aftermath, m | jjk
pairing(s): jungkook x reader
summary: The aftermath of the break-up between you and Jeon Jungkook, navigating the various stages and finding out that easy isn't living.
warnings: rated M (18+) for language; it's what you think it is but also not; mentions of alcohol consumption; anger turning into angst; slow burn; yes, there are a few Taylor Swift references; smut (fem reader, heavy making out, breathplay, hair pulling, slight D/s dynamic, handjob, nipple play, edging, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU - ex!JK x ex!reader, switches between Jungkook’s POV and yours, ft mystery man (less mysterious if you Google his name lol), yes, he was chosen for story reasons
--
“Stop staring at her.”
Maybe if he stared long enough, he would burn holes into the back of your skull and you would finally fuckin’ notice he was right here.
Maybe.
“Dude. You’re being creepy.”
You were smiling at your phone screen. Why the fuck were you smiling? What was there to be smiling about? Furthermore, what did you need to look so good for? Oversized black bomber jacket with balloon sleeves and an overpowering ruffle at the shoulders. Short slinky dress with red-orange flames screen-printed all over. Black thigh-high heeled boots. Fuck, who the hell were you trying to impress? The person texting you, hah? Why did your hair look so effortlessly in place and why was your makeup so sultry with that red stain on your lips and smoked-out liner? Hm?!
Jeon Jungkook chewed on the left side of his lip and watched you walk up to the service counter, ordering a…
“Lemon cake and hot green tea. No sugar in the tea.”
“Bro, just get up and talk to her.”
Jungkook felt knuckles whack the back of his head and turned around to the annoyed face of Park Jimin, who was nursing an iced coffee and glaring at him. Oh. Right. He was supposed to be catching up at with his friend, not going all National Geographic at his ex-girlfriend.
But what were you so happy for?
“Didn’t you break up with her? What’s your problem?” Jimin questioned, confused.
His teeth involuntarily slid back and ground bone-to-bone, eyes narrowing at the questions. Jungkook wanted to tell Jimin to shut up, but then your voice came back to him, if you want to react less emotionally, you have to take the time to sort through your initial reaction and the other options. So, instead, he picked up his lukewarm coffee and tapped the bottom edge against the table, thinking about the other, less emotional responses he could have.
“Yeah.”
Mmm.
Eloquent.
Came out a little gruffier than he wanted, but too late now.
Jimin frowned. “You never said why. I thought you were head over heels for her.”
He clicked his tongue and restrained himself from looking back. You would pick a table further away from the counter. Perhaps near the window. But why were you here? You used to come here with him. Conversations and dates. Who were you meeting? But if you were meeting someone, you wouldn’t have ordered before they arrived. Hm. Then there was the whole situation with the way you were smiling at your phone.
Like you were amused.
Playful.
Fuck.
“Hello? Earth to Jungkook, do you copy?”
He blinked hard and bit on his straw, not sulking but sulking. “S’nothing.” Great, he was mumbling now. Surefire sign you’re upset, you always reminded him. Everyone can tell. Just say it. “Actually, that why I wanted to talk to you.”
Those bright eyes and full lips turned into little circles. “Huh?”
Jungkook cleared his throat and glanced at Jimin under his hair. Furrowed brows and balancing his long, tattooed fingers on the lid of his ice coffee, not wanting to ask but asking anyway, because his ex-girlfriend seemed to be fucking fine visiting the places they used to visit and smiling like she was cool with not being with him anymore and that sucked, but it was easier to be mad than sad. He didn’t want to be sad in front of people.
Especially in front of people he was close to.
Especially in front of you.
So, Jungkook stayed mad.
“Did you hook-up with my ex or not?”
Jimin blinked at him.
“Hah?”
Shit.
-
You cut into the lemon cake, chewing thoughtfully.
A quick look at your nails and, shit, you should really repaint them before they started looking too rough. Two weeks was about as long as you could go before the nail growth was somewhat unbearable. This was about halfway through week three. Good preparation and high-quality polish could only get you so far before life eventually wore the manicure down.
Sigh.
Today was the first day you had decided to walk out and do something by yourself that wasn’t work, grocery shopping, or… wait, that was it. You had no other reason to go outside. Ack. You had another bite of cake. Been a while since you had this taste.
Your phone hummed on the table.
With your left ring finger, you checked your messages. And then you paused, because instead of reading a text, you were looking at a soundwave.
Voice message.
You reached over to your cup of hot tea, taking a sip and letting it scald you.
Breathed in and breathed out in a calm hiss, thinking.
Chewed on cake.
Ugh. You didn’t want to be that girl. But what were you gonna do? Almost eight billion people in this world and you were going to be hung up over one? One? And, anyway… In terms of too fast or too slow, you never knew what could happen, right? You hadn’t known with him, and you wouldn’t know with this one unless you started actually talking to him instead of skirting around with surface level shit. You hated that, so you shouldn’t do it. Your brain prodded you annoyingly with thoughts. Don’t be a hypocrite. Stop fucking around. Argh, okay. Okay. Fine.
You reached over to your phone and let it hover over the play button.
Wait.
Maybe you should listen to it in the car.
Yeah.
You put your phone back down and resumed eating and drinking.
You weren’t avoiding it. Okay, kinda. There was no point in dancing around the issue when you were by yourself. Get to the point. You came here specifically because it used to be your favorite café and it still was. It had nice memories attached to it, but then you stopped visiting it after… him. And for what? Did you combust from reminiscing? No. You were eating cake and having tea like you always did. The snack was just as tasty alone as it was with a partner. You were talking with another guy and you could bring him here eventually if you felt like it.
Maybe you should have been mad or sad about the whole Jeon Jungkook thing, but at this point it was just wasted energy and you were tired.
Tired of not feeling like yourself, tired if feeling like you couldn’t do things because you were reminded of him. So what? Everyone had good and bad. He wasn’t that bad of a guy. Faults were faults, and you had to decide if you could live with them or not.
Or he could decide, and start a dumbass argument.
Honestly, that was what you were most salty about. Yes, it was your nature to fight fire with fire, but you shouldn’t have. At least not so explosively. You were glad Jungkook hadn’t met your teenage self, that was for sure. Still, you had that habit of not mentioning when you were experiencing a bad day. Of course, they happened and without reason, same shit, different day. Those sorts of negative thoughts came in waves, after all. Mostly you didn’t want Jungkook to hover over you and try to make you feel better, because he would do so, and, if what he tried didn’t work, then he would be depressed and then it would begin, the endless cycle of you feeling like crap, him feeling like crap, so on and so forth until you felt better so he could feel better. Same shit, different day. Tiring. So, sometimes you didn’t mention bad days, but if he caught you on a bad day and acted emotionally, which did happen, it ended…
Poorly.
Jungkook was a passionate guy.
He thought a lot too.
Some things could be fixed, but some things got burnt to a crisp and then there was nothing to salvage.
Ugh.
You should have kept your temper more in check. Ah, well. You knew that now, but now was too late and you had no cake left, just a bit of hot tea and a voice message from a guy who wanted to know you.
You know what.
You actually wanted to know him too.
He had a cute smirk.
You neatly cleaned up and tossed the packaging, walking out with the paper cup, going back to your car to listen to that voice message that contained an alarmingly deep voice that surprised you with its sexiness. Well. Well, then.
Time to burn it up, maybe.
-
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Okay. Okay, he had two choices. Let sleeping dogs lie or poke them, which may or may not result in the positive outcome he wanted. It probably wouldn’t, because you were fire and burned everything in your path, and while that could be a good thing, fuck, a very good thing, but this…
This wouldn’t end well for him.
Mostly because Jungkook now realized, after finally speaking to Jimin, that he was wrong in thinking that you were sneaking around and trying to sleep with his best friend, when in actuality you were contacting Jimin repeatedly and being secretive because you were planning a grand event that included all his friends and a big party for your boyfriend’s birthday, but then he beat you to the punch and broke up with you before anything could come to fruition.
So, yeah.
You were probably really pissed at him.
Jungkook wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to set him on fire.
Ugggggggh, me, you stupid dummy!
He was sitting on his couch and slowly sinking to the floor, mentally berating himself for his pride and his overthinking, because of course Jungkook wouldn’t have thought like this if, as Jimin pointed out, he had some insecurity about her leaving him for someone else – and, unfortunately and infuriatingly, Jimin is damn right, because Jimin was kind and sweet and not nearly half as brash or annoying as Jungkook was.
Or thought he was.
And you could get anyone.
Anyone. With that body, that gaze, that confidence? No one would stand a chance. He hadn’t and he was fine with that, until he went and fucked it up, and now he knew you could go out and do whatever and whoever if you wanted, you just had to want to. And, obviously, you went out and visited your favorite café. Without him. To top it all off, you had smiled at your phone, clearly texting someone.
Shit.
Jungkook slapped his hands to his face and groaned, his ass at the edge of the couch and two centimeters away from collapsing to his abstract black-and-white living room rug that you had picked out when he moved in after he nagged you saying that he was bad at interior design and needed help, but secretly he only wanted to annoy you into making decisions for him.
He should… say something.
It wasn’t going to end well.
Fuck!
He hoped the person you were talking to was not cute. You liked cute more than handsome, he knew. You liked cute faces, deep voices, and diligent, hardworking people who knew who they were and weren’t easily swayed in their beliefs.
Which he was everything he was.
He just had the wrong belief and went way too far into the deep end without putting his pride aside and straight-up asking, thus leading to him being single and, now, angry at himself. For someone who thinks so much, you act too fast, you used to tell him with a laugh, mostly referring to his aggressiveness when playing video games.
Jungkook sadly plopped onto the floor for a good while, thinking about what he had done.
-
You were horny.
But, also, you were trying to change, so you weren’t about to coerce this guy that you were barely getting to know to drop his pants. Although he probably would. You were pretty convincing when you wanted to be and there were some telltale signs signaling that you two had some shared… interests. Yeah. However! You were trying not to go that route for once in your life.
It was pretty difficult.
He had sent you more voice messages. He even sent one he considered embarrassing, where he was singing, which would have been cringe as hell except it turned out to be the complete opposite. The stark contrast of his sweet, angelic singing voice and his deep, sultry speaking voice was shocking. Unreal. Was it possible to fall in love from just that knowledge? No. Was it possible to find your heart racing and imagining indecent things?
Possible?
Yes.
Did that make you a degenerate?
Maybe.
Hence why you simply made a comment about his talent and how impressive it was. You did not, in fact, mention the sudden intense desire to march over to wherever this guy was, rip off his shirt, and run your tongue all over his chest so you could hear the varying tones of the delicious noises that he would surely make as you teased his skin and who-knows-what-else. Mostly what was stopping you was that you hadn’t asked to see him in person yet.
Anyway.
Now you were stuck with the age-old question – jack off or distract yourself?
Or keep talking to the new guy?
No. You couldn’t do that. You were trying to change, and that meant not basing the foundation of a relationship on sex and good conversation. The latter, fine. The former? Apparently got you in trouble, apparently made you a problem, apparently was not good, and you didn’t used to care about that stuff until you lost him.
Stupid love.
You sighed and plopped down on your bed, frowning.
Your phone was laying on your pillow, having a nice nap.
You knew you should probably talk to someone about it. Anyone. But you avoided it, because you didn’t want to put Jeon Jungkook in a bad light to anyone, ex-boyfriend or not. You simply avoided everyone’s questions until they all died out and left you alone. Then you spent countless nights, much like this one, analyzing why you felt the way you felt about that thing that seemed to invade way too much of your life.
Jungkook accusing you of cheating on him.
You used to think, ah, I don’t overthink things, but even if you didn’t actively think about it, you found yourself holding back, not doing things that you would normally do, all because what if someone misinterpreted your intentions? What is there was just something about you that implied such a thought? It would have been easy to brush off if it was some random, but the person that you had thought you would spend the rest of your life with had accused you of lying.
The one thing you hated most, lying.
Which you had been doing at the time, but not about what he thought it was.
Which made it a harder pill to swallow, which made you stubborn, which made you not say anything or bother correcting him with receipts, because fuck him, fuck Jeon Jungkook for accusing you of cheating, fuck him and his, I’m breaking up with you, and you bluntly accepting it and leaving.
Ghosted him.
Didn’t even bother asking for an explanation or reconciliation.
Be the bigger person, yeah, that was what all the self-help books and podcasts said, but honestly you didn’t give a fuck. How the hell were you going to go on, living with the knowledge of Jeon Jungkook accusing you of lying, the one thing you hated most in this world? Who cared what his reason was? Who cared what it all meant? Not you on a bad day.
You winced.
Nothing you could do about that now.
The only way to make things different was to act differently in the same situation. If you were going to see someone new, you couldn’t just seduce them and drive them to the brink of insanity so that they were begging to fuck on the first meeting. You already did that.
With Jungkook.
And we know how that one ended.
So, you were doing the whole meet-a-guy-on-a-dating-app thing, switch to texting – probably too quickly but whatever – and slowly build up to a first meeting.
Slowly.
It had been a week and he was sending voice memos of him singing and maybe you were already shamelessly flirting.
Okay, you were trying and that was the point. Also, he was making it too easy and being too cute with his reactions. Being able to hear the sheepishness in that deep voice, mmm. And he simply couldn’t refuse you when you prompted him to switch to speaking directly instead of text. He did whatever you asked, not questioning it.
Maybe you should call him.
Hm.
Your hand found its way to the pillow where your phone was having a serene siesta.
You wanted to, but there was something that was holding you back. It would be easy to be blind about it, but you had to be honest with yourself before getting to the serious playing around. You didn’t need to bring up a picture of new guy. You knew exactly what he looked like – and that was the problem.
Born in the same year.
Muscular with a cute face.
The same height.
Seriously sexy when absorbed in their interests and adorable as fuck when flustered.
Able to be flustered easily by you, the intoxicating fire.
New guy didn’t have tattoos though. Not any that you could see in his photos, anyway. Mhm, you can sit here and pretend all you want but there are too many similarities to him and Jeon Jungkook, missy. Your brain had a point. Maybe this was what having-a-type meant. Or maybe this screamed rebound, which is exactly what you didn’t want it to be, so you were holding back.
But new guy was so.
Fucking.
Cute.
Pairing the combination of his loveable demeanor with the contrast of how built he was and that was the lethal combination right there. Plus, it was obvious he liked you. It would only take a little push. You flicked your wrist and unlocked your phone with your fingerprint, immediately bringing up the last thing you were doing. His latest text, saying he was off to shower, but promising he would be back after. Your phone normally vibrated to notify you, but this time it didn’t have to.
In real time, the voice memo popped up.
You played it.
That distinct deliciously deep voice shyly murmuring, “I’m back.”
He was only sending it because he knew you liked it. You could tell by his tone. Hear the hope in it. Well, shit, you could have all these dumbass overthinking reasons to not do something risky, or you could answer the hint of anticipation in that bated breath.
Don’t, your brain said.
You ticked your head. The call button was right next to his name.
You pressed it.
“Surprised?” was your greeting.
-
Maybe you weren’t making headway. Maybe it wasn’t that serious. Maybe you were in for-fun mode, out to break hearts to protect yours. Not that Jungkook would know, because he was standing in your favorite place in the world, and you weren’t here to answer his maybes.
He jumped as the intercom buzzed and scratchily announced that the leftover bread from the bakery was being put on flash sale. Most likely because it was going to expire today.
Yes, Jeon Jungkook was standing in the savory snack aisle of your local grocery store. A lot of people preferred the sweeter snacks – that was him, he was a lot of people – but you wanted the salty ones, which meant you and him never had to fight for snacks. He would eat all the candy and you would be chomping on seaweed. Harmony.
Until he fucked it up.
Yes, we get it. You’re an idiot. Move on, me.
But Jungkook couldn’t move on, because he was moping and picking up the last bag of shrimp chips like it was the goddamn Holy Grail and hoping your communications with mystery man were not going well. Well, he didn’t know if it was a man but it would hurt more if it was and his mind was conjuring worst case scenario to terrorize him. Or guilt him. Or both.
He clutched the shrimp chips like they were his lifeline and shuffled out of the aisle.
He didn’t even really like them. Well, he did. He would eat any snack. They just tasted better when they were with you because you loved them and used to talk about how you ate them a lot as a kid. Jungkook used to tease you for not liking candy enough. Were you even a kid? And then you’d put him in a chokehold. A real one, not a metaphorical one – although you had him there too.
He shouldn’t have taught you that. Was a bad idea.
Well, he couldn’t even be regretful about that anymore.
Sigh.
-
Where the fuck were the shrimp chips?
You were staring at the label that indicated they were discounted. Right there, in glaring red ink. They were clearly sold here. You reached back, feeling around for that familiar packaging. You would recognize the ridge of the shrimp chips right away. Nothing but the turtle chips. Fuck! Who the hell bought the shrimp chips? You squinted at the cart of the old lady at the far end of the aisle.
Was it you, lady? Hmm?!
Before you could harass said old lady, she leisurely rolled off to the next aisle.
Fuck.
Not that you would fight the elderly for shrimp chips, but maybe you had put people into a headlock for less.
Not maybe, you had.
Anyway.
Perhaps you shouldn’t have come after dinner. Damnnit. You marched out of the aisle and searched the endcaps, hoping that perhaps there was a spare bag left behind or possibly another display. Nope. Sad times. What else were you craving? You came all the way over to your local grocery store to get a familiar nostalgic snack, only for them to not have it, therefore you must purchase something random so the cashiers didn’t think you’re a weirdo for leaving empty-handed.
Not that they would notice.
Or care.
Hm.
You were about to collect what was left of your shattered expectations and get out of there before you stopped, seeing a colorful display with a poster of a joyful marshmallow standing under a starry sky, beside a tent and a campfire. The stacked boxes under the brightly saturated sign indicated the product contents of chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows – a s’mores kit.
Was…
Was the marshmallow going to roast himself as sacrifice?
Or… was the marshmallow going to eat these s’mores?
Before you could debate the ethics of the vaguely cannibalistic nature of this marketing tactic, you remembered Jeon Jungkook’s favorite dessert was s’mores. In fact, he nearly caused a fire on your gas stove in his desire for said sweet treat. There was a lot of yelling and smoke and throwing open the window to your next-door neighbor staring wide-eyed at you as the smoke alarm blared.
You recalled gasping that you burnt the rice and scurrying away.
What? You weren’t going to throw your boyfriend under the bus.
Er.
Ex-boyfriend, now.
You reached out to the box. A fun activity for the family, it said. You didn’t have a family. Just you and some what-ifs. You held the box, feeling the weight. It was substantial, but not that heavy. Get it together. What were you going to do? Freak out every time you thought about Jungkook? Come on. He doesn’t deserve that. The best thing you could do was have a good opinion of him, despite him being a little shit.
Hey.
You meant that in an endearing way.
… Yeah.
You sighed and tucked the s’mores kit under your arm. This was how life was. People were too complicated to fit in neat little boxes and situations were too convoluted to have a correct or right resolution. You would probably feel even shittier if you tried to act on emotions and get into his face about it. You had to take the L. Eat the damn s’mores and maybe think about finally meeting the new guy. The conversation had been nice and fluid once you got him talking about himself, something he had been reluctant to do because he didn’t want to seem arrogant.
You had asked him if he was.
He had replied with, “Maybe a little?” The self-doubt in his response had made you laugh, as if he wasn’t so sure himself. But the whole point becoming someone’s potential one and only was bragging about yourself, so might as well lay out everything you got, right?
You didn’t even like sweets.
Maybe the new guy did, though. Maybe you should try to like them a little more.
You bought the box of s’mores and went home.
-
Normally, people cried into wine or chocolate, but Jungkook was crying into a bag of shrimp chips.
Okay.
Not actually crying, because then he would ruin the shrimp chips, but pretty damn close to sobbing into the crispy snack while watching the latest popular drama and wondering what you were doing. Hopefully you were happy, doing stuff you loved. Cute stuff, like watching cat videos or those home renovation shows you seemed to have great interest in. You told him you wanted to learn about houses so that you would have knowledge when buying one with him. Smart. So smart. Oh, man, why were you so smart and why was he a dum-dum? That’s not fair, Jungkook. You’ll handle all the interior design stuff because you’re artsy, oh, wait, I’ll have to narrow down the options so you don’t buy seven different diffusers. He chomped away at the shrimp chips, sniffling at the memory.
He was being lame.
Also, a little self-centered, because this was not all about him. You had been in the relationship too and technically you were the one who was hurt. He should not be the sad one sitting here on the floor in front of his television and stuffing his face with shrimp chips as he watched the male lead and the female lead go through some misunderstandings. He should be thinking about how he could be a better person.
Jungkook frowned.
Were shrimp chips gluten-free?
He checked the label.
Yes. Whew. His doctor had warned him he shouldn’t have gluten late at night, as it would upset his stomach. Step one into being a better person, take care of one’s personal health. At least he was doing that right.
Right-ish.
Back to chomping away.
Maybe you were happier without him. That would suck, but at least you would be doing well. What more could he ask for? Besides rewinding time and boinking some sense into his own head. Something to ask Doctor Strange once they would inevitably meet. It would be awkward to ask for a favor right away, but what’s the worst that could happen? Utter chaos of the timeline and disruption of subsequent timelines connecting the various multiverses?
… On second thought.
Jungkook wondered if the female lead would just tell the male lead that she already liked him. You wouldn’t have a problem saying something like that right away. It was very cool of you, always being the first to admit how you felt. Never hiding anything.
It was at that moment that Jungkook choked on a shrimp chip and starting hacking up his lungs.
He had to punch his chest to gain some semblance of breath back. There was a lot of wheezing and scrambling for the water bottle on his coffee table. Ugh. His throat felt all fucked up.
Hmmmm.
Did you throat feel like this when he rammed his dick into it? He never asked. He had been too busy feeling good and ascending to the heavens to ask questions. He should have been more thoughtful on that front. Maybe if he had been more considerate…
You had a vibe going on here, me, and you just ruined it by thinking about sex.
Oops.
Anyway.
Back to watching drama and crying over shrimp chips despite one of them trying to end his life.
-
You opened the box of the s’mores kit and the graham crackers were all crushed.
“Fuck.”
You could roast marshmallows and top it with melted chocolate and graham cracker powder?
You struggled and made do, realizing with a quick taste test that, yes, this was too sweet, but you had tea and resilience, and your never-say-die attitude reminded you that you could do anything, including making a very messy but possibly innovative dessert. If you added some yogurt, would it become a s’mores parfait? Hey. That could be a thing… somewhere.
Well, it was a thing here in your kitchen right now.
At least you didn’t start a fire.
-
“Maybe you should do something.”
He stared off into space and answered hollowly.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” Park Jimin dragged out exaggeratedly. “Talk to her? Maybe your ship has sailed, but at least you could get some closure. For my sake.” He muttered the last bit under his breath.
Jungkook did not want to hear that his ship has sailed. He wanted to hear that the ship was right here, docking to the port. Or… something like that. Whatever. Anyway, Jimin was doing a shit job of helping him figure out how to repair the gaping wound in his chest. Talk to her, yeah, like that was gonna solve anything.
Psh.
Jungkook pushed the food around on his plate. A surefire sign he was feeling like shit. He always ate. Few things could stop him from eating.
“Are you dying? Why are you disrespecting your dak-galbi like that?”
On second thought, Jungkook shoveled it into his mouth. Food comas were a thing, right? Maybe he could eat himself into a stupor. Maybe he could induce an actual coma if he consumed enough alcohol and food.
Only one way to find out.
“Oi, don’t eat that fast, are you trying to give yourself a stomachache? Oi. Jungkook!”
-
You woke up.
Heart racing, world swirling, touching your face, and there they were, tears, uninhibited by logic anymore, blurry faces and that kind of anger that was more sad than angry, but fury won, because you didn’t want to show that you were sad, burying it deep inside until your dreams broke through your subconscious and replayed it for you, the yelling, the throwing of cushions, the snatching of the keys and the furious tossing of your shoes on and then running, running, you shouldn’t have ran but you did, you ran and ran and ran and cried into the wind just like how you cried into your pillow right now and for what, for nothing, for something that was over and dead, over and dead.
It was fading.
Fading.
The memory, and now your tears, curling into your pillow, suffocating yourself in cloth, trying to close it out, breathing nothing and seeing black, in, out, in, out, until your lungs felt like they were burning.
You threw your head up, gasping.
Face dry.
Not a chance that someone would catch you crying over Jeon Jungkook.
Not that anyone was here except you.
You were still someone though.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
How could he think I was lying when I hate lying most in this world?
And no one could see you cry, no one could see you fall apart, no one could think that they had any power over you, because you weren’t weak, you couldn’t be made a fool of, you would rather tear it apart yourself then let someone else think that they could get to you.
You ruined everything, me.
And maybe you did.
Maybe you did and now what? Nothing. Nothing but bad dreams and an empty bed and shuddering breaths as you wiped your eyes with the duvet and pretended your nose wasn’t stuffy, sliding back down to the silence, breathing quietly, he used to be right here and now there was no one but you, but you were someone and not a chance that someone would see you crying over Jeon Jungkook.
You were someone.
And there was nothing anyone could do about this aftermath, nothing to do about you yelling irreversible things and him yelling irreversible things, both of you tearing apart what you built together like it was nothing, over what?
Pride.
Fear.
The usual suspects.
There was no point in asking why no one fought for anyone because everyone was wearing masks of mad and secretly sad. Yeah, you could die on this sacred ground. You could. That would be real fuckin’ easy. But easy wasn’t living. You didn’t pick easy when you picked Jungkook, and you didn’t pick easy when you walked away either.
This limbo wasn’t you.
You sighed.
Breathed out.
Held your breath for thirty seconds.
Easy isn’t living, me. Just go on a damn date.
-
You are a dumbass, me.
He was too full and too drunk and a blob on his own bed. Jimin tried to convince him that he needed someone to take care of him, but Jungkook just pushed his hyung out the door and bade him good night. Jimin kept urging him to talk about it, but Jungkook was, he was talking to his head every second of every day and it wasn’t doing anything but giving him a headache, and now he had a fat headache and a bursting-at-the-seams tummy.
Oof.
So now he was a blob.
Hopefully he wouldn’t throw up.
He felt around and found the water bottle by his bed. Okay. At least he had water. There was a packet of hangover meds in his nightstand drawer. For emergencies like this. Jimin had reminded him that he couldn’t keep doing this to himself, but joke’s on Jimin, Jungkook knew he could. Had been and quite frankly was thinking about sulking to his heart’s content, maybe even until the end of time, because everyone was telling him he couldn’t, so stubbornly he continued.
Out of principle.
Something like that.
Okay, maybe Jungkook was secretly seriously considering gathering his courage to speak to you face-to-face. Maybe. It was all his fault, after all. For not believing, for making up a narrative that tore you and him apart, all his fault for burning that bridge you two built together, and for what, for nothing but pride and fear and wasn’t he getting a little old for that?
Jungkook sighed, feeling far too sober and reasonable.
Should have drunk more.
Maybe you didn’t need the closure, but he wouldn’t know unless he asked, and he was done assuming, done thinking he knew what was what. It was clear that he didn’t. He didn’t even know if he needed closure, but the aftermath still stung even now, scorched by the everlasting fire, and maybe he was stupid for thinking some silly little words could do anything for this situation, but it was something, right, and something was better than this nothing, nothing but a bad signal flickering weakly, couldn’t connect because there were too many walls separating you and him.
Jungkook knew exactly where your apartment was, and could confirm that there were probably many walls separating you and him right now.
If you were in your apartment, that is.
You had to be. It was the middle of the night.
He should be asleep.
Jungkook resumed his blob form and waited for his dreams to take him.
Or nightmares.
That was not a choice he could make, unfortunately.
-
First dates were difficult because you had to chose the one outfit that would represent you. In the off chance that you only ended up meeting this person once, you felt that your clothes had to give off a distinct impression of who you were. Similar to that age-old question of, if you were a ghost and stuck with one outfit forever, what would you want to wear?
Morbid, but effective.
Something you could live by.
Oh, yeah, me, also perhaps you should try to impress the new guy.
You didn’t want to admit it but the truth was the truth – this was less about him and more about you and taking responsibility for whatever came, good or bad. Because, yes, maybe it wouldn’t turn out well, maybe nothing was meant to be, maybe you were driving in the metaphorical fast lane and accelerating way too recklessly, but it wasn’t like you to let up on the gas, and the only way to found out if there was any chance at all was to put on some damn clothes and just do the damn thing.
That how you were before…
No. You were someone before him and you’re someone now.
It wasn’t fair.
But life wasn’t fair, life was complicated and maybe even a little immoral sometimes, and that was how it was so you got dressed. White cropped t-shirt. You look so good in those, even if they’re simple. Big black hoodie with a cheeky-looking ghost in the back, peeking up with a mischievous little smile. I love oversized stuff on you. It makes you look so small and cute. Short black skirt, pleated, with a chain hanging off the hip. You hooked on a little keychain of a tuxedo cat to the top of the chain, something for you to know and maybe for others to find out if you took off your hoodie. I’m glad you like wearing short skirts. You have great legs and I love looking at them. Thick thigh-high black socks to block out the cold. Aw, man, sucks that it’s getting cold now but you have to protect those precious legs. You would wear your heeled boots with the big silver buckles shaped like moons. Thick soled and heavy, ah, like mine.
You looked at yourself in the mirror.
Your fashion is nice because you always match me.
You could hear Jungkook’s voice even though he wasn’t there and you just had to stand there and accept that life wasn’t fair and that you would hear it for a while until you forgot the sound of his voice and it wasn’t fair that you still couldn’t decide if you actually wanted to forget it or not.
But nothing changed if you only stood still, so you walked over to your front door and put your shoes on. Checked your black bag with a frowning smiley face icon printed on the front and slung it over your shoulder, safely tucking it by your hip.
Paused.
Glanced at the hooks by your door and picked up the thick maroon-colored scarf, lopping it around your neck as you opened the door and walked out, holding your keys in your hand.
-
Who the fuck is that?
Now.
Now, Jungkook was fully and completely aware what he was doing was wrong, even if his original intent was perfectly sensible. Completely normal. Nothing wrong with what he had initially meant to do but shit got sidetracked the second he spotted familiar legs and a black hoodie, with a cheeky ghost printed onto the back, that’s the one, and was that a man walking next to you, dark-haired and handsome, kind of close, turning his head and laughing at something you said, something Jungkook couldn’t hear because he was a block away, staring wide-eyed with his legs moving of their own accord.
Wondering what this guy had that Jungkook didn’t have.
That white sweater didn’t do much to hide the broad shoulders and muscular frame. Clean blue jeans and a very nice smile, eyes that crinkled up when he laughed, covering his mouth. It wasn’t fake. Jungkook had hoped it was a fake laugh but it looked genuine as fuck and now Jungkook was stalking his ex-girlfriend on his way to her apartment to have that talk that Jimin kept telling him to have, the talk to get out all these pent-up feelings, but now he should just turn around and try another day.
But life wasn’t fair.
He wanted to say he was simply too dumbstruck to stop himself, but Jungkook was pretty sure it was sinful jealousy that was giving his legs the strength to follow at a block’s distance.
He wanted to tell himself something comforting, like she has terrible taste but the guy was pretty good-looking actually, or he doesn’t seem that interesting but you seemed very invested in what he had to say at the intersection, so interested that you two missed the crossing signal, or he can’t make you laugh but you did, you laughed and he laughed at the missed signal and it looked like a scene of out a movie, two adults holding insulated cups of some warm drink and shyly smiling over light sips in between conversation.
And the creepy ex-boyfriend squinting at the scene from a block away.
Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here.
You started crossing and Jungkook jogged to catch the light just before it changed.
This was really stupid all around, but he didn’t care. He wanted to know if this new guy knew your affinity for green tea and lemon cake yet. He wanted to know if new guy liked your oversized hoodie and skirt, because it was one of his favorite outfit combinations on you. He wanted to know how you felt about new guy, because new guy looked like he had an impressive personal best at the bench press, and Jungkook wanted to know if it was better than his, not that it mattered.
But it mattered.
Jungkook avoided the streetlamps that suddenly turned on, trying to stay out of the light. He didn’t know how recognizable he was in his massive black parka and black jeans with rips at the knees, but he wasn’t chancing you suddenly turning around and recognizing his knees.
He made sure his face mask was on securely before pulling the hood over his head.
New guy put his hand on your head and Jungkook almost skidded to a stop as a different hand fluffed your hair.
You playfully swiped at new guy’s hand and now Jungkook was close enough to hear that deep laugh at your reaction.
You used to take Jungkook’s hand and put it on your head and when he asked what you were doing, you simply told him that you liked the reassuring weight.
How did I not get it?
Jungkook watched as both you and new guy stopped, realizing you were holding his wrist.
In slow motion, you reluctantly let go and dipped your head, apologizing.
New guy waved his hand, apologizing himself, bowing even.
Night was falling, falling.
You beckoned, indicating that the walk should continue.
Jungkook followed and watched you talk to this man in front of your apartment complex. He tried to sort out the feeling, because there was a part of him that hadn’t given up yet, and another part that saw that life wasn’t fair, and the last part him thought maybe this right in front of him was meant to be and maybe his part of your fairytale was over.
The man leaned over and deliberately kissed you on the cheek, politely not going for the lip kiss.
He waved and stepped back, back in the opposite direction, but Jungkook was on the other side of the street now, circling, coming from the other way as he watched new guy wave to you and you wave back, yelling at him to be careful and watch where he was going.
“Kim Gunhak! You’ll trip if you don’t turn around!”
And this Kim Gunhak almost did, catching himself and looking sheepish, giving you one last smile before turning around.
You waited until he was too far away to make out and then headed into your apartment complex.
Jungkook fought with himself, unsure what to do now, wondering what was right.
-
You had only just taken off your shoes when your doorbell buzzed.
The intercom was in the hallway, but you were right next to the door, so, instead of checking it, you opened it, expecting a confused delivery person who was looking for your next-door neighbor around the corner or a neighbor inquiring about a lost dog or maybe even some drunkard who had the wrong apartment, literally anyone but the person who was standing at the entrance of your front door.
Jeon Jungkook.
He looked very sober.
His cheeks were pink from the cool night.
You thought you would have something to say, something vengeful and witty and spirited with fire, but your eyes connected with those big brown ones and suddenly you were staring at him and he was staring at you, frozen, couldn’t speak, afraid to jinx it, feeling like something otherworldly was happening right now, impossible that Jeon Jungkook was right there, someone you had known so well not that long ago, but now his eyes were flying saucers from another planet.
Unrecognizable, the feeling in those eyes.
You remembered crying and that hurt.
But easy wasn’t living.
Sometimes living meant you got hurt.
You remembered every detail on his face, from his dark eyebrows to his black hair, longer now, to those expressive dark brown orbs, to the shape of his pink lips accented with a silver ring, to the mole underneath them. Little details that you loved about him. You remembered you should be mad at him. You felt like maybe you should be.
But, like ashes, there was nothing but smokey remnants after enough time passed.
Jungkook spoke first.
“I’m… sorry.”
It was cold and you should close the door, but you were stuck, transfixed by his words.
“I know you hate those words, because actions mean more than I’m sorry but…” He sucked in a shaky breath and helplessness looked right at you. “I thought of a thousand actions and none of them can take back what I thought was true, because in that moment I betrayed you, the moment when I left myself believe in something that I made up in my mind more than I believed in you.”
He looked like he was going to cry and you hated it when Jungkook cried because then you felt like crying, like you had made him cry even if it wasn’t directly about you, but this was about you.
“When I realized I could be wrong, I didn’t want to admit it.”
Pride.
“By then I said some shitty things and you were already out the door.”
Fear.
“You said I was too stubborn and headstrong for anybody, even you,” you breathed, every memory scored pain, burned into your brain.
Jungkook shook his head. He didn’t try to come closer even though you could tell he wanted to. He didn’t cry even though you could tell he wanted to. He didn’t stop his lip from trembling because he wanted you to see that he was honest, that he didn’t want to hide even though past him would want to.
“I’m sorry. You always told me to be aware of my initial reaction so I could sort through the other options and react less emotionally, but I failed you, and I failed us, and I know I shouldn’t say this, but I wish I could take it all back, the first thought about you and Jimin, and everything after, because if I just said that very first thought out loud instead of holding it in, I wouldn’t be watching you live life without me.”
Your thoughts whispered to you, cruel and unfaithful poison seeping.
It's my fault.
Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Jungkook was being unfair to apply what you said to this situation and maybe he wasn’t. It was hard to tell and hard to know the answer. The funny thing about life was that there was usually no answer. There was only shit that happened and acting on too little information too much of the time. Maybe it would be apt to feel anger now, because Jungkook gave you the obscure hint that he had seen Kim Gunhak walk you home, perhaps just the kiss on the cheek goodbye part but it was spying all the same, and yet, instead of anger, you felt something else.
Relieved.
“You saw my date drop me off?” you asked quietly.
Jungkook looked away, ashamed.
“Yeah.”
Now.
Now you saw it was pointless.
Your fault. His fault. Who cared whose fault was it? You could spend all day and all night and all the time thereafter trying to decide whose fault it was, but at the end of the day the earth beneath you and him was scorched by an imperfect love, and it was fine to walk away. It was fine to tell him that he could walk away too, fine to walk away from the ashes of this fairytale.
You can walk away from our fairytale, Jungkook, me.
He raised his head, making eye contact with you again, taking a deep breath.
You gazed back.
Saw flecks of what could have been, lights still alive in those big brown eyes.
Pride.
Fear.
Not a chance that someone would catch you crying over Jeon Jungkook.
“I…”
The usual suspects holding you back.
“I… told myself I could do anything,” you said, not breaking eye contact and you saw he believed that you could; he always did. “I only had to put the effort in. Meet people and open up a little. Even if it was fake it ‘til I make it, and I almost made it.”
The world was blurry and cold, all around.
“Almost.”
Not a chance.
“I almost did, Jeon Jungkook, but then you had to go and apologize.”
The tears came down, and Jungkook instinctively reached out to wipe them away, but then he stopped, suddenly afraid. You stepped back and wiped your cheeks yourself, surprised at that suddenness. Was this what getting older and growing up meant? Allowing yourself to be in touch with your emotions?
Mortifying.
You stared at him, almost accusingly, and it was all falling apart.
“I’m tired of trying to figure out who was wrong.”
Everything was all wrong.
“I’m tired of trying to rethink every little thing, all thanks to you.”
Painstakingly re-wiring every thought so all those little things didn’t remind you of Jungkook, giving in sometimes to the memories and feeling aghast that both of you had dropped the lit match onto the bridge you built together, burning it, burning it all down.
“I’m tired of missing you.”
You didn’t want to be that one, but you grabbed him by the front of his parka and shook him hard, out of frustration and that thought that no one should catch you crying over a boy, of all things, a silly boy who had made you laugh and loved sweets and your fashion and had always eagerly listened to you talk about whatever with stars in his eyes like you his everything, and so you refused to cry in front of him so you could always look cool and tough and not affected, but now you shoved your head into his chest and cried, cried about how you couldn’t be the person he thought you were, a person worthy of his love, because the truth was deep down you were weak, deep down you were made a fool of, and deep down Jungkook did have power over you since some part of you stupidly hadn’t given up yet. If you had been worthy, why would he have any reason to question your faithfulness? You must have done something wrong. The unknown had eaten away at you all this time, prevented you from crying and prevented you from trying to reconcile, and here Jungkook was beating you to it, so the least you could do was be honest and cry.
It was the worst, letting yourself cry.
He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you to him.
You pushed him away, glaring, fiercely rubbing at your eyes with the bottom of your sleeves.
“Don’t lie to me.”
Shook your head, stumbling back into your apartment, swinging at the door and missing, your red scarf falling from your neck, falling, falling, warmth slipping away.
“Don’t try to make me feel better when all you came here to do was to heal yourself.”
“I didn’t come here to heal myself.”
Jungkook bit his lip, looking guilty, following you inside, but only a step.
“I came here to try and get you back. I was going to fight that guy with my bare hands.”
Your tears paused, blinking hard to clear your vision.
“What?”
His eyes shifted and he sucked on the inside of his cheek, frowning slightly. “Well, if this was a movie, I would fight him, but it’s not, because it’s unlikely you would take me back after I beat up some poor guy.”
“I would kick your ass,” you snapped, annoyance clearing the sadness. “Not to mention Gunhak is a workout maniac, as much or more than you. He wouldn’t be beaten by you so easily.”
Jungkook pouted.
You froze.
The moment hung in the air, a stillness with too much meaning.
“Well, I would already lose anyway,” he mumbled, glancing at you. “You were always my weakness.”
Those big brown eyes and you noticed his ears were red, his cheeks were flushed and even his fingers were scarlet. This moment was a choice, a moment to stop and consider the options, but all you did was follow your instinct, reaching forward and grabbing his wrist, pulling him to you, ignoring his wide eyes and confused squeak, pulling and closing the door, cutting off the cold, and now it was just you and him, you holding his cold hands and rubbing, closing your fingers around them, not knowing if this was a bad decision or not, probably, but what made a decision good or bad?
No answers.
“I hate you,” you muttered. “You watch too much drama and memorized all the good lines.”
Your gaze flickered to him and Jungkook pulled a face, looking remorseful again, except this time he seemed less sure of his guilt.
“Sorry?”
You bit your lip.
“You’re stubborn and headstrong too, Jungkook.”
He nodded, not denying it.
“But you’re my good influence,” he chirped lightly.
Then he winced.
“Were. Were my good influence.”
Corrected himself, tone pained.
Heart racing, looking at your world, holding onto Jungkook’s hands, and he stepped closer tentatively, warmth and memories, and the line of having a possibly uncomfortable conversation tomorrow was not crossed yet, not yet, and you squeezed his hands, those big brown eyes asking you if the impossible was possible, and you didn’t dare open your mouth, because the real answer was that you didn’t know, he didn’t know, no one knew, nothing was meant to be, everything was impossible until someone made it possible, and maybe that those someones could be you and him.
You tilted your head.
Familiar breath.
“You can tell me if you like him more than me,” Jungkook whispered shakily. “I’ll probably cry, but I’ll understand eventually.”
The tips of his hair touched your forehead.
“Can you shut up, Jungkook?” you hissed back. “Just shut up and close your eyes if you want me to kiss you.”
Flecks of what could have been, lights still alive in those flying saucers, and his lashes lowered, casting darkness over the stars in those big brown eyes, closing them.
What are you doing, me?
You kissed him.
-
He should have accepted what was, was, but Jungkook couldn’t and now you kissed him and his brain reminded him that you could be the one to break his heart this time, but Jungkook told his brain, I don’t care, and kissed back, trying not to cry all over your face. If this was your revenge arc, Jungkook would gladly be part of it. He had kinda been a shithead. He could understand the audience perspective.
Also, you were kinda hot in your revenge arc.
What?
Jungkook had told you many times before that he loved your legs.
You let go of his hands and placed your palms on his cheeks, exhaling into his mouth, and he never said it before, but he loved that shit, it got him inappropriately hard inappropriately fast, something about the heat and the calmness of your sweet breath that drove him crazy.
He did love sweets, after all.
“You’re so cold.”
Your kiss on his cheeks, his gasping mouth, grazing his lip ring. Soft, plush, perfect lips murmuring against his skin, familiar and sensual and comforting, and he was seconds away from crying, so instead he drew in a shuddering breath, falling into the more R-rated thoughts because if he didn’t let arousal take over, he was seconds away from becoming a motionless, emotional puddle on your hardwood floor and that wasn’t how he wanted this to end.
Yes, Jungkook was relying on sex to keep himself mentally stable.
Sorry, you’re too sexy and I want you too much.
“It’s cold outside,” and his reply came out a little more childish than he intended, too breathy and shivery, it was just so nice, so fucking nice that you were kissing him again, tracing his ears with your fingertips, loving caress, pulling him closer.
Your smile against his lip ring from his silly response.
“I’m warm. Touch me,” you breathed against his chin, hot and heavy.
Okay, maybe Jungkook knew all nice lines in dramas, but you knew all the lines to the porn videos.
Not that he was complaining.
His hands finding your waist and your teeth sinking his lower lip and he whined, the sting of pain coursing through him, a sharp detail of reality proving that this was no dream. His fingers curling into the thick fabric of your hoodie, grasping for your body, warm and getting warmer, yanking you closer. Your tongue tracing his skin, your hands framing the sides of his neck, stripped honesty vibrating in the millimeters of air between your faces.
“I always liked the sounds you make,” you purred, wisps of breath from your formation of words dancing between his trembling lips. “Like you’re desperate for me.”
“I am,” he found himself admitting. “I always am, please, breathe in my mouth, please.”
A ripple of surprise, but you wasted no time, covering his lips with yours and sighing into his throat, making his eyelids flutter and his whole body shiver, and if this was the last time then Jungkook was just going to leave it all on the table, all the things that made him feel good, he wanted them, all the things he remembered you liked, he would do them, like letting go of your hoodie and sliding his hands into your hair, turning your head to kiss your ear and suck on the space right under it, tongue and lips and teeth, your hitched breath at his touch, he missed it, the soft scent of your hair products filling his nose, he missed it, he missed the taste of your skin and the way you impatiently yanked his clothes off, cleanly unzipping his parka and pushing it off his shoulders, forcing him to let go up your head and just dump it on the ground, kicking off his shoes to a different directions, persistently keeping his lips on your neck and letting the fervor take over, insistently pushing you deeper inside your apartment.
He missed it, the way you enjoyed him.
“Can you–”
But you didn’t complete your irritated request, abruptly shoving him into the wall and making him gasp, and then the next thing he knew he was pressing his head to the wall and moaning as you bit down above his collarbone, running your tongue along that sensitive skin, your nails dragging down the sides of his neck, leaving lines of wanton fire.
“Too many layers,” you growled, tugging at the collar of his long-sleeved gray shirt even though it was the only layer separating you and him, but you were right, he agreed that it was too many layers, and Jungkook hastily yanked it up and over his head, tossing it to the side and then you bent down, your hands splayed over his right shoulder and the left side of his hip.
Pink tongue sliding out.
Licking up his chest.
Watching him as you did it, causing blood and pleasure to rush to all the right places.
He moaned, loud and pornographic.
You cocked an eyebrow.
He reached out and pulled at your hoodie and you made it crumple to the floor, then body to body again, face to face, kiss to hungry kiss, his hands going up your white crop top and under your bra, whining deep in his chest as you exhaled into his mouth again, thrusting your tongue into his lips when his fingertips brushed your nipples.
You backed off a little, taking your tongue away.
“D-Don’t stop.”
You paused, searching his eyes.
He hadn’t really confessed it before.
“It’s hot,” Jungkook panted. “When you do stuff like t-that.”
He squeezed your breasts to help get his point access but also for comfort as you scrutinized him, uncertain if he was sincere or not. Fair enough.
“Like what?” you asked, prompting him to clarify.
Heart racing, hot all over, adrenaline and fear fueling his pleasure, because there was something wonderfully dangerous about this territory. He had some inkling, but before he didn’t really bother to ask too much. You always did what you wanted to and naturally it leant to a certain power dynamic, but you never asked to take it further than sporadic, fleeting moments. And, well, Jungkook had never thought about how it would feel to admit out loud that that part of you it turned him on.
It would feel embarrassing, and yet he was enticed by that rush.
Aroused by it.
“When you treat me like you own me.”
Your eyes on his, not breaking the gaze.
Reaching up, running your fingers though his hair, sending tingles down his spine.
“Do you want me to own you a little?” you murmured.
He reached up and closed your fingers around a fistful of his hair.
“Maybe a little more than a little.”
You tugged.
The sting of pain, moan tumbling from his mouth, his hand falling, circling your waist.
Closer.
“I can take more,” he whispered to your lips.
You pulled and closed your hand over his erection fighting his jeans and Jungkook felt his whole body electrify, bucking his hips to your fingers and seeking your lips, but there was no kiss, only a controlled stream of breath to swallow, and the groan bubbled up in his ribcage. Alive. Raw pleasure. Intoxicated, driven by ferocious need, his fumbling hands undoing the button of his jeans, forcing down the zipper, everything being pushed down, and then it was your hand to his hot, taut skin, flicking your wrist by his head to deliver a shot of pain and a stroke of pleasure from the other, torn between the two sensations and the lightheaded feeling of your forceful breath pushing the air out of his lungs, forgetting that he could breathe from his nose, didn’t want to anyway, living was only living when it was on this hazy thin oxygen from your exhale.
Yes, Jungkook was pants down, shirtless, letting you jack him off and pull on his hair as you breathed into his mouth.
That was not how he thought this conversation would end but he was not taking any second of it for granted, rubbing your nipples, kneading your breasts, making sure you felt pleasure too, but the thing that seemed to make you smile most was the sounds he made, so Jungkook upped the desperation level in his tone and tucked his hips back slightly, changing the angle of your stroke.
“Fuck, yes, lower, closer to the head, fuuuuck, right there, a-ah…”
And you knew it all, the right pressure, the steady build up from slow to fast, until you had to focus and simply clutched his head, digging your nails into his scalp, panting against his shaking lips, fast and intense pressure consuming him, chasing the glorious high, closer and closer and closer.
He pinched your hard nipples and rubbed the tips, moaning unashamedly and probably too loud, keeping his lower body rigid so you could control the pace, your name tumbling out of his mouth, deep, needy, looking down to watch your hand firmly wrapped around his stiff cock, the head dark red and pleasure throbbing up his torso, you’re so good, fuck, you’re so fucking good, your breasts in his hands, perfect, groan pitching to helpless whine, almost…
You stopped.
“Fuck!”
His entire body jerked as you squeezed and simply froze at the very last second, at literally the singular point of almost no return and you stopped, and he was too far gone to be ashamed of the pathetic whimpering he was doing now, gripping your hand around his twitching length and nonsensically begging you to continue, but the moment was gone and, by the look of your devious smirk, it was all on purpose.
Fuck!
In his horny-induced haze, Jungkook attempted his best puppy eyes.
Your hand slid down his head and traced his jaw.
“I’m not gonna let you cum on the floor,” you teased.
He pulled a pout. “Come on… It’s not like floors can’t be cleaned.”
Your grip pulsed around his cock so hard he nearly gasped in pain.
“You’re not going to last if you cum once before pussy.”
Okay.
You were right, but the truth didn’t make Jungkook happy.
Not until he was balls deep into you, condom wrapper falling from his hand, you taking the moment to stretch your legs over his torso casually, adjusting your hips under him, and then he was deeper, surrounded on all sides by silky wet warmth that pulsated around him, so good his head involuntarily tipped back, his hair trickling his shoulders as he slid out a little and then back in.
Oh.
God.
He was very happy now.
“F-Fuck… I hate this position… you f-feel too fucking g-good…”
“It’s just missionary.”
He jerked his head down to see you smirking at him. Looking smug fully naked, juicy thighs flush to his abs and your body was essentially folded in half as he leaned down, sucking in a breath as your pussy clamped around his length, slow and controlled and every centimeter gripped tight like his dick owned money.
“You have the most control in this position,” he puffed.
“You wanted it,” you hummed.
Jungkook squinted in mock suspicion. Then he gave up on the act rather quickly.
“Yeah, I want you.”
Slid out and back in, shuddering.
“I don’t want anyone else but you.” Pleasure snaking through him with every thrust, breathless, slow and deep at first, but gradually adding power, harder and rougher, smacking hips to crotch, erotic electricity all over, his hair falling over his eyes, looking down, staring into yours. “I know I’m balls deep right now, but you have to believe me.”
You reached up.
And.
Patted him on the cheek.
“Jungkook, we can have the deep talk after the two minutes it takes for you to finish. I promise,” you assured cheerfully with a smile.
Hey!
He scrunched up his face and glared at you. “Excuse me, I last longer than two minutes–”
You planted your hands onto the mattress and thrust up into him. He choked at the sudden slingshot of ecstasy that pierced through him and his entire tirade about how he was going to last way longer because you technically edged him which was very mean by the way, yeah, all that was instantly forgotten as you tightened your jaw and all around him, creating an insane pace that his body immediately followed, too much carnal instinct and not enough sanity, the sound between you and him suddenly louder, wetter, rhythmic smacks and panting gasps, your mouth opening and your pink tongue licking the air, hint of a smirk at the periphery of your lips, and Jungkook felt like he should be mad about that, but it was turning him on more, fuck, he felt his cock twitch as he watched that agile tongue writhe, teasing sin, he was doomed, he was one of those freaky people that was into this stuff now.
That was what he got for admitting the truth.
Your hand shot up and you tangled your fingers in his long hair, gripping his head to get the leverage to fully fuck him from below plus add the aching pain of your nails digging into the scalp to the torrent of sensations ransacking him right now.
He groaned and his eyes rolled back, the orgasm slamming into him.
All over him, shooting out all over his nerves, potent pleasure so powerful that his hips bucked and shivered, only pure will allowing him to continue thrusting, but it appeared you had been holding back, oh fuck, skyrocketing his shivering orgasm to uncontrollable crashing waves from every throb of your walls, the slickness between your bodies painting onto his inner thighs and crotch, your name torn from his throat, low and hoarse and raw, drowning in the most concentrated bliss he knew, drenched in sex and sweat, wishing it was forever.
It always ended too soon.
Fuck.
-
“Um.”
You sat in front of him, wrapped in blankets as he was wrapped in his own cocoon of blankets, watching his lips twist and shift, looking uneasy.
“I’m super serious,” Jungkook finally settled. “About starting over. I mean, I know we just…”
“Fucked like a bad porn storyline?” you offered.
He winced, shifting his eyes. "Er. Yeah."
You dropped the jokes. “I’m serious too. Let’s start again. I learned my lesson. No more surprises.” You sharply poked his knee through the blanket. “But you have to talk to me. Whatever it is. Even if you think I don’t wanna know. Uncomfortable or not, better sooner than later. And I will do the same.” You nodded, more yourself than him, promising to hold yourself to it. Kept your gaze on him so he knew you were serious about doing so. You took it all in, messy black hair, big brown eyes, dreams of what could be. You and him could make the impossible, possible.
You and him only had to put the effort in.
“I wanna know everything about you, Jungkook.”
There was real worry reflected back at you. “What if it’s not good?”
You shrugged. “I already knew you weren’t good. I went on one date with one guy and you were already stalking me.”
His brows furrowed in indignation. “Hey, I happened to stumble onto your date by chance!”
“Oh, yeah, and by chance you followed us all the way to my apartment?” you countered.
His jaw flapped. “W… W-Well…”
You raised your eyebrows. Both of them.
Very high.
He puffed one cheek and looked away. “I just… hadn’t decided what to do…” he mumbled. “Or how serious you were, because if you were super serious, I wasn’t going to talk to you…”
You blinked in fake disbelief.
Jungkook muttered something like, I meant I wasn’t gonna try to sleep with you or anything if you were dating another guy... Mmm. You poked him. He shifted his eyes. Then ticked his chin at you.
“What about you, huh? You did it too.”
You shrugged. “Yeah, I did. I didn’t start dating you only because you’re cute, you know.”
He blinked in confusion.
You shrugged. “Fucking is important to me in a relationship. You always wanna fuck me. That’s what I want. Especially now that you admitted that you want me to own your ass in bed, making you even more appealing. Mmm. We have to explore that more.” You nodded sagely, greatly satisfied with your decision. “Therefore, I will talk to Gunhak in the morning.”
Jungkook sputtered, cocooning himself further into the thick blankets, slowly turning red. “That’s… W-Well… I wouldn’t date you unless I thought that you were the hottest woman that’s ever existed...”
You cupped your hand around your ear. “Pardon? Jeon Jungkook, are you saying that you’re shallow?”
“I’m not shallow, don’t twist my words!”
“I can twist something else–”
“Stop, t-that’s scary, don’t come under here! Hey!”
--
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