best to make yourself look nice despite how dead you felt inside. a little skirt that felt too short and a top that perhaps plunged too low - yejin had deemed you utterly perfect.
sat at the bar, you sipped your drink, wincing lightly as she yapped away about something her coworker had said. you appreciated how she refused to bring jungkook up, knowing that she couldn’t breach the topic unless you were the one to bring it up yourself. you hated how badly you wanted to, how desperate you were to find out how he was doing.
she filled the air constantly, like she was terrified of what would happen if your mind caught up to the reality of the situation, instead filling it with nonsense to occupy your demanding thoughts.
you let her.
you even found yourself laughing, the feeling and sound so startling that it reduced you to silence for a full minute afterwards as you welcomed the feeling of actual joy for the first time in so long.
you almost didn’t notice the shift in your phone, the slight light radiating from beneath as you had turned it onto its screen earlier in the evening. she, however, paused mid sentence, eyes dropping down to let you know someone was ringing.
nothing could have prepared you for the sight of his name on the screen.
the name, ‘kookie’ with a large, red heart adorned your phone as humiliation rummaged through you at the realisation you had never even bothered to change his name, the concept too painful to come to terms with. however, yejin all but gasped as she turned to you, eyes widened with an almost excitement.
“answer it.” she encouraged, hand on your back. “i’ll watch your drink.”
you weren’t sure what to say, as you nodded, staring down at the screen before shakily sliding off of your seat and heading towards the back entrance, where a smokers area sat empty. your hands shook as you cupped the phone to your chest, taking a seat before looking down at it once more.
he was calling you.
jungkook was fucking calling you.
before you could overthink, you swiped, answering it.
the phone felt hot against your ear, a reminder of what was currently happening as your heart began beating harder than it had in months, your hands shaking. for a second, neither of you spoke.
you could hear faint movement on his end, a shuffling of some sorts before he completely stilled, as though he had pushed everything he was doing to a side at the realisation you had actually answered.
“hi.”
god. your eyes squeezed shut tight almost immediately.
there he was - your jungkook. not the ceo extraordinaire that was plastered on every publication you could find, with dead eyes and a sharp expression. no, this was him. jungkook. your jungkook.
the sound alone nearly brought you to tears. you felt so pathetic.
“hi.” you whispered back, voice cracking.
silence settled again, but not awkwardly. you didn’t think an awkward silence was capable of existing between you, not when your bodies were so intertwined and so aware of one another. the distance between you was unnatural, neither of your minds able to comprehend an eight month hiatus enough to understand that this phone call alone shouldn’t have been happening.
he exhaled slowly, and your shoulders gently relaxed, your eyes closing momentarily as you imagined him. no doubt still at work, in a suit unbuttoned at the shirt, his tie long forgotten. his tattooed hand running through his hair, ruffling it the way you always would.
“you answered.” he broke you out of your thoughts.
your chest tightened painfully at the sheer disbelief in his tone.
“you called.”
a faint huff of amusement left him then, causing you to blink back any emotion that was building in your eyes. it eased you.
“yeah.” he breathed out.
another pause.
you felt so suddenly aware of yourself - your hand reached out to smooth down your hair, adjust your top and skirt, despite knowing he couldn’t see you. it was subconscious, as though the thought of him alone was enough to undo you, but his voice? hearing it after so long, directed at you, for you. yours. it was enough to have you soothed for months.
before you could spiral in your thoughts, he spoke again.
“where are you?”
“out with yejin.”
“mm.” you shivered at his hum. you had no idea he was so undone at the sound of you too. “a bar?”
“yeah.”
“you drinking?”
you rolled your eyes, tongue poking your cheek at his curiosity. some things truly had never changed.
“why?” you asked, and you could almost hear his grin on the other end. “can’t i ask?”
his tone, smooth. familiar. fuck, it did things to you, and you could feel your thighs pressing together just listening to him. secretly, your favourite part of jungkook was how possessive he had always been, and even in moments like this where he hid it under a layer of calmness, you could recognise it instantly.
it reminded you of when he’d ask you whether you had eaten, just before pulling you into his lap, lips attacking the side of your neck hungrily or when he’d tell you to take your medicine, with a slow ‘baby’ and kisses planted to your forehead and cheeks.
“one drink.” you revealed, with a nibble to your lip.
you had no idea that he too was a fucking mess.
jungkook was indeed in his office, with his legs spread, suit jacket and tie somewhere, his shirt unbuttoned a little as he too drank. a cup of whiskey in his hand, his hair a mess as he scoured over your instagram for the millionth time just that day. neither of you were ones to post much, especially considering your accounts were private with only a few people, but he stalked you daily in hopes of a glimpse of you. could you blame him? he was utterly, devotedly in love with you.
a measly divorce couldn’t stop that.
seeing yejin’s story, with your low cut top, and your big eyes showing a sign of life for the first time in months made his heart bloom. it had his cock straining, again, just looking at you, eyes hungrily looking over every inch of you and your soft smile. god, how he had missed it.
he had given you your time. respected your wishes, allowed you eight months of this but enough was enough. the flowers were just the beginning, marking his space back in your life through a promise he had every intention of upholding. he had told you directly he was going to fix this, and you, his sweet, sweet girl had believed him.
he would never let you down again.
“you having fun?”
“why do you wanna know every single detail?” you asked, tone a little harsher than intended but you couldn’t help yourself. this was an ambush on your senses.
he huffed once more, the amusement enough to disarm you.
“because i miss you.”
the words left him so easily that the breath in your lungs completely dissipated, leaving you a statued mess. no hesitation, no shame - pure, devastating honesty.
“you can’t say that, jungkook.” you weakly combatted, the intake of breath on his side of the phone at the sound of his name leaving your mouth enough of an answer for you.
“why not? i can’t miss my wife?” he scoffed lightly at you.
you blubbered for a moment. “i-i am not..i’m not your wife!”
“okay.” he hummed once more.
there was a quiet clink on his end, no doubt picking his drink up and taking a big gulp after abandoning it the second you answered. neither of you spoke for a few more moments, silence now becoming a running theme between you on the call, and yet it was still void of the awkwardness you’d find anywhere else. it was awful how familiar it felt. how comfortable and safe.
your fingers played with the hem of your skirt nervously, unsure if you had been too brash - he was hurting too after all.
“is that top new?”
your breath caught.
“..what?”
jungkook stayed quiet for an extra beat. “your top. haven’t seen that one before.”
heat flooded your cheeks, chest and neck before you could even respond, your lips bitten down as you inhaled shakily.
“how do you know that?” you were ignoring the way your pulse was hammering against your body, trying to feign an air of nonchalance.
at that, he couldn’t help the small grin. “saw you on yejin’s story.” he murmured, quieter now. “look so good. love when you wear pink, baby.”
it wasn’t even the words he had chosen, but more so the way he was saying them. so calm, so certain, so casual as if he wasn’t calling his ex wife baby over a bit of cleavage that was never really meant for his eyes - your blush spreading all over you now.
“jungkook..” you breathed out, shakily.
“what?” he asked innocently, and you could really hear the smile in his voice now. “am i wrong?”
you looked down at your top, nibbling away at your lip to hide the small smile that was beginning to form on your own face, something that you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. your fingers brushed against your stomach, feeling the fabric before tucking a strand behind your hair.
“it’s new.” you admitted softly, heels shuffling slightly on the ground.
the sound he made in response was enough to ruin you. not a laugh, not quite a sigh - something pleased.
he hummed. “so pretty.”
your eyes squeezed shut, and jungkook could feel it. could see it as though you were right in front of him. you were never one to handle a compliment, always going pink and shyly looking away and god, he loved it so much. loved complimenting you in hopes that you would react just like that, just to see you get all flustered.
the feeling in your stomach..it felt so strange. the same one that had haunted you for the past eight months, an unbearable warmth that filled you from your toes to your head, something you craved so desperately from him and him alone. to be noticed, looked at, admired by jungkook was one thing but to be loved by him? it was joy in itself.
you could feel it.
no one had ever loved you quite like he had done, as though every single thing you were capable of was worthy of applause. it terrified you.
“you can’t do this.” your voice came out so much smaller than either of you had expected, changing the entire feel of the call instantly.
as a result, his own tone softened, as though he was dealing with something porcelain.
“do what, baby?”
your heart physically ached.
“talk to me..like nothing happened.”
you felt sick to your stomach, hands gripping your phone and stomach as your eyes shut tight. you wished you hadn’t of said anything, not with the way the silence kissed the air in a way that felt anything but familiar - it hurt. painful in every single way.
for the first time since answering the phone, you could see jungkook properly. could hear him breathing sharply as though your words were both a reminder and an understanding that no matter what, things could never go back to what they once were.
the slight twitch in his cheek, the way his fingers would naturally tighten whenever he was overwhelmed with emotion like he didn’t know where to put it, where to place it in his overworking mind. he had always loved so deeply, your jungkook; just didn’t know where to put it, or how to show it.
when he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter. stripped bare for you, so you could feel him.
“i know what i did.” he admitted softly. “i know i fucked up, and that i failed you as a husband.”
your throat tightened.
outside, rainwater still lingered from earlier, a sickly humidity wrapped into every air particle around you. the scent of lingering cigarette smoke was heavy enough to ground you in that moment as you listened to jungkook speak words neither of you could truly handle hearing, despite how necessary they were. it just hurt so, so badly.
inside the bar, you could hear muffled laughter, people egging one another on for drinks as jazz boomed, your heart easing as you could hear yejin’s voice amongst the crowd, no doubt the life of the party there too.
“then why are you acting like this?” you pathetically asked, lip jutting out in a teary pout. he could almost hear it on you. “you’re talking to me like we’re still together.”
“you’re still mine, y/n.”
your breath hitched violently.
“jungkook-“
“no,” he remained calm, a stark difference between you and him. “you asked me a question, baby, so let me answer it properly.”
the nickname rolled off of his lips so naturally, instinctively, and you hated how easily your body curled closer, almost desperate to hear it whilst he stood in front of you. you had always been putty in his hands, so easily undone with a few pretty words but you’d held back for the past few months for the sake of your boundaries. hearing him so open, so honest - it was fucking you up all over again.
“i know we’re divorced,” he continued before you could interrupt him again. “i know..you’re not my wife anymore, and i know this is my fault. you left because of me and i’ll live with that for the rest of my life.”
his voice cracked by the end of his statement.
“but i won’t sit here and pretend like the last eight months have suddenly erased the past fifteen years of loving you.”
the words shattered you. your delicate, pathetic heart broke once more at his words at the confirmation of what you needed to hear so, so badly.
years of abandonment issues stemming from your parents and friends who had only ever toyed with you meant you had put your all into jungkook, who had only ever put every inch of himself back in - you were a partnership, a welcome duo that made sense to the both of you. watching him pull back, forget you, neglect and abandon your relationship no matter the reason was enough to trigger you in ways that no one could reason with.
it was an intimate form of violence that though was never intended, hurt more than anything he could have ever done to you.
he knew that. he was openly telling you he recognised his faults, his wrong doings - you knew that too. god, you knew him better than anyone alive, and you knew that by leaving him it was the only way for him to understand and see.
“you’re making this so much harder, jungkook.” you whispered out through a flood of tears, your mascara and eyeliner smudging immediately under the slaughter of liquid.
“i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry baby but i need you to hear me, okay? just..i need you to know i’m going to fix this. properly.” he breathed out, desperate now. “i’ve been doing things right this time..gave you space, let you breathe, been working on myself and going to therapy. don’t sleep at the office anymore, did at the start cause i didn’t like coming home but i’m better now.”
therapy?
you knew he held so much trauma with his own parents, his own upbringing, too scared to ever even speak about it if it wasn’t with you but to hear he had actually taken the steps to go forwards with something that put him directly out of his comfort zone was insanity to you. especially when his one and only concern had only ever been your own comfort, even at his expense.
his honesty made you burst out into quiet sobs - a noise he swore was harsh enough to kill him. he breathed out, cooing at you lightly as he shook his head despite you unable to see him, so pained.
jungkook recognised your pain immediately.
“yeah,” he muttered. “turns out working yourself to death because you’re afraid of losing everything after you’ve had a shitty upbringing actually isn’t normal behaviour. who knew?”
despite your heartbroken state, you let out a sincere watery laugh.
the sound hit him like a drug.
he went completely silent after hearing it, replaying it in the forefront of his mind. a greedy, gluttonous side of him climbing out of his very throat as he held it close to his soul, cherishing it - he was a starved man finally being fed.
“there she is.” he breathed. “fuck..missed hearing your laugh.”
you hated how easily you were able to slip back into him.
“jungkook..”
“i mean it,” his tone deepened slightly - more certain, more intentional. “i’m not calling you tonight to confuse you, y/n. i’m not calling because i’m lonely..”
your fingers tightened around the phone once more. “then, why?”
“because i’m getting you back.”
there was no hesitation in his voice, no wariness nor anything other than sheer determination. he sounded firm and a part of that thrilled you, whilst the other half sat scared of what this meant - you couldn’t survive this again, losing him. what if you had changed? what if you weren’t who he thought you were anymore?
“hey, stop it.” he shook his head, eyebrows furrowing. “it’s just me, y/n. it’s just me and you, okay?”
“but what if we can’t do it?” you asked through a teary sob, scuffing your heels on the hard ground. “what if i’m different and what if it’s too hard? i can’t..i won’t survive it..”
silence once more.
“then, we do it slowly.” he whispered, assured, soothing you. no hesitation whatsoever. “i’m not asking you to trust me overnight, baby. i know i fucked that up already.”
your lip trembled, tears streaming so fast you could hardly keep up.
“but i’m here now.”
the words settled so deeply inside of you that it almost hurt. that was all you had wanted all along, was it not? a present husband, the same man that loved you without the frills of money and presents - you wanted jungkook. your jungkook.
you swallowed thickly, knowing it had taken so much of him to even say this to you, so confident as he knew you needed a rock at this moment despite also being emotionally devastated.
two whole minutes of silence stretched between you as you caught your breath, your tears still streaming but your sobs subsiding, allowing for sweet hiccups that he thought were the cutest thing he had ever heard. his mind swam, aching, knowing how needy you were after a cry. he wanted to bundle you up and hold you, kiss you until there were no more thoughts left in that pretty little head of yours, right until you were finally asleep and safe in his arms.
“are you still at work?” you asked softly, breaking the silence and pulling him out of his thoughts.
a small pause.
then, almost amused - “technically..”
“jungkook! it’s late..”
he laughed quietly under his breath, the sound warm enough to blanket you in it.
“finished hours ago, i’ve just been sat here.”
“doing what?”
another pause. slightly charged.
“looking at you.” he murmured.
heat rushed to your face immediately, wiping your under eyes. “what?”
“been stalking your instagram. yejin posted you like half an hour ago too, so..” his voice dropped lower, smoother. more intimate. “haven’t really thought about doing anything since.”
your thighs pushed together involuntarily at the confession, cheeks hinted even darker.
god.
“jungkook.” you chastised with a little sniffle.
“pink was a bad choice, baby.” he grunted slightly. “you know that colour drives me fucking insane on you.”
your eyes squeezed shut. there he was.
not the cold, mysterious ceo that had the world intrigued, nor the tall, hefty man that had most people cowering away as he walked past. no, this was your husband - flirty, affectionate and completely and utterly obsessed with you.
“you’re so ridiculous.” you shook your head through a hiccup, biting back the pathetic small smile that was about to form.
“yeah?” he hummed through a small laugh. “still answered the phone.”
the smile in his voice only had yours growing larger, a small laugh muffled by the back of your hand.
you could hear him moving around now, keys jingling lightly before the sound of a car door opening had your ears peaking up.
“wait,” your eyebrows raised. “are you leaving?”
“mhm.”
“where are you going?”
jungkook grinned. it was your turn to be curious.
“home.”
your smile dropped slightly. home.. that used to be a word that was synonymous with you. your chest ached all over again.
“couldn’t go back there without hearing your voice first.” he admitted quietly.
silence swallowed you whole. the vulnerability in his voice felt far more dangerous than any of the tears you had shed tonight, your fingers continuing to shake around the phone at the mere sound of it. before you could think of a response, he spoke again.
“there’s a gala next friday.”
your stomach tightened as you leaned your head against the wall, already understanding the direction of the conversation.
“jungkook..”
“come with me.”
no hesitation. no uncertainty.
firm, assured, confident. like there had never even been another concept, or thought in his brain - you were the first and only option.
“i don’t think that’s a good idea..”
“probably not.”
the honesty startled a laugh out of you - a real one. on the other side of the phone, jungkook sat in his car, eyes closed, breathing deeply at the sweet sound like he was memorising it. treasuring it so he could replay it over and over and over later when he laid in your once shared bed alone.
“fuck,” he breathed. “you have no idea how much i’ve missed that.”
your eyes burned once more.
“baby,” his tone gentled again, using the pet name you loved so much. “just one night. me and you.”
you wanted to scream, wanted to pull at your hair and jump all at the same time. of course you wanted to say yes, what more could you need? your ex husband so openly telling you he wanted to pursue you with every inch of his body, until he was nothing but yours to mould and shape.
“i’ll think about it.” you replied instead, nibbling away at your lip.
the grin in his voice was immediate.
“that’s my girl.”
—
you couldn’t breathe.
both physically and emotionally, you found difficulty in inhaling air as you looked at yourself in the mirror, yejin somewhere in the room finding accessories for you to wear all whilst you blinked rapidly.
the dress, although beautiful, felt too tight.
your hands shook on either side of you as she approached you, holding up a delicate diamond necklace you recognised as an anniversary gift jungkook had gotten you but never quite found the chance to wear. your eyes were unfocused as she clasped it onto your neck, watching the way it fell so softly against soft skin, as though it had been curated for you and you alone.
“you need to breathe, y/n.” she suddenly murmured behind you, resting her chin on your shoulder as you both stared at you in the mirror.
pale pink satin - not bright in anyway, but a sweet kiss of your favourite colour adorned your body in floor length, tight fitting dress. you were the embodiment of elegance as the fabric draped over your curves, all whilst cinching perfectly at your waist, allowing for a pretty silhouette. not only did you look the part for a charity gala, you had exceeded any expectation anyone would ever have for you thanks to your best friend’s styling.
“dress is tight.” you simply whispered back, hardly recognising yourself.
your makeup matched your dress. glowy and pink with soft blush dusted onto your cheeks, glossy lips puckered and sweet. your hair fell in waves and for the first time in a very long time, you felt utterly beautiful.
the problem, however, was in the circumstance itself.
you were about to see jungkook for the first time since you had officially walked away from your marriage and the thought had kept you up all week. you weren’t sure what you were thinking actually saying yes to his invitation, calling him to tell you would come only for him to audibly huff out of joy. he was like a child in a candy shop but you couldn’t help but wonder if he harboured the same anxiety.
it was heavy in your stomach as you stared at yourself. pink was your favourite colour, and he loved it on you. did you look pretty enough? all eyes would be on you both tonight, given the nature of your relationship and the almost celebrity like status that had been awarded to the two of you.
all in all, it was his face that had you nibbling your bottom lip in thought. there wasn’t a night where you left his name unsearched in your internet browser, desperate to see what he looked like in that current moment but seeing him in purpose was a whole different playing field.
you loved him in suits - a fitting joy that was awarded to you constantly given his occupation. the way his shoulders would fill out the material so nicely, the way his shirt would stretch over his chest and the way darker colours only brought out the darkness in his eyes - it was your personal kryptonite. you weren’t sure how you were supposed to think, behave even, once you caught got sight of him.
“hey, y/n, look at me.” yejin pulled you out of your thoughts, soft hands pulling at your jaw. “it’s just jungkook. you know him better than anyone, okay? you’re all good.”
you nodded, though you continued to blink at her rapidly. “s’just been so long and..i don’t know..i’m scared. is that weird?”
she offered a sad smile. “it’s been eight months of healing, babe. that love doesn’t just go away and from what you told me, this is a step in the right direction. just gotta let him in.”
before you could respond, the sound of the doorbell blared through the apartment, making you look up to where the door sat on the other side. if you thought your heart had been beating fast before, you were sure you were on the edge of passing out now as yejin mumbled a quick ‘that’ll be him’ beside you.
oh god. oh god. oh god.
the dress felt too tight around your ribs.
your hands smoothed down the satin again despite having done it what felt like a million times already, fingers tips trembling over expensive fabric as your breathing came out shallow. you hated this - hated the fear of it all when it was jungkook on the other side of the door. your jungkook.
eight months. eight whole months and your body still knew him better than your mind was ready to let on.
“y/n.” yejin practically cooed at you, assuring you with a hand on your back. “breathe.”
you nodded quickly, though it went in one ear and out the other.
the intercom buzzed again, impatient time.
ironically, it was this that had your shoulders slumping softly, your shortness of breath slowly soothing as you realised the familiarity of the situation. of course jungkook would buzz twice - it was a telltale sign of his own anxiety, something you could recognise from a mile away. knocking twice, calling your name twice, checking the front door before bed twice.
it was just jungkook.
“okay.” you whispered to yourself.
you turned, more determined now you knew he was in the same state as you, as your heels clicked on the floor of your much smaller apartment, the noise loud enough for him to hear from the outside. each step felt heavier the closer you got, but there sat an anticipation in you that had you almost desperate to see him.
your hand finally wrapped around the handle before you opened the door.
and there he was.
god.
for a moment, your brain completely malfunctioned.
jungkook stood in your hallway beneath the almost dingy apartment lighting, one hand wrapped around a large bouquet of flowers you recognised to be the ones he had been gifting you with continuously for the past few weeks, and every anniversary. white gardenias.
your eyes fell onto them immediately with a strangled gasp, all whilst taking him in, your heart beating out of your chest as you felt almost faint at the sight of him.
a black suit.
the material stretched perfectly across his too broad shoulders and narrow waist, expensive to the eye as you could tell it had been tailored to fit him exactly. the contrast between the white shirt underneath was utterly delicious, and memories of pulling open buttons under heated exchanges flooded your eyes.
his hair was styled almost messily which you immediately recognised as his hands having ran through them, no doubt due to his anxiety - you wanted to pull at his locks, wanted to feel them against your fingers.
it was his face, however, that hurt to look at.
he looked healthier than most of the pictures you had seen over the span of the past few months, with warm in his cheeks, a slight dazed look in his eyes. still tired, with purple underneath his eyes indicating his lack of sleep, still carrying traces of heartbreak you knew you had placed there.
god.
jungkook looked every bit of the man you were in love with.
and here he stood, staring at you like he had just seen heaven open up right in front of him.
neither of you could look away from one another, as his eyes dragged over you slowly, inch by inch. your hair, your neckline that dipped lower than he was used to seeing, your manicure, your beautiful face. jungkook couldn’t fathom that you had once belonged to him, the pain of the past eight months surfacing as it gripped him by the throat like a vice - he had lost you?
you watched his throat bob.
his eyes met yours, the first time in what felt like a lifetime, and neither of you really knew what to do. how was it that the man you had known most of your life, the one constant, felt like a stranger in that moment? it was like you were discovering him again, an opportunity to relearn him presented to you and you took it with both hands.
he let out a shaking breath, one that had your cheeks flushing as he extended his arm, presenting the large bouquet for you.
“you look beautiful.” he whispered, voice struggling almost as you continued to watch his adam’s apple almost entranced.
with a shy thank you, you held them close to your chest, breathing in the familiar scent that brought you so much comfort.
your chest had eased now you were finally looking at him, now that he was actually in your space - the worst was over. you almost felt ridiculous for being worried about seeing him when it was just jungkook. eight months couldn’t erase that familiarity.
the hallway suddenly felt too small. too warm, too intimate; you felt like you were being caved in by his mere presence and for a moment you wondered if you needed breath at all.
you simply stood there, clutching the flowers delicately to your chest as though they meant something so much more than what anyone else could assume all whilst jungkook looked at you like you were the first beautiful thing he had seen in months.
his eyes couldn’t leave your face.
it should have made you uncomfortable, the intensity of his stare, but your body reacted the way it had always done when you were near him. you were inching closer without even realising it, him doing the same until you were looking up, head angled and his downwards, head bent to admire you properly.
“hi.” you whispered again.
the size difference between you had never been more apparent until then, what with all of his strenuous visits to the gym these past few months. he had always towered over you, but it was different now - his already wide chest and broad shoulders engulfed you, his biceps on either side of him enough to have you wanting him in a way that certainly was not becoming of an ex wife.
it’s like he could read your thoughts, with the way he inched closer to you, until your bodies were openly brushing against each other faintly. material on material, fabric kissing fabric. you wished you could feel him on your skin.
the sound of your voice had lulled him gently as he dipped his head down lower so you could properly see him, despite your head back to look at him.
“hi, baby.”
your stomach flipped violently.
there it was again. baby. fuck.
as though the divorce papers were fickle, representing a momentary lapse of judgement instead of a ruling decision. like he still woke up beside you every morning and ruined your cheeks with kisses before falling in between your thighs.
the dazed look on your face didn’t go unnoticed.
before you could even respond, yejin appeared behind you with the biggest smile she could possibly muster.
“oh my god,” she squeaked dramatically. “you both look insane!”
jungkook blinked, momentarily pulled from the emotional spiral you were both taking part in as he straightened slightly, despite still being awfully close to you. your cheeks heated at the sound of her voice, jumping a little in shock, causing you to brush against him faintly.
“hi, yejin.”
“don’t hi yejin me.” she narrowed her eyes dangerously. “if she cries tonight, i’ll kill you.”
“yejin!” you flushed red.
jungkook, however, allowed for a soft smile, nodding once. “fair.”
the sheer sincerity of it made the room go quiet, your eyes meeting his once more. you knew though it was a passing comment, he truly meant it - he’d let her kill him if it meant you’d hurt less.
your chest tightened all over again.
yejin seemed to realise it too, her teasing expression softening at the both of you. idiots in love, both too cautious to know what the correct next step was - thank god she loved to meddle.
“okay! you’re both gonna be late so hurry up.” she hummed, turning you and looking over you for any last minute touch ups. “i’ll take these. i’ll show myself out.”
with a cheeky wink, she all but pushed you backwards towards jungkook where your back gently brushed against his front. she had taken the flowers, shoved your clutch in your hand and shut the door in your face, all after giving you a big grin.
he didn’t move from behind you, despite you turning to properly face him. the two of you stared at one another openly, eyebrows pulling together - you could see it happening in real time, the way his body curled at the mere feel of you. to be so close to you, touching you; it was out of a far away dream.
you felt it too - god, you could feel it in your veins. the horrifying wave of unashamed want that filtered through you so naturally, your body knew him. your body recognised your husband.
your man.
his restraint was palpable. you could see it in the way his fingers flexed on either side of him, almost twitching as muscle memory surfaced from deep inside of him. for years touching you had been second nature, with a hand on your waist, fingers lifting your chin, arms around your figure to hold you up for a kiss.
now he looked almost tortured as he realised he no longer knew what he was allowed to do.
the realisation alone softened you.
“we should go.” you whispered up at him gently, though your voice lacked any real conviction.
jungkook stared at you, offering a small nod almost obediently despite the stark hunger in his eyes.
“yeah.” he cleared his throat. “yeah, okay.”
he stepped back and first; the distance was felt immediately.
you suddenly missed the warmth that radiated off of him, fingers faintly tugging on his suit jacket so gently you weren’t even aware you were doing it. what the fuck was wrong with you? one touch and you were already spiralling into him again like the last eight months had never happened.
jungkook noticed. of course he did.
his chest visibly expanded from beneath the expensive material, eyes darkening so suddenly you felt heat up and down your spine. the way he looked at you had emotion swirling in your stomach, so hungry. so devoted.
you slowly released him, blinking rapidly as though you’d only just realised what you’d done.
“sorry.” you whispered instinctively.
jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed together in offence.
“don’t apologise for touching me.” his voice came out firmer than expected, low. far too intimate given the apartment hallway you were in.
the silence that followed felt thick enough to choke on, neither of you making an effort to move despite knowing you were bordering on being late. the tension was so unbearable now that you were both alone, freely staring at one another after so much time apart - no yejin to soften the edges. just fifteen years worth of tension, want and need all accumulated between you.
his eyes flickered downwards as he watched you sway slightly.
“your heels are insane.” he muttered softly.
you blinked. “hm?”
“you’re already wobbling.”
offended, your mouth gaped. “i am not wobbling!”
jungkook let out a small huff of amusement, loving how easy it was to rile you up. the sound completely disarmed you, seeing a glimpse of the same jungkook you had been with all of your life.
“you almost fell walking out of the door.” he teased, with a tilt to his head downwards at you.
“i did not!” you shook your head with a small swat to his chest. he only let out another laugh. “you literally grabbed onto me.”
“that..doesn’t count, okay?”
“mm.” amusement stretched over his face, as he led you to the staircase, cautious to be slow as he watched you continue to slightly wobble due to the uneven surface of the hallway. “sure.”
before you could even think of a rebuttal, you watched jungkook look down the multiple staircases with a slight frown before turning to you. he suddenly bent at the knees, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion for no longer than two seconds before one arm slid below your knees and the other around your back.
your gasp echoed.
“jungkook!”
he lifted you bridal style effortlessly, as though you weighed truly nothing to him.
your hands immediately flung to the back of his neck, arms wrapping around his shoulders in shock as your body felt more of him than it had done in what felt like eons. jungkook’s hands were so much bigger than yours, and you could feel him everywhere all at once, enough to have you dizzy with a sense of want.
“what are you doing?!” you whispered harshly, eyes blown wide as he sorted you on one single arm, checking his phone for the time with the other. it was beyond easy.
jungkook merely looked down at you calmly, entirely unbothered despite the way you could feel his pulse hammering below your fingertips.
“preventative measures. can’t have you slipping down the stairs.”
you stared at him in disbelief. “you can’t just pick me up!”
he scoffed a little, as though your words were going in one ear and out the other. your comfort came first, that much was ingrained in him and even you couldn’t stop him when it came to that.
he walked down the stairs as though it was the most natural thing in the world, one hand spread wide against your back, claiming whilst the other was hooked under your thighs, making sure you were as comfortable as possible against him. your dress was draped so beautifully over his arm that anyone who would have caught you in that moment would have remarked, ironically, how bridal you looked.
you couldn’t believe how safe he felt.
jungkook noticed the second you relaxed into him. properly.
“missed carrying you.” he admitted quietly as he descended another step.
your entire body burned. “jungkook.” you breathed weakly, though there was no real warning behind your tone.
“what?” he hummed innocently. “s’true.”
you remembered almost fondly - it was the one thing you probably missed more than anything else. he would carry you everywhere - from the bed to your bath, to the couch after you’d woken up, through grocery stores just to hear you squeak in embarrassment. one time he had held you for an hour straight, walking you home after a date just because your feet hurt.
and now, here you were again, tucked into his chest as though it was home. you supposed it was.
your heart ached so violently at the memory that looking up at him through your lashes had your brain whizzing too fast for you to keep up with.
“you’ve gotten so much bigger.” you whispered almost shyly before you could stop yourself, already tucked into him too comfortably.
big mistake.
his heart truly nearly fucking stopped. his head snapped down at you almost instantly, eyes darkening so visibly it had you avoiding any contact, instead focusing your gaze on his clothed pecs.
“yeah?” he asked slowly.
your cheeks were flushed dark, realising how that may have sounded.
“just..got broader.” you clarified through another whisper, wanting nothing more than to hide your face in his neck out of embarrassment.
“been working out a lot more.” he murmured down at you, ducking his head a little so that he could meet your eyes, a small smile forming.
you nibbled your lip with a little nod, fingers brushing against the ends of his hair.
jungkook knew you loved the size difference between you, but it truly didn’t compare to how fucked it made his mind go. it was the first thing he had noticed when you opened the door again - how despite your heels, you were still so much shorter. it drove him insane, especially now that he was bigger. feeling you curled into his chest like this, all safe and protected, it made him feel wanted. to have you notice it, address it even so shyly; fuck. it ruined him.
by the time he had reached the bottom floor, your cheeks were still heated, dreading the fact he would have to let you go when all you wanted was to curl into him even deeper. to think ten minutes ago you had so much anxiety when now, he was actively conversing with you all whilst carrying you, it felt euphoric.
the driver stood outside of the car, the same man who drove you both to events when you were still together. your eyes widened a little as you watched him open the back door for you both, all whilst you were still leisurely held in his arms.
your embarrassment returned instantly.
“put me down!” you hissed quietly.
jungkook looked at you, unaffected. “why?”
“because your driver is literally staring at us, jungkook!”
the poor man looked away with a growing smile. he had missed seeing his boss so carefree, knowing that he was only like this when the situation pertained to you.
he smirked faintly. “he’s driven us around for years, baby. pretty sure he’s seen us do a lot worse.”
your mouth fell open, swatting his chest. “jungkook!”
that finally earned you a proper smile, brief but enough to knock the very air out of your lungs, your too large eyes drinking it in almost desperately. he was so handsome it hurt, and it wasn’t until now you realised how much you had missed his smile.
carefully, he gently lowered you to the ground, making sure you were comfortable on your feet.
his hands lingered. neither of you moved.
your faces were suddenly so close once more as your hands had slid down from his neck, but remained in contact, fingers digging into his chest faintly to feel him. the city noise faded around you and into the background as he looked down at you with an emotion that could only be classed as longing.
“you good?” he asked softly.
you nodded too quickly. “mhm.”
liar.
his eyes dropped to your lips once more, eyeing the gloss almost hungrily - would it taste like the strawberry you always applied? sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he’d remember the flavour.
then, like he had to physically pull himself back, he stepped closer to the car and gestured to it slowly.
“after you.”
you slid into the backseat first, smoothening your dress as it rode up your body, all whilst your pulse hammered harshly.
the interior of the car was sleek, donned in a luxurious black leather whilst it remained dimly lit in the back, with enough enough space to stretch out your legs. the scent of jungkook’s cologne was addicting, and you immediately recognised it to be the one you had bought him on your last anniversary together, your heart fluttering at the thought.
once he climbed in beside you, you realised how intimate the space actually was.
jungkook sat close enough for his thigh to brush against yours, broad shoulders taking up far too much room whilst the driver shut the door quietly behind him.
neither of you acknowledged the contact. it somehow made it worse.
it wasn’t until the divider between the front and the back began slowly sliding upwards, offering a layer of privacy that your breath caught audibly.
jungkook noticed - of course he fucking noticed. he couldn’t stop staring at you, especially now that he had you trapped here, pushed against him like you belonged with a drive ahead of you. god, the things he wanted to do to you in this dress were sinful at best, but he had to practise restraint, no matter how much it took out of him.
he leaned back, one arm sliding over to the top of your seat, where although he wasn’t touching you, you slyly leaned in just to have more of his warmth. it felt so familiar, so nauseatingly natural that anything other would have felt wrong.
he watched as your thighs pressed together.
fuck.
“you nervous?” he asked in his low voice, jaw ticking.
your eyes slowly shifted, finally meeting his gaze. through a shaky laugh, one without humour, you nodded. “obviously.”
he softened at that, sharpness melting away to reveal the tenderness below.
“it’s just me, y/n.”
you felt so hyperaware of everything. the rain that tapped softly against the tinted windows, and the gentle purr of the car engine beneath you. the feel of jungkook’s thigh soothed you, whilst his heavy gaze unnerved you - a cocktail mix that felt so entirely him.
you could feel his eyes on you before you even looked up. once you did, your breath caught at the intensity of his stare - not polite. certainly not subtle. his gaze moved over you, up and down, like he couldn’t help himself, like he he’d been trying to hold back the second you opened up the door to your apartment.
“fuck.” he muttered under his breath.
your cheeks flushed pink, whispering his name.
you watched his eyes flush down your body, eyes stuck on your cleavage and the way the material clung to your hips. “look at you.”
you instinctively looked down, shy at the attention but you couldn’t help but crave it. you knew exactly how obsessive jungkook was when it came to you, knew how deeply infatuated he was with every inch of you but seeing it so closely after so long almost felt soothing. it was a reminder that though everything had changed, somethings stayed the same.
his hand moved before you could think too hard about it, cupping under your chin and tilting your face upwards.
“don’t hide from me.”
your stomach tightened, eyelids hooded.
this thumb brushed against your jaw once, so soft, so unbelieving that you were in his arms despite the fact you technically weren’t his anymore. not that he believed that.
“i can’t stop looking at you.” he admitted, tone rougher now. “been trying since you opened the door, but it’s impossible.”
your thighs pressed together immediately, his gaze dropping to the small action. the reaction was subtle, but there - he noticed everything when it came to you.
you suddenly felt so warm.
“you’re staring so hard.” you murmured nervously, fingers twisting together in your lap.
“because you’re driving me fucking crazy.”
the words came out so plainly your eyes widened.
jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, head tipping backwards against his seat all whilst you watched with heavy breath. the far gone part of your mind wanted to track his neck, trace his adam’s apple with your fingers all so he could continue looking at you the way he had been.
he looked devastating like this - broad thighs spread in the backseat with your body pressed against him, his arm slung heavy on the head of your seat. the both of you were a mess for one another, sick in the head with infatuation.
you weren’t stupid. you knew your effect on him, perhaps not to the full extent, but enough to know that nearly a year’s distance between you was enough to drive a man like him insane. his hand dragged over his face with a quiet groan before adjusting himself slightly over his suit trousers.
your eyes flickered downwards before you could stop yourself.
jungkook smiled at the sound of your quiet giggle as you put a hand over your mouth to muffle it, looking up to meet his gaze after noticing he was half hard. all you had done was exist.
“yeah,” he murmured, the sound of your laugh blooming in his chest. “that’s your fault.”
you slapped his thigh gently, although you couldn’t hold back on the continuous giggles that were now leaving you as you felt lighter than you had in what felt like years. he too matched you, the intensity lightening up massively as he let out a quiet laugh despite himself.
“what’d you expect, hm?” he asked, voice soft. “i haven’t seen you in eight months, and now you’re sat next to me looking like this. wearing pink.”
his hand slowly slid over, brushing against your own, fingertips grazing your skin before he intertwined them, gently.
you let him.
the second you curled your hand into his yourself, his expression changed. up until now, it was him losing control, reigning himself in, biting himself down to make sure you were as comfortable as possible but fuck. you were the one touching him now, making sure he could see you intertwine your hands properly, squeezing his hand.
it felt like a confirmation that this was the beginning of a new chapter.
he wanted to scream, to yell on the top of his lungs at the thought of you openly showing him your willingness. his sweet, angel girl; he loved you more than words could describe and he wanted to spend the rest of his life showing you.
“missed this,” he admitted quietly, eyes on your much smaller hand holding his so intimately. “missed you touching me.”
your eyes burned suddenly.
jungkook noticed immediately with a frown, expression softening at the edges.
“hey, baby.” his thumb brushed yours. “don’t cry.”
“m’not crying.” you whispered, though your voice wobbled embarrassingly.
he held you close to him as you both remained quiet for the rest of the journey, though the silence felt welcomed after such a rush and mix of emotions. you had gone from anxiety, to confusion, to excitement, to warmth, to a painful reminder of what once was - it was enough to drive you insane. being around him hurt, but being near him was healing.
rain continued to pitter patter outside as your hands remained intertwined, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he sat there trying to fathom how this was real. you were letting him in, and he could see it, could see how much it was taking out of you and he’d be damned if he fucked it up again. to get a second chance was insanity alone, but to have it with you?
the car began slowing down.
through the tinted windows, you could see a flash of white, people trying to get a glimpse of the elusive ceo they were so obsessed with. you gulped as you watched other powerful business people walk in with their dates, models and celebrities lining up to have their picture taken.
you leaned into him almost immediately.
jungkook held onto you tightly, arm sliding over your waist and gently squeezing. “i’m here. stay by me.”
you nodded quickly, dazed. “okay.”
his eyes lingered on your face for a second too long before he muttered under his breath, almost like he couldn’t help himself. “you look so fucking pretty.”
your heart nearly stopped, meeting his gaze as your shoulders slumped, feeling calm through his sweet words.
the car door opened.
chaos.
jungkook stepped out first and the reaction was everything you had expected and somehow so much more. your eyes blinked as you watched the cameras explode violently, reporters shouting his name from all directions as they desperately tried to get a clear shot of him, knowing he could easily make front page news without having to try.
your heart stopped for a moment.
his back faced everyone else as he turned to you, taking a hold of your hands once more and gently helping you out of the car, smoothening your dress.
the second they saw you? everything multiplied by ten.
genuine screaming was heard from somewhere behind the barricades as you slowly stepped out, your own hand finding jungkook’s for a sense of comfort which he readily gave you, pulling you in a little closer than necessary. the noise was erupting, your vision blinded momentarily by the insane flashes, reports actually tripping over one another to take pictures of you in particular.
this wasn’t normal.
jeon jungkook never brought women anywhere. never entertained rumours, never dated publicly, never stood beside any other woman that hadn’t been you. even then, you had been painfully private, making sure to attend closed events with rare appearances, often opting to support in the shadows as opposed to centre stage as he was forced to.
but now? this was the loudest statement you could have possibly made and it slowly dawned on you both the nature of the decision.
you were telling the world you were ready to start again.
his entire demeanour had changed out here.
you were overwhelmed to say the least, but it was his arms around you that kept you grounded as you clung to him, your smaller frame tucked so delicately within his own that some found themselves putting their cameras down just so they could observe you both.
you were the epitome of love and neither of you even knew it.
ceo jungkook - all cold eyes, sharp jaw, that terrifying calmness. yet every few seconds he ducked his head down, whispering something in your ear that would have you smiling almost shyly back up at him, easing your mind away from the hundreds of people who wanted nothing more than to get a picture of you.
“jungkook over here!”
“is that your ex-wife?”
“are you two back together?!”
“y/n!”
you flinched slightly as the voices got louder the closer you walked down the carpet towards the venue, but it seemed jungkook’s presence only felt bigger.
“don’t look at them.” he whispered down into your ear, words tucked for you and you alone. “look at me.”
stupidly enough, you obeyed almost instantly. his eyes softened at the way you listened so sweetly.
“good girl.” he muttered absentmindedly before guiding you to the entrance and away from the prying eyes outside.
the words hit you far harder than they should have. good girl.
oh you were so fucked.
—
the venue was utterly breathtaking.
golden lighting spilled across towering ceilings whilst soft music played from a live orchestra at one side of the ballroom, so elegant you’re indeed whether you were even appropriately dressed. people stared at you openly, all whilst you and your flushed cheeks looked away, purposefully keeping your gaze vague and avoiding eye contact with most. glasses clinked together as powerful figures mingled amongst themselves, professional cameras still set up inside.
and yet, none of it compared to the way people reacted to jungkook.
conversations paused when he walked by, people straightening up. executives who had once terrified you now looked nervous approaching him and it reminded you exactly who he was outside of your relationship.
jeon jungkook was a terrifyingly cold, business man. he was untouchable and unfeeling, everything that made a powerful man powerful and then there was you. his one weakness.
his hand remained firm against the small of your back possessively, claiming you as his own in front of anyone who could see. you loved when he was like this, all brooding and dark as though anyone even had a chance to steal him from you - silly man. even now, with months of distance between you and a divorce, you were all his.
“breathe, baby.” he reminded with a quiet hum in your ear.
“i am breathing.” your cheeks warmed.
“barely.”
you shot him a look, though it was void of any real annoyance as he guided you further into the room. you couldn’t help but admire him openly, all whilst he scanned the room, not realising how deep you were falling into your own thoughts. he really had gotten so much bigger, with his chest so wide you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like under your hands. his shoulders too.
you had spent the entire drive trying not to stare at him. you had failed. miserably.
“drink?”
he pulled you out of your thoughts with a little gasp, realising you had been openly checking him out much to his pleasure. you found yourself nodding, nibbling away at your lip. “yes please.”
the words came out too fast, awarding you with a small laugh as he turned towards the bar.
your eyes followed him automatically.
that was another problem entirely. you see, no matter where jungkook stood, attention naturally followed. men greeted him immediately, keen to get into his good books whilst women openly stared, hoping to garner his fancy and yet he was completely and entirely uninterested. his gaze flickered back to you every few moments, as though he still couldn’t believe you were right there, just for him. just because he had asked you to come.
your chest squeezed painfully at the thought.
he returned only a few moments later with two champagne glasses, handing you yours to which you took with a nervous smile.
“thank you.”
your fingers brushed his purposefully. small, barely noticeable.
oh, but how jungkook had noticed. he noticed everything when it came to you and judging from the way his throat bobbed, taking a large sip of his drink, you knew that your poor ex husband was certainly not able to handle your charm.
the champagne helped much quicker than you were expecting it to.
after the first glass, the tension in your shoulders completely eased but it was the second that had you transforming. your overthinking thoughts ceased to exist, as the warmth in your blood brought out a shade of pink in your face that jungkook couldn’t look away from. standing close to him suddenly felt less terrifying and so much more thrilling.
a dangerous combination - especially when jungkook was looking at you with so much hunger.
a buzz had settled deep into your bloodstream, your brain slightly away with the fairies as you continued to sip, looking up at him. your other hand darted out, fingers trailing over his stomach openly, over to where the buttons of his suit sat. what was an absentminded action to you, tipsy, was enough to have jungkook almost shaking.
you were braver when you had alcohol in you, that much had been true your entire relationship, but even this felt quite insane. he watched as your fingers trailed up and down, sliding up to where his chest was only to drop lower and lower. it wasn’t until your fingertips were brushing the top of his suit trousers that he grabbed your hand.
you pouted at him, head tilted. “why?”
your whine had his shoulders rolling.
“because,” he said slowly, voice rough beneath the sound of the orchestra. “you’re getting handsy.”
your lips patted in faux innocence. “am not.”
jungkook stared at you half in disbelief and other half amusement, still holding your hand that he now pressed to his chest firmly. your fingers had nearly slipped below his waistband, a thought that had him nearly taking you home then and there but he knew it was because the alcohol was making you brave - his tipsy girl. his palm engulfed yours, feeling your fingers wriggle underneath to continue your plans with a slight whine but he was both firm and possessive, not letting you go.
you pressed your thighs together again.
this was the champagne.
he knew it, knew it to be a dangerous mix - the alcohol and your naturally clingy personality once you got comfortable, all combined with the eight months apart meant you were now simply doing whatever your heart wanted with little care to your mind.
your cheeks warmed as you watched him stare down at you, gaze heavier than anything all evening. it seemed the longer you were both in each other’s presence, despite how long you’d spent apart, the more bold you were getting - but could you be blamed? he might have been your ex husband but he still belonged to you, and you knew you were still entirely his, a fucked up fact that meant you were both drawn to each other in ways that meant you could never move on.
multiple months of healing all gone to shit in a single night, with a few drinks. who were you both kidding - moving on wasn’t an option. even you could see that now.
your fingers flexed under his hold, people secretly watching you both interact with bated breath. they couldn’t believe this was the same jungkook they were afraid of, made to mush at the hands of the pretty woman in front of him. he was but a man afterall.
rather than pulling away, your fingers simply curled around the fabric of his suit jacket, fingers touching his shirt purposefully to elicit another reaction out of him. he had reduced you to putty in the drive over and perhaps it was the alcohol in your system, but you wanted him to feel the same.
jungkook was quiet. too quiet.
jaw slightly slack as he took you in, you touching him like his body belonged to you and you alone. he relished in the fact you knew it just as well as he did.
he had missed this so much. just the feel of you, no matter how innocent you pretended to be, skin on skin. it felt like a promise.
and now, you were standing here, head tilted to stare up at him properly whilst looking through pretty lashes that batted at him subconsciously.
it was driving him insane.
“you’re staring again.” you hummed at him. his eyebrows narrowed. “because you keep touching me.”
you tried to bite down the smile that began to form on your lips as your fingers continued to flex, soon finding his heartbeat to confirm your suspicious. oh, he was a mess underneath your hand.
“you don’t seem to mind.”
his jaw flexed. you heard him curse under his breath, calling you a fucking minx which only had you giggling just as quietly. it was a powerful thing to have a man as influential as jungkook so weak in the knees for you, and you couldn’t deny the affect it was having on your mind. he snaked a heavy arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him in a way that was absolutely not becoming of the environment you were in.
“keep this shit up and i’ll take you home.” he promised quietly, leaning down to whisper into your ear.
unfortunately for him, you had no intention of stopping. especially when you had just begun.
“promise?” you whispered back, eyes wide with a faux innocence you knew he wanted to ruin.
his jaw clenched again, blood half boiling at how cheeky you were being and cock hardening by how badly he wanted to ruin you. had this been any other circumstance, you’d already be in the bathroom with your dress to your chest, being pounded into by the only man who knew exactly how to ruin you until you were well bred.
but alas - this night was about proving himself to you, and no matter how hard you made him, he knew he had to do this right.
and so, instead, he pinched you at your waist slightly, pulling an airless squeak out of you before he brushed his lips against your ear.
“behave.”
the word should have been warning enough, but instead, warmth fluttered through you, rushing through your stomach so violently you pressed against him further. jungkook nearly hissed, watching how reactive you were for him, with your hooded eyes and slack jaw.
fuck.
his hands were all over you, with little care to who was watching and you knew tomorrow you’d be mortified when you remembered how brazen you had both been, but it was hard not to feel addicted when you were both feeling the same way. you giggled lightly, hiding your face in his chest momentarily before meeting his gaze.
“you’re very confident for someone i divorced.” you playfully hummed.
at that, he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face. “didn’t stop you from getting your pretty hands all over me.”
the alcohol was well into your system as you found yourself giggling once more, fully hiding yourself in his chest to which he wrapped his arms around you properly, the two of you whispering and laughing together as though it was the most natural thing in the world. jungkook’s colleagues, rivals and admirers all watched you both in genuine curiosity at the way you were so well suited. two people, quietly infatuated with one another - it was toothache inducing.
the conversation between you both remained playful, with his thumb tracing your bottom lip at one point muttering something about how badly he wanted to know how your lip gloss tasted. an hour in and you were both practically trying to one up each other with how far you could take it, leaving you both laughing whilst trying to stay quiet.
this is what you had missed. joy. comfort. being around him in a way that didn’t feel like you were fighting to prove something. it had been so long since you’d felt this carefree that you realised pretty quickly that you couldn’t let him ago again. it was a horrible thought at first, realising that the past few months may have been for naught but perhaps absence did make the heart fonder.
soon enough, you had been there close enough two hours and jungkook had done the rounds once you settled in, less tipsy but still buzzed. you met his new business partners, clients you hadn’t seen in a while, a mixture of familiar faces and people you had only ever heard about. neither of you commented on the fact he introduced you intimately, with a heavy arm around your waist.
it genuinely felt like no time had past with the way you both felt so comfortable, the dynamics between you natural considering he had been the one constant in your life for the past fifteen years. you sipped on your glass of water as you listened to his conversation half mindedly, watching him discuss a new company contract with one of his shareholders.
it wasn’t until you heard a voice echo throughout the ballroom announcing the beginning of the charity auction that the conversation came to an end. jungkook immediately took a hold of your hand, planting a cheeky kiss to your knuckles with a slight smirk, before leading you towards the front of the room where the different things on auction sat to be admired over.
“c’mon.”
you followed him easily, hands intertwined whilst you walked side by side, champagne now a dull buzz in your body. people moved around you respectfully, all whilst their eyes lingered on you much longer than needed. could you blame them? you were the infamous woman that had managed to lock down the one man that seemed disinterested in everything, so much so that you had him laughing and flushing pink every time you so much as looked at him. the divorced couple that looked anything but divorced.
oh, they were staring indeed, with hushed whispers and even quieter questions.
your attention drifted lazily over the displayed pieces, politely but nothing quite caught your interest, your eyebrows pulling up at some of the art pieces named. it wasn’t until you reached the very end that you found yourself stopped in your tracks.
jungkook noticed, he too coming to a stop to glance over at you only for his gaze to follow yours. he immediately understood.
beneath warm lighting sat a painting, inconspicuous to most considering it was much smaller than the grand pieces to the left, but it had your eyelashes fluttering
white gardenias.
your breath left you quietly.
it wasn’t just flowers - it was an oil painting, textured with strokes of green, ivory and creams whilst petals cascaded over one another so delicately your heart ached. the background dat moodier, darker compared to the softness of the flower leaving you in a state of utter awe for a few moments, all whilst holding the hand of your ex-husband who watched you with bated breath.
it was beautiful.
you stepped closer unconsciously, hardly aware of yourself.
jungkook didn’t think he’d ever seen you look at something with this much wonder, in all of the years he had known you. it did something to him, to watch you genuinely in awe at something he could so easily give you - it made him realise he needed provide it for you just to see that look again and again and again and again and again.
he felt this throat tighten, a harsh lump forming the longer he watched you admire it. the way your glossy lips parted, eyes widened and fingers tracing the air in front of it - donned in the same diamond necklace he had gotten you years prior. the same necklace he’d bought you after you murmured something about diamonds resembling stars late one night as you curled into him in your shared bed.
and here you were, wearing it, all whilst your hand curled inside his as though you had never been more at peace. that did something to him. something he couldn’t quite describe.
your fingers moved to brush over the small description plaque underneath, reading the inspiration for the piece with a small, choked huff - devotion. enduring, eternal love through trial and tribulation through each season of life.
your own throat tightened then. of course.
“gardenias are difficult flowers..they die so easily if you don’t take care of them.” you found yourself whispering; straightening your back and avoiding his gaze to bite back any tears that wanted to appear.
his chest tightened violently.
all he could think about was the little apartment you had both shared when you were younger, when he barely had any money to get you by each month. the one with the poor lighting and the janky sink - you used to sit by the window each morning whilst he got ready for work, whispering sweet things down at them because you believed it would help them grow.
he remembered every single detail.
“you kept yours alive for months.” he whispered back, the hand that was clasped in yours now intertwining your fingers, as though he could project his memories back to you.
you blinked back at him, eyes glassy, surprised slightly. you hadn’t expected him to remember something so small and insignificant.
how could jungkook could ever forget a single thing about you?
a small smile pulled at your lips. “i used to get upset whenever they’d lose petals.”
“you cried once.” he corrected.
you rolled your eyes. “shut up!”
he only shrugged, lips twitching. “had to console you all night.”
“i thought i killed it!”
his quiet laugh nearly knocked the air from your lungs, all whilst he pulled you back into him, breathing in the scent from your hair before taking you to your shared table, where the auction was about to begin. your fingers remained curled around his own, all whilst he helped you sit down, fixing your dress for you.
he physically couldn’t pull away from you, couldn’t stop touching you even as you began conversing to the woman beside you, who jungkook recognised as one of his shareholders. his thigh was pressed against yours, all whilst his hand sat heavy in your lap, both of your hands playing with his fingers absentmindedly.
the different items came on stage as you watched people bid, raising their panels whilst some shouted out their numbers for more exclusive pieces. you couldn’t help your giggles, leaning over to whisper in jungkook’s ear whenever you’d see more excited people, all for him to lean into you with an equal smile. the two of you were being silly, and it felt fun for once.
by the time the gardenia painting finally appeared, your posture straightened as you tapped on his hand with a wiggle of your eyebrows. jungkook watched you with a lazy grin, eyes flicking over your face.
cute.
the bidding started much lower than you expected, causing you to frown. “that’s it?”
he nearly laughed, seeing your passion for your flowers. “art’s subjective, baby.”
“yeah, well everyone is wrong..so.”
fuck. he loved you so much.
you watched as someone raised their paddle, and then another, and another. a bidding war began as your head bounced between people, watching in utter curiosity though a part of you wondered what it would be like to bid yourself. ironically for you, you were completely unaware of the man beside you staring at your profile like he wanted to devote the rest of his life to you.
“two million.”
your eyebrows raised.
“two and a half!” someone else shouted, causing you to play with his fingers a little faster almost out of excitement.
“hope someone who actually appreciates it gets it.” you leaned over to whisper into his ear, lips brushing against his cheek in the process.
his jaw ticked.
game on.
just as someone shouted out, claiming three million, jungkook ran a hand through his hair before raising his panel, dark eyes trained on the auctioneer.
“five million.”
your head snapped sideways so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash, all whilst jungkook sat completely calm, hand raised lazily as though this was easy. like he hadn’t just dropped five million as though it was nothing.
“jungkook!” you whispered, eyes wide. he merely hummed back at you, hand still intertwined with yours. “hm?”
“what are you doing?!”
“getting you your painting.”
you stared at him in disbelief.
across the room, multiple people were openly whispering now, glancing between you because everyone could recognise what was exactly happening. this wasn’t ego - this was love.
obsessive, and terrifying love.
another bidder raised their paddle almost nervously, calling out a measly “five and a half” after a moment of hesitation.
“seven million.”
an audible murmur fluttered through the room just as you grabbed onto his arm with a large gasp, eyes widening as though he was batshit insane. “jungkook, stop!”
he finally looked at you, small smile playing on his lips at the sight of you so shocked. it was so cute the way you were practically toppling over your seat, a reminder that despite being with him, you had never really dabbled in his wealth whatsoever despite it all belonging to you.
a large shout of ‘sold’ was heard by all, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. his eyes admired you, from your lips to your eyes, your shaking hands that were both clinging to his thigh, your cleavage that had dipped even further than earlier. fuck. you were the epitome of everything he had ever wanted.
“you wanted it.” he whispered to you, as though that was all he needed, as though it was enough of a reason to spend seven million in one night with a flick of his wrist.
your eyes near enough watered at his words, knowing that nothing had ever described jungkook better.
—
things between you and jungkook had settled into something dangerous.
not enough to call yourselves fixed, or enough to place a label onto whatever fragile thing had formed between you, but enough that your days seemed lighter. having him back in your life meant you were happy again, and actually excited - finally feeling whole in ways that no one else quite understood.
he called more often now.
what started off as phone calls sometimes briefly between meetings, something about using your voice to destress before important gatherings. they quickly turned to late night facetimes where both of you laid in bed, half naked, chatting until either of you would fall asleep. some nights they turned into something darker, dirtier, with a slip of your night dress to show him more all whilst he’d grunt and hiss at the sight, whispering all of the things he wanted to do to you.
it was beginning to feel domestic, familiar even. so terrifyingly easy.
you realised pretty quickly that somewhere along the way, between late night conversations and soft laughs exchanged, you had began falling deeply in love again.
hard.
he had been away on business ever since the gala a few weeks ago, with him currently stationed in hong kong over some important stakeholder meetings. you knew he was incredibly stressed over it, given the frequency of his calls - always at odd times during the day and night, sometimes with the intention of just looking at your face as though it was the only motivator he needed.
the time difference was more irritating than you had expected, and yet he still managed to find a way to accommodate to your schedule as opposed to his.
your favourite so far had been a simple picture of the skyline view from his hotel, taken at three am with a caption of ‘wish you were here.’
you hated how much those four words affected you.
pathetic, really. how even now, you’d kick your feet in excitement over any message sent from your ex husband.
it had become routine now, to expect messages from him with each waking moment, calls when the workload was heavier. perhaps that was exactly why the silence that afternoon felt so particularly loud.
you were curled into your couch, opting to work from home as you were in his jumper and a pair of flimsy shorts. you hummed quietly as you balanced your laptop on your thighs, all whilst a random entertainment news channel played in the back to offer some noise in your otherwise quiet apartment.
your ears perked up once you heard jungkook’s name somewhere in the background.
your attention barely lifted at first, no doubt another gossip sesh on how attractive he was which often made you giggle, but this felt different.
“ceo jeon jungkook spotted in hong kong alongside mystery woman-“
your stomach dropped.
the laptop slipped from your thighs and onto the couch cushion, all whilst your head snapped towards the television, reaching for the remote to turn it up. the image splashed across the screen, all whilst you sat there, smaller than anything, watching.
jungkook.
beside him, an undeniably beautiful woman.
she was tall, elegant, dressed sharply in a suit practically created for her whilst cameras flashed at them harshly, exiting a building together. the headline underneath made your chest cave in further.
‘global heartthrob ceo finally moving on after the divorce?’
you stared. and stared, and stared, and stared, and stared, and stared until your knees had slowly slid to the ground, your back touching the couch whilst the entertainment show droned on and on about the details of your relationship with jungkook, about how smitten you had both seen at the gala, how they were the first to break this exclusive news.
your brain knew better. you knew jungkook like the back of your hand and logically, you fucking knew better. jungkook was so many things, but he had always placed you and your emotions first, your priorities, your necessities, your life - your wants and needs transcended everything else. you had never asked for it to be this way, it was just the way he was.
even during your separation, he had never looked at a woman twice. you knew that.
but logic had never been able to defeat insecurity.
all you could think, all you could see, based off of a single image was how she fit beside him. how effortless it looked, how beautiful she was, how successful. so poised and polished - she was everything a woman who stood beside jungkook ought to have been and it was killing you in real time.
the worst thing of all was the realisation that he didn’t belong to you.
all of this emotion, this horrible feeling inside your chest and soul - you were the one to divorce him. you had been the one that demanded it end back then, no matter how much he had begged you to see reason, believing that it was the correct step forward for the both of you. he had every right to move onto someone else, had every right to actually step forward towards something new.
and yet the thought of him belonging to someone else felt the closest to grief you had ever felt in your life.
your phone rang violently loud beside you, droning out the words of the presenter and making you jump slightly.
jungkook.
your eyes burned instantly.
the phone continued to ring and ring across the sofa cushion as you stared at his contact picture, a photo taken on your anniversary a few years ago that you could never bring yourself to change. your chest rose unevenly as another harsh wave of emotion hit you.
you couldn’t do this.
not after you had spent the past few months trying not to think about him, only for him to come back into your life.
the call rang out.
then another came. and another. and another.
your phone was blowing up with a mixture of calls and messages, each vibration making your heart ache so much worse as the topic changed on the tv, talking about some other celebrity gossip all whilst you felt your entire life collapse before your very eyes.
with shaking hands and teary orbs, you turned your phone off.
you burst into tears.
the rest of the day was spent being utterly miserable. you had never felt so pathetic in all of your life, with pain running up and down your veins in a way that genuinely left you almost debilitated. the last time you were this heartbroken, you were a fresh divorcee.
the curtains remained shut despite the afternoon sun outside, your apartment dim besides the soft flicker of the television that continued playing mindlessly in the background. at some point, you had dragged yourself towards your bed with tears still streaming down your face, his oversized jumper now heavy on your frame.
you hated this version of yourself.
hated how deeply this had affected you despite knowing better. you knew him better than this, had enough trust in him and yet you couldn’t barter with what was directly in front of you - months after rebuilding a sense of confidence all for it to shatter over one measly, gossip channel.
you closed your eyes, images of the beautiful woman stood beside him flooding your mind causing you to open them up again with a quiet whimper. so composed and effortless. untouched by the devastation eating you alive.
by morning, your chest was in genuine pain.
you looked awful too.
your eyes were swollen, red with the continuous tears all night whilst your skin felt sunken and dull, the early morning sun hitting your skin from glimpses through your blinds. you forced yourself out of your bed and into your shower, trying to rid the plaguing thoughts out of your body. you failed, spending the majority of it quietly crying.
by the time you were in the living room again, your nose was just as pink as your eyes, hands shaky and body adorned in an old t-shirt you had secretly stolen from his wardrobe back when you were packing to leave. you curled weakly into the couch, blanket curled onto your legs as you begged your body to rid the horrible stomach ache that had now found home inside you.
your phone remained switched off, somewhere under the blanket, still left there from yesterday. you reached for the remote.
you just wanted mindless noise.
instead, the television flickered to life and you found your breath catching harshly for the umpteenth time within 24 hours.
breaking news banners on every channel you came across.
jeon jungkook.
a whimper pulled up out of your throat at the sight of his images everywhere, your fingers tightening around the blanket before you turned the volume up.
“the ceo has officially filed legal proceedings against multiple media outlets this morning following yesterday’s false dating allegations-“
your heartbeat began thundering. you sat up immediately.
another clip appeared instantly, reporters practically tripping over one another in front of jungkook’s main company building, cameras flashing in hopes of getting a picture of anyone who could answer for anything.
“the statement released by jeon jungkook’s legal team less than half an hour ago reads as follows-“
the screen shifted, and suddenly, there it was. cold white text against a black background that had your breathing stopping completely.
“the allegations regarding ceo jeon jungkook are entirely false. the individual photographed was present for a scheduled business meeting attended by multiple executives and investors. legal action will be taken against all parties responsible for the deliberate spread of false information and invasion of privacy.”
your throat tightened harshly.
your eyebrows furrowed as you watched the presenter stop, looking at the camera momentarily, before her voice completely softened.
“as for the final portion of the statement, many online are expressing surprise regarding the unusually personal nature of his response as he personally commented-“
more text appeared.
you scanned it once. twice.
over and over and over until a harsh sob was ripped from your lips.
“i have never entertained nor pursued any romantic involvement with anyone.
there has only ever been one woman.”
a broken sound tore from your throat as your hand flew to your mouth, fresh tears spilling from eyes so fast that you couldn’t see the tv. your heart felt like it had been picked up from the ground, cradled and cherished after being pierced over and over all night, attacked without any reprise.
you couldn’t believe what you were reading.
jungkook, your jungkook? so private and reserved, not willing to give one inch of himself to anyone other than you and yet here he was, making himself as clear as possible. he was telling everyone with ears that you were his but more importantly, he belonged to you and you alone.
he despised media attention, it truly was the one thing he hated more than anything and the both of you would often laugh at rumours and random things stated in the tabloids because they were all bullshit.
and yet he has made a statement publicly.
for you.
your chest cracked at the thought as you covered your face with both hands, sobbing harder and harder.
before you could wallow further, a loud banging erupted from the front door.
the sound tore so violently through the apartment, you jumped - startled on the couch whilst your heart leapt to your throat. the slight fear had your tears stopping immediately, allowing for enough of a shock to regulate your mind for a few moments.
another knock came before you could even process it. louder, and louder, and louder.
“baby!”
your breath hitched painfully.
jungkook?
his voice sounded wrecked. not the calm, controlled man the world knew, nor the eerie ceo who often stood emotionless in front of the cameras whilst deals worth billions sat heavy on his shoulders. this was your jungkook - the one who loved you much too hard, half unravelled whenever the conversation pertained to you.
“open the door.” he shouted again, along another collective banging. his voice cracked slightly. “please..”
you stared into space for just a moment, your mind unable to comprehend what was happening before your legs carried you to the door, through the hallway. you slipped on your blanket slightly, already shaking body weaker than usual given the past twenty four hours, all whilst hot, heavy tears burned in your eyes once more.
another knock.
“baby, c’mon..”
the second your shaking hands unlocked the door, it swung open hard enough to hit the wall behind it, as though jungkook couldn’t believe you had actually heard him.
he looked utterly destroyed.
he stood, still in a suit that now sat disheveled on his frame, black tie loosened around his throat, white shirt wrinkled as though he had been in it for hours. his usually pushed back hair was messy, pulled at and tugged through large hands any time he had realised the depths of emotion you were no doubt feeling looking at the news - if the shoe was on the other foot, and jungkook had seen news of you and another man; he would’ve happily burnt the world to a crisp.
the second he saw you, his entire face fell apart, anger long dissipating.
“fuck.” he whispered, heaving out a breath.
his oversized shirt sat on your body, engulfing your smaller frame, swallowing you whole in a way that had his breath taken away. it was your eyes that broke him, however, as they looked so swollen, no doubt from crying so hard, your cheeks still damp and lips still quivering enough that he watched you bite down on them.
you watched his throat bob harshly, watched his eyes flicker over yourself frantically like he was trying to assess how badly you had been hurting without him here to comfort you. the thought terrified him.
that was all it took for a sob to rip out of your chest so painfully your knees almost buckled. your hands flew up to your face.
immediately, his arms shot out, cradling you almost harshly to him with one large arm completely covering you whilst his large hand pressed against the back of your head, holding you close to him as though this was the only remedy for a situation like this. his sweet girl. his sweet, sweet girl.
“i called you for nineteen fucking hours.” he said, eyes darting down at you desperately.
you couldn’t stop crying. “i know.”
“your phone was off.” his voice broke slightly, as though the situation had hurt him beyond words. “that scared me, y/n.” he admitted, chest heaving a little.
your crying only worsened immediately because of course it scared him - jeon jungkook, a man who’s entire identity was you and you alone. the prospect of losing you for the second time would surely be enough to kill him, and yet answering his calls felt like the last thing you could bring yourself to do.
“i tried not to think like that,” you choked out through hiccups. “i know you wouldn’t, logically i know but just kept seeing the pictures of you beside her and..”
your chest was heaving.
“stop talking about her.”
the words came out sharp, almost harsh.
his hand slipped to cup your face, holding your jaw in place whilst his arm slipped down, cupping your body to him so you could rest, his own strength supporting you up. his eyes were wild.
“don’t,” he repeated quieter, chest rising and falling. “don’t..stand here and..fuck, don’t compare yourself to someone else for even a second over some shitty tabloid.”
you couldn’t stop crying. it was as though that was all you could do.
“jungkook..”
“no.” he cut in immediately, voice cracking at the edges. “you don’t get it.”
he stood before you, a cocktail mix of utter despair and devotion, all whilst anger and fear simmered on the surface, every emotion open on his face to the point he almost felt unrecognisable. you knew he loved you, could see it painted on his features for the world to see but you weren’t sure when his feelings for you had become his very destruction. it scared you.
his hand shook around your face.
“you think i flew half a day because of a fucking dating rumour?” his eyes glazed over. “i don’t give a fuck about the tabloids, baby, you know that. i was scared because i know what this would do to you. i know your brain.”
your breath hitched.
“i know you.” he repeated, hands continuing to shake against you. “know how your mind gets. i know you’d sit here and cry over this shit when you know i would never touch another woman.”
another harsh sob clawed up your throat, and jungkook heaved at the sight as though it was the worst sound he had ever heard.
“look at me.” he pleaded suddenly.
his hands dropping from your body as he suddenly dropped to his knees - a man of his stature rendered completely broken by the woman he loved. the amount of people who looked up to him, feared him; the amount of people he dictated on a daily basis and yet here he was, on his knees for you. only you.
“there has never been anyone else.” his voice cracked completely. “not before you, not after you. not after this, no matter what happens, you hear me? it’s you, and it’s always going to be just you.”
your own knees were begging to give out, as you leaned against him, only for him to rest his face against your stomach, breathing you in like a man desperate for your understanding. he wanted you to see, needed you to comprehend the situation at hand. there was no him without you, the concept didn’t exist.
“you’re the only woman i’ve ever loved and there is nothing after you, y/n, because you’re my wife. divorce or not, i don’t give a fuck, i belong to you forever whether you want me or not and i won’t..i can’t have you thinking otherwise.”
your entire body gave in at the admission as you collapsed into him with another heart breaking sob, jungkook holding you like a man terrified he had said too much and truly not enough. for the first time since the divorce, neither of you tried to pretend this wasn’t exactly what it was.
—
the rest of the evening softened after that.
somewhere between the tears and the endless kisses planted to your cheeks, nose, head, hands and stomach came an ease to the panic that had long settled into your bones for the past few months. he refused to let you go, grunting almost childishly whenever you’d move out of his arms to do anything until you found yourself snuggled back into his arms, as though the thought of distance after such a clear cut declaration of love physically pained him.
he looked exhausted now that the adrenaline of the situation had worn off, his under eyes sunken from the exhaustion that had now settled deep into his body. to think he had flown all the way across the world simply because of the thought of you crying all alone over a situation that was so completely false upset him - it made you want to sob all over again.
how could you have ever let him go? how could you proceed forward without him, without him so deeply intertwined in your life once more?
eventually you found an old pair of black shorts mixed in with your clothes from when you had packed your things all those months ago. jungkook had stared at them for a few moments after his shower, towel low on his hips as water droplets slipped down his chest. it had his heart pounding faster than anything yet.
“you kept these?” he murmured down at you, watching the way your eyes flickered up from his physique, small gasp leaving your lips at being caught. “oh! um..must’ve slipped them in by accident.”
he didn’t comment on the fact you were wearing his t-shirt either, despite it hardening his cock.
still, he pulled them on as you settled into bed, your hair still scented from your earlier shower too. you, in his too big top, whilst he grabbed you immediately, shirtless and hands still desperate to hold you in a way he had held back on for so long.
you hummed as your body pressed against his, his figure snaking around your body as a heavy arm curled under your ass as a means to prop you up higher in his arms, causing you to giggle into his neck. your arms wrapped around him too, humming a little under your breath as he breathed in your scent openly.
you both laid there in silence for a long while, breathing. healing.
the room was dark now, with the city lights from afar shining through the slips of your blinds, illuminating slivers of his bare chest beside where your hands sat. you could feel his heartbeat, the way it calmed your already heightened senses as though your body recognised it was finally home.
“missed this.” you whispered into his ear, only snuggling closer to him.
jungkook’s grip, once on your waist, slid down to your ass once more. this time, his palm sat on your ass cheek, fingers digging into your skin whilst breathing you in.
“don’t say shit like that to me when i’m hard.” he grunted, a small smile forming across your lips. you hadn’t even done anything, not that you needed to to get jungkook bothered.
when you pulled him from your neck, his eyes were already glazed over, both of you taking a second to simply stare at one another in the exact way you had wanted for so long. his mouth parted, as his hooded eyes took you in, holding you closer, tighter.
within seconds, his lips touched yours.
slowly, at first, as though he was trying to relearn you after years of you being his. he savoured every moment of your lips against his, especially once you started to kiss him back, both of you uncertain in the beginning but once your hands began to find home in his hair, it was then that jungkook’s touch began to grow in confidence.
he kissed like a man starved, one hand buried in your hair too whilst the other continued to grip your ass possessively, as though physically feeling you was enough to have his mind go into overdrive. every small sound you made went straight to his cock as he swallowed your little sighs and whimpers, only pushing him to kiss you deeper and deeper and deeper.
he was growing desperate, pushing you down against the bed, half hovering over you as he rested on one arm, hand cupping at your thighs, your stomach, your knee. anything he could get his hands on all whilst his tongue explored your mouth as though he had every right.
perhaps he did because despite everything, the divorce and distance, the heartbreak - he still reacted to you like you were the only thing capable of fucking him up.
his lips eventually drifted from your mouth, pressing against your chin, your jaw and finally your neck. oh, this sweet, pretty little neck, he had dreams of marking it up and down every other night and the fact he had you in his arms now, in a bed far too small for the things he so desperately wanted to do to you was everything and more.
jungkook moved, properly hovering over you now just as you moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist, pushing your top down your thighs and revealing your lace panties you had conveniently put on. just in case, of course.
he pulled away, a string of saliva connecting both of your mouths as you watched it break apart the further he pulled his head back. just staring at you hurt, with the way your cheeks had flushed and your hair was spread all across the pillow, and your thighs. fuck. the sight of what was between them had him openly groaning down at you.
“need you to tell me to stop baby, or i won’t be able to hold back.” he hissed down at you, feeling your legs tighten around him before he could finish his sentence.
your hands moved to the waistband of his shorts, eyes never leaving his as you tugged on it just slightly. jungkook, who’s two hands were on either side of your head, blinked down at you half in awe and other agony, the prospect of you teasing him in a moment like this his literal worst nightmare. you always knew how to make him impatient, said it was the best version of him.
he watched with bated breath as you grabbed one of his arms until his hand was in your own, slowly pushing it under your top to rest on your stomach. it felt heavy on your frame, large palm heating your already hot skin before you pulled him down, other arm wrapping around his neck.
“wanna feel you here, kookie.” you whispered into his ear.
jungkook nearly took you then and there.
his jaw flexed, a heavy leaving his lips as he chased your lips, planting another kiss. “yeah? want kookie deep inside?”
“mhm.” you hummed against him, placing your hand over his on your stomach.
“but haven’t taken me for so long, baby. might be too much.”
you closed your eyes at that - the way he cooed down at you despite telling you how easily he could ruin you, break you. it all felt like too much and yet the empty ache inside of you reminded you it wasn’t enough, causing you to merely nod.
“i don’t care. want it.”
the pout on your lips. fuck. jungkook thanked the gods he was a better man, more patient, especially knowing you were doing this on purpose.
“always used to struggle to take me, hm? fucked you open every night and you’d still cry.”
jungkook reached forward, lips on your neck once more but this time, his hips began chasing yours, grinding down almost harshly, causing you to feel every inch, every vein against the flimsy material you called panties. it was heavenly
your hands grabbed him by his biceps, smaller hands unable to wrap around the circumference of his skin. how could you forget your nights of passion? he would spend hours between your legs, so mean, orgasm after orgasm and he still wouldn’t feel satisfied, an insatiable man to his core. even on nights you’d argue, it would somehow end in you fucking which meant the last eight months had been utter hell.
your poor fingers couldn’t reach far enough and nothing brought you to an orgasm unless you thought of him, imagining it was own digits instead of your own.
silly you - if only you realised how similar you and jungkook were. he couldn’t get off unless he was on your instagram, staring at your pretty eyes and lips as he tugged on his cock with all of his energy, round after round after round only to be constantly dissatisfied. having you below him, so ready to be his again? it fucked with his head.
“you'll make it fit.” you whispered.
within mere moments, neither of you could wait. his shorts, alongside the large tshirt that originally belonged to him were on the floor, leaving you in your lacy panties alone. his boxers strained against his hardened length which oozed precum at the mere sight of you, hips bucking a little as you watched him groan out loud at the wet patch forming against the flimsy material.
“my pretty pussy.” he whispered, just as he parted your legs. his fingers pushed your panties to the side, almost hissing from how damp they were, knowing you must have been needy for a while. “missed her. you’ve been holding out on me, baby.”
your eyelashes fluttered up at him at the first touch of his fingers running up and down your slit. you let out an airy moan, barely audible, your body immediately easing back into the covers now that you could finally feel him on you.
he suckled on your neck whilst he circled your clit, knowing your body better than anyone. you were both so in tune with each other’s wants and needs that an eight month break between you both meant nothing when he bit against the sweet spot on your neck all whilst applying more pressure.
you squeaked, nails digging into his biceps at the harshness of his fingers.
“fuck, you’re so needy.” he grunted, pulling away from your neck after leaving a hefty purple bruise. “not been touching your pussy the way it needs.”
“doesn’t feel..” you moaned louder. “doesn’t feel good if you don’t do it.”
his eyes almost rolled back at that. “yeah? need kookie to be the one to touch you?”
“mhm.”
at that, he pulled his hand away only resulting in a loud whine from you. so cruel, to have been given a taste, only to have it pulled away from you.
your positions, however, suddenly changed as jungkook realised the space on the bed was much smaller compared to the bed you had once shared. he rested his back on your wooden bed frame before grabbing you properly, resting you in his lap against his too hard cock, spreading your legs wide.
your back was against his chest, all whilst he caged you in, his fingers returning to your cunt immediately.
this new position had you so much more exposed, as he pushed your thighs apart, index finger circling your hole before slowly pushing inside. your eyebrows furrowed, watching him with a shake to your breath as he took his time, knowing a single one of his was the equivalent of two or three of your own - a though that had him wanting to fuck into you already.
the loud moan that left your lips once he fully inserted it was enough to have him kissing at your temple, cooing.
“like that?”
“feels big.” you whispered back with a shake, feeling him pump in and out.
at that, jungkook thought he was ready to fucking cum. even your pussy was as sweet as you were - too big? one finger and you were already fucked out, but he knew he had to stretch you to accommodate him, a thought that brought a nasty little smirk on his face.
“gotta fuck you open, baby. always so tight.” he continued to coo at you, all as you looked up at him, his finger being joined with another.
soon enough, he was roughly fingering you, all whilst you both maintained eye contact, often breaking it just to share a kiss as though neither of you could get closer to the other. the feeling of him inside you, just like you had become used to for so many years after months apart was the definition of pleasure, your eyes hooded with each pump.
“feels s’good.” you slurred slightly, chest heaving.
he watched your breasts, your bed squeaking with each passing movement and he fucking loved it. loved having your eyes on him, loved having your tits bounced everytime he’d fuck you open a little harder, your sweet moans filling the space.
you could feel how hard he was, but everytime you tried to turn to pleasure him too, he’d merely hold you tighter, as though your orgasm was the only objective on his mind. he wanted to eat you out, fuck - the thought had him all but growling at you but he knew he’d never last, promising himself he’d save that for later tonight.
“wish you knew how many times i’ve dreamt about this.” he grunted down at you, as he watched your thighs try to close from the onslaught of pleasure, only for him to widen them immediately. “i’m constantly fisting my cock thinking about you. at work, at home, in the fucking car.”
“what do you think about?” you pressed desperately, needing to hear it.
jungkook bared his teeth at you slightly, all whilst his pace quickened. “think about breeding you, pumping you full of cum till you’re begging me to stop. every morning, every night until you’re pregnant with our baby. you’d like that, hm?”
you could have sobbed. like was an understatement, your legs widening with each passing word as you nodded almost desperately at him, looking up and above where his head tilted down to watch you.
your eyes then fluttered shut at the image of him touching himself, almost shuddering out of relief at the thought of him so infatuated that he had to cum just to get you off of his mind. especially at work - the whole reason of your divorce being his dedication to his occupation and now knowing you had your affect on him there too? it was euphoric.
“think about you all the time.” you whimpered back at him, pout so cute he wanted to scream. “tried..fuck..tried to touch myself after the gala..but wasn’t enough.”
he watched as you shook your head up at him, one of your hands on his wrist as the same hand pumped faster inside of you at the admission. he cursed under his breath, letting out a deep exhale.
“should’ve told me. fuck, y/n. would’ve ruined you then, baby, you know that right?” he nuzzled into your cheek. “would’ve let you use me as much as you want.”
it was your turn to whimper under your breath, as your eyes shut tight at the familiar feeling in your stomach starting to creep up. it was shocking, how slowly it managed to creep on you, and yet you could feel every inch of its intensity, the first in a long time where you know you’d feel satisfied.
jungkook could feel you clenching, your too tight hole sucking him in desperately as a bid to have him go meaner on you, to which he was more than happy to oblige with. he grabbed your chin with his other hand, forcing your head back so you’d open your eyes again. he wanted to watch.
“eyes on me, pretty girl.”
you weren’t sure if it was the sweet way he cooed at you, or the brutal pace he was now forcing you to take but your orgasm hit you like a freight train. you let out a loud squeak as electricity fluttered through from your head to your toes, your hips rising whilst he continued to finger you through your high, hissing at how sexy you looked maintaining eye contact.
his pace didn’t lessen, devoted to longing out every hit of pleasure for as long as possible, your legs shaking as you pawed at his wrist, but he refused to stop. your body began falling into overstimulation, whining loudly as your weakened hands grabbed onto his, feeling him finally slow whilst he remained two fingers deep, pushed inside of you all the way to his knuckles.
he curled them one last time, causing a shaky breath to leave you before slowly removing them inch by inch.
the emptiness inside of you was horrible, a reminder of what else you wanted and how badly. your big eyes met his, only to watch him take his fingers press them against your pouted lips until they parted, your tongue wrapping around. you tasted yourself, a sweet sigh leaving his lips at the sight of you sucking so eagerly, his cock jolting harshly in his boxers.
“still don’t think you can take me right now.” he whispered down at you, other hand moved so it was openly cupping your pussy as a whole, palm brushing against your hypersensitive clit.
you jolted which each passing touch, breathing shaky before you took his fingers out of your mouth, saliva coating them where your slick once was.
“don’t care, kookie. i want it anyway.” you grumbled slightly, and he swore he had never loved you more.
it was your turn to move as you pulled away from his grasp, giggling a little to yourself at the look on his face once you put space between you, only to turn around, so you were laying on your stomach. he remained in his position, legs on either side of you allowing you to press your hand against his massive bulge.
oh, how you’d missed his cock.
you were as impatient as ever as you pulled his boxers down enough so that his fat cock could finally spring free, watching the way it tilted upwards at first, but its weight forced it down lower and lower until it was resting almost gently on your face.
he wanted to take a picture. wanted to make it his screen saver, your contact picture in his phone - he wanted it in his fucking wallet. his girl, eyes all hooded after being bratty for his cock? you were a minx and you didn’t even know it.
“don’t have a condom.” he found himself whispering at you, just as you began to pump him.
you tilted your head at him, hand unable to wrap around his length as you slowly teased his slit, fingers brushing against it just to him shudder. you watched his face, watched his very composure crumble before your very eyes all whilst he muttered something about a condom? your mind was barely working, still sensitive from the way he had made you cum and the horniness still in your stomach.
“why would i want you to wear a condom?” you whispered up at him, as though it was a little secret between you.
you watched his eyes darken in real time, narrowing down at you as both of his large hands grabbed the back of your head. you giggled, resting your cheek on his thigh whilst you continued to pump his cock, focusing on the tip just the way he liked it. the heaviness in your hand was what you missed the most, causing you to leave a little kiss to it on the mushroom tip, your fluttering eyes only driving him more and more insane.
he wouldn’t last like this. not with you staring up at him like that.
and so, he pulled your hair. you whimpered, pussy clenching as he pulled you up by your locks, your large eyes completely taken over by how rough he was being with you, no doubt being fuelled by the heightened emotions of the past two days. this was your favourite jungkook, secretly of course.
within seconds, you were on your back once more, all whilst he grabbed your hips and yanked you close to him. he dropped down to give you a kiss on your lips, savouring the taste and feel of you before beginning to rub his cock up and down your tight hole.
“my girl.” he whispered against your mouth. “no going back after this.”
your eyes clenched shut at the feeling of him teasing you, pushing the tip against your hole only to pull back the second it began inserting, rubbing it up and down and over your clit once more. he was a tease through and through, but you were too needy to see reason.
“don’t wanna go back, want it all.” you simply whimpered back.
your words were enough to finally have him pushing inside of you.
first, the tip. your face contorted to the familiar feel of his cock slowly inserting inside of you, your breath catching slightly at the sheer size of him - you struggled to take him even when your sex life was incredibly active, so you knew now that you hadn’t been touched for eight months, this was going to be hard.
you watched his face harden, all whilst your eyes slipped downwards to see him pushing further in, inch by inch, until your fingernails were puncturing the skin of his outer arms. he watched your face instead, willing himself not to cum at the way your jaw grew slack, big eyes only widening further at the too large cock settling in inside of you.
it was too much, too big, too at once. you couldn’t think, could barely see and yet you couldn’t pull yourself away from watching him bottom out even if you wanted to, a slight bulge evident where he sat deep inside of you. his large hand took a hold of yours and kissed it before pressing it against the bulge, only to rest his own right on top. applying pressure, he hissed at the way you let out a loud whimper, your cute thighs trembling around him.
“feel that?” he whispered down at you, nuzzling your nose to force you to look at him. “thats where i fucking belong. this pussy stretches so good for me every time.”
your lip was already trembling, a sight that had his cock throbbing deep inside of you as you clenched down on him hard. his cry baby - he loved seeing you teary during sex.
you were still adjusting as he began to move, causing you to squeal, but jungkook couldn’t wait anymore, not when he’d been dealt with blue balls for close to a year. you were the only option, pledging to live a life of fucking celibacy if you’d have chosen to never let him inbetween your legs again though the thought killed him inside. live a life without a taste of your sweet pussy? he’d sooner die.
“jungkook!” you slapped the tops of his biceps, as he continued his thrusting inside of you, nipping at your jaw, feeling his smirk against your skin.
the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you was intense, something you had been craving for so long now and yet now it was happening, you wanted more, and more and more and more and more. he loved this shy game you’d always play, always pretending like you couldn’t take it despite the fact your legs were widening further and you were moaning like a bitch in heat - it turned him on beyond words to know underneath the sweet persona, you were the filthiest slut he had ever known.
his pace was deep, mean but slow and it wasn’t enough, purposefully done to tease you for as long as he could, to ensure you’d stay needy. it was clearly working with the way your moans, whines and gasps filled the air only to be followed with a long drawl of his name, face scrunched up so cute he wanted to fucking scream.
“c’mon, baby, you’re so good to me.” he cooed, continuing his slow thrusts. “just gotta ask if you want something.”
your eyes scrunched shut, whimpering at his words knowing he wanted you in ways that you had reminisced on for months, the feeling of him kissing the gummy part of your cunt something you had missed so much.
“want it properly, kookie.” you begged him, though you couldn’t meet his gaze, eyes flickering down to his neck as he continued his pace. “yeah? tell kookie how you want it.”
your fingers clung to his shoulders as he came down, arms now pressed on either side of your head as he nuzzled your nose with his own, actions too sweet given the sinful position he had you in.
your breathing was ragged, the feel of him inside you too much for your poor little mind to handle without breaking and yet it wasn’t nearly enough. you craved something harsher, meaner, more jungkook. neither of you had ever been ones for soft sex, always preferring it as needy as possible which only heightened considering the fact you were both so utterly obsessive when it came to the other.
you whined loudly as his actions came to a stop completely, now grinding against you whilst still being inside.
“just want you to fuck me properly.” you whimpered, lip quivering so much faster, hips lifting to meet his as a means to relieve yourself.
god. you were killing him.
“good girl.”
jungkook planted a single kiss to your lips, oddly sweet before pulling back, planting two more to your forehead and nose. you were ready to whine once more until you felt his hips pull back, only to thrust into you harshly.
you squealed as jungkook began his pace exactly how you craved it, exactly how you used to picture with your own fingers in your cunt, desperately trying and failing to replicate the feel. hard. fast. mean. rough.
your neighbours would no doubt complain tomorrow with the way your bed frame began pounding into the wall, his head pressed against yours as his thrusts began kissing your cervix. your legs shook around him, much to his enjoyment, all whilst he forced you to maintain eye contact, wanting so badly to see the affect he was having on you after he had been deprived of you for so long.
“fuck..there she is. that’s my girl.” he hissed down at you, not holding back, the sound of skin slapping against skin heavy in the room. “you don’t know how badly i missed you.”
“m-missed..ugh! missed you..too..” you managed to string together, salted tears now escaping your eyes as they streamed on either side of the pillow.
“pretty girl like you needs to be fucked mean. no good to be nice to you, huh?” he growled down at you, only causing your lip to quiver that much faster as you nodded. “can’t think unless it’s me bullying your pussy into an orgasm.”
your nods were paired with soft sobs as he pounded, ruining your soppy core just like you had wanted. you had dreamt of this, dreamt of him, genuinely believing you’d never reach this state of pleasure ever again in your life and yet here he was, coaxing it out of you to remind you that he’d never leave you again.
his thrusts were sloppier than usual, no doubt due to the extensive length between your last fuck but it only had you moaning and crying louder. the thought of the usually composed jeon jungkook a whining mess for you and you alone had you clamping down hard on his cock.
“can’t believe i let you leave me.” he grunted hard at the feel of you getting so tight, gritting his teeth as he pounded you further. “never again. you fucking hear me, y/n? you’re my wife forever.”
“promise?” you sobbed back, arms now wrapping around his neck as you tried to bring him impossibly closer, as though you could in any capacity.
he nipped at your bottom lip, moaning into your mouth at the way you all but begged him to make it a reality.
“gonna take you to the courthouse tomorrow, get you a nice dress and we do..fuck..we do this again, understand?” he closed his eyes the more you whined and whined. “gonna let me put that ring back on your fucking finger, baby?”
you nodded wildly, just as you felt your orgasm build up in your stomach again, whining loudly up at him in a way he recognised immediately. fuck, he had missed this so much - his angel girl, all needy, begging for it even though she could barely take it. he could feel his own coming on fast, causing him to pull his hand down and rub at your clit, hissing at the feeling of you clamping down on his cock harshly.
“c’mon baby. want you to cum on your husband’s cock, hm? gonna get you nice and round like you deserve.” his thrusts only got meaner. “move you back in. fuck this pussy every single day, just like you need.”
your high rushed through you at the exact point his did, your legs wrapping around his waist as a means to keep him inside. you could feel it all through your body, the way it seized up and bucked into him all whilst he continued his thrusts, fucking you through both of your orgasms.
your vision started growing dark, the intensity of it overwhelming as he rode out your highs whilst whispering soft i love you’s in your ear, cradling you to his chest, holding you closer than you’d ever felt him before.
everything after that completely blurred together.
you remembered jungkook taking care of you, tenderness laced into his very being as he held you like you were akin to a porcelain doll - sweet, so soft, so delicate. somewhere between the damp kisses pressed to your skin underneath the bubbling bath he had drawn for you both, to the continuous declarations of love muttered down at you; you realised that this was inevitable. he was inevitable.
there didn’t exist a reality where you both could live without one another - you knew that now.
even after the heartbreak, the divorce, the loneliness and the debilitating grief, you still found yourself exactly where you belonged. your cheek pressed against his chest, his heartbeat soothing you into a dreamlike state which paled in comparison to the reality that was now yours. his love had you wrapped so tightly you knew you’d never live without it again.
you were finally home.
—
this beast of a fic is finally done yay!!! i hope you guys love ex husband jungkook just as much as i do!
tried to make him less yandere in this one and more pathetic yearner lol but i may have slipped here and there 💔
i’d love to hear your thoughts on this - love hearing you guys after a fic drops so i’m excited to see what you all think!!!!
if you wanna help support me pay my disgusting, awful, horrific london rent, my kofi is linked <3
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summary: A fortune teller on the street told him that you, a complete stranger, were his future wife. Sweet! So, how does he get to know you? That's right, by continuously asking you to come over and fix his fossil of a computer instead of buying a new one.
warnings: language; Kim Taehyung constantly calling you wife and you being not amused about it; soulmate energy (?); strangers-to-friends-to-?; just fluff tbh; title stands for blue screen of death
--
“Wife!”
“I’m not your wife, Taehyung.”
“Take this.”
You looked up from the computer to see Kim Taehyung handing you a small can of mango juice. Smiling his big, boxy smile, tan skin glowing, wearing a large green flannel and matching pajama pants. You sighed a big sigh and took it.
“How’s the patient?”
“Broken.” You cracked the can open, regarding him with annoyance. “The fuck did you do?”
“Nothing!” He held up his hands in innocence. You clicked your tongue, frowning at him. “It just blue-screened me!”
You took a small sip and turned back to his computer that was now re-installing the operating system. You had already told him it meant he would lose all his apps, but at least he had listened to you and kept all his important files on an external hard drive. It was taking forever. His computer was a fucking potato run by an overweight hamster who had to be fanned to start moving.
“Taehyung,” you muttered. “Just buy a new computer.”
“But this one works perfectly fine!”
You narrowed your eyes as the percentage slowed. It was barely ticking forward. You reached over and removed the side grate to let more airflow in.
“This one is a rapidly calcifying fossil,” you sighed. “You’re just keeping it so you have an excuse to ask me to come over.”
“But…” Taehyung pouted, poking his fingers together. “You’re the only one who can fix it.”
“I’m an IT tech for the software at the hospital I work at, not a computer repairman. Why don’t you ask Jungkook to fix this for you? He knows a lot about computers.”
Taehyung shook his head quickly, dark brown hair flying everywhere. “Jungkook’s not cute.”
“Sure, he is,” you replied, taking another sip. Taehyung smacked you in the back. You barely moved.
“You can’t cheat on me, wife!”
“I’m not your wife,” you shot back irritably. The percentage was going up now, very, very slowly.
“The fortune teller said so.”
“The fortune teller is a load of horseshit,” you exhaled, leaning back into his gaming chair and licking your teeth. “You paid one guy on the side of the road to ask who your future wife was and he only picked me because I was standing right there.”
Taehyung shrugged. “What if he’s right though? Can’t hurt to try.”
You raised an eyebrow at him. You weren’t about to get him started again, so you blew out a long breath and took another sip of juice. It had been a chance meeting. You had gone to the shrine to pay your respects and a dark-haired stranger had been there, speaking to an old man wearing the most outlandish and colorful clothes you had ever seen along with way too many beaded necklaces. In any case, you hadn’t thought much of it and went on your way.
Until Taehyung came up and started talking to you.
And not shutting up.
He could talk a lot if he wanted to.
And he followed you through every bus stop you were taking until you finally gave in and gave him your damn phone number. You could have given him a fake number, or maybe even called the police, but he seemed pretty harmless, like an excitable puppy. And, whatever, your parents kept reminding you that you needed to actually go outside to speak to other human beings and maybe get married, as soon as possible please, so grandchildren could appear before they died.
You weren’t even that old.
Your parents were drama queens.
Honestly some random, decently handsome guy asking you to get married wasn’t a terrible problem to have. And Taehyung was incredibly handsome, curly dark hair, strong features, cute smile, golden tan skin, broad shoulders, even quite tall.
He was just… weird.
You scratched your face and pointed to his hard drive. “I checked it with my laptop earlier. Doesn’t seem like your files are corrupted.”
Taehyung placed a hand on his chest. “Whew, thanks. I was really worried about that.”
“You download too much porn though.”
He winked at you. “I wouldn’t need it if my wife was willing to supply.”
Again, Taehyung was weird.
You raised an eyebrow and took a lengthy, incredibly loud sip of your mango juice, draining it. He frowned at you as you lowered it, blowing out a long breath. You put the can on his desk and checked the percentage again. A whole fifteen percent! Holy shit, it was a damn miracle.
“You never thought about it, at least once?” Taehyung asked quietly in his deep voice.
You placed a hand on your chin and prayed the hamster in his computer could run a little faster on his wheel. “No.”
“Why not?”
You shrugged. “Dunno, really.”
He placed a hand on the chair and turned you to face him. You looked away from your computer, seeing his curious expression. Taehyung tilted his head at you, dark brown eyes searching your face.
“Think about it now.”
Taehyung wasn’t a bad person. Even though he constantly called you his ‘wife’ for a rather frivolous reason, he never actually tried to touch you sexually. None of his comments ruffled you that much and he seemed to know that there were limits to what he could and couldn’t say.
You placed a hand on your cheek, studying him. Taehyung was a wedding and special events photographer. He showed you a little bit of his work before, the various pictures of happy people in white dresses and black suits. You wondered how he would look in a tuxedo. Probably good. Maybe even better than good.
“Do you think I’m attractive, Taehyung?” you asked, swaying a little in his seat.
His eyes travelled down your body, you and your cable-knit, rusty-red sweater and your ankle-length, pleated black shirt, wearing his fluffy brown slippers he offered you at the door, paired with your thick black socks. Taehyung lifted his head to look into your eyes.
“Yes.”
He said it very sincerely and suddenly it was hard to keep eye contact.
You looked back to his computer, seeing the twenty percent mark. Sigh. You weren’t getting out of this conversation anytime soon. You turned back to him, clicking your tongue.
“You met me on the street. You didn’t know me.”
“I know you now,” Taehyung said with a smile. “You’re funny. You swear a lot. You didn’t take my shit. You always come and help me even though you always grumble about it.” He chuckled deep in his chest, cheeks round with mirth. “You handle every problem head-on and roll with what life gives you.” He pointed to himself. “Even if it’s someone as annoying as me.”
You rolled your eyes. Twenty-five percent. Oh! It seemed to be moving faster now for some reason.
Taehyung scratched his head. “I wish life was easier.”
You blinked in confusion. “What?”
He shrugged. “You know, first you have to look for someone who looks pretty, then you have to slowly get to know them, then they break your heart, and you have to try over and over again like that. An endless cycle, happy, then hurting, happy, then hurting.” Taehyung scoffed, shoving his hands in his pajama pockets. “Wouldn’t it just be easier if someone told you who you were supposed to be with and then it was just right, the perfect person right there on the street, waiting for you to know them, waiting for you to love them, so they could love you back?”
You stared at him.
“But I was just dropping off oranges to the harvest gods so the farmers could have a good crop this year.”
He shrugged. “Same thing.”
It was not the same thing.
You chuckled, shaking your head. He sighed, a long, agonizing exhale that made you look back.
“I’m tired. I’m tired of people telling me I like strange things, tired of people telling me I’m too eccentric, tired of people telling me I’m weird.”
You pointed to the puffy-faced character figurine on his desk. “You are a little weird.”
Taehyung huffed. “I just want a girl to love me, so I can love her back.”
You rubbed your nose. “People are troublesome.” He looked over to you and you shrugged. “All they care about is, what’s your job? What does your family do? How much money do you make? Why aren’t you married yet and have five children?” You rolled your eyes. “Your grades are good. You’re attractive. You could get a rich man. You could become a housewife and have him take care of you.” You sucked on the inside of your cheek with a loud pop, annoyed. “What If I like working? What if I want my husband to stay home and take care of the kids? What if I don’t want to be taken care of?”
There was a silence after your words. You stared at his computer screen, watching it tick to thirty-three percent.
“I’m not rich,” Taehyung said quietly. “I don’t mind if you work. I could stay home and take care of the kids. But… I can’t fulfill one of those.”
Slowly, slowly, you turned your head. Taehyung was observing you with an apologetic smile. His smile grew into that familiar boxy grin, boyishly playful.
“Because I would want to take care of you, if you’ll let me.”
For first time ever since you met Taehyung, he had left you speechless. You didn’t have a silly reply ready or a raised eyebrow that spoke a thousand words. You looked into his dark brown eyes, wondering why you had picked that day to walk to the shrine, wondering what came over you as you picked up some extra oranges. You sometimes did things like that, dropping off flowers to your parents, or picking up an extra can of tuna to feed a stray cat meowing outside the grocery store. On that day, you were inspecting those oranges and thought, I hope the farmers have a good harvest this year. I should go to the shrine.
It had nothing to do with Taehyung, and yet he showed up in your life anyway.
He bent down a little, closer to your face. You didn’t move away, blinking slowly, a strange thump-thump-thump invading your chest. He seemed to hesitate and pull back a little. Then he closed the distance quickly and pecked you on the lips.
The quickest, lightest touch.
Taehyung drew away quickly, laughing nervously as he looked away from you.
“Haha, sorry, I just… wondered what it would feel like.”
You turned away swiftly. Thump-thump-thump, turning into resounding drumbeats that heated your ears. Whoa. You expected to feel weirded out by that, and yet it was, somehow… not as strange as you though it would be? You ended up staring at the computer screen. Somehow it was already done, at one-hundred percent.
Taehyung bought a lot of weird instances into your life.
You clicked the button to restart the computer.
It whirred and died.
You blinked at it. You mashed the power button repeatedly. It didn’t turn on. The screen was completely black and it remained black. You poked the power button one last time, as if the dead machine could detect your forcefulness. It was dead.
“Taehyung.”
He turned back, biting his lip nervously. “Hm?”
“As your future wife… please just buy a new computer.”
🌷I feel attacked because my work laptop does this all the time too 😭 Taehyung was so genuinely adorable and endearing here (MC, PLEASE give him a chance or we will marry him lol). Super cute and funny but same time there is something quietly profound about their conversation that really lingered with me.
P.S. also omg I’ve missed your fics so much 😭 i checked the masterlist and realized there are still so many fics i need to catch up on after being IA.
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tw: swearing; talks about sex; virginity loss; oral (f & m receiving); handjob; sex toys; masturbation (f & m); protected sex; idiots2lovers; bff2lovers; chan calls reader babygirl 🫠; mentions of blood and periods;
a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for too long, it’s time to share it with you! even tho this fic is my baby i’m not really happy with it…. so don’t be too harsh with me pls. as per usual, this isn’t proofread, so tell me if you spot any mistakes!!
Chris doesn’t sound particularly happy — arms crossed over his chest, jaw clenched and all that as he looks at you as though you’re his greatest disappointment and maybe you are. Pausing your current favourite reading, the book ends up falling face down on the couch.
“Hello to you, too,” you roll your eyes at him. “Sure, you can digit the passcode and make your way inside my apartment as if you lived here.”
“Not the time to act sassy, little miss,” Chris mocks you. “You asked Felix,” he repeats.
“What did I ask Felix?” You look at him dumbfounded.
Chris folds his arms, rolls his eyes at you. “Don’t even start. You know what I’m talking about.”
It’s true, you do know. You just don’t know why it seems to be bothering Chris so much, why is he so invested in this.
“Why do you sound mad?”
“‘Cause I am mad!” Chris states matter-of-factly. “And worried about your lack of judgment.”
You roll your eyes at him — he’s always so dramatic. He should have pursued a career as an actor, really, because he’s literally causing a scene over nothing like you’d just betrayed him or something.
“Why are you even mad? I asked you first! And you said no.”
“That doesn’t mean you should go and ask someone else!”
“Why not?”
“Because!”
Now he isn’t making any sense, and you are starting to become bored of this pointless conversation. You hug your knees, tilting your head in confusion.
“I genuinely don’t get why you’re so upset. I asked Felix, so what?”
And Chris sighs, opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again before he closes it, unsure of what to say. Then, after putting much thought into what to say, he clears his throat and finally speaks.
“Okay, first— he’s my best friend,” Chris starts, lifting one finger up in the air dramatically, and you immediately interrupt him.
“He’s my friend, too. And hey! Fuck you, I thought I was your best friend,” you cross your arms over your chest.
“Will you let me finish, woman?” Chris sighs, facepalming himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine, he’s your friend, too, and you’re both my best friends. That’s why this is fucked up on so many levels.”
“Chris, it’s just sex.”
“It’s not—” he takes a deep breath, “it’s not just sex—” he scolds you much like a strict parent would, and doesn’t appreciate it in the slightest when you roll your eyes at him, “it’s your first time and it should be with someone you love and care about.”
“Alright grandma,” you roll your eyes at him.
“I’m being serious.”
“Chris, I love you and I care about you,” you don’t hesitate to say. “So I asked you first. And I also love and care about Felix.”
Chris scoffs.
“Let me rephrase that— it should be with someone you’re in love with,” he declares.
You so desperately want to tell him it still doesn’t change anything. It’s just a technicality, and besides that, you’re also in love with him for the record, but you probably shouldn’t say that. Not when he’s here in your living room, interrupting a very good reading session because he found out you asked Felix, too.
In your defence, you asked Felix in a totally platonic way just to get over the fact you’d gotten rejected by Chris. It should’ve been the magical moment in which the two characters realise they’ve been idiots the whole time, confess their feelings to one another, and fuck until their bodies are all sore and stuff like that. It didn’t go as planned, of course, because when anything ever does in your life?
“Chris, I really appreciate you caring for me, but it’s not mandatory or something,” you groan out of frustration. “Are you saying you were in love with every person you slept with?”
“Yes!”
His answer leaves you flabbergasted, but only for, like 0.2 seconds, because then you remember Chris is a big ol’ sap who spent his entire teenage years writing love poems and love songs and that he knows by heart every single romantic movie you could think of — it only makes sense that he’s only ever made love instead of just having sex. Ouch?
“Look— I don’t need that,” you try to make him understand your point of view, “I just wanted someone who cared about me to do it with. That’s why I asked you. I know you’re experienced and I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me or anything like that.”
“You asked Felix, too, though.”
“Yeah, but that was, like, totally platonic,” you shrug, and you’re telling the truth. “Plus, he said no anyway. Wow, look at me— getting turned down by two guys in two months! It really boosts one’s self esteem, huh?”
Chris snorts, not quite amused by your sarcasm. Why are you so stubborn over this topic, he’ll never understand. Why are you desperately trying to rush this, without even contemplating the consequences of this type of actions. Chris deems himself a coward for not revealing the reason why he turned the offer down, but he figures he should leave it for another time. When you’ll be eighty years old is fine.
“Of course he said no, he knows I would’ve kicked his ass if he’d agreed to this insanity.”
“I kind of get why you’re cockblocking me, even if I think you’re being a little unreasonable, but I really don’t get why you’re cockblocking Felix, too.”
“I already told you why. It’s fucked up and I don’t want things to change between the three of us.”
“Why would they change?”
Because I’m in love with you!, Chris desperately wants to say, and I don’t want you to sleep with my best friend!. It’s a reasonable and sensible argument, isn’t it? Maybe not so much, but who cares. Chris knows Felix isn’t in love with you, and he also knows you’re not in love with Felix, so that’s why you shouldn’t have sex with Felix in the first place. Then, Felix knows about Chris’ feelings for you, so that’s another reason why it should never happen — he wouldn’t be able to look at Felix ever again if he slept with you.
“Just listen to me, okay?” Chris cuts the conversation short. “It’s a bad idea. End of the story.”
“Fine,” you give up. “I won’t ask anyone else you know. Message received.”
Chris facepalms himself again. You seem to keep missing the point of what he’s telling you and he doesn’t know if you’re testing him or you’re actually being serious right now.
“Gosh, you— you’re gonna make my brain explode,” Chris groans, shaking his head in disbelief. “Why are you so stubborn? You should wait for the one you love.”
But you already asked the one you love. And he said no.
“Yeah. Okay, fine,” you give up with a sigh. “You win.”
Chris actually facepalms himself.
“It’s not about winning anything. I’m just trying to put some sense into you. I wouldn’t want you to regret it or end up getting hurt.”
You nod, but only to shut him up. He doesn’t know the reason behind why you’ve asked him and, frankly, he doesn’t need to know. Chris is a great friend and always worries about you — maybe too much, at times, coming off as a hyper protective parent.
“Yeah, I get it,” you hum. “Can we just forget about it now? I’m not in the mood to talk about this any more.”
Chris is still worried about you, but nods anyway, not wanting to push you to talk to him if you don’t feel like it.
“Hm,” Chris hums approvingly. He pulls you right into his arms for a hug to ease the tension, feeling instantly better when he feels you relax in his embrace. “I’m sorry for acting so protective. You know I care about you, right?”
You nod.
“I know. And I appreciate it, really. But I’m a big girl, Chris. I think I can make decisions by myself.”
Chris holds you tighter. He silently accepts the boundary you just put between the two of you.
—
Until he doesn’t.
Until you’re out one night and he’s gone for literal minutes and when he’s back there’s a guy between your legs. Literally between your legs. You’re sitting on one of those super tall chairs, dressed in a beautiful, but also very short dress, giggling and batting your eyelashes at someone Chris has never seen before. What the fuck? Who the fuck is that dude? Has he just spawned between your thighs from nowhere?
He’s behind that guy within seconds, grabbing him by the collar and practically shoving him away from you. He’s met with your shocked expression, with the bewildered look distorting the guy’s features.
“Chris! What the hell!” You shout, jumping off the chair and adjusting your dress so that you’re not showing too much skin. “Are you out of your mind?”
“That’s funny, ‘cause I was just about to ask you the same damn thing,” he barks, mad at you for no reason. “What the fuck are you doing?”
The guy who was previously on you looks bewildered. He points at Chris, looks at you frowning. “Is this your boyfriend?”
You scoff.
“No, this is my annoying best friend whose primary mission in his life is to cockblock me in every possible way, every chance he gets.”
Now it’s Chris who scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest as if he were in the right. As if he weren’t fucking obsessed with your virginity or something. You need to have a serious talk with him all over again.
“I’m just making sure you won’t make any mistakes you’re going to regret.”
You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at him.
“Who says I’m going to regret this?”
“Really?” Chris quirks an eyebrow at you. “What’s this guy’s name?”
“Jeonghan.”
“Uh, actually— it’s Jaehyun,” the guy clarifies.
Chris makes a face. As if to say, ‘see? I told you.’ You sigh, not wanting to admit defeat. That he’s right and you’re wrong.
“Well, the music is loud and I misheard him. Is that a crime?”
“No, but I think it’s concerning how stupid and immature you’re being right now.”
Jeonghan— Jaehyun looks a bit uncomfortable. “Uhhh. I think I should go.”
You keep glaring at Chris and Chris keeps glaring at you. The guy leaves and it goes unnoticed. You can’t believe Chris just called you stupid and immature and thought it would be okay. Tears start prickling in your waterline.
“Why are you being such an asshole right now?”
Chris’ features soften. He wants to explain himself and tell you he’s sorry, that it’s not what he meant, but you don’t give him a chance to. You’re out of his sight before he can add anything else.
He runs after you. He chases you and he catches you, hand firmly yet reassuringly wrapped around your wrist.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
You don’t say anything. Chris sighs.
“I’m really sorry.”
“You hurt my feelings.”
Chris’ heart shrinks. He feels terribly guilty when he looks at you and sees you drying your eyes with the hem of your sleeve. Great, he made you cry. He really is an asshole.
“I know. I’m sorry,” he says once more. He opens his arms, pulls you in for a hug. “C’mere.”
You don’t wrap your arms around him. That’s how he knows you’re mad, and you’ve got every right to be.
“It was out of line. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. And I shouldn’t have called you stupid or immature. I was an ass.”
“It’s just— we just keep on arguing on the same shit. You don’t get my point of view and I don’t understand why you care so much about me losing my virginity.”
Chris’ heart skips a beat when he’s put before the evidence of the truth. Why does he care so much? Huh. He shouldn’t tell you. Surely not right now.
“I just don’t want you to—”
“Regret it, I know. You’ve said it a million times already,” you sigh. “I regret telling you, though. If that’s how you’re going to act every single time.”
“You can’t blame me for trying to look out for you.”
“Well, I can if it means all you’re gonna do is embarrass me and call me stupid and act like a possessive boyfriend.”
Chris’ stomach feels weird. He doesn’t like where this conversation is going. He doesn’t like the fact that you’re right, he’s nobody to tell you what to do. Especially, he’s nobody to tell you who you should or shouldn’t sleep with. It’s your body and your choice, and he has to respect that.
“I’ve already told you that I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s what you said last time, too. I just don’t understand what you want from me. I asked you first, you said no. I asked Felix, you got mad. You told me it should be with someone I care about, I told you I care about you and you said it was different,” you ramble on, a few people look curiously at you as they pass by. “Like, seriously. You’re like that dog in the story we once read in the Spanish course we took.”
“What dog?” Chris questions, confused, frowning.
“The one who won’t eat and won’t let others eat either,” you explain. “Pun not intended,” you roll your eyes at him, “but really. It’s getting ridiculous. I’m a grown woman, Chris.”
Chris’ mouth and lips move before he can even comprehend what he’s doing. The sentence leaves him so naturally it takes the both of you off guard.
“Do you still want me to be your first?”
Your eyes widen, legs almost nearly give in. Did you hear him right?
“What?”
The damage’s already done. There’s no point in denying what he’s said. Chris does his best to calm down his nerves and swallow the thick lump in his throat. It’s make it or break it.
“Do you still want me to be your first?” He repeats slowly, looking you in the eye. The straightforwardness takes you off guard. “‘Cause I’ll do it. If you still want me to be your first I’ll do it.”
You look at him, trying to understand where all this is coming from. After all, he rejected you the first time you asked him. What changed now?
“You— I already asked you. You said no. How is that any different now?”
Chris sighs. Technically, you’re right. But still, you don’t know why he turned your offer down in the first place. It’s not because he didn’t want you— quite the opposite, actually.
“I said no ‘cause I didn’t want it to be an impulsive decision of you,” Chris explains. “I still think you should wait for the right guy. But you’re so stubborn and I don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret with a random asshole that won’t treat you right.”
“Chris…”
“But if you’re sure about this… if you want me to be your first, I’m okay with it.”
You shake your head. Chris feels as if his heart has stopped beating inside his ribcage.
“No.”
Chris blinks. His stomach drops.
“No?”
“You shouldn’t do it if it’s not something you want as well. I won’t force you. I couldn't bear to look at myself ever again knowing I made you do something you didn’t want.”
Chris sighs.
“It’s not because of that that I said no. I want you to be sure.”
“I am sure. Why would I ask you if I wasn’t sure?”
“I don’t know!”
You stare into each other’s eyes for a while. Then, you both burst into a laugh. Everything is always so easy with Chris. That’s how you know you aren’t going to regret choosing him to be your first. The fact that you’d like for him to also be your last is another matter.
“Alright. Then I guess this means we’re having sex.”
Chris’ eyes widen.
“Now?”
You can feel your cheeks becoming red, matching his face and ears. “No, no, not right now! I feel like we should sit down and talk about it first, before anything happens.”
He nods.
“Sounds like the right thing to do,” Chris says.
—
Sit down and talk about it you do, that same night. Chris drives you home and you invite him in without any hidden meaning, of course. You’ve already agreed that it’s not happening tonight.
Even though you’re sure about your decision to ask Chris to be your first, you need to wait for other reason. First of all, you’re not wearing your sexiest lingerie. Secondly, your bedroom is a mess. Because if it were for you… you’d let him fuck you in this instant.
He looks like the epitome of sex. With his hair falling in front of his eyes, his plump lips a bit red from all the nervous biting— and then the sexiest outfit he could ever choose (it’s just a pair of dark grey cargo jeans and a black tank top, but you have a crush on him and you’re horny for him).
“So you just want… to get it over with?” He asks, trying to understand how it’s supposed to happen.
“I mean… it’s not like I want you to just come here, stick it inside and then leave,” you explain and for some reason you both blush at the implication behind your words.
“Mhhh, got it. So, like, you’re okay with foreplay and getting to know each other’s bodies first, right?”
You nod. “Yeah. I want you to teach me all the basic stuff. Help me see what I’ve been missing out.”
Chris wiggles his eyebrows jokingly. “Ohhh, so you want the whole Chris Bang Experience™️?”
“Chris Bang Experience?”
“You forgot ™️.”
“Is it really a thing?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, not convinced.
“Of course it is, but not the point,” Chris dismisses the topic. “Back to us. Is kissing allowed?”
“I mean— of course,” you reply. “I can’t imagine going straight to fucking without making out first. You know, a little touching over the clothes while we kiss, and then it escalates and… you know.”
It feels weird to think that you’re planning your first time with Chris in detail. Here, on your couch, going through every detail of how it’s going to be. It feels weird but also exciting and you cannot wait.
“Alright, sounds good.”
He smiles at you. You smile back, trying not to show how nervous and excited you are to do this. With Chris, of all people.
“Do you… uh. It feels a bit weird to ask,” you chuckle nervously, not sure how to put the question.
“You know I won’t judge. You can ask me anything.”
Damn, Chris. He’s going to make your heart explode.
“It’s a bit personal.”
He pulls a face.
“We’re literally talking about me taking your virginity.”
He’s right. You shrug.
“I, uh… do you… want me to shave? Down there, I mean… Do you have a preference?”
His features soften. He sighs.
“Okay, first of all. You always, always have to do what makes you feel the most comfortable. Got it?” You nod. “And then— promise me you’re never going to sleep with anyone who tells you how to keep your… intimate parts. Alright?”
“Alright. I was just checking what your preferred…”
“Confidence. My preference is confidence.”
It takes you off guard. He sounds sincere, and he is.
“Okay.”
He smiles.
“Good. Just do what feels right to you. You want to shave? That’s okay. You don’t want to shave? That’s okay, too.”
You exhale a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Yes, choosing Chris was definitely the right choice.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Chris smiles at you and your stomach hurts a bit.
You stay quiet for a while. Chris’ words ringing in your ears.
“Are you free next weekend?”
Chris nods. “Yep. Wanna hang out?”
Your gaze falls on your lap, where you’re nervously toying with your fingers.
“I was thinking… maybe we could do it then.”
“Ah.”
He wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon. Not that he’s disappointed of course.
“Okay, sure. No problem,” he says after a while, after he’s shook the thought off his head before his brain could short circuit.
“Alright. Is Friday okay?”
It feels so contractual for some way, and part of you doesn’t like that, but there’s the part of you that can’t wait to experience this with Chris that’s guiding you right now.
“Friday sounds good.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
After a few awkward seconds spent looking nervously at each other, you break the ice.
“D’you wanna watch something? I can make popcorn.”
“Shall we rewatch Lord of the Rings?”
“You know me so well.”
—
It was supposed to happen on Friday, your first sexual encounter with Chris.
And yet here you are, twenty four hours after you had The Talk™️, unable to stop thinking about how bad you want to jump him. Thankfully, there are the guys around since you’re having dinner all together, and that’s the only thing that’s stopping you.
Chris is wearing a tank top and his usual grey sweats and there’s literal foam at the corners of your mouth, like a rabid dog. You feel like there isn’t an ounce of shame in your body right now. And he’s just over there, sat on the couch, being a nerd with Felix as they talk about the following event on their new favorite game they play together. Completely oblivious to the filthy thoughts running back and forth in your head, he is. Maybe it’s better this way.
But then the boys start to leave. Seungmin has to work early in the morning, and Minho has his three cats to feed. One by one, everyone leaves. Except you. And Chris, since it’s his place.
You’re helping him clean out his living room, putting away all that’s left on the table, putting bowls and cutlery in the dishwasher, looking at him with the corner of your eye, lingering a bit too much.
This is sooo not good for your crush… At this point, you’re never getting over him.
“You alright?”
Chris’ voice startles you.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
He mindlessly places his hand on your hip and the horny alarm goes off inside your brain. It’s just a simple touch, something Chris has done thousands of times because he’s just a touchy guy who loves skinship, but right now, with the awareness of what’s going to happen between the two of you, it’s like it’s entirely different. At least, your body reacts to it as if it were different.
“It’s okay. Was just thinking.”
“About?”
It would be very inappropriate to tell him how bad you want to pull down his sweats right now and… do what, exactly? You’ve never even seen a man naked in real life, what makes you think you’ll be able to please Chris? Maybe he could teach you, though…
“Just stuff.”
“Alright, be mysterious, then,” he giggles as he carries the last two empty glasses to the kitchen.
If there’s anyone who can teach you, though, that’s Chris. A board pops up inside your brain, divided into two columns — pros and cons of asking Chris to teach you how to give pleasure to someone who has a dick. You can’t think of any cons when he’s dressed like that. Gosh, you are no better than a man, aren’t you?
“Can I suck you off?”
The glasses Chris was holding don’t make it to the dishwasher, because he drops them as soon as he registers what you’ve just asked him, and they crash to the ground with a loud noise, smashing into small pieces that end up everywhere.
“What— fuck!”
“Oh my god, Chris! Wait, no, don’t move, you’re gonna end up cutting yourself. I’ll clean this up.”
Not the reaction you were hoping for, but what did you expect? Of course he’s surprised, considering your proposal literally came out of nowhere. You look over at him with the corner of your eye and catch him just standing there, pressed against the counter, the tips of his ears crimson red. He’s cute when he’s flustered.
“You should really stop walking around barefooted,” you comment with a chuckle as you throw the smashed glass pieces into the trash can, making sure there isn’t any more lying around.
“Yeah, you’re… right,” Chris scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed because your question is still hanging on somewhere in the air and none of you have addressed it yet. He decides to be courageous. “So. Uh. That. That came out of nowhere.”
You know what he’s talking about.
“Uh. Yeah. Kinda.” Not really. “I just— I was thinking. It’s probably going to be a lot if we do everything on Friday, right?”
You can’t tell him his plain and boring outfit is actually driving you crazy since the moment you’ve walked into his house. You blame it on your ovulation for being so horny. Or maybe it’s all Chris. Who knows.
“Oh— yeah. Yeah, sure. You do have a point. Um. Are you sure you wanna do it right now?”
“Positive,” you crack a smile. “Unless you don’t wanna— that’s fine if you don’t—”
“No, no! I was just making sure you don’t feel like you have to do it, you know.”
“I want to do this. I want you to teach me.”
Blood rushes south in Chris’ body. A timid bulge is now showing up on the front of Chris’ sweats. He shouldn’t be this horny over his best friend wanting to suck his dick. But you’re not only his best friend, are you? Technically, you are, but Chris has been crushing on you for the longest time now, so his reaction is kind of understandable.
Plus, it’s so sexy to hear you admit you want him to teach you all this dirty stuff.
That’s how you end up in Chris’ living room, on his couch, now shy and unsure how to start it. It’s much more complicated when you aren’t a couple but just two idiot best friends, you have to admit it.
“So, uhm. How… how do I start?”
“Do you want to make out a little bit first? You know, to ease the tension…”
That’s probably a good idea. That actually sounds like the greatest idea. Until you realize you’ve never kissed Chris. That can’t be awkward, though, right? Of course it’s gonna be awkward, a silly voice inside of your brain warns you, he’s your best friend!
But you decide to mute that silly voice and just focus on Chris. There’s no time to rethink this, not when you’re so close to each other’s faces already.
“Yeah, that sounds great.”
“Alright.”
Okay. The great news is that kissing Chris doesn’t feel awkward at all. The bad news is that kissing Chris doesn’t feel awkward at all. Not in the slightest.
His lips are on yours and it feels like they’ve always been. Like you just stopped kissing him three seconds ago and now you’re back at it. Like you’ve done this a million other times before, when you’ve just kissed him once during spin the bottle.
It’s different now. Now there’s an indecent proposal weighting on you both and much more tongue. And there’s also goosebumps all over your arms and legs and wetness pooling inside of your underwear.
You feel Chris’ fingers intertwine with yours. And then he’s shamelessly moving your hand until it ends on top of his crotch, right where he’s rock hard. Oh god. You’re absolutely sure you’re going to melt when you squeeze him over the clothes and Chris lets out a breathy moan.
You pull away from each other and rest your forehead on Chris’.
“I don’t know what to do…” you confess, because it’s true — you have no idea what’s supposed to happen next.
“You can do pretty much whatever you want,” Chris says. “You can touch it over the clothes just like you’re doing, there isn’t a right way to do this.”
It makes you feel only slightly better.
“Well, but what do you want me to do?”
Chris looks at you with dark eyes, pupils nearly fully blown. His face and ears, though, are still blushing. It’s a cute coincidence. You love him. You love him so much.
“Um. Well. It’s— you can just— like this,” he moves your hand together with his, up and down, slowly stroking him over the thick layer of his sweats. “I like the teasing. Just a bit, though.”
“Like this?”
“Yeah… yeah that’s good. Feels so good.”
Chris tosses his head back, slouching on the couch and spreading his legs to let you touch him more comfortably. It feels good — you’re touching his dick and it feels so good, better than every other time someone has done this to him.
You feel your cheeks heat up at the sight of Chris’ pretty face — nose scrunched in pleasure and lower lip caught between his teeth. It’s a pretty great reaction, considering you’re not really doing much. Maybe he will like it if you touched him some more? More directly, maybe?
You don’t warn him when you slip your hand inside his boxers, smirk satisfied when he lets out a choked moan. He opens his eyes to look at you, mouth hanging open as he watches your hand disappearing inside his underwear.
He’s hard and hot in your hand. And his skin is smooth and soft, in deep contrast with how hard he is. He throbs in your grip.
“Oh my—”
Only then you realize that you have no clue what to do next. Well, that’s not completely true. You’ve watched porn and read articles, so you know what you’re supposed to do. But it’s different now, because you have never done this before and you’re scared to fuck up and that he won’t like it.
“I. Um. I don't know what to do?”
Chris smiles at you. He strokes your arm to comfort you.
“It’s okay. Just try to move your hand the way you did before. Up and down. Oh yeah— yeah, that’s right— feels so good.”
His arm swirls around your waist to pull you closer, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck as you stroke him nice and slow, enjoying the warmth of his skin against your palm. He sighs and grunts as you bring him pleasure.
“Just— a bit tighter. Now— now try to swipe the tip with your thumb— Yeah, like that. That’s so good oh my—”
Only then it occurs to you that you still haven’t seen him naked.
“Can I… I mean— can I pull your pants down?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
He helps you, hooking his own fingers in the hem of his boxers and sweats, dragging them past the curve of his ass and halfway down his thighs. His cock slaps on his abdomen with a thud, hard and thick. Your face heats up even more when you take in the sight of Chris’ member. It looks incredibly hot and aesthetically pleasing, not ugly like some of the dicks you’ve seen in porn.
He jolts when you wrap your hand around him again, startled and embarrassed he’s now fully exposed. He leaves tiny kisses on your shoulder as you stroke him.
“Can I try sucking you off now?”
He wails, sinking his teeth in your shoulder. By the way his cock throbs in your hand, you assume he liked your straightforwardness.
“Oh god. Yeah. Please.”
He’s cute when he’s so flustered, but you can see it in his eyes that he wants it just as much as you do.
“Uh. How do I— I mean. How do you want me?”
God, Chris thinks he’s about to pass out. No no, he’s about to die. It’d be super weird, tho, wouldn’t it? To die on his couch, half naked and with his dick hard. He doesn’t want to become a ghost with an erection, that would be weird as fuck. Maybe other ghosts would even make fun of him.
Why the fuck is he thinking about ghosts when you’re kneeling on his couch with his dick in your hand, asking him to let you suck him off? He’s just a fucking loser.
“Um. I think— I think it’d be more comfortable if you were, you know, on your knees, maybe?”
And, being the gentleman he is, even worries about your discomfort and hands you a soft pillow to put under your knees so that they don’t meet the hard floor when you do lower yourself in front of him.
“Tell me what to do. Teach me.”
Chris is way too far gone to think straight.
Not only you’re knelt between his legs, beautiful as ever, especially when you’re looking at him with those eyes. Not only that — you’re also asking him to be your first, pleading him to teach you how to be the cause of his pleasure. That thought alone would be enough to make him cum right on the spot.
Chris sighs, content, when your hands caress his inner thighs, when your lips start to kiss his tummy, your nose brushing the hair of his happy trail softly.
Yeah no, he’s definitely going to pass out.
“Just— use your hand. Like you did before. Yeah, like that,” he gasps when you start moving your hand up and down, “that feels so good. Can you— can you— um. Spit on your hand.”
You look at him confused.
“To get it wet, y’know.”
You don’t know, but trust him with whatever he says. After all, who knows better how to pleasure him than Chris himself? A bit uncertainly, you do spit on your palm, and immediately notice a difference when you go back to stroking him.
Chris looks down at you, bites his lips so that unnecessary words won’t accidentally slip out. You’re so focused on giving him pleasure that you don’t realize how you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.
“Now?”
“Oh. Okay, um. Now try to take it in your mouth. Don’t force yourself— just the tip is fine for now— oh shit.”
Chris curses loudly when you take him in your mouth for the first time, tilts his head back and gasps when you suckle on his tip. Then, he forces himself to look at you. He has a feeling that he won’t be able to last long — maybe he won’t last at all. Of course he’s had his dick sucked before, but it’s different now, because it’s you, on your knees in the middle of his living room. That’s a sight he’d never thought he would witness.
His breathing becomes short and quick as you suckle on the tip of his cock, your fingers wrapped around the rest of his length. It’s clear that you’ve never done this before, and that’s exactly what’s driving Chris crazy, especially when you look at him with those eyes while your mouth is full of him. He stretches his hand to run his fingers through your hair, thumb brushing your scalp with delicacy.
“You’re making me feel so good,” he breathes, fisting a pillow until his knuckles turn white. “Shiiit, I won’t last. Just try— try bobbing your head a little? That’s— oh. Oh, that’s it. That’s it.”
Of course you’re not able to take much of him in your mouth, and you’re nowhere near being a pro at it, but it’s enough. Your mouth is warm and wet and your cheeks are so red — Chris think he’s gonna burst into flames any second now.
You have a feeling he’s not telling you what he really likes fearing he’ll make you uncomfortable. Maybe you should be a little bit bolder. You pull back, and Chris is about to ask what’s wrong, if he’s made you uncomfortable somehow, when you take his breath away by running your tongue along the underside of his cock before taking him back inside your mouth.
It feels as if Chris’ soul has left his body. It takes him off guard. His toes start to curl, his head’s spinning violently.
You don’t pull off. Instead, you moan around him at the pet name. He’s never called you that before.
Chris comes with a choked sound, abs and whole body contracting and spasming as he empties himself in your mouth. You swallow it, surprising both Chris and yourself. It tastes… weird. You’re not sure you like it. But it was definitely worth it, since this way you got to see Chris’ orgasm face and know what he sounds like, and it’s an experience worth dying for. He drapes his arm over his face as he takes some time to regain his regular breathing.
“Come here. Come here.”
He helps you off your knees, slides his pants back up and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you as you rest your head on his chest. You can feel his heart racing in his chest, and you snuggle closer. He kisses the top of your head lovingly.
“Was I good?”
“Good? You— it was amazing.”
“Really?” You pull back to look at him. He’s not lying.
“Mhmh,” he holds you tighter. Maybe it’s a bit too intimate, but giving the situation neither of you seems to mind it. “It was really, really good.”
You stay like that for a little while. Your cheeks heat up at the thought that you can still taste Chris in your mouth, a bit salty and bitter at the same time. You’re not sure you can ever move on from sucking Chris’ dick. God, what are you even gonna do after he fucks you?
“C’mere. Lemme give you a kiss, yeah?”
He’s barely able to press his lips on yours when the doorbell of Chris’ apartment rings, startling the both of you.
“What the fu— who the hell is it at this time?”
It’s a little over midnight. It’s a bit odd. You shrug, kind of mad that you got interrupted right when Chris was kissing you, but also worried. You hop off Chris’ lap, and he fixes himself quickly before heading to open the door.
Felix.
“Hey, sorry mate, I just left my phone here and—”
Felix seems surprised that you’re still at Chris’. The two of you are red in the face and look suspicious.
“Did I… interrupt something?” He asks, eyebrows raised and curious eyes scanning both you and Chris looking for clues. “You look… I dunno. Weird.”
“No!” Chris quickly says, and Felix looks even more suspicious, narrowing his eyes at the two of you. “I was just— you know, about to drive Y/N home. It’s pretty late.”
You know it’s just an excuse Chris came up with and that he’s not actually serious. You know it, but Felix doesn’t.
“Aw, no problem. I can drive her home since I’m already here. Don’t you have to wake up early in the morning?”
You look at Chris, Chris looks at you. Felix looks confused.
“Uh, yeah. But really, it’s no problem, I can drive her home.”
“Nah, it’s alright, mate. I’m going home anyways, it’s no big deal. You should probably sleep, you look tired, mate.”
Uh. This is awkward.
—
You’re in the driver’s seat of Felix’s car when your phone vibrates with two new texts. It’s Chris.
chris ♡: btw i didnt want u to leave so soon 🥲
chris ♡: felix is such a cockblock omg
And then one more.
chris ♡: btw i loved what we did… kinda blew my mind
you: just ur mind??? 👀
chris ♡: *gasp*
you: lol
you: but im happy that u liked me sucking ur dick :)
chris ♡: stop!!! 🫣 im shy!!!
you: yeah shy lol
you: but yeah i kinda didn’t want to leave either 🥹
chris ♡: maybe next time we could hang out just the two of us haha 👀
you: u say that as if we never hang out wtf
chris ♡: yeah but like
chris ♡: i kinda want to yk…
chris ♡: reciprocate 🫣
you: oh!!!
chris ♡: did i just make things super weird? haha
you: no no
you: ur good
you: its just
you: wasn’t expecting that
chris ♡: is that a yes or…
chris ♡: haha
you: yeah ofc
you: its a yes :)
chris ♡: :)
you: i can’t believe we r talking about this while im in felix’s car lol
chris ♡: 💀
chris ♡: its a bit funny tho he was so clueless haha
you: lmao he has no idea what he’s almost walked in to
chris ♡: lol
chris ♡: u home yet??
you: we r almost there
chris ♡: good :)
you: why??
chris ♡: dunno, thought we could play genshin for a bit?
chris ♡: or r u tired?
You smile to yourself, and you suddenly can’t remember anymore what you were so scared of. He’s still the same Chris, you’re still the same you — you sucked his dick, so what? He’s the same loser of your best friend — trapped inside an insanely hot body, yes, but still your goofy Chris.
you: i just got home!
you: lemme change and i’ll log in asap :)
chris ♡: :) <3
—
It’s like nothing has happened between you and Chris.
You see him again on Tuesday morning over breakfast, Jisung and Changbin are also there and it’s not awkward, not even when they leave to go to work and there’s only you and Chris left at the coffee shop. You hang out like you usually do and Chris tells you about the new character he finally unlocked in the game he’s currently obsessed with, and you show him a picture of that really cute plushie you wanted to get but was sold out at the store you went to. You finish your coffee and it’s all good, you don’t act like you sucked his dick.
The fact that neither of you could stop thinking about it, though, is a whole other story.
“I’ve got to go to work in a bit, but maybe we can hang out tonight?”
“You mean hang out or… you know, hang out?”
Chris drops his phone onto the table. He swears under his breath, but is relieved to find out the screen isn’t cracked.
“I’m just kidding,” you laugh, “you should see your face.”
“I hate you.”
“You looooove me.”
“No I don’t,” he raises his middle finger at you.
“Oh, fuck off!” You laugh, and he bursts into a laugh too.
You talk about video games, the book you’re currently reading, the series he’s watching. You talk and talk and talk until you both lose the notion of time.
“It’s not weird, is it?” You blurt out all of a sudden, taking him off guard.
“What’s not weird?”
“That I… uhm… sucked you off the other day,” you lower your voice so that only Chris can hear you.
His face turns red violently.
“Now you’re making it weird!”
“Why?!”
“Because!”
“Says the one who literally sexted me when I was in the car with Felix!”
Chris’s eyes widen.
“I did not sext you,” he argues. “I was just being a gentleman. I was making a proposal.”
“A very indecent one,” you smirk. “Alright, Mr. Sexter, time for me to go to work.”
“Do not call me that!” He whines.
You chuckle.
“Alright, I’ve teased you enough. Dinner at mine? There’s this new place that opened a few weeks ago and I really want to try it. Minho said they make the best jiaozi in the world.”
Chris nods.
“Alright.”
—
At seven p.m. he’s in front of your house, at nine p.m. you’ve just finished eating and at ten p.m. he’s between your legs, only half undressed. Ready to have my dessert, he had joked, and you both had cringed after.
And now here he is, sweet Bambi eyes looking straight into yours, his thumbs hooked in the loops of your jeans. You’re nervous, but in a good way.
“Can I?”
You bite your lip, nod slowly. Chan lets out a shaky breath as he fully realises he’s about to pull your pants down and see you naked. It should be at least a little weird, right? Except it isn’t to Chan — he feels incredibly excited, more than he’s ever been with anyone else before.
“Alright.”
You arch your back, lift your body so that he can easily pull your jeans down and past the curve of your ass. He’s seen you in a swimsuit, so it’s not that big of a deal to find yourself in your underwear in front of him.
It is, however, a big deal, when he hooks his thumbs in the hem of your panties. You suck in a breath when he locks eyes with yours and slowly drags the piece of cotton down your trembling thighs.
“Oh my God—” you squeak, covering your red face with both of your hands, suddenly very aware of the situation you’re in.
“Hey. Relax,” Chan says, “it’s just me.”
Yeah, that’s kind of the whole point.
You squeak again when you feel his hand on your knee, his thumb caressing your skin.
“We don’t have to do this.”
“Huh?”
Your eyes, wide open and full of emotion, stare right into his, comforting and warm as always. You feel like a ship through the most thunderous storm — Chris your lighthouse, your piece of peace.
“It’s okay if you changed your mind. We don’t have to go further.”
You shake your head.
“I didn’t change my mind… it’s just— ‘m nervous,” you smile at him. “You’re the first to ever see me naked.”
A shiver runs down Chris’ spine. God. He is the first. He is the first. How is he supposed to recover from the realization that he is the first man to ever strip you down naked and touch you and eat you out? Not to mention that you want him to fuck you. Maybe he shouldn’t be so turned on by this…
“You still want me to be?”
Your eyes widen. Is he really asking you that?
Then you realize he doesn’t know about your big, fat crush on him, and that you once literally dried the battery of your clit sucker to the thought of him after he’d showed up to your place with a new haircut. You want him. You’ve wanted him. You don’t think there’s another galaxy, another universe, in which you’ll never want Chris in any possible way you’ll get to have him.
“Yes. I trust you.”
He finally makes eye contact with your intimate parts, sucks in a breath at the sight. He feels like he is the virgin right now. He looks at you. You’re propped up on your elbows, staring at him, heart beating so fast you think it’s only a matter of time before it leaps out of your chest. What if he doesn’t like you? Physically, you mean. Maybe you should’ve worn some other kind of underwear, something sexier. Maybe he doesn’t think you’re attractive, like, at all.
You’re forcefully pushed out your own self-sabotaging train of thought by Chris himself, who licks a long stripe all along your cunt, before letting a mouthful of spit land right where your clit is.
“Oh shit,” you gasp out, holding your breath.
That’s even better than your fucking toy. Chris’ tongue is wet, and hot, and it’s his tongue that’s licking you right between your legs and you think you’re actually about to pass out.
“Are you alright?”
You nod. “I’m fantastic.”
Chris kisses your pussy all over, trying to figure out where the magic spot is. When you bite your lip and whimper, he knows he’s found it. He flicks it with his tongue once, twice, three times, and your body falls limp on the bed as you bathe in the feeling of Chris on you.
He moans as he wraps his plump and wet lips around your clit and starts sucking, toying with it using his tongue, all whilst looking at you, completely at his mercy. He uses his two fingers to spread you open for him, his mouth never detaching from your clit as he suckles on it, trying to focus on every single one of your micro reactions to what he’s doing.
You look down at him, where he’s eating you out into tomorrow, and the realization that it’s your best friend and your all time crush lying between your legs right now, makes you want him even more than you already do. However, you don’t want to rush it and ruin it all by having sex with Chris today, even though you feel ready and want him. But, selfishly, you don’t want any of this to end so soon.
Chris takes your hand, intertwines your fingers, then guides it into his already disheveled hair. You tug at it when his tongue runs all over your cunt once more. His strong, buff arms keep you pinned down the mattress when you squirm a little too much.
“Channie…”
He fucking grunts.
He grunts, munching at your pussy, as he pins you down using just one hand on your stomach, his other hand ending up between your legs. His fingers form a v shape, spreading you out for him, as he sucks on your clit as if his life depended on it. His eyes flutter shut as he feels you coming onto his tongue.
Apart from you, the four walls of your bedroom and a quite large collection of plushies and figurines displayed about everywhere in your room, no one has ever heard the sounds you make as you come. Chris feels blessed as his ears take in the little, quiet yet desperate whimpers that escapes your lips as your pussy throbs onto his tongue as you come. You pull his hair as you do, and Chris moans against your pussy. Your grip on his hair loosens, and Chan laps up at your orgasm, before emerging from your thighs. Your stomach does a teeny tiny backflip at the sight of his chin glistening with your wetness, evident proof that this is not one of your many wet dreams about your best friend, no — this is all true.
“How are you feeling?” Chris asks sweetly, looking at you whilst caressing your thigh gently.
“Feels like I’m floating,” you giggle.
Chris wipes the residual of your cum off his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, then drops next to you. He’s painfully hard, but won’t say anything because he doesn’t want to pressure you, but he’s been grinding on the bed the entire time and he’d nearly busted when he’d found out how you taste.
“How was it?”
You roll onto your side to look at him. Your lower half feels just a little bit cold considering you’re only naked from the waist down.
“Amazing. I didn’t know it could feel this good,” you sigh. “Even better than my toy,” you think out loud.
Okay, maybe that’s TMI… Of course, your little slip-up doesn’t go unnoticed by Chris, whose brows raise in surprise.
“You what now?” Surprised. “Nah, nah, nah, don’t hide from me. You have a toy? Like— a sex toy?”
“Shut uuuuup,” you whine. “You promised you’d never judge meeee.”
Chris chuckles.
“But I’m not judging you, I’m just curious. Didn’t know you had a toy. Perhaps is it a giant dildo?”
“I hate you,” you grumble.
“I’m kidding. What is it, though? I really am curious.”
You sigh, accepting defeat. You know your best friend, and he won’t drop the topic anytime soon until you reveal the juicy details. “It’s a clit sucker.”
Chris’ cock throbs, desperate for attention. The thought of you, all pretty and alone in your big bed, using a toy on you to get off, is making his brain go absolutely crazy. He wants to use it on you. He wants to hold the toy and press it on your clit and make you cum like that. He wants to hear those pretty moans once again as you come for him.
“Oh wow. Better than a clit sucker, huh? That’s a new compliment,” he says. “Can I see it?”
You furrow your eyebrows. “Huh?”
“Just wanna know who my rival is.”
“Alright.”
Chris’ arch nemesis lies in the second drawer of your nightstand, hidden among your socks. It’s small and discreet, easy to hide, but it does its job amazingly and you would be absolutely unbearable without it, given that the little plastic angel protects your sanity.
“Here’s the reason why my sanity hasn’t collapsed yet,” you announce, holding the toy for Chris to see, “a.k.a. your rival, I guess.”
Chan looks at the small object with curiosity in his eyes. He knows how it’s supposed to work, but, admittedly, it’s the first time he’s seen one in real life, so he has questions he wants answers to.
“And how does this work?”
You press a small button on the back of the toy and it starts to vibrate weakly. There’s a tiny hole on the bottom, and Chris guesses that’s the part of the toy that’s supposed to end up on your clit.
“Pressing the button it increases the sucking motion of the toy. It’s really great. There are days in which I’m more sensitive and even the weakest mode does the trick.”
Chris watches the tiny silicone toy in awe. He wonders how many times you’ve used it, in which positions, and what did you fantasised about whilst using it. He feels like the biggest perv for having such impure thoughts about his best friend, who is not as innocent as he thought.
“Can I say something? Feel free to tell me to shut up if it makes you totally uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Chris’ fingers come to wrap around the toy, feeling the low buzzing sensation on his own skin. “Is it weird that I really want to see you while you’re using it?”
Your whole neck and face heat up at Chris’ confession.
“I really wanna see how you get off…”
Chris, without even realising it, had started palming his cock over the thickness of his sweats. When your gaze falls to his lap, you become aware of the massive tent between Chris’ legs. Is it concerning that you feel the urge to suck him off?
“I have an idea…” you mumble, unable to stop thinking about how good Chris felt in your mouth the other day, as you tried your best to take him down your throat. Big and hot and heavy just for you…
“I’m all ears.”
“We can get off at the same time?” You suggest. “I’ll show you what works for me and you’ll show me what works for you.”
Chris nods, agreeing to your very interesting proposal. “Sounds perfect…” he hooks his fingers in the waistband of his sweats and boxers. “But I gotta warn you, I probably won’t last.”
“It’s okay. I’m usually very sensitive after I’ve just cum, so it probably won’t take me long either.”
Chris smiles, dragging his sweats and underwear down past the curve of his ass and his balls. His cock springs free, slapping on his tummy with a heavy thud. There’s dark, curly hair at the base, a bit longer than it was the last time you’d seen his dick, plus his balls look really full and heavy and the sight makes your mouth water. Chris wraps his own fingers around his length, an action that comes natural to him, and you try to focus on his every movement, so that the next time you touch him you’ll be better.
After turning the toy on, you realize you’ve missed an important step. You turn it off again, about to roll onto your side to open the drawer once again, but Chris’ voice interrupts you.
“What are you doing?”
“Lube. I don’t really like it when it’s dry. Too much friction.”
“Just give it to me.”
Chris takes the toy in his hand, brings it close to his mouth. The next thing you know, he’s letting a generous amount of spit fall right onto the hole of the toy.
You’ve read about how saliva is actually the worst thing you could use to replace lube, but you suppose it wont make much of a difference if you’re only planning to use it on an external toy that doesn’t involve penetration of any kind, so you figure it’s alright.
When his hand comes between your legs, toy pressed on your clit, you shiver, trembling like a leaf.
“You like it like that?” He rhetorically asks, because he’s not oblivious to the way your eyes roll in the back of your head at the contact the toy makes with your pussy.
“I guess you do.” Cocky, sarcastic.
“Fuck you,” you hiss out a laugh.
“Oh, you will. Soon, baby, I promise,” he smirks.
His eyes staring into yours, tender, soft, despite what he’s saying and what he’s doing. You’re making a mess on the sheets. He’s even more beautiful right now, hair all messy, cheeks flushed, forehead shining with sweat… how is that even possible?
He slips his strong arm under your neck, pulls you closer. Your faces only a couple of inches apart. You want to kiss him. You want to kiss him and melt into that kiss. You want to kiss him so bad.
“Chris, I’m—,” you gasp out. I’m in love with you, you want to say. I’ve been pathetically in love with you for years, you stupid idiot!
“Close already?”
“Mhhm.” That would do.
“Good. Cum, babygirl.”
You hold onto him for dear life as you come with a cry, fingernails digging into his skin, leaving behind red marks on the pale flesh. It lasts seconds, it lasts hours. But never too much.
“We… we were…”
“Huh?”
“We were supposed to do it together, you idiot,” you sigh, as your legs finally stop shaking from an earth-shattering orgasm.
“Are you that curious to see me jerking off?” He chuckles.
You swat his chest. “You’re impossible.”
He grabs your chin with his thumb and pointer finger, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Look at me babygirl.” Then, his eyes move down, where he’s touching himself.
Slowly, like someone who knows what he’s doing, with the expertise only he can have with his body. His cock looks beautiful, flushed pink at the tip, a gracious bead of precum threatening to slip and wet his tummy. Would it be weird if you… gosh, you want to taste him so bad.
His movements on his cock are swifter now, a few grunts come out of his throat.
“You like watching me?”
“Mhhm…”
It’s hot. Incredibly so.
“What are you thinking of?” The question slips past your mouth before you can stop it.
He smirks, bites his lip.
“Wanna know what I’m thinking of?” You nod. “I’m thinking of your lips, babygirl,” he swipes your lower lip with his thumb, eyes boring into yours. “How sweet they are… how beautiful they looked the other day, wrapped around my cock. How you swallowed my cum like a good girl…”
It makes you shiver, the way he’s so… direct with words. Dirty. Explicit. But how can you blame him when you’re thinking about the same stuff?
“I can do it again if you want…”
He smiles, bites his lip.
“You wanna suck my cock again?” A smirk.
“Mhhm…”
“Go on, then, babygirl. Take me in your sweet mouth.”
—
On Friday, the designated day for your first time, you get your period. Right moments before Chris rings your doorbell. Huh, what a timing.
“We can’t.”
Is the first and only thing you say as soon as you open the door, even though he knows the code and could’ve let himself in. He looks at you, a puzzled expression on his face.
“We can’t what?”
“Have sex,” you say with a huff. “I got my period, like, ten minutes ago.”
He looks at you, trying to decipher if you’ve just lied to him because you don’t want to sleep with him anymore or if you’re serious. In the end, he opts for the second scenario, because you’re visibly irritated.
“It’s alright,” he says, closing the door behind his buff figure. “We can still hang out. D’you want me to grab some chocolate at the convenience store?”
“You do know that not all the people who menstruate love chocolate when they’re on their period, right?” You quirk an eyebrow at him.
“Yeah, but you do. So? Chocolate?”
“…. yes, please.”
Everything’s easy with Chris. It’s always been this way.
—
And like the most beautiful things one can experience in life, it happens spontaneously, your first time. No plan, no designated day, no matching panties and bra set, no nothing. Just you and him and a nice day out in the hot spring sun. Chris’ hand on your thigh had you trembling like a leaf, even if he was just telling a joke a little too emphatically.
You then realised just how much you love him, and decided that it was the perfect moment. That you needed him. You told him so, he nearly choked on his water, but he, too, thought it was the perfect moment.
Which brings you here. In your bedroom, naked with Chris between your legs for a second time, just with different intentions this time.
Chris looks you in the eye, trying to catch even just a glimpse of uncertainty, of regret, and he’s ready to stop. But he finds none. You’re sure. And it should probably be weird, right?, even just a little, but it’s not. It’s not weird that he’s between your legs, naked, ready to take your virginity like you asked him to. It should be weird, but it’s not.
“Are you sure you’re sure?”
“For the millionth time, Chris, yes. I am sure.”
“Just making sure,” he shrugs. “Tell me if it hurts, or if you’re uncomfortable or whatever, alright?”
“Alright.”
He grips himself steadily, firmly, checking for the third time that the condom’s on properly. Then, you feel his tip prodding at your slit, ready to enter you any second now.
You feel his hot breath on your mouth, his nose gently caressing yours, his fingers in your hair as he first presses himself inside of you. It knocks the air out of your lungs.
It’s true, it’s happening.
“Hurts?” He asks, concerned.
“No, not at all,” you reassure him. “Feels perfect.”
He enters you ever so slowly, making sure not to overwhelm you with his presence in your tightness. He bottoms out, finally, and you feel complete. It feels perfect, he feels perfect inside of you.
He pulls out and you whimper at the loss. You miss him instantly.
And he obliges at your unexpressed plea, immediately entering you once again. This time, an unexpected pain washes all over your lower region, it feels as if you pulled a muscle or something. Chris notices something’s up from the way you scrunch your nose and hiss.
“Did I hurt you?”
He’s so sweet.
“I’m okay,” cupping his cheek. “It feels weird. But I don’t want to stop.”
“You sure?”
“Mhhm.”
He pushes inside even more slowly than before, not missing one of your reactions and micro expressions. He’s so damn close and at the same time it’s not enough. You can feel him, touch him, breathe him, but you still want more.
“More… please.”
He begins to move, propped on his elbows which are resting on each side of your face. It knocks the air out of your chest for a good couple of seconds, but it’s the most intense feeling you’ve ever experienced so far, and you’re excited for more. You want to keep making love to Chris for ever.
You inadvertently clench around his length and he hisses.
“Sorry.”
“You… you have no idea how you feel wrapped around me, babygirl.”
It makes your heart flutter.
“And you have no idea how you feel inside of me… I feel so… full.”
He twitches, and you feel it.
“You can’t say things like that to me,” he admonishes, but you know he’s not being serious.
“Why not?”
“Because… I’m trying so fucking hard not to bust a nut this fucking second,” he admits.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
He moves inside of you, thrusting and pulling back and then thrusting again, gentle, never rough, even though a part of you wishes to make him lose control and let him do whatever he wants with you. Maybe… maybe another time, if you’re lucky.
“Tell me… tell me what to do. Teach me.”
A shiver runs down Chris’ spine.
“Dear god, babygirl,” he drops his face in the crook of your neck. “Fine. Okay. Alright. Just— hook your legs around mine, hm?”
You oblige. He feels even closer now.
“Good girl,” he praises. “Now try to move your pelvis as if to meet my movements.”
“Alright.”
“Yeah, like that… feels good, doesn’t it?”
It feels even better than you thought it would. You still feel a bit sore, yes, but it’s much more pleasant now that you’ve grown accustomed to it. Plus, Chris is being so gentle and sweet… you could never regret asking him to be your first.
“Can we… can we kiss?” You timidly ask.
Chris smiles sweetly at you, and without providing an answer, he presses his lips onto yours in a chaste kiss that turns hot and indecent mere seconds later. He intertwines your fingers, asks you to pull his hair as he fucks you.
“Feels nice?”
“Feels so good, Chris,” you moan, hips meeting his halfway. “Never thought it could feel like this.”
You wonder if it’ll ever be the same with other guys. Probably not, because you’ll never love someone as much as you love Chris.
“Me neither.”
Chris gets more desperate now, but he’s still so desperately trying not to lose control. You wonder how it’d be like if he just gave in to his impulses. He hooks his arm under your leg, spreads you wider for him, and you sigh. It feels amazing.
“You’re amazing, babygirl,” he moans, sinking deeper into you. Deeper and deeper, making you feel every inch of his cock that’s hot and throbbing just for you. “Never want this to end.”
It makes your heart flutter, even though he’s probably just saying that because it’s just sex. Amazing, yeah, but just sex.
He moves like he knows exactly what he’s doing, stimulating a certain spot inside of you; yet, it’s not enough to make you finish, and he knows it. “Spit,” he demands, albeit sweetly, his fingers close to your mouth.
You obey, and his lubed up fingers immediately find your puffy clit that’s aching for some attention. It makes you cry out in pleasure. All your life, you’ve been constantly told how men are selfish in bed and they only care about their own pleasure and never the woman’s, but you knew Chris wasn’t like the others. It was obvious since the start.
“Chris— I’m—”
He smirks, moving his skilled fingers faster.
“Go on, babygirl. Finish on my cock. Cream it like the good girl you are,” he incites you, and who are you to deny him such pleasure?
You cum on his cock with a cry, feeling yourself pulsing and throbbing down there, as he continues to push inside of you looking for his own release. Finally, he empties himself inside the condom with a low grunt, then collapses on top of you.
“You did so good, babygirl…”
He rolls onto his back, dragging you together with him, your head now resting on his chest where you can feel his pounding heartbeat.
“Was it okay? Did you like it?” He asks.
You raise your head to look into his warm eyes. “It was perfect,” you say and your heart skips a beat, “thank you.”
He kisses you, unexpectedly.
You stay like that for minutes that feel like hours, hugging and kissing, forgetting there’s a world, a life outside of your bedroom. Until you’re brought back to reality by an unexpected thunder, anticipating a violent storm.
“Shit, it’s really pouring down outside, isn’t it?”
“Mh… looks scary.”
“Cup of tea and a movie?” He suggests.
“Yeah, but shower first.”
When you sit on the bed, you hiss at the contact your lower half makes with the mattress, a very present soreness reminding you of what happened mere minutes before. There, on the bedsheets, a small pool of dried up blood. He looks between his legs, the condom is reddish.
“Shit… did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, babygirl.”
You shake your head as a no. “No, no, you didn’t,” you smile at him. “You were perfect.”
It’s a mystery how you ended up in the shower together with Chris, but you can’t complain about that, especially with how sweet he acts towards you. You look at him as if he hung the moon and all the man did was take your virginity. And you can’t complain either when, just an hour later, you’re cuddling on the couch, your comfort movie playing softly in the background as you share your favorite and warmest blanket.
It would be the perfect moment for a love confession, but you’re too much of a coward for that.
—
You don’t like the way she’s looking at Chris. Like she’s trying to mark her territory, like she’s hunting and your dear best friend is her target prey, grabbing his arm with her perfect blue eyes, flawless skin and high-pitched laughter. No, no, you don’t like it in the slightest. Now, Chris is totally oblivious that you’re dying of jealousy, of course, so he’s reciprocating the girl’s explicit attentions. It makes you sick.
Chris… your Chris… with someone else. You need air, you need to breathe.
From the other side of the room, Chris notices something’s up. You look uncomfortable, shifting in your seat, not making eye contact with any of your friends, biting at your fingernails… Something happened, he’s sure of that, but… what exactly? Did someone say something? Are you okay? He needs to know.
“You okay?”
It startles you, his voice. You zoned out completely, and didn’t notice he’d excused himself to the girl and immediately came to check on you.
“Yeah. I’m alright.”
“You suck ass at lying, and you know that,” he remarks. “Now, what happened?”
“I’m okay, Chan, just go back talking to that girl.”
Chan? You never call him Chan. Chris, Chrissy when you want to tease him, but never Chan.
“Why would I go talk to her when you’re here and you look uncomfortable?”
“I’ve been here the whole night and you didn’t care.”
Chris frowns.
“That’s not true. I just went to grab something to drink and Scarlett came up to talk to me.”
“Scarlett.” You huff.
Now Chris is confused. Why exactly are you mad and why is it such a big deal that he was talking to that girl?
“Yes, Scarlett,” he repeats, as confused as before. “Are you mad at me, did I do something?”
You shrug.
Yes and no. Chris is allowed to talk to anybody he wants, so why does it bother you so much? Because you’re in love with him, hello? And Scarlett is so… different than you. If Chan likes her, it means he could never like someone like you. Right?
“Come with me,” Chris says, grabbing your hand and exiting the place. He doesn’t want to discuss this matter in front of his and your friends. It’s something that somehow feels private. “Now,” he starts once you’re all alone, “tell me what I did to make you mad.”
“You’ve been ignoring me,” you give him the side-eye, sounding like a jealous girlfriend even to your own ears. “You begged me to go out and then spent half an hour talking to Scarlett,” you put emphasis on her name.
He looks at you as if he had a whole different person in front of him.
“Ignoring you? Wha— I— Ha! Ignoring you!” He’s in disbelief. “I just went to grab a drink!”
“And talked to Scarlett for half an hour. You didn’t care that I was sitting all alone waiting for you to come back.”
Have you gone crazy?, Chan thinks.
“All alone? The guys are there! And your girlfriends, too!”
“Yes, but I was waiting for you!”
It makes Chris’ heart skip a beat or two.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it, even though he doesn’t know precisely what he did wrong. “Really, I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean to.”
You seem to come to your senses, realizing that maybe you overstepped a boundary or something.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. You have the right to do whatever you want, it’s just that I…”
Stop it!, a voice inside your head screams. Stop right there! Are you crazy? You want to confess that you got jealous? And then what, maybe tell him that you’re in love with him? Stop!
And all of a sudden, confessing your feelings seems the only right thing to do.
“You…?”
All the courage suddenly leaves your body, but the damage is kind of already done.
“I got… jealous, I think.”
“Jealous?” He repeats, heart fluttering inside his ribcage.
“Hmmh.”
“You’ve got no reason to be jealous,” he smiles at you. “You know you’re my favorite person in the whole world.”
You miss his lips and the way they felt pressed on yours, mere nights before, when you were wrapped around him tightly, and he was inside of you. You miss that closeness, that intimacy. You want him desperately, and not just for sex. The good, the bad, the easy and the hard times.
“Careful what you say, Chrissy,” you chuckle, “you might end up making me fall in love with you or something,” your joke hiding a bigger truth.
His head snaps up, eyes bore into yours.
“Would that be too bad?”
“Huh?”
“If you fell in love with me. Would that be so horrible?” The world pauses. You freeze, heart pounding louder and louder in your ears. “Never mind,” he says after a while, your silence being too much for his hurt pride, for his shattered heart.
Of course you could never love him, what was he thinking?
He runs inside before you can even try to stop him. You run after him, but once you reach him he’s already sitting with the guys, and you do not want to make a scene in front of them or shout out a love confession in the middle of the club. You take your place next to Chris, and it’s obvious he’s avoiding you at this point.
“Chris…” you tap him on the shoulder, but he doesn’t turn to look at you. He’s too embarrassed, you can tell by the tips of his ears that are flushed pink. “Chris…”
You gather up all the courage in your body for what you’re about to do next.
Shifting in your seat, you whisper in his ear. “It wouldn’t be horrible at all.”
He whips his head to meet your eyes, see if you’re serious or if it’s another cruel joke. But no. The light in your eyes confirms that it’s true. He asks you silently, with his own eyes, if you’re saying what he thinks you’re saying. You grab his hand from under the table and smile at him as you nod.
“Can we go outside? I need to kiss you real bad,” he whispers in your hair.
—
“Open your wallets, ladies and gentlemen,” Minho says, cocky as ever, tilting his head in the direction of the closest window. “Ten bucks each, which means… one-hundred and twenty bucks total.”
Someone protests, others groan in frustration, some of the boys try to argue that he wasn’t playing fair in the first place, because everybody knew the two idiots were in love with each other.
“So much scene for ten bucks,” Minho huffs. “You’re just sore losers. The bet wasn’t if the two dummies outside were in love with each other or not. The point was whether they were going to kiss tonight or not. And I won.”
“How come does he always win?” Jeongin asks, confused.
“Guys, look! Ew, that’s disgusting, they’re practically eating each other’s faces at this point!” Jisung comments.
“Do you think they know we can see them?”
“Of course not, pabo.”
“I think they’re gonna fuck,” your girl friend blurts out.
“Nah, they won’t.”
“Wanna bet?” Lee Minho says.
“Fuck you!” They all scream in unison.
—
You never want to stop kissing Chris, but you have to at some point, if you don’t want to die from asphyxia. Both his and your lips are al red and swollen from the kisses, his cheeks flushed pink and yours equally as hot.
“Take me home,” you whisper on his mouth.
“Huh?”
“You’re not done with me yet,” you bite your lip. “You taught me how to have sex… now it’s time for you to teach me how to make love.”
(•˕ •マ.ᐟ || When years of tension finally snap at a high-fashion gala, Y/N and Minho find themselves hiding in a dark closet, where the line between pretending and surrendering disappears completely.
Idol! Lee Minho x SKZ 9th Member Reader
Category: Smut.
Word Count: 8.8k
CW: Unprotected sex, Dry Humping, Cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms, Rough sex, Public sex
The room was a pressure cooker of champagne bubbles and forced smiles. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto a sea of designer fabrics and glittering jewelry, transforming the hotel's grand ballroom into a gilded cage. Y/N felt like a fraud wrapped in silk, the elegant fabric of her deep emerald gown clinging to her skin like a second, sweatier layer. Every clinking glass was a tiny hammer against her skull, every peal of laughter a knife in her ears. She was playing the part of "K-pop idol at a high-fashion gala," smiling until her cheeks ached, making small talk with people whose names she'd forget by morning.
But the real source of the suffocating heat was standing ten feet away, radiating an energy that was making it hard to breathe.
Minho.
He was in a black suit that should have been illegal. It was tailored within an inch of its life, sharp and severe, hugging the lines of his body in a way that was both elegant and brutally distracting. The charcoal fabric was a perfect second skin, commanding his shoulders, cinching at his waist, the cut of the trousers a quiet testament to his dancer's physique. His hair was swept back, revealing the sharp angles of his face. He looked untouchable. He looked like a sin she desperately wanted to commit.
He was laughing at something their manager said, a polite, practiced curve of his lips, but his eyes weren't in it. His eyes were scanning, restless, and then they locked onto hers.
It was a physical impact. A jolt that shot down her spine and settled low in her stomach. The air crackled, thickening instantly. For a beat, the entire room, the executives, the idols, the shimmering lights, faded into a dull, irrelevant hum. It was just him and the magnetic pull between them, a force so potent it felt like it should bend light.
He didn't smile. He just held her gaze, his expression unreadable but heavy with a thousand unspoken things. It felt like a challenge. A dare. The noise of the party seemed to compress, becoming a dull roar in her ears. The smile he offered wasn't the polite, professional one he'd been flashing all night. It was a slow, private curve of his lips, a flicker of heat in his eyes that was meant only for her.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She quickly looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the stem of her champagne flute, but the damage was done. A low hum of awareness now vibrated under her skin.
"Y/N-ah, you're glowing," a senior producer said, appearing at her side. She wrenched her eyes away from Minho, forcing a smile that felt like cracking glass.
"Thank you, sunsaengnim. It's a wonderful event."
"We're so proud of all of you. The whole group is here tonight, making such a good impression." The man's words were just noise, a drone she had to endure while she felt Minho's stare like a physical touch on the side of her face.
Then came the mandatory group photos. "Stray Kids, let's get a few together!" a photographer called out. This was it. The moment the space between them would have to shrink from ten feet to zero.
They all shuffled into formation. By some cruel twist of fate, she ended up standing directly in front of Minho. She could feel the warmth of him before he even touched her. Then, his hand settled on the small of her back.
It was supposed to be a casual, supportive gesture. But his fingers spread wide, his palm pressing firmly against the silk. It wasn't a pat; it was a claim. For the camera, it looked perfectly acceptable. But then the first flash went off. And his hand didn't move. Hidden from view, his thumb pressed gently, finding the base of her spine, and began to move in a slow, deliberate circle. A tiny, maddening stroke that was hidden from every lens but burned through her dress, through her skin, right into her bones.
Her breath hitched. She had to consciously stop herself from leaning back into it, from arching into his touch like a cat in heat. Her smile froze in place for the second, third, fourth photo. The camera flashes went off, blinding and temporary, but the pressure of his hand was permanent. The contact lasted mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity of shared electricity.
The photographer waved them away, and the moment was gone. Minho's hand dropped. He didn't look at her as they dispersed. Y/N was left standing there, the ghost of his touch still burning on her skin.
The rest of the evening became a masterclass in exquisite torture.
An important CEO from their label's fashion partner cornered them, his smile slick and eyes calculating. Y/N was forced into small talk, her brain foggy, the ghost of Minho's thumb still tracing lazy circles on her lower back.
"Minho-ssi, Y/N-ssi, you two have such a striking chemistry on stage," the man said, his eyes darting between them. "The fans love it."
Y/N felt a flush creep up her neck. She opened her mouth to offer a generic, polite response, but Minho beat her to it.
"We're just comfortable with each other," he said, his voice a low, smooth rumble. But as he spoke, he looked directly at Y/N. His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before meeting her eyes again. The words were for the CEO, but the look, the dark, heavy-lidded, possessive look, was all for her. It was a lie. They weren't comfortable. They were a live wire, constantly sparking, always on the verge of an overload.
Later, during a round of polite chatter with a French designer, Y/N fumbled a word, her brain short-circuiting. From beside her, she heard a soft, familiar huff of amusement. She glanced at Minho, who was looking down, swirling his drink, but the corner of his mouth was twitching. He knew. He was laughing at her. And that shared, private joke, that tiny glimpse of their real dynamic in this sea of fakery, was more intimate than any touch.
The CEO finally moved on, and they were left standing in a pocket of suffocating silence. The space between them felt too small and too vast all at once. A waiter passed with a tray of champagne flutes, and Minho's arm brushed against hers as he reached for one. The touch was fleeting, accidental, but it sent a jolt through her so intense she almost dropped her own glass.
He didn't pull away. He let his arm rest against hers for a second too long, the fabric of his suit jacket a rough texture against her bare skin. He leaned in, his lips near her ear, his voice a conspiratorial whisper that was somehow louder than a scream in the noisy room.
"You look like you're about to shatter," he murmured. His breath was warm, smelling of mint and something uniquely him. "Are you okay?"
The irony was so thick she could have choked on it. He was the reason she was about to shatter. She turned her head slightly, her mouth inches from his. "I'm fine," she lied, her voice trembling. "Just a little overwhelmed."
His eyes darkened, a flicker of something raw and predatory in their depths. "Me too," he admitted, and the confession hung between them, heavier than any chandelier in the room.
They had to navigate the crowd to reach their table. He was slightly ahead of her, then paused to let a waiter pass. She came up behind him, and as he stepped forward again, the movement was slightly off. His entire back pressed against her front, solid and warm, for the span of a heartbeat. He froze for a fraction of a second, a silent acknowledgment of the contact, before moving away.
"Excuse me," he murmured, his voice a low, rough whisper meant for her alone, the words practically breathed against her hair.
She couldn't speak. She could only nod, her throat tight. The simple, courteous phrase was loaded with a tension so thick it was a wonder the air around them didn't crack.
She made her way to the table on shaky legs, taking her seat between Changbin and Felix. She could hear Minho's voice as he chatted with Jeongin further down the table, smooth and easy. He sounded so normal. So unbothered.
Across the white linen and gleaming silverware, she caught his eye. He was mid-sentence, a lazy smile on his lips, but when his gaze met hers, the smile didn't waver. It was his eyes that changed. The light in them deepened, focused, became something dark and intent. It was a look that stripped away the couture gown, the diamonds in her ears, the entire glamorous facade. It was a look that said he remembered exactly how the curve of her spine felt under his thumb. It was a look that promised more.
He was still standing too close in her memory. Still looking at her like he wanted to devour her whole. The tension wasn't just obvious anymore; it was a palpable, living thing, coiled in the space between their bodies, waiting to strike. And it was only a matter of time before it demanded to be set free.
Y/N had finally extracted herself from the group, needing air and space from the suffocating weight of Minho's attention. She'd found a quiet corner near the bar, nursing a glass of water she had no intention of drinking, when a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Y/N-noona?"
She turned. San from Ateez stood a few feet away, looking devastating in a deep burgundy velvet jacket that somehow made his sharp features even more striking. His smile was warm, genuine, and utterly disarming.
"San-ah!" The relief at seeing a friendly, uncomplicated face was immediate. "You're here too?"
"Unfortunately." He groaned dramatically, closing the distance between them. "These things are torture. I've been smiling so much my face is going to freeze like this." He demonstrated an exaggerated, frozen grin, and she laughed, a real laugh, the first one all night.
They fell into easy conversation, reminiscing about the variety show they'd filmed together, complaining about the food, making fun of the overly serious expressions on some of the executives' faces. It was normal. It was comfortable. It was exactly what she needed.
She should have known better.
San was a natural flirt, everyone knew that, and his attention was flattering in its simplicity. He leaned in closer as they talked, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. His hand landed on her forearm to emphasize a point. Then again, a few minutes later, to guide her out of a waiter's path. Then again, just because.
Each touch was innocent. Each one went unnoticed by her.
Each one was noticed by someone else.
Across the room, Minho watched.
He'd been watching all night, of course. Watching the way the emerald silk of her dress caught the light. Watching the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when she was nervous. Watching the way her smile faltered every time their eyes met, like she was remembering something she shouldn't.
But now he was watching something else.
He was watching another man touch her. Another man make her laugh. Another man lean in close enough to breathe the same air she was breathing.
His hand tightened around his champagne flute until his knuckles went white.
"Minho? You okay?" Felix appeared at his side, concern flickering in his eyes.
"Fine." The word came out clipped, sharper than intended. Minho forced his jaw to unclench, forced his expression to smooth into something neutral. "Just tired."
Felix followed his gaze across the room. Understanding dawned on his face. "Ah. San's just friendly, you know. He's like that with everyone."
"I know."
But knowing it didn't stop the primal, possessive thing in his chest from snarling. Didn't stop the image of San's hand on her skin from burning into his brain like a brand. Didn't stop the sudden, overwhelming need to cross the room, insert himself between them, and remind every single person in this godforsaken ballroom exactly who Y/N belonged to.
He didn't move. He couldn't. If he moved, he wouldn't be able to stop.
Then San leaned in again, his lips brushing close to Y/N's ear to say something, and her laugh rang out, bright, genuine, unguarded, and something inside Minho snapped.
He set his glass down. He didn't remember doing it. One moment it was in his hand, the next it was on a passing tray, and he was moving.
The crowd parted around him. Or maybe he just didn't see them anymore. All he could see was her. All he could see was the space beside her that should have been his.
"San-ssi."
His voice was smooth. Pleasant. Perfectly controlled. But when San looked up, something in his expression flickered, a split second of recognition, like a smaller animal sensing a predator.
"Minho-ssi!" San's smile didn't waver, but his posture shifted almost imperceptibly. "I was just keeping your Y/N company."
Your Y/N.
The words hit Minho like a shot of whiskey, warm, burning, and utterly intoxicating. He wanted to hear them again. He wanted to hear him say them.
His hand found the back of Y/N's chair. His fingers brushed her shoulder. A casual touch. A claiming one.
"She's hard to miss tonight," Minho said, his eyes dropping to Y/N's face. For a moment, just a moment, he let her see it. All of it. The hunger. The heat. The desperate, clawing need that had been building all night. "Unfortunately, I need to steal her. Manager's looking for us."
It was a lie. They both knew it. San's eyes flickered between them, and that knowing smile returned.
"Of course. Wouldn't want to keep you from important business." He squeezed Y/N's hand, one last touch, one last tiny defiance, and murmured, "See you around, noona."
Minho's hand was on her elbow before San had even finished speaking. His grip was firm, possessive, pulling her gently but inexorably away from the bar, away from the crowd, away from the man who'd dared to touch what was his.
"Minho-" she started.
"Don't." His voice was low, rough, barely controlled. He didn't look at her. His eyes were fixed ahead, scanning for an exit, for privacy, for somewhere, anywhere, away from all these people. "Just keep walking."
She did.
He led her through the crowd with single-minded focus, his grip never loosening. Past the bar. Past the photographers lurking near the entrance. Past clusters of important people who didn't matter, whose names he'd already forgotten. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, in his temples, in the fingertips pressed against her skin.
He found a corridor. Empty, lined with abstract art, leading away from the noise. He pulled her into it.
At the far end, there was a door. A service door, plain and unmarked. He didn't know where it led. He didn't care. He pushed it open, stepped inside, and pulled her in after him.
The door clicked shut.
Darkness. Silence. The muffled thump of music from somewhere far away.
They stood inches apart, breathing hard, the heat of their bodies mingling in the small space. He could smell her perfume, something soft and floral that had been driving him crazy all night. He could hear her heartbeat, fast and unsteady, matching his own.
His hand was still on her elbow. But now it was sliding up, over her forearm, over her wrist, until his fingers laced with hers. He lifted their joined hands and pressed them against the door beside her head, caging her in.
"San," he said, and the name came out like a curse. His voice was wrecked, stripped of all pretense. "He touched you. He was flirting with you. Right in front of me."
"He's just friendly-"
"I don't care." His forehead dropped to rest against hers. His breath was ragged, uneven, his control hanging by a thread. "I don't care if he's the nicest person on the planet. I don't care if he was just being polite. I saw his hand on you and I wanted to-" He stopped, his jaw clenching so hard it ached.
Y/N's free hand came up to cup his face. Her palm was cool against his heated skin. "You wanted to what?"
He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her palm. Then her wrist, where her pulse fluttered wildly. Then he pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark and burning in the sliver of light from under the door.
"I wanted to drag you somewhere private and remind you exactly who you belong to."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and electric.
Y/N's breath stuttered. "Minho-"
"Tell me to stop." His voice was barely a whisper, rough with restraint, with desperation, with three years of wanting her in every way that mattered. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll walk out that door and never mention it again. I'll go back to pretending. I'll go back to watching you from across every room and dying inside. Just tell me to stop."
She didn't speak. She didn't move.
But her eyes, her beautiful, endless eyes, dropped to his lips.
That was all the answer he needed.
He kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't tentative. It was a collision. The moment his lips met hers, three years of restraint shattered into a million pieces. His mouth was hot, demanding, claiming hers with a desperate urgency that stole the air from her lungs. His free hand came up to cup the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, holding her in place as if he feared she might disappear.
Y/N met him with equal ferocity. Her hands, which had been cupping his face, slid up into his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp. She kissed him back with everything she had, pouring all the frustration, all the longing, all the secret glances and stolen touches into this one moment. There was no finesse, no technique, only raw, unfiltered need.
His tongue swept against her lower lip, a silent, insistent question. She opened for him instantly, a soft gasp swallowed by his mouth. The first slide of his tongue against hers was electric. It was slow, deliberate, a deep, thorough exploration that made her knees weak. He tasted like champagne and mint and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Minho. He tasted like home.
Their tongues met, then danced, then dueled. It wasn't a fight for dominance but a frantic, desperate joining, a silent conversation they'd been waiting three years to have. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and she followed his lead, meeting his intensity with her own. Every stroke, every swirl was a confession, a promise, a plea. The world outside that small, dark room ceased to exist. There was only the heat of his mouth, the taste of him, the way his hand tightened in her hair when she moaned softly into the kiss.
The hand that had been pinning hers to the door released her, only to travel down her side, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip before settling on the small of her back. He pressed her closer, eliminating any remaining space between them. The silk of her dress was a flimsy barrier against the hard lines of his suit, and she could feel every ridge and plane of his body against hers. The pressure was delicious, a tantalizing preview of what she'd been craving all night.
The need for air became a burning necessity, but breaking apart felt impossible. It was Y/N who finally pulled back, gasping, her forehead resting against his. They were both breathing hard, their chests heaving in the darkness.
"Minho," she breathed, his name a prayer on her lips.
He didn't answer with words. He answered with action. His hands moved from her hair and her back to grip her waist, lifting her slightly. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, and he took two steps forward, pinning her against the door again. The new angle was devastating, allowing him to kiss her even deeper, more thoroughly. His tongue stroked hers in a rhythm that was both slow and desperate, a contradiction that mirrored the storm raging inside her.
Her hands roamed over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the solid muscle beneath the expensive fabric. She wanted to feel his skin. She wanted to feel all of him. The thought was so overwhelming, so potent, that it sent a jolt straight through her.
He must have felt it too, because a low groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her lips. He broke the kiss, but only to trail his mouth along her jaw, down the column of her throat. His tongue traced the frantic pulse beating there, his teeth scraping gently against her sensitive skin. She tilted her head back, giving him better access, a silent invitation for more.
His hands were everywhere now, sliding up her ribcage, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, tracing the curve of her spine. Each touch was a brand, each caress a promise of more to come. The tension coiled tighter and tighter inside her, a spring wound to its breaking point.
He captured her lips again, and this time, the kiss was different. It was slower, deeper, impossibly more intimate. His tongue moved against hers with a languid, deliberate rhythm that made her entire body ache with want. It was a kiss that said, "I've got you. I'm not letting go."
And then, gravity intervened.
Whether it was his shifting weight or her trembling legs, the balance shifted. He stumbled back a step, trying to steady them, but his foot caught on something unseen in the darkness. They went down in a tangle of limbs and silk and wool, landing on the floor with a soft thud that was barely audible over the sound of their ragged breathing.
He landed on his back, and she landed on top of him, her body draped over his. For a moment, they just lay there, stunned into stillness. The impact had knocked the wind out of them, but it had done nothing to dampen the fire between them.
If anything, it had poured gasoline on it.
She was straddling him now, her dress bunched around her thighs, her hands braced on his chest. She could feel the frantic, steady beat of his heart under her palms. In the dim light filtering under the door, she could see his face, his lips swollen from their kisses, his eyes dark and burning with an intensity that made her feel like she was the only person in the universe.
He looked up at her, his hands coming to rest on her hips, his fingers gripping her through the silk. "Well," he said, his voice a low, husky rumble that vibrated through her entire body. "That's one way to end up on the floor."
A breathless laugh escaped her. "Are you okay?"
"Never better," he replied, and then he was pulling her down, his mouth finding hers again.
This kiss was different from the others. It was slower, deeper, impossibly more intimate. There was no desperation now, only a profound, soul-deep certainty. His tongue slid against hers in a languid, deliberate rhythm that made her entire body ache with want. It was a kiss that said, "I've got you. I'm not letting go." It was a kiss that tasted like forever.
Her hands roamed over his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his suit jacket before moving to the buttons of his shirt. She needed to feel his skin, needed the reassurance that this was real, that he was real. His hands mirrored her movements, sliding up her thighs, over her hips, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above the waistband of her dress.
The world outside that small, dark room had ceased to exist. There was only the heat of his body against hers, the taste of his mouth, the sound of their mingled breaths in the darkness. It was a perfect, beautiful, chaotic mess, and she wouldn't have traded it for anything.
The slow, deep kiss was a lie. It was a beautiful, fragile illusion of control, and it shattered the second she shifted her weight on top of him. The friction, even through the layers of her dress and his trousers, was a spark to a gasoline-soaked rag. A choked sound tore from Minho's throat, half-groan, half-sob, and his hands, which had been resting on her hips, convulsed. His fingers dug into her flesh, not bruising, but desperate, like a man drowning clutching at a lifeline.
His hips bucked up, a single, sharp, involuntary thrust that sent a bolt of pure electricity straight through her core. It was clumsy. It was raw. It was the most honest thing he had done all night.
"Fuck," he gasped against her mouth, the word muffled, broken. "Y/N, I-"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to. She understood.
Her body answered for him. Her own hips rolled down, a slow, deliberate grind that met his frantic energy with a searing wave of her own. The pressure was exquisite, a delicious agony that had her seeing stars behind her closed eyelids. It was a question and an answer, a desperate, non-verbal plea for more.
That was it. The last thread of his restraint snapped.
He was no longer kissing her. He was devouring her, his mouth slanting over hers with a renewed, frantic hunger as his body took over. His hips began to move, a stuttering, desperate rhythm that was completely uncoordinated and utterly perfect. He wasn't grinding; he was rutting. There was no other word for it. It was a primal, shameless search for friction, for pressure, for any kind of relief from the unbearable ache that had been building for hours, for years.
Each thrust was a confession. I wanted you when you laughed at my stupid joke. I wanted you when you fell asleep on my shoulder in the van. I wanted you tonight when you looked at me in that fucking dress. His movements were jerky, almost violent in their intensity, his breath coming in ragged, panted gasps against her lips.
And she met him thrust for thrust.
Her own body was moving with a mind of its own, a desperate, grinding rhythm that matched his. She was chasing the same high, seeking the same release. The silk of her dress was a torment, a flimsy barrier that amplified the sensation without ever being enough. She could feel the hard, thick ridge of his cock straining against his trousers, and the knowledge that she was the cause, that he was this hard and this desperate for her, was the most intoxicating thing she had ever known.
His hands abandoned her hips, sliding up her back to tangle in her hair again, holding her to him as if he could absorb her into his very skin. He broke the kiss, his mouth moving to her neck, his teeth scraping against her pulse point before his tongue soothed the sting. He was marking her, a primal, instinctual act of possession that made her whine low in her throat.
"Minho," she panted, his name a broken, breathless mantra. "Please, please, please."
She didn't know what she was begging for. More pressure? More speed? For him to rip off their clothes and finally bury himself inside her? It didn't matter. He understood.
His rhythm grew more frantic, his thrusts harder, faster. The sound of their bodies moving together was obscene in the quiet darkness, the slick slide of silk on wool, the soft, desperate grunts from his throat, the breathy moans she couldn't hold back. It was a symphony of desperation, and they were both playing their parts perfectly.
He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and the new pressure against her clit sent a jolt so intense through her that her entire body seized. A sharp cry escaped her lips, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, at the fabric of his suit jacket, trying to find purchase in a world that had dissolved into pure sensation.
"Right there?" he gasped, his voice ragged, triumphant. "Fuck, right there?"
He did it again, a deliberate, hard grind of his hips that had her seeing white. That was it. That was the spot. The coil of tension in her stomach tightened to an impossible degree, winding so tight it was painful. Every muscle in her body went rigid, her back arching, her head thrown back.
"Minho, I'm-"
"Come on," he growled, his voice a low, guttural command that was her undoing. "Come for me, baby. Now."
The words, combined with one final, brutal thrust, sent her flying over the edge. Her orgasm crashed through her with the force of a tidal wave, a blinding, deafening rush of pleasure that stole her breath and her sanity. She cried out, a sharp, unrestrained sound of pure ecstasy as her body convulsed, waves of release washing over her again and again.
He followed her instantly. With a hoarse, broken shout of her name, he buried his face in her neck, his body going rigid as his own orgasm tore through him. She felt the hot, wet pulse of his release through his trousers, a final, intimate proof of his desperate need for her.
For a long moment, they just lay there, a tangled, panting heap on the floor of the dark, silent room. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant, muffled thump of a bassline from a world they had completely forgotten.
Slowly, shakily, reality began to seep back in. The hard floor beneath her. The cool air on her sweat-slicked skin. The weight of him, solid and real and still trembling slightly.
Minho lifted his head, his movements slow, heavy. He looked down at her, his eyes dark and soft in the gloom, his face still flushed with release. He gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead, his touch infinitely tender after the frantic desperation of moments before.
"Y/N," he whispered, his voice hoarse, raw. "Are you okay?"
She could only nod, her throat too tight to form words. She reached up, her hand trembling as she cupped his cheek, her thumb stroking the sharp line of his jaw. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes, a look of profound relief and utter exhaustion washing over his features.
They were a mess. Her dress was wrinkled and probably ruined. His suit was disheveled. They were hiding in a dark closet, their bodies humming with the aftershocks of a desperate, dry-humped orgasm.
And it was perfect.
He was still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling beneath her, a warm, solid anchor in the darkness. But as the waves of her orgasm subsided, a new, more terrifying wave of need crashed over her. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. The release had been a temporary reprieve, a small sip of water when she was dying of thirst. She wanted to drown.
"Minho," she whispered, her voice still shaky. She shifted her hips, a slow, deliberate grind against his still-hard cock.
A sharp hiss escaped him. His hands, which had been stroking her back soothingly, went rigid, his fingers digging into her silk-clad flesh. "Y/N… don't."
But she couldn't stop. It was like a switch had been flipped inside her, bypassing every rational thought and leaving only pure, animal instinct. She did it again, rolling her hips in a tight circle, feeling the thick, hard length of him press against her through the layers of their clothes. The friction was a torment, a promise of what she truly wanted.
"Fuck, stop," he groaned, but his voice was losing its edge, turning strained, breathless. "I just… I can't again. Not yet."
She didn't listen. She leaned down, her mouth finding the sensitive skin of his throat, and she bit him gently, a sharp, possessive nip. Her hips moved with a newfound urgency, a desperate, seeking rhythm that was entirely for her own pleasure now. She was chasing something, the ghost of a feeling that was already slipping away.
"Y/N, you're killing me," he gasped, his hands coming up to grip her waist, trying to still her movements. But his hold was weak, his thumbs stroking her ribs instead of pushing her away. "It's too much."
"Then make it stop," she panted against his skin, her words a challenge, a desperate plea. She ground down harder, and his whole body jerked, a choked moan tearing from his lips. His hips bucked up involuntarily, meeting her frantic rhythm. "Or don't. God, Minho, don't you dare stop."
That was all it took. His control, already frayed to within an inch of its life, finally disintegrated. With a guttural, desperate sound that was half-surrender, half-raw need, he rolled them.
Suddenly, she was on her back on the hard floor, and he was over her, his body blanketing hers. He bracketed her head with his arms, his forearms pressing into the floor on either side of her shoulders. The new position was even more intoxicating. She could feel the full weight of him, the solid, desperate heat of his body pinning her down.
"Is this what you want?" he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through her entire body. His eyes were wild, burning with a frantic, feral light in the gloom. "You want me to lose my fucking mind?"
"Yes," she breathed, her hands fisting in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down. "Yes, that's exactly what I want."
He kissed her then, and it was nothing like the kisses before. It was a punishing, bruising kiss, all teeth and desperation. His hips began to move again, a slow, deliberate grind that was meant to torture, to tease. But it was torturing them both. Every thrust was a reminder of the barriers between them, of the clothes that were in the way.
"Fuck this," he snarled against her mouth. He pushed himself up, his movements clumsy, frantic. "I can't… I need…"
He fumbled with his belt, his fingers shaking so badly he could barely work the buckle. Y/N watched him, her own hands moving to the hem of her dress, bunching the fabric in her fists and pulling it up her thighs. The air was cool on her overheated skin, a stark contrast to the fire burning between them.
He finally got his belt open, then the button and zipper of his trousers. He shoved them down just enough, freeing himself. In the dim light, she caught a glimpse of him, hard, thick, flushed a dark, angry color, the tip already wet with pre-cum. The sight sent a fresh jolt of pure lust through her.
He didn't wait. He didn't ask. He fell back over her, his hand fumbling between them, his fingers finding the soaked lace of her panties. He didn't bother trying to pull them down. With a frustrated groan, he hooked his fingers in the fabric and ripped.
The sound of tearing lace was loud in the quiet room, a final, violent act of surrender.
And then he was there, the thick, blunt head of his cock pressing against her entrance. He paused, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough, ragged.
She met his gaze, her own eyes wide and desperate. "Minho."
"Tell me," he breathed, his forehead resting against hers. "Tell me you want this."
"I want this," she whispered, the words a sacred vow. "I want you."
That was it. The end.
He pushed into her in one long, slow, relentless stroke. He filled her completely, stretching her in a way that was almost painful but was so overwhelmingly right it brought tears to her eyes. He was inside her. Finally. After all this time, all the wanting, all the pretending, he was here.
He gave her a moment to adjust, his body taut with restraint, his breath coming in harsh pants. But she didn't need a moment. She needed him to move.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his ass, pulling him deeper. "Move," she demanded, her voice a raw, desperate whisper. "Minho, move."
And he did.
He started to move, and it was frantic, desperate, and utterly perfect. There was no rhythm, no grace, only a primal, driving need to get as close as humanly possible. His first few thrusts were deep and hard, each one a possession, a claim. He was fucking her on the floor of a dark closet, and it was the most profound, meaningful moment of her life. The slick heat of her around him was a revelation, a homecoming he hadn't known he was searching for. Every pull of her body was a siren's call, begging him deeper.
"Fuck, Y/N," he panted against her mouth, his voice ragged. "You feel… God, you feel perfect."
"So do you," she moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders through his jacket. The fabric was a frustrating barrier, and she wanted it gone. She wanted his skin against hers. "Don't stop. Please, don't ever stop."
He kissed her again, a messy, desperate clash of tongues and teeth as his hips pistoned into her. The sounds were obscene, the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin, their ragged breaths mingling in the darkness, the desperate, broken words they couldn't stop themselves from saying. He was relentless, driving into her with a force that stole the air from her lungs, each withdrawal a devastating loss, each return a blissful, overwhelming homecoming.
"Mine," he growled, his voice a low, possessive rumble that vibrated through her entire chest. He punctuated the word with a particularly deep thrust that made her cry out. "You're mine."
"Yours," she agreed, her head falling back, her throat exposed to his hungry mouth. "All yours." He took the invitation, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of fire down her neck, sucking a mark into the sensitive skin above her collarbone. It was a brand, a public declaration of this private moment.
The tension was building again, coiling tight and hot in her stomach. But this time it was different. This time it wasn't a frantic, desperate rush. It was a slow, steady climb, a wave building in the deep ocean, gathering strength and power before it crashed. He could feel it too. He slowed his pace, his movements becoming more deliberate, more torturous. He was drawing it out, making her feel every inch of him, every agonizingly perfect second.
"Minho," she whimpered, her body starting to tremble uncontrollably. "I'm close."
"Me too," he groaned, his rhythm becoming erratic once more, his thrusts harder, more desperate. "Come with me, baby. Let go. I've got you."
His words were her undoing. With a sharp cry, she shattered, her orgasm ripping through her with a force that left her breathless and boneless. It wasn't just a release; it was a supernova, a blinding explosion of pleasure that started in her core and radiated out to every nerve ending. Her inner walls clenched around him, a spasm of pure, unadulterated pleasure that milked him for all he was worth.
He followed her over the edge with a hoarse shout of her name, his body going rigid as he buried himself deep inside her, his own release pulsing through him in hot, powerful waves. He collapsed on top of her, his weight a welcome, grounding pressure, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
For a long moment, they just lay there, a sweaty, panting, tangled mess of limbs and ruined clothes. The silence that followed was heavy, profound, filled with the sound of their hearts beating in tandem. But the fire between them hadn't been extinguished. It had merely banked, waiting for the slightest breath to roar back to life.
Minho stirred first, lifting his head just enough to look at her. In the dim light, his eyes were soft, but the hunger was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. "We're not done," he murmured, his voice a low, husky promise.
Before she could respond, he was moving. He pulled out of her slowly, the loss an immediate, hollow ache. He stood up, his movements surprisingly fluid for a man who had just been thoroughly undone. He shrugged off his suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Then his tie. Then his shirt, each button a small victory in the war against their clothing.
He knelt back down beside her, his bare chest gleaming with sweat in the low light. He was beautiful. All sharp lines and lean muscle, a dancer's body built for power and grace. He reached for the hem of her dress, his fingers hooking under the fabric.
"Lift up," he commanded softly.
She obeyed, raising her hips off the floor. He peeled the silk dress up her body and over her head, tossing it aside. Now they were both naked, exposed in the darkness. The air was cool on her heated skin, raising goosebumps. His gaze roamed over her body, hot and possessive, like he was memorizing every curve, every freckle.
"Come here," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He lay back on the floor, pulling her with him. He positioned her so she was straddling his face, her knees bracketing his head. "I want to taste you."
"Minho, I-" she started, but her words dissolved into a gasp as his tongue flicked out, tasting her. He was slow at first, exploratory, his tongue tracing her folds, learning her. But his restraint was a fragile thing, and it didn't last long. He became more demanding, his mouth devouring her, his tongue delving deep, his lips closing around her clit and sucking.
Her hands flew to the wall in front of her, bracing herself as he ate her out with a single-minded intensity that was utterly overwhelming. He was worshipping her with his mouth, his hands gripping her ass, holding her in place as he took his pleasure from giving her hers. The coil of tension began to build again, faster this time, a frantic, desperate spiral towards oblivion.
"Minho, God, right there," she panted, her hips rocking against his face. He hummed against her, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure through her. He slid two fingers inside her, curling them to find that spot, that magical spot that made her see stars.
The dual stimulation was too much. With a cry that was half his name, half a sob, she came again, her body convulsing, her juices flooding his mouth. He drank her down, his tongue lapping at her until the tremors subsided.
He gently eased her back down his body, her limbs feeling like jelly. She collapsed against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. His cock was hard again, pressing insistently against her stomach.
"Again," he whispered, his voice a raw, ragged plea. "I need to be inside you again."
She didn't have the strength to move, to straddle him. But he understood. He rolled them again, so he was on top, his body blanketing hers. He hooked her legs over his arms, spreading her wide, opening her completely to him. He entered her in one smooth stroke, and this time, it was different. It was slower, deeper, more intimate.
He moved inside her with a languid, deliberate rhythm, his eyes locked on hers. There was no desperation now, only a profound, soul-deep connection. He was making love to her, and the thought was so overwhelming, so perfect, that tears welled in her eyes again.
"I love you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his thrusts slow and deep. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," she breathed, her hands stroking his sweat-slicked back. "I love you, Minho."
He kissed her then, a slow, tender kiss that was a stark contrast to the frantic, desperate ones from before. It was a kiss that sealed their fate, a promise of a future that was finally within their reach. The tension built slowly, a gentle, cresting wave of pleasure that was more emotional than physical.
When they came this time, it was together, a quiet, shared release that was less of an explosion and more of a surrender. It was an acknowledgment of everything they were, everything they had been, and everything they would become.
He collapsed on top of her, his weight a comforting, familiar presence. He didn't pull out, just nuzzled his face into her neck, his breathing slowly returning to normal.
They were a mess. They were on the floor of a dark closet. They had a gala to get back to, a world of pretending waiting for them just outside that door.
But none of it mattered. In that moment, they had everything they had ever wanted.
The silence in the small, dark room was no longer heavy with desperation, but thick with a new, profound reality. It was the sound of a world remade. Minho’s weight on her was no longer a frantic pressure, but a grounding, comforting anchor. She could feel his heartbeat, a slow, steady drum against her own, gradually calming from its frantic race.
He didn't move for a long time, just breathed against her neck, his face buried in her hair. Then, with a soft, reluctant groan, he shifted, carefully withdrawing from her. The loss was immediate and surprisingly sharp, a hollow ache where moments ago there had been a perfect, consuming fullness.
He rolled to the side, his arm still draped heavily across her waist, refusing to break the contact completely. The cool air hit her skin, and she shivered, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way she hadn't moments before.
"Are you cold?" he whispered, his voice a low, husky rumble that was still rough from their exertions.
"A little," she admitted, her own voice barely audible.
He sat up, his movements slow and fluid in the dim light. He looked around, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. He found his discarded shirt and leaned over her, gently draping the soft, expensive cotton over her naked body. It smelled like him, like cologne and sweat and sex. She pulled it around herself, a small, private smile touching her lips.
He stood up, and she watched him, her heart swelling with a tenderness so fierce it almost hurt. He was a silhouette against the sliver of light under the door, all lean muscle and long limbs. He found his trousers, stepping into them but leaving them unfastened. He picked up her dress, holding the ruined silk in his hands for a moment before setting it aside.
He came back to her, sinking to the floor and leaning against the wall. He didn't say anything, just opened his arms. She went to him without hesitation, curling into his side, her head resting on his chest. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close, his hand stroking her hair in a slow, rhythmic motion.
They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, a quiet island of peace in the middle of a chaotic world. Outside, the party was still raging, a distant, irrelevant hum. In here, there was only the sound of their breathing, the warmth of their bodies, and the unspoken truth that now lay between them, solid and real.
"We have to go back out there," she said finally, her voice muffled against his skin. The words tasted like ash in her mouth.
"I know." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "But not yet."
He tilted her chin up, his fingers gentle, and looked at her. In the faint light, she could see the softness in his eyes, the vulnerability he so rarely showed anyone. "Hey," he murmured. "Look at me."
She did, her heart clenching at the raw emotion she saw in his gaze.
"This wasn't just… this wasn't a mistake, or a moment of weakness," he said, his voice serious, firm. "This was inevitable. This is the only thing that's felt real in years."
Tears pricked at her eyes again, and she blinked them back. "I know," she whispered. "For me too."
He leaned in and kissed her. It wasn't a kiss of passion, but of reverence. It was slow and soft, a gentle sealing of a promise. It was a kiss that said, Now what?
The question hung in the air between them, heavy and daunting. They were idols. Their lives were not their own. This thing between them, this beautiful, terrifying new reality, was a landmine.
"What are we going to do?" she asked, the fear finally creeping in.
He sighed, his thumb stroking her cheek. "I don't know," he admitted, his honesty a balm to her frayed nerves. "But we're going to figure it out. Together. I'm not letting you go, Y/N. Not now. Not ever."
The conviction in his voice was enough to quiet the storm of doubt in her mind. She believed him.
"Okay," she whispered. "Together."
They sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, just holding each other. Then, with another reluctant sigh, Minho started to move.
"Okay," he said, his voice all business. "Let's get you dressed. Or… as dressed as you can be." He picked up her dress, holding up the torn section. "I'll pay for a new one. A dozen new ones."
She laughed, a real, genuine laugh that felt foreign and wonderful. "You owe me at least a dozen."
He helped her up, his hands gentle on her waist. She slipped into the ruined dress, the torn lace at her hip a secret, intimate mark of what they'd done. He fastened his own trousers, then pulled on his shirt, leaving it untucked and unbuttoned at the collar. He looked deliciously disheveled. They both did.
He picked up his jacket and tie, shoving them into his pockets. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame it, but it was hopeless. They both looked like they'd just been thoroughly ravaged in a dark closet. Which, she supposed, they had.
"Ready?" he asked, his hand finding hers, his fingers lacing with hers.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Ready."
He squeezed her hand. "Stay close to me. If anyone asks, we were feeling unwell and needed some fresh air. We got lost looking for a restroom."
It was a flimsy excuse, but it was the best they had.
He leaned in and gave her one last, quick kiss. "Whatever happens," he murmured, his eyes locking with hers, "we face it together."
She nodded, her heart swelling. "Together."
He opened the door a crack, peering out. The corridor was empty. He pulled her out after him, his hand never leaving hers. They walked back towards the ballroom, their steps slow, deliberate. With every step, the noise grew louder, the lights brighter, the world more demanding. The bubble was about to burst.
Just before they stepped back into the fray, he stopped her, pulling her into a small alcove. He looked down at her, his expression serious.
"Y/N," he said, his voice low and intense. "No matter what happens out there… no matter who we have to pretend to be… just remember this. Remember us. This is real."
She reached up and cupped his face, her thumb stroking his cheek. "This is real," she repeated, sealing the promise.
He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and led her back into the gilded cage. The party was still in full swing, the champagne still flowing, the smiles still forced. But as they stepped back into the light, their hands no longer linked but brushing against each other deliberately every so often, hidden from view, Y/N knew that nothing would ever be the same again.
