struberri

[struberri]

come and see me || jjk

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 10. something like love

series masterlist

"what the fuck is wrong with you, jungkook?"

the coach's voice sliced through the air, sharper than the smack of gloves hitting skin.

it was the third time he'd stopped their sparring mid-round.

his eyes burned with frustration, fists clenched at his sides. "you're too limp. you're not even reacting. this isn't training, this is a goddamn joke."

jungkook didn't say a word. he just stood there, chest heaving slightly, arms hanging by his sides like they weren't part of him anymore.

his face was pale, jaw locked, gaze dull and unfocused. there was no fire in his eyes. no heat. just something empty, something worn out.

because jungkook hadn't been eating. his appetite had vanished, slowly and quietly, ever since the night you walked out and never came back.

he had tried.

he had fucking tried.

he sent paragraphs of apologies, voicemail after voicemail.

he'd stared at your contact picture for hours, re-reading his messages even though you never responded.

his texts stayed either on seen or delivered and his calls rang out unanswered.

you ignored him like he didn't exist. and maybe that was the part that broke him the most.

he started skipping shifts at the tattoo shop. jay texted him more than once, asking if he was okay, offering to cover for him without demanding an explanation.

jay:

just let me know you're alive man

and even then, jungkook had left it on read. not because he didn't care, because he couldn't face it.

yeona had noticed too. she still showed up at his apartment, pretending it was to comfort him, but really just trying to get into his pants. he didn't even let her inside, wouldn't look at her, wouldn't even speak to her. he ignored her completely. he didn't want comfort if it wasn't from you.

his friends were worried.

more than worried.

he barely spoke to them. left their messages on read. ignored their calls. skipped their plans without a word.

they still saw him sometimes, sitting at the edge of the couch, dragging on a half-burnt cigarette, his hood pulled low. he was there, sure, physically. but everything else about him had vanished.

so taehyung and jimin decided enough was enough.

they showed up at his apartment one evening without warning. the place smelled like smoke and stale air.

takeout boxes untouched on the counter. curtains drawn even though it was just past sunset.

jimin and taehyung stood quietly, backs against the wall. an odd kind of silence hung in the air. not the comfortable kind they were used to.

this one buzzed with something unsettled. something heavy.

jungkook was sitting on the couch, his hoodie pulled over his head, knees up, a cigarette burned low between his fingers.

"hey, gguk." taehyung said, his voice softer. "what happened to you, man?"

"nothing." jungkook muttered, flicking ash into a half-full beer can. "it's just boxing. nothing much."

"bullshit." taehyung snapped, stepping closer.

"you're not even well at boxing anymore. i've seen you spar. you don't even fight back. you're getting knocked around like a rookie."

"drop it, tae." jungkook said tiredly, rubbing his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

taehyung didn't.

"is this about y/n?"

there was a beat. then jungkook's voice, sharp and a little too quick.

"no- nope. why would it be about y/n?"

taehyung raised a brow. jimin glanced at him and something passed silently between them.

"because she hasn't been to your matches." taehyung continued. "and namjoon said-"

jungkook sat up fast, the cigarette falling from his fingers. his eyes snapped to taehyung's.

"what did namjoon say?"

taehyung and jimin exchanged another glance. it was all the confirmation they needed. they'd never seen jungkook like this over anyone. never thought he'd unravel like this.

not for a woman. not for anyone.

jimin answered this time, voice quiet.

"namjoon said she's been really quiet these past few weeks. he's never seen her like that before. he thinks it's because of you."

jungkook's shoulders slumped. his head dropped forward, dark hair falling into his eyes. he was already blinking away tears. already losing the fight against them.

"i fucked up, hyung." he whispered, voice cracking.

"i hurt her. and now she hates me."

his breath hitched. a sob pushed out of his chest and he broke. right there, in front of the two people who had known him longest.

the man who always wore strength like armor, who laughed too loud and fought too hard and never let anyone see him weak.

he crumbled.

"i miss her."

his hands trembled, wiping his face.

"i miss her so fucking much."

he sobbed into his palms.

"i'm such a coward. i fucking hate myself."

"hey, hey." jimin said quickly, kneeling in front of him, hands on his knees. "come on, man, it's okay-"

"no, hyung, it's not." jungkook gasped.

"she won't talk to me. she hates me. she's gone."

taehyung moved to the couch, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, holding him steady as he shook.

"listen." he said, firm but gentle. "we'll try our best, okay? we'll figure this out. please, just don't shut us out."

jungkook nodded weakly, tears still falling. he looked so small, so unlike himself, like all the fight had drained from him and all that was left was ache.

they sat with him for a while, until his breathing slowed. until his hands stopped trembling. until the worst of it passed. but they knew it wasn't enough. not for what jungkook needed.

and so taehyung, who had been texting namjoon in secret the whole time, sent one last message before slipping his phone back into his pocket.

taehyung:

hyung, he needs you. come over.

-

there's a soft knock at the door. not urgent, not loud, just steady. like the person on the other side already knows what's waiting for him.

jungkook doesn't move at first. he's curled up on the floor beside his bed, knees pulled to his chest, eyes glassy and red, face blotchy and wet. taehyung and jimin had left an hour ago. they didn't want to. but he told them he needed space and they knew he wasn't lying. he's never lied when it's this bad.

the knock comes again. another pause.

then the lock clicks and the door opens. namjoon steps in without saying anything, his silhouette tall against the hallway light before he quietly shuts the door behind him. he doesn't even need to be told what's wrong. taehyung already did that on the phone.

"you could've just said you weren't okay." namjoon murmurs as he walks in further, his voice soft, not demanding. "you didn't have to pretend."

jungkook doesn't respond. doesn't look up either.

namjoon sits down on the floor beside him, their backs against the same wall. he doesn't try to make him talk. doesn't force anything. they sit in silence for a few minutes, the kind that feels heavy but necessary.

"i heard you broke down."

jungkook shuts his eyes.

"they told me everything." namjoon adds. "how you've been skipping practice. not showing up at the shop. how you've been drinking more. not eating. taehyung said you haven't thrown a single proper punch in three days."

"what do you want me to say?" jungkook whispers eventually, voice wrecked, barely audible.

"nothing." namjoon says simply. "you don't have to say anything."

but he does.

"she won't even look at me anymore, hyung."

his voice cracks on the last word.

"i fucked it all up. she- she's gone. she's fucking gone and it's because of me. because i told her i don't do relationships, like a fucking idiot. like- like i wasn't already in love with her every night- every night we laid there and she'd let me trace her tattoo with my fingers like it meant something- because it fucking did mean something."

he buries his face in his arms.

namjoon exhales slowly.

"you love her."

it's not a question. it's a fact.

jungkook doesn't answer.

"you do." namjoon says again, gently. "and you're just now realizing how much."

"i didn't want to need her." jungkook whispers. "i didn't want to need anyone."

"i know." namjoon says. "but that doesn't mean you're not allowed to."

a beat of silence.

"she was good for you." namjoon continues. "not just the sex. you know that. she pulled the truth out of you. the real you. the parts you don't show anyone. and yeah, you were scared. you got defensive. you hurt her. but now you know."

jungkook's voice breaks. "what if i ruined everything?"

namjoon glances at him, eyes steady. "then you own up to it. all of it. and if she doesn't forgive you... you still live with it like a man. but you don't sit here wasting away. you get your shit together. and if there's even a chance she still wants to hear you out, you fight. for her. because you're not just some boxer with fucked up emotions and commitment issues anymore. not to her. not after everything."

jungkook swallows hard, his throat raw. his voice sounds like gravel when he finally says-

"i don't know how to fix it."

"you don't." namjoon replies. "but you can try."

they fall silent again. the only sound is the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen and jungkook's uneven breathing.

"you're not weak for feeling this much." namjoon says after a long pause. "you're just human."

jungkook lets out a shaky exhale, blinking up at the ceiling like it might give him an answer. he's still not okay. but he's no longer completely alone either.

and that's something.

-

i ghosted jungkook.

completely.

no texts, no calls, not even a glance at his name when it popped up on my phone screen.

i couldn't believe i did that. me. the one who usually caves in first, but here i was, a week later, holding onto the silence like it was the only thing keeping me sane.

jihyo had been dragging me out more than usual lately. her way of checking on me wasn't through questions or pity.

instead, she filled the empty hours with plans and people and places.

tonight was no different. we were at a local bar, tucked in a quieter corner of the city, dimly lit with a red neon sign that hummed softly against the glass windows.

the table was full. jihyo's friends from work. mina, mingyu, and seokmin had joined us, all of them new faces but warm and open in a way that didn't make me feel like an outsider.

i sat between jihyo and mina, a half-empty cocktail glass in front of me, condensation dripping slowly onto the wooden table.

everyone was chatting about the dumbest things. celebrity breakups, new movie releases, some office drama i didn't understand and i was mostly just listening. quiet, but present.

jihyo made sure of that.

every time a conversation shifted, she gently looped me in. a glance. a nudge. a shared inside joke only she and i would get.

she never let me drift too far, even when i didn't say much. i could tell she was worried, but she wasn't smothering. and somehow, that mattered more than anything else.

mina sat on my other side, soft-spoken and delicate, even quieter than i was.

she had a gentle energy to her, the kind that didn't demand attention but made you want to sit close anyway.

she smiled every time our eyes met, like she understood how heavy things felt even without asking.

she didn't pry. she didn't make me talk. just poured me water when i needed it, complimented my nails in a whisper, and told me the playlist here was one of her favorites.

i liked her immediately.

her presence didn't demand anything from me, and i needed that. needed to just exist beside people who didn't expect me to explain the pieces of myself that were still aching.

mingyu and seokmin were funny, loud and animated and full of stories that made the table laugh in waves.

they didn't care that i barely added to the conversation.

seokmin once offered me fries off his plate without saying a word. mingyu refilled my glass and winked when i gave him a small thank-you smile.

it was easy and normal.

and for the first time in a long time, i felt like maybe i could still be part of a world that wasn't orbiting jungkook.

because i had to admit, some part of me still waited for him to fix it. to show up. to fight. to say he couldn't breathe without me.

i told myself this was good. that it was necessary. that sometimes silence is power and walking away is survival.

so here i was, sitting in a circle of strangers who somehow felt safer than the boy who once touched my soul and said he didn't believe in love.

here i was, sipping cheap cocktails and letting the night blur just enough to forget how deeply i had wanted him to choose me.

because tonight wasn't about jungkook. tonight was about healing in half-steps.

it was about the bassline that shook the floor beneath my heels and the way mina gently fixed the strap of my dress when it slipped off my shoulder.

it was about laughing, actually laughing at something mingyu said, even if the sound surprised me.

and it was about jihyo, always jihyo, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand when she caught me drifting too far in thought.

you can find love everywhere. in a stranger's kindness. in a friend's persistence. in the way someone hands you a napkin without being asked.

and maybe, maybe if you hold onto those tiny pieces long enough, you start to believe that you're still whole. even after being broken.

i wasn't here to think about jungkook. i was here to drink. to feel the music. to let the lights blur and the noise distract. to remind myself that life was still going on. and so was i.

-

i find myself drifting sometimes. not intentionally, not with purpose. just slipping. into his words. into the long, broken apology paragraphs he keeps sending at ungodly hours. into the voicemails where his voice cracks on the third second in. it's never planned. just happens.

sometimes it's at home, just before bed, when the lights are low and my phone is already in my hand. sometimes it's during lunch at work, when the office buzz quiets just enough for me to feel how heavy the silence has become.

namjoon doesn't bring him up. he never says his name. never pries. he just watches me, like he knows exactly what's going on behind my half-smiles and empty nods. and maybe he does.

this afternoon, while i'm scrolling through my inbox, catching up on backlogged emails and trying to feel something close to normal, namjoon quietly steps up beside my desk. there's a sketchbook in his hands with worn edges and spiral-bound.

"what is this?" i glance up, blinking at him.

his voice is soft and careful. "i know you're gonna be mad at me, but... jungkook asked me to give it to you."

i blink once. then again.

"namjoon, please don't involve yourself in this." i say, my voice sharp around the edges. not angry, just frayed. "i'm alright. i don't need him anymore."

he doesn't move. just stands there, sketchbook still in his hands, looking at me the way only he knows how to.

"y/n." he says gently. "you can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me. i've seen how you've been these past few weeks. and not just as a coworker but as your friend. i'm worried."

my throat tightens, but i hold his gaze. i've gotten good at that. pretending i'm okay. pretending i don't replay that night in my head like a broken film reel.

"thank you." i say, keeping my tone level, "but i don't need this. please give it back to him."

i push the sketchbook toward him without opening it. don't even let my fingers graze the cover too long. i won't risk it. not here. not now.

but namjoon doesn't take it. he exhales and slides it back across the table toward me.

"y/n, please." he says again, quieter this time. "i know what he did hurt you. and i'm not excusing any of it. but he's been owning up to it. every single day. he really wants you to have this so, just... take it. you don't have to open it right now."

i don't say anything. can't. my eyes sting and i have to look away. stare at the fluorescent lights above us like they'll hold me together.

after a few seconds, i reach for the sketchbook with trembling fingers. i don't open it. don't even look at the cover. i just slide it quietly into my bag and zip it shut like it doesn't exist. like if i pretend hard enough, maybe i'll forget it's even there.

namjoon doesn't press me. he just nods once, then walks away.

but the weight in my bag feels heavier than it should.

-

i didn't touch the sketchbook for two whole days. not even a glance in its direction. it just sat there quietly on my dressing table, collecting dust and tension, like a weight in the room i pretended not to see.

i tried to convince myself it meant nothing. that it was just paper and graphite, that it couldn't possibly carry the heaviness i'd buried under my skin.

but tonight, without even meaning to, i found myself reaching for it. it was late. the house was quiet, dimly lit by the flicker of the hallway bulb.

i sat down on the floor, the cold wood pressing into the backs of my thighs and leaned against the bed. a cigarette burned slowly between my fingers, trembling slightly, as i rested my arm on my bent knee and finally opened the cover.

the first page greeted me with fire. a phoenix, it's wings spread wide in a fierce arc, its feathers rendered with sharp, careful strokes. it wasn't just a drawing, it breathed. on the bottom right corner, in his handwriting, was the meaning. rebirth, survival and defiance against destruction.

he had dated it, too. some forgotten month from years ago, long before he knew me.

i flipped the page slowly.

a dragon coiled across the paper, smoke curling from its mouth, spider lilies blooming around its claws. bold and delicate all at once. again, a date and a short line explaining the meaning, something about duality and inner strength.

page after page was like that. animals, old-school tribalism mixed with futuristic sharp lines. flowers with petals so soft they looked like they'd crumble under touch. all with quiet meanings tucked into corners like secrets. all dated. all arranged in a timeline of his evolution. of his pain. his talent. his craft.

but it was somewhere past the fifteenth page that the air shifted.

that my chest tightened. and my hand paused.

it wasn't a tattoo design this time. it was a pair of eyes.

my eyes.

drawn with devastating precision. like he'd memorized the way my lashes curled, the quiet heaviness in my stare. like he had studied me with more care than he had ever studied his own reflection.

the shading made them glisten. like i was looking at myself through him.

beneath the sketch, in thin, rushed handwriting, he'd written a date.

12th september.

and just under that, the kind of eyes you can't forget even when you're high.

it wasn't sweet. it wasn't poetic.

it was raw.

like he hadn't drawn them to flatter me. he'd drawn them because they haunted him. the look i gave him that night, right before i walked out. the kind of look that lingers.

i froze.

the cigarette slipped from between my fingers, landed on the floor with a dull thud, the faint ember dimming against the wood.

my hands shook slightly as i reached out, fingertips grazing the page like touching it would make it less real.

but it was there. the sketch.

my eyes.

the way he saw them.

a light mist blurred my vision, tears swelling too fast for me to swallow them down.

i blinked once. twice. the burn sharp at the corners of my eyes.

i flipped to the next page in a hurry, needing to look at anything else.

it was a sketch of my fingers, holding a cigarette. angled the way i used to when i was with him. the date was days after our first hookup. one of those days when we hadn't seen each other, hadn't spoken. and beneath the drawing, in small, craving in the shape of your hand.

i felt a sting in my throat.

i turned the page again.

my lips.

from different angles.

one with a smudge of lipstick. another parted slightly like i was about to say something. another with teeth sinking into the bottom one. the date, again, a few days after the night at namjoon's party.

my vision blurred, the paper warping under a quiet drop of saltwater. i didn't even wipe it away. just kept flipping.

a sketch of my neck. the tattoo he inked on me. exact and precise. the caption under, the only thing i ever gave her that left a mark.

i couldn't breathe.

i turned another page.

my hips. soft lines and dark shadows.

next, my mouth again, a cigarette nestled between my lips this time.

next, our tongues. drawn mid-kiss. open mouths. desperate.

and then,

blank.

just an empty white page. like he didn't know what to draw anymore. like he'd run out of pieces of me.

i completely broke down.

my body folded in on itself, forehead pressing against the sketchbook as the tears came fast and ugly, no sound at first. just breathless, trembling gasps as i stared at that blank page like it had betrayed me.

my tears spilled across the paper, smudging the corners, soaking into the emptiness like they were trying to fill it.

i cried out loud. raw and real. not the quiet kind i'd grown used to in the past weeks. this wasn't silent or dignified. this was from somewhere deeper, somewhere hollow and caved in.

i missed him.

i missed him so fucking much.

and he hadn't even come to see me. hadn't shown up outside my work. hadn't stood outside my apartment with that stupid crooked smile or that silver lip ring glinting under the streetlights. he hadn't even tried.

-

i heard the doorbell ring. once, then again.

i didn't even realize when i'd cried myself to sleep. my body stiff against the floor, the sketchbook still clutched loosely in one hand, the cigarette burnt down to its filter on the floor. the air was thick, a mix of ash and something unsaid.

i blinked hard, eyes dry but swollen, a headache blooming at my temples. the clock on my wall read 2:03 a.m.

familiar. fucking familiar.

yet tonight, that hour didn't hum with longing texts or heavy breathing through phone lines. tonight, it felt like mourning.

i pushed myself up, limbs heavy and cold.

another ring.

my heart stumbled. i walked toward the door slowly, chest tightening with each step. a part of me hoping it was no one, the other part praying it was him.

when i opened it, everything inside me stilled.

he was standing there.

jungkook.

his black hoodie hung off his shoulders, damp at the edges, and his hair was a mess, strands curling over his forehead like he'd run his hands through it a hundred times. dark circles bloomed beneath his eyes. he looked exhausted and broken.

the sight of him knocked the breath out of me.

the man i left behind more than a week ago. the man who never came looking until now. the man i missed like hell. the man i still fucking needed.

and he looked like he needed me too.

his eyes flicked over me like he couldn't believe i was real, like maybe i'd vanish if he blinked too long.

i didn't say a word. but he did.

"can i come in?"

his voice cracked somewhere in the middle and i hated how it undid me.

i didn't speak. i didn't nod. i just moved aside. and he walked in.

god. why do i do this. why do i melt the second he's near me. why do i give in when it's him.

i closed the door behind us.  i turned to him, slow and quiet, my back still against the door.

he looked at me like he had something rehearsed like maybe he'd practiced what to say in the mirror, whispering my name to the walls that didn't talk back.

"y/n." he breathed, taking a hesitant step forward.

"stop- don't touch me." i snapped, hand outstretched, fingers trembling.

he halted. froze mid-step like i'd slapped him. something in his face crumpled. he looked away quickly, jaw clenched, his fingers raking through his hair like he needed to pull the pain out by the roots.

"what do you want now, huh?" my voice was sharp, bitter. "sex? just because i didn't show up at your place and now you're here for it?"

his eyes snapped back to mine. "y/n, listen baby, plea-"

"don't call me that."

my voice cracked and i hated it. hated how his stupid voice still made me ache. "don't you fucking call me that."

he looked like he couldn't breathe. like my words were ripping through him with a dull blade.

"i'm sorry." he whispered, shaking his head. "i'm really sorry, i really am. please, y/n. please."

"sorry's not gonna fix anything, jungkook."

"i know." he said quickly. "i know that. but please. just let me try. let us try again. i swear i'll make it right."

"no, jungkook, you don't underst-"

"i do." he shouted, the sound breaking out of him like it hurt. "i fucking do, y/n. i know how much i hurt you and i hate myself for it. i hate myself so much."

his knees gave out. he dropped to the floor like the weight of it all finally caught up with him. his hands covered his face, sobs tearing through his chest.

"jungkook..." my voice dissolved into a whisper as my tears returned, helpless and slow.

"i'm so stupid." he cried, gasping between his words. "i'm such a fucking coward. a loser. i kept pushing you away cause i was scared. and i ended up pushing away the one person who really loved me."

his hands dropped and he looked up at me. eyes red, wet and raw. "i don't deserve you, y/n. i know that. i don't. but please. please. i'm begging you. just one chance. let me try. i'll do anything, i swear."

i couldn't stand it.

i dropped to my knees in front of him, my hands cupping his tear-streaked face and he leaned into my touch like he'd been starving for it.

we were both crying now.

he grabbed my wrists like i was the only real thing left in his world. and i held his face like i was trying to memorize it.

"i love you, y/n. i swear." he whispered, forehead pressed to mine, his breath shaky against my lips. "you're the only person who keeps me going. i can't live without you. not when you're away. not like this. i love you so fucking much."

my chest cracked open.

"jungkook..." my voice came out broken, barely there. i couldn't speak. couldn't breathe through the lump swelling in my throat.

his hands cupped my face, thumbs trembling against my cheeks.

"you've hurt me." i said. not as an accusation. just the truth.

his eyes welled again, glistening and he nodded quickly, like he'd take every blade of it if he could.

"i know." he rasped. "i know i have. i can't even imagine what you've gone through because of me. the nights you cried. the way you felt forgotten. i hate myself for every second of it. but please-"

his voice cracked, the sound ripping straight through my ribs. "please let me love the hurt away."

he pulled me close, arms around my waist like he was terrified i'd vanish again. his head fell to my shoulder. and for a moment, he just held me. like the world outside didn't matter. like if he let go, he'd fall apart again.

"i'll do anything." he murmured, voice muffled against my skin. "just let me love you right this time."

"i hate it, jungkook." i whisper, eyes shut tight, like maybe if i close them hard enough, this will all go away. this ache. this longing. him.

his breath catches. i feel it against my neck. his arms stiffen like he's bracing himself.

"i hate the way i don't hate you." i choke out, voice thick with everything i've buried. "i should. i really should. after everything. after the way you left me.. after the way you made me feel like i didn't matter."

his head lifts slowly, eyes red and glassy, lips parted in disbelief.

"but i can't."

my hands press flat against his chest like i'm trying to push him away, but i don't. i can't.

"i think about you all the time." i admit, every word spilling like a wound tearing wider. "when i brush my teeth. when i lie in bed. when i eat alone. when i hear a fucking song we once played in your car. you've ruined everything for me."

his jaw clenches, a tear slipping down his cheek.

"i never wanted to." he breathes. "i just didn't know how to let myself love someone. not like this. not completely. and by the time i realized it was already too late."

"it was too late." i whisper. "you made it too late."

he nods. and just sits there in front of me, shattered.

"but i still want you." i whisper. "and i hate myself for that too."

his lips part, but he says nothing. like anything he could say would only ruin it more.

"i want to forget you." i continue, eyes burning, "but you're everywhere, jungkook. you're fucking everywhere."

he pulls me into him. desperate and soft. like he knows he's holding something already slipping through his fingers.

"then don't forget me." he says, voice barely audible. "just... stay. please. stay this time."

"i don't know if i can trust you again." i say eventually and it cuts the quiet like a blade.

he pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes.

"then don't." he says. "don't trust me yet. i don't deserve it. but let me earn it, please. let me try. i'll wait however long it takes."

"you always say the right things when it's already broken." i murmur.

"maybe because i finally know what it means to lose you."

my hands slip from his chest, fall into my lap. he watches me, his breathing shaky.

"what if i say yes?" i ask. "what if i let you stay tonight, jungkook?"

his eyes soften.

"then i'll hold you like you deserve to be held." he says. "and i won't ask for anything more."

i don't say yes.

i don't say no.

i just lean forward and rest my head on his shoulder again and for the first time in weeks, i let myself breathe.

-

he's still on his knees in front of me, eyes swollen, lips parted, breathing like he ran all the way here just to fall apart at my door. and maybe he did. maybe he's been falling for days.

i lift his face with trembling hands, thumbs brushing over the wet tracks of his tears.

his lashes flutter and for a second, just a second, we stare at each other like it's the first time.

his mouth opens slightly, like he wants to say something, anything. but he doesn't.

he just looks at me like he's drowning in all the words he can't speak.

i lean in first. not because he deserves it. not because everything's okay. but because i want to. because my heart is stupid and bruised and still hopelessly his.

our lips meet in a soft, broken kiss, tasting of tears and time and all the nights we wasted in silence.

his hands come up to cradle my face like he's scared i'll pull away. but i don't.

i press in harder and he exhales like he's been holding his breath for weeks. like this is the only thing keeping him alive.

he kisses me like he's sorry. like he means it. like it's the first time and the last time all at once.

my fingers twist into his hoodie, pulling him closer until there's no space left between us.

i can feel everything. his heartbeat, his pain, the way his lips tremble against mine when i whisper his name in the middle of the kiss.

his lips are still on mine when i pull him up from the floor.

we're both crying, both shaking, both holding onto something neither of us knows how to name.

but i guide him gently, fingers laced with his, walking backwards through the dim hallway. he doesn't ask where we're going. he just follows. into the bedroom.

this time i close the door behind us and turn to face him like it's the last time i'll ever get to.

he looks at me like he's unsure. like he doesn't know if he's allowed to want me anymore.

so i close the space between us. i kiss him again. soft and slow, hands cupping his jaw, pressing our bodies together like it's the only language i still speak.

his breath catches when i whisper his name into his mouth.

his hands hover near my waist, not touching, not daring, until i guide them there. until i let him know it's okay.

i press my forehead to his.

"make love to me."  i whisper. my voice cracks and i hate that it sounds so broken.

he swallows hard. his thumb brushes my cheek. "are you sure?"

i nod, slow and deliberate.

his lips part like he wants to say something, maybe to stop this, maybe to ask again. but he doesn't.

instead, he kisses me again. deeper now.

like the words he can't say are bleeding through his mouth.

like he wants to worship the pieces he shattered.

he lets me undress him first. lets me take his hoodie off, fingers dragging over his bare arms, slow and reverent.

i feel his muscles tense under my touch, like he's scared he'll lose control.

i don't rush. i let my hands trace every inch of him. his collarbones, his chest, the slow rise and fall of his breath.

i kiss each place i touch, soft and lingering. his hands find my hips and he finally breathes again.

i pull back just enough to take my own t-shirt off. his eyes drop instantly, but he doesn’t touch. not yet. not until i reach behind and unhook my bra, letting it slide off my arms, letting him see me fully. bare and trembling.

i hear his breath stutter. his throat flex as he swallows hard.

“fuck.” he whispers, almost inaudibly. like it’s a prayer. like i’m something sacred.

i guide us onto the bed. the mattress dips under our weight.

when he leans over me, shirtless and shaking, his hair falling into his eyes, i see it. all of it. the pain. the want. the regret. the love.

and for the first time in weeks, i let myself believe this might be real. his lips find my shoulder. then my neck.

then lower and slower. kisses like promises. kisses like he's begging me to remember him this way.

and god, i will.

i always will.

his mouth moves with so much care it makes my chest ache. his kisses trail down my body like he's memorizing it all over again. every curve, every shiver, every place he once touched without thinking. now he thinks. now he pauses. now he breathes against my skin like it hurts him to be close but it'd kill him to stop.

"you're so fucking beautiful." he whispers against my ribcage. his voice cracks on the word. his lips stay there for a second too long, like he's hiding in me. like i'm home.

my fingers thread through his hair as he moves down. slow, open-mouthed kisses, warm breath following wherever his lips go. he's not rushing. not this time. he's trying to say everything he couldn't say with words, everything he's too late to admit but still hopes i'll hear.

then he looks up at me.

his eyes are so full of pain and adoration i almost cry again.

"come here." i whisper, voice hoarse.

he climbs up, crawling over me until our chests are touching. i grab his face in both hands, kissing him deeply.

tongue tasting myself on his lips. fingers in his hair. my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him in.

he slowly pushes himself up, gaze still fixed on mine like he’s afraid i’ll disappear if he blinks. then his fingers reach down, working open the button of his jeans. he slides them off, inch by inch, along with his briefs, never breaking eye contact. he’s bare before me now, completely exposed and somehow still so gentle.

i sit up slightly, heart racing, hands trembling as i do the same. peel my sweatpants down, then my underwear. let them fall in a quiet heap on the floor.

nothing left between us now. nothing to shield or hide behind.

we just look at each other. like it hurts to be seen. like it hurts more not to be.

there’s so much longing in his eyes it makes my chest tighten. something raw and aching passes between us, silent but suffocating. like we’re both on the verge of crying but neither of us dares to let go first.

his hand finds mine. he squeezes once. then leans in, pressing his forehead to mine.

i nod.

he breathes in shakily. positions himself above me with slow and trembling hands. his tip nudges against me and he waits, eyes searching mine, waiting for that last confirmation. that final yes.

“please.” i whisper, voice wrecked.

he pushes in, slow and careful.

a long, deep stretch that makes me gasp against his lips.

his mouth finds mine again as he moves, kissing me through it. slow and steady, hips rocking gently, his hands framing my face like i’m something fragile.

his lips taste like heartbreak. like hope. like everything we never got to say.

his rhythm is deep and slow, every thrust rolling through me like a quiet ache. like he’s trying to carve himself into the spaces i forgot existed.

his hand slides under my back, pulling me closer. our chests press together, slick with sweat, his breath heavy against my neck. i tilt my head, give him more of me and his mouth grazes my skin like he’s barely holding back. not desperate, just yearning. like he’s been starving for softness and only now remembers how to feel it.

his hand cups the back of my thigh, fingers curling into the muscle as he tilts my hips to meet him deeper and slower.

i gasp, bite down on my lip, my nails dragging down his spine.

his lips brush the corner of my mouth. i turn my head, kiss him full and slow. tongues sliding together, lips parting in sync.

he moans into my mouth, a low sound that makes my chest clench, my walls pulse around him.

my legs wrap tighter around his waist, locking him in. he fucks me slow, like the pace itself is sacred.

my fingers tangle in the damp strands of his hair. his thrusts grow a little harder but still controlled, like he’s scared to break whatever fragile thing is living between us right now.

i pull back from his lips, eyes locking with his. his brow’s furrowed, jaw tense and breath shallow. but it’s his eyes, his fucking eyes, that undo me.

they’re full of everything we never said. everything we almost were. everything we still might be.

“i missed you.” he murmurs into my neck, lips brushing skin. “i didn’t know how to live without you.”

i close my eyes, tilting my head to the side as he kisses there. soft, open-mouthed, like it hurts to let go.

“then don’t.” i breathe. “don’t live without me. don’t make me forget this.” i say, my voice barely holding.

his lips crash into mine again, tongue sliding against mine, swallowing my broken little gasp when he shifts his angle and hits that spot inside me that makes my toes curl.

“i won’t.” he pants into my mouth. “i won’t ever forget. i swear.”

my hands are gripping his shoulders, my nails digging in. he’s so deep inside me i can feel him everywhere, in every part of me, even the broken ones. especially the broken ones.

“fuck-” he gasps, his voice shaking against my mouth. “fuck, y/n…”

his forehead presses hard into mine, our sweat mixing, our breaths tangling like we’re breathing for each other. his lips are parted, eyes half-lidded, his mouth brushing against mine with every choked moan.

“i love you.” he pants, voice cracking as he thrusts harder, slower now but deep enough to make my whole body shiver. “i love you- i love you, i love you- fuck, y/n.”

he says it like a confession, like a prayer, like if he says it enough times maybe it’ll undo everything.

his words fall apart at the end, dissolving into desperate groans as he buries himself in me and holds, holds like he’s scared to let go.

my eyes flutter shut, head tipping back as the pressure coils tighter and tighter, breath hitching with every roll of his hips.

my body shakes beneath him, thighs trembling as the orgasm rips through me in waves. i cry out into his mouth, holding on like i’ll drown without him.

my name spills from his lips again, softer now. a plea. i feel him fall apart inside me. his whole body tense, his arms shaking as he cums with a low, guttural moan that he tries to hold back but can’t. he buries his face in my neck, trembling, panting, whispering it over and over again.

“i love you… i love you…”

he doesn’t stop saying it. not even after.

not even when he’s still inside me, still clinging to me like he might disappear if he lets go.

he stays there, breathing hard, lips brushing my skin like he’s still kissing every broken piece.

like he means it this time. like he’ll never stop meaning it.

-

we clean ourselves in silence. soft and slow. my legs still a little shaky, his hands careful as he helps me wipe the warmth of us away. he kisses my shoulder once when we’re done, just a whisper of lips, like he’s still scared he’ll wake up and this will be gone.

i pull on a clean oversized shirt. he stays shirtless, only his boxers clinging to his hips.

when i sit on the edge of the bed, he stands behind me for a second like he doesn’t know if he should speak.

“can i stay tonight?” he speaks, his voice is almost quiet

i don’t look at him when i answer. “yeah.”

he climbs into the sheets behind me, pulling the blanket over us both.

i curl into his chest without thinking. his arms wrap around me like he’s holding something fragile. his hand finds my hair. starts playing with it. slow and careful. his other hand rubs slow circles into my spine.

i don’t know how long we stay like that. time doesn’t move the same in this kind of silence.

and then, without warning, i hear his breath hitch. quietly. like he’s ashamed of the sound. but i feel the stutter of his chest beneath my cheek.

“jungkook, are yo-“ i lift my head. find his eyes red, lips parted, hands still trembling where they hold me.

“i’m sorry.” he whispers, voice cracking. “i’m so fucking sorry.”

“hey, hey.. don’t.” i say, my voice barely holding steady, hands trembling as they reach for his cheeks, desperate to stop his tears, even though mine are already burning behind my eyes.

his face crumples beneath my touch. eyes shut tight like he’s trying to block the world out, like he can’t stand being seen like this.

“look at me.” i whisper, thumb brushing just under his lashes. “jungkook. please. just look at me.”

he shakes his head, tears slipping past his lashes. “i ruined everything. i let you go. i broke you. i broke us.”

“jungkook.” i breathe. my own throat aches now. my eyes sting. “stop.”

but he doesn’t. he leans up to kiss me. wet and trembling. “i love you,” he says into my mouth. “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

“i love you too.” i whisper, fingers threading into his hair. “i never stopped.”

we’re crying and kissing and holding each other like we’re drowning, like our bodies are the only shore left. the taste of salt, of forgiveness, of something almost whole again lingers between every breath.

when we finally calm, when the tears quiet and our hands go still, i lay back against his chest. his heartbeat’s uneven but steady beneath my ear.

-

his fingers trace lazy circles on my bare back.

“you’re staring.” i murmur, smiling against his chest.

“can you blame me?” he says, voice rough, eyes heavy with sleep and something softer. “you’re kind of unreal right now.”

i roll my eyes, poke at his ribs. “don’t start.”

he laughs, low and warm. “i’m serious. i might be in love or something.”

i lift my head, brows raised. “might?”

he smirks, brushing hair from my face. “just kidding. i’m definitely, annoyingly, helplessly in love with you.”

i kiss him slow, lingering. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“and you’re lucky i’m obsessed with you.”

i grin, eyes crinkling and i know, whatever this is, whatever we’re calling it, we’re both finally choosing it. no more pretending. no more running. just this.

him and me.

still tangled up in sheets and something that feels an awful lot like love.

YA’LL, I’M TOTALLY WRECKED AFTER WRITING THIS.

firstly because how emotional this chapter is and secondly because it fucking ended. ahhhhh but don’t worry guys, i’m going to post some extra fluff chapters in the future. they’re not necessary to read, but if you want more of their hangouts, more details, more softness then, you can go for it. because even if i didn’t include it in the main story, it still happened alright? lol

tag-list: @nikkinikj @mar-lo-pap @daisiesarepretty7 @bbtsficrecs @mimi1097 @sheshya

© struberri 2025

[struberri]

Hiiii omfgggg I love come and see me so fucking much

I’m HOOKED.

Just wondering how many more chapters are there? LMFAO don’t want it to end😭

hey love! thank you so much, it means everything to know you’re loving the fic <3

but yep, it’s officially wrapping up after chapter 10. i know, i know, i don’t want it to end either. but don’t worry, the final chapter is gonna be long, raw and full of everything this mess has built up to. i’m still working on it hehe

anddd i’ll definitely be posting extra chapters too, just some moments between them that didn’t make it into the main story but still happened lol and also a few post relationship scenarios. mostly fluff but a lil smut too hehe so yeah, stay tuned for that

and thank you again for reading :3

[struberri]

come and see me || jjk

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 09. ruin

series masterlist

it was a saturday night. well, almost midnight. the city outside had finally gone quiet, like it, too, was exhausted from the week. i had just finished binge watching an entire series. i didn't even know if i liked it, but i kept watching because it was easier than thinking.

i lay in bed, eyes closed, arms folded under my pillow. the room was dark except for the faint glow of the moon peeking through the edge of my curtains. not enough to light up the space, just enough to remind me that time was still moving. the air was still. just my heartbeat in my ears and the weight of everything i hadn't said out loud.

i thought about the show. the ending and the way it left things unresolved.

then i thought about work, the pitch that was due next week and the unread emails in my inbox.

and then, like clockwork, jungkook.

he just appeared in my thoughts, without a warning. like a bruise i kept pressing on even though it hurt. he never left me alone. it didn't matter if he wasn't texting. he was still there, stuck under my skin, living in the quiet parts of my brain that i couldn't shut off.

and i was mad at him. god, i was fucking furious.

it had been weeks and still, no clarity.

we weren't dating. he never said we were anything. and yet, we acted like something. we felt like something. we were together so often, talking, touching, fucking. like we belonged to each other.

sometimes i'd try to take a step back. ghost him for a few hours. say i was tired or on my period, or just not in the mood. pretend like i was okay without him. like i had control over any of this. but i didn't. not really because no matter how pissed i was, how emotionally drained i felt, i still wanted him. needed him.

and i hated how pathetic that sounded in my own head.

thank god for jihyo.

she was the only one who saw right through me. she never judged. never told me to get over it or move on. instead, she did the little things like showing up unannounced to drag me to our favorite food stall, or buying me overpriced food, or letting me vent for hours while she nodded and held my hand. she always tried her best to remind me that i deserved better, even if i wasn't ready to believe it yet.

even at work, i was quieter than usual. not that anyone said it out loud, but i saw the way hwasa looked at me. like she was trying to figure out what had dimmed my spark. namjoon asked me once, "you alright?" and i told him i was just tired. that was my excuse for everything lately. "just tired."

but the truth was, i was unraveling slowly. breaking in places no one could see. and the worst part? the only person who could stitch me back together was the one who refused to claim me.

i wanted to feel like i was his. i wanted him to make me his.

but he wouldn't. he never did. and still, i couldn't walk away.

i must've drifted off for a second, lost in my thoughts, when the sharp buzz of my phone snapped me back to reality. it lit up the whole room with that eerie glow, just enough for me to see the time.

02:18 AM

i didn't even need to check who it was.

i already knew.

my body hesitated. i stared at the screen, hand hovering over it. a part of me wanted to ignore it. stay wrapped in my sheets, pretend like i didn't care. pretend like i wasn't waiting for him, even if it was at midnight. even if it was just a text.

but my hands moved before my brain could stop them.

the screen was too bright. i squinted my eyes, lowering the brightness, unlocking my phone. my heart beat a little faster when i opened the chat.

kook:

almost done drinking with the boys. do you wanna hang out right now?

i stared at the message, blinking slowly. then i noticed the date.

december 4th.

jin's birthday.

he had told me about it last week. how the boys were taking him out to some luxury bar downtown. the kind of place with velvet chairs and overpriced drinks and bouncers who judged you by your shoes.

of course he messaged me now. of course it was late. of course it was him.

because even though he said hang out, we both knew it wasn't just that. not at this hour. not with the way he texted me only when the world went quiet.

my thumb hovered over the keyboard, thinking of what the fuck to say that didn't sound too bitter, too eager, too obvious. finally, i just typed it.

y/n:

do you own a watch?

do you know what time it is now?

he opened the message almost instantly. i stared at the screen, waiting.

kook:

yeah it’s 2:23 and i need you rn

i stared at the text and my jaw clenched. of course he needed me. at 2 am. like always.

he has never, not once, come to my place to hang out or fuck. not even just to see me.

it’s always me.

always me going to him.

my fingers hovered over the keyboard before i finally typed it.

y/n:

come and see me for once.

i hit send. he saw the message instantly.

i watched the typing bubble appear.

then disappear.

then come back again.

only to vanish.

seen

no reply. nothing.

just those four cursed letters staring back at me.

i threw my head back on the pillow with a groan.

"i'm so stupid." i muttered to myself. ugh.

and yet, five minutes later, i found myself texting again, fingers moving before my brain could stop them.

y/n:

i'll be there in ten.

because of course i was going. of course i'd be the one driving through the quiet december night just to see him.

just to feel wanted for a few hours. just to ruin myself over someone who wouldn't even call it what it was.

-

his mouth is already on mine by the time the door clicks shut behind me.

he doesn't even say a 'hello', just lips and desperation, like he's been waiting for this all night. like he can't go one more second without touching me.

i'm breathless by the time he pulls me into his bedroom, dragging me backwards by the waistband of my jeans. he walks me straight into the edge of the bed and mutters, "get on."

i climb up without a word, settling onto my back, the room spinning slightly from how fast it's all happening. he follows, crawling over me, gaze dark and unreadable. his hoodie's still on but his fingers are already tugging at mine, lifting my shirt over my head, peeling it off with that same sharp urgency.

"didn't think you'd actually come here." he says lowly, voice rough with something between sarcasm and sincerity. "i was almost sure you'd ghost me again."

"i should've." i mutter, but it's weak. i'm already gasping as he slides his hand down between my legs.

"but you didn't." he smirks, dragging my panties down slowly. "because you want this just as bad as i do."

i glare at him, lips parted, breath hitching the second his fingers part me.

he hums in satisfaction when he feels how wet i am. "fuck. you're soaked. did you touch yourself before you came here?"

i shake my head.

"you lying?"

"...no."

he smiles. it's smug. he leans down, breath warm against my neck. "then let me fix that."

and then he's between my legs.

his mouth is hot. tongue slow and deliberate at first, licking a flat stripe all the way up like he's tasting me for the first time. i squirm, fingers tangled in the sheets, thighs twitching already.

"jungkook-"

he doesn't answer. just groans low in his throat, like he likes how my body's reacting, like he wants to make it worse. his tongue circles my clit now, rhythm sharp and cruel, sucking just enough to make my stomach flip. he drags his tongue down and back up, then presses his mouth hard against me.

i gasp again.

"stay still baby." he murmurs against my skin, voice slurred with lust. "let me taste you properly."

and when i say i try, i mean it.

but it's impossible.

because he keeps going. keeps licking, keeps sucking, keeps teasing the edges of my sanity like he knows exactly how much i can take. my legs shake. my hands grip the pillow beside my head. and he, he's moaning into me like this is his drug. like he's high off the way i taste.

"so fucking sweet." he mutters. "fuck, you don't even get it."

his tongue flicks faster, harsher and i'm squirming again, hips lifting off the bed without permission. he slides one hand up my chest, squeezes my breast and i can feel the drag of his teeth on my clit before he pulls off with a wet pop.

his mouth is swollen, lips shiny. "don't cum yet."

i blink down at him, dizzy. "what?"

"cause i'm not done ruining you yet."

he crawls up my body, kissing my stomach, my ribs, the underside of my breast. then my throat and finally, my lips.

i can taste myself on his tongue.

his voice is barely a whisper when he says, "you want me to fuck you, don't you?"

i nod.

"say it."

"...yes. jungkook. fuck me."

he smirks again, jaw clenched and reaches down between us, lining himself up.

"don't worry, baby." he breathes against my mouth. "i'll give you everything."

he pushes in slow.

but only for a second.

because once he's inside, once he hears the breath i suck through my teeth, sees the way my eyes flutter shut, he doesn't hold back.

his hips slam forward and the force of it knocks the air from my lungs. i gasp, one hand flying to his bicep, the other clawing at his back. he's so deep already. thick, hard, stretching me open like he owns me.

"fuck-" he hisses under his breath. "you feel so fucking good. you always do."

his pace is brutal from the start.

he fucks like he's angry. like he's punishing both of us. the bed creaks under each sharp thrust, headboard tapping against the wall, skin slapping loud and raw in the otherwise quiet room.

his hands grip my thighs, pushing them up, spreading me wide. his eyes flick down to where we're joined. his cock disappearing inside me again and again and he groans deep in his chest.

"look at that." he pants, hips snapping forward. "so fucking wet for me. every time."

i try to say something, anything but all that comes out is a moan.

"yeah?" he mutters, dragging his lips across my jaw. "you missed this?"

i nod frantically, legs trembling. "yes. fuck. yes."

he kisses me hard then, teeth and tongue and spit. he swallows every sound i make, one hand sliding up to squeeze my throat while the other anchors my hips down. the pressure makes my vision blur, the pleasure unbearable.

"tell me whose pussy this is." he growls against my lips.

i choke on my moan. "yours. it's yours."

"say it again."

"yours, jungkook. fuck- it's yours."

his eyes flash, mouth curling into something dark and possessive. he lets out a noise that's somewhere between a groan and a growl, then slams into me harder. faster. deeper.

i cry out, arching into him, the orgasm hitting me like a freight train. sudden and devastating. my legs spasm. my mouth falls open in a silent scream. the kind of orgasm that rips you apart from the inside out.

he doesn't stop. not even when i cum. not even when my body's shaking.

he keeps fucking me through it, watching my face, my eyes, my twitching thighs. keeps thrusting until i'm whimpering from the overstimulation, until i'm grabbing his wrist to ground myself, until it's too much to take.

his hips stutter, just slightly, but i can feel it. the shift. the tension building in his thighs, the way his abs flex tighter, the way his cock throbs deeper inside me with every thrust.

"fuck- fuck, i'm gonna-" he breathes hard against my neck, voice ragged, frayed, like he's unraveling. "gonna cum, baby. fuck. you feel too good-"

he thrusts once. twice. then slams all the way in, grinding deep.

a broken moan leaves his throat as he stills, cock buried to the hilt.

his whole body tenses above mine. shoulders rigid, fingers digging into my waist, jaw clenched so tight i hear the smallest groan break through it. he's cumming hard. pulsing deep inside me, filling me up warm and thick.

"shit-" he mutters, breath hot against my cheek. "fuck- y/n- fuck."

i feel every twitch, every slow roll of his hips as he grinds through it, like he can't stop himself. his mouth finds my jaw again, then my lips, kissing me slowly now, tender in the aftermath.

he doesn't pull out right away.

he stays inside. pressed deep, panting against my mouth like he needs it. needs me.

and still, despite the two of us breathless, soaked in sweat, both fucked half-senseless, he doesn't look done.

not even close.

"that's one." he mutters against my skin. "don't pass out on me yet."

his cock, thick and twitching, still buried deep, my pussy stretched and slick around him. i'm panting, legs trembling around his waist, the aftershock of my first orgasm still pulsing through me.

his grip tightens on my thighs. then, he shifts. without a word, he pulls out slowly, the drag of him making me gasp. he manhandles my legs up, pushing them over his shoulders, folding me open like he owns me, and then, he slams back in.

"fuck-" i cry out, fingers clawing at the sheets.

he moans, deep in his throat, a sound so low it vibrates against my chest. "that's it." he grits out. "open up for me. let me fuck you deeper."

and god, he does.

this angle hits something dangerous inside me. i'm stretched tighter, filled fuller. each thrust punches into the softest part of me, where pain meets pleasure. where moans turn into sobs.

"jungkook-" my voice cracks.

"don't talk." he growls, sweat beading on his temples. "just take it."

his pace is merciless now, hips snapping into mine with sharp, wet slaps. his skin is flushed, muscles flexing above me, jaw clenched like he's trying to hold something back. but i see it in his eyes. he can't.

this isn't just fucking. it's desperation.

his fingers slide between my legs again, thumb circling my clit fast and dirty. his mouth drops to my neck, biting down, sucking until i feel the bruise bloom.

"you don't even know what you do to me." he mutters into my skin. "you've fucked me up. i can't think straight anymore."

i clench tighter around his cock. my moans break apart with each thrust. "fuck- please- d-don't stop."

"yeah?" he snaps, "fuck- y/n, i need you. need this pussy. need you soaked and ruined under me."

i choke on a moan. he's so deep it's unbearable. my whole body's shaking, slick and overstimulated.

his fingers dig into my thighs, holding me wide open as he fucks into me like he's trying to take back every time he told me he didn't feel anything. like he's trying to bury the truth inside me, truth he won't say out loud.

my vision blurs. i'm close again, way too fast. it's building, sharp and hot, spreading like fire from my spine to the tips of my toes.

"jungkook- i can't-"

"yes, you can." his voice is a snarl now. "you're gonna cum again. you hear me?"

i cry out. "i'm gonna- oh my god- fuck-"

and then i'm gone.

it rips through me. a second orgasm so violent i scream his name. my body tenses, legs trembling, and then, i feel it gush out of me, wet and hot and uncontrollable. i squirt all over him, down his stomach, soaking the sheets.

"holy shit-" he curses, watching it happen with wide, hungry eyes. "jesus- y/n-"

he pulls out, jerks his cock with a few rough strokes and then he's coming, hard. thick ropes of cum spill across my stomach, his hips stuttering, abs flexing. he moans low, eyes shut, voice breathless. "fuck- you're perfect- fucking perfect."

the room smells like sex, wet heat, sweat and the faint burn of his cologne clinging to both of your skins. the sheets are ruined, sticky and damp from everything you gave each other. jungkook pulls out of bed with a low groan, still breathless, his abs tight and streaked with his own cum.

you don’t move. just stay there, legs still trembling and slightly spread, watching him walk to the bathroom stark naked. his back is flushed pink, all lean lines and muscle. he returns with a towel, wiping the mess from your stomach first. quiet and gentle, almost like he’s cleaning up after something sacred.

“i should start charging you for laundry service.” he mutters under his breath, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

you roll your eyes, sitting up finally, letting him tug the ruined sheet off the mattress. he moves around the bed, half-focused, shaking out clean linen from his closet. you stand up, naked and silent, just watching him in the dim light. he’s always more serious when doing something with his hands. almost like he’s hiding behind the task.

the clean sheet flutters over the mattress and he smooths it out with his palms, looking up at you only once.

“round three?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

you blink, then scoff, smacking his bare chest with the back of your hand. “you’re insane.”

“and you love it.” he replies, grinning.

you shake your head but you’re smiling too. he climbs back onto the freshly made bed, eyes lidded, expression softer now. he pats the space next to him without saying anything else.

you hesitate, just a second, then crawl in beside him.

the room is quiet. cold air licks at your damp skin under the new sheet. his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you in until your cheek rests on his chest. this, this, doesn’t happen often. not because you don’t want it. but because neither of you ever really knows what to do with it.

still, you stay.

you stay longer than usual.

his fingers trace up and down your spine absently and you lift your head to look at him. he looks back at you. eyes unreadable but soft, like he’s trying to memorize something.

you kiss him.

slow this time. no hunger. just mouths finding each other, lips brushing in soft rhythms. his hand cups your jaw and your fingers rest lightly on his ribs.

no words.

just the quiet sound of lips meeting and parting and the louder rhythm of two hearts racing in sync.

you break the kiss but don’t pull away, letting your forehead rest against his.

-

you’re lying on his chest, your leg tossed over his thigh, his arm wrapped lazily around your shoulders. one of his hands is in your hair, fingers idly playing with the strands while yours trace invisible patterns on the ink across his chest.

the silence is thick, but not uncomfortable. not at first.

then you speak.

“jungkook?”

he hums, soft and low. like he already knows what’s coming.

you hesitate for a second, but your voice doesn’t waver. “do you love me?”

it’s the most direct question you’ve ever asked him.

he doesn’t answer right away. his fingers pause in your hair, and when you tilt your head up, he’s just staring at the ceiling. not meeting your eyes.

“answer me.” you press, sitting up slightly. “it’s not like we’ve just been fucking around for months, jungkook.” he say sarcastically.

he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “look, y/n… we can’t date.”

you feel your stomach twist. “why?” you demand, your voice rising. “is it someone else? are you seeing someone else? is that why-”

“it’s not that.” he cuts you off sharply. “no. i’m not seeing anyone else.”

you stare at him, your voice trembling now. “so what is it then?”

he doesn’t look at you. just shakes his head once, jaw tight. “yes, i’ve slept with other women before. but not anymore. you’re the only one i’m with right now.”

“then what’s stopping you?” your voice breaks. “why can’t we just- why can’t you try?”

he suddenly sits up, eyes dark. “is fucking me not enough for you, y/n?” he snaps, louder now.

you blink at him, stunned. “what the fuck?”

he scoffs, running a hand through his messy hair, irritated. “i told you what this was from the beginning. i’ve never pretended otherwise.”

you feel the heat rise in your chest, your throat tightening with hurt. “so you’ll sleep with me, spend all this time with me, touch me like that and then pretend none of it means anything?”

his silence answers for him.

“wow.” your voice cracks around the word. your eyes are burning.

“don’t do that.” he mutters, but you’re already sitting up, pulling the sheet with you.

“don’t what, jungkook?” you spit, tears threatening to spill. “don’t ask for the bare fucking minimum? don’t expect the guy who acts like he owns me in bed to actually give a shit outside of it?”

his expression shifts, just slightly, guilt flickering across his face, but he doesn’t say a word.

you stand now, grabbing your clothes with shaking hands. “fuck this. seriously.”

you start pulling your clothes back on. quick, harsh movements, like maybe if you get out fast enough, you won’t fall apart in front of him.

you bend down to grab your panties from the floor, slipping them on without a word, then reach for your jeans.

“y/n.” he calls after you, but you’re already at the door.

you pause at the door, hand on the knob, your back still to him. the room is dead quiet, heavy with everything unsaid.

you don’t look back when you say it. your voice is low, steady, almost cold.

“next time you miss me, don’t fucking text. just sit with it. like i’ve had to.”

then you open the door and leave, not waiting to hear the way his breath catches in his throat.

jungkook watched her walk out without turning back, the soft click of the door echoing louder than it should have in the quiet room.

he sat there. naked, cold, sheets still damp with the heat they shared just moments ago and dropped his face into his hands like a man breaking.

“fuck.” he muttered, barely audible, like it might undo what he’d just done.

this was his punishment. this had always been his punishment. pushing her away, lying to himself, acting like he didn’t care. months of it. months of touching her like she was his and pretending she wasn’t.

he dug his palms harder into his eyes, breathing ragged, trying to erase the image of her walking out.

“fucking idiot.” he hissed under his breath. to himself. always to himself.

-

i quickly got inside my car, slamming the door shut behind me. the leather of the seat felt cold even through my jeans as i sank into it, trembling. my hands were shaking as they gripped the steering wheel, breath shallow, chest tight.

the tears hadn’t stopped, still clinging to my lashes, still burning my eyes. i tilted the rearview mirror down to look at myself and immediately regretted it.

i looked ruined.

lips swollen from kissing him. eyes red and glassy, rimmed with hurt. my nose blotchy.

i looked like a fucking mess.

and that’s when the sob broke out. loud, sudden and painful.

i threw my head back against the seat and slammed my palm against the steering wheel. once, twice, cussing under my breath.

“fuck you, jungkook.”

my voice cracked as i said it again.

“fuck you.”

i hated how much i meant it and didn’t mean it at the same time.

i sat there, breathing uneven, heart aching.

he did this to me and i still fucking loved him.

ya’ll-

tag-list: @nikkinikj @mar-lo-pap @daisiesarepretty7 @sheshya

© struberri 2025

[struberri]

They both need to confess their feelings for each other 😭😭😭😭😭

this is honestly how they’ve got me feeling right now. it’s a disaster and somehow still everything i want. they’re so toxic for each other and yet…

[struberri]

come and see me || jjk

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 08. back and forth

series masterlist

jungkook pushes open the door to ink & roses, the familiar chime echoing low through the dim shop. the smell of antiseptic and cigarette smoke lingers in the air.

“hey, jungkook?” a voice calls from behind the reception desk, sweet but tight.

he doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t even glance at her. “what?”

“can we talk?”

he exhales hard through his nose. “listen yeona, i’ve told you this before and i’m telling you again, i am not hooking up with you anymore.”

“why are you being like this?” she steps out from behind the counter, arms crossed. “are you fucking a new chick now? probably that bitch who came in a month ago?”

he freezes.

his jaw clenches. that low burn in his chest snaps into something hotter, something ugly.

“what i do and who i do it with is none of your fucking business.” he growls, turning to face her now, voice dangerously low.

yeona scoffs, bitter smile pulling at her lips. “loser.” she mutters under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

his fists curl at his sides. but he doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

he just walks away.

-

jungkook and i had been hanging out. that’s the only way i could put it, really. it wasn’t just sex anymore, even if we both pretended it was.

sometimes, on random weekdays, he’d show up outside my building without warning. leaning against his car with a cigarette tucked between his fingers, telling me to come out for a ride. other times, we’d walk. no destination, no purpose, just us. talking about nothing and everything. laughing about stupid shit. silent when we didn’t need to fill the air.

and yeah, we were still fucking. a lot. whenever we could. at his place or the car. whenever the tension got too much, we’d let it all out with hands and mouths and bruising touches.

but it wasn’t the same anymore. not for me.

it had been over two months since that night at namjoon’s party. two whole months of knowing jungkook in a way that felt more intimate than it had any right to be.

and i couldn’t take the silence anymore. not the kind that came after sex, when we’d lay there tangled together, his breath still warm on my neck but the emotional kind. the kind that weighed heavier the longer we ignored it.

so one night, when my body was still trembling from the way he held me down and fucked me like i belonged to him, i finally asked.

“what are ‘we’?” i said quietly, fingers tracing the tattoo on his arm. “have you ever thought about dating?”

his face didn’t even flinch.

“i don’t do relationships.” he said flatly.

and fuck, that hurt more than i expected.

because how the hell could he say that?

how could he look me in the eye and say that after everything?

after the night he fucked me infront of the mirror, gripping my waist so tight like he couldn’t stand the idea of letting go. the way his eyes never left mine in the mirror as if they loved me.

after he kissed the tattoo on my neck so softly, lips brushing the ink like it was sacred. like i was something holy.

how could that mean nothing?

because this, whatever this was, it didn’t feel like a hookup.

it never did. not with him.

and hearing him reduce it to something so casual, so cold… made it all feel so fucking worthless.

and yet, i still stayed.

-

we still fucked after that, even after he dodged my questions, even after i’d tried to break the silence between us. because how the hell was i supposed to leave him that easily?

every time he touched me, it felt like more than just sex. every time he kissed me, it felt like a promise he was too scared to make.

so yeah, i stayed.

even when it hurt. even when i hated myself for it.

he asked me one night if i wanted to come watch one of his matches. he said it casually, like it didn’t mean anything.

but it did. he didn’t just invite anyone into his world like that.

so i went.

it was almost mid-november, the air sharp against my skin as i stood near the edge of the ring.

the gym smelled like sweat and blood and the metal sting of adrenaline. the lights were harsh, casting sharp shadows across the mat.

i stood outside the ropes, watching him. watching the way his body moved. every punch he threw was brutal and clean. every dodge was a blur. he fought like someone who knew he couldn’t afford to lose.

i was standing beside his friend taehyung. i’d met him once or twice before. he was quiet but sharp-eyed, always watching jungkook like he was ready to jump in if anything went wrong. he had this calm, older-brother energy. but even with taehyung beside him, jungkook kept searching for me.

between rounds, when he sat in the corner, water bottle pressed to his lips and his coach shouting something into his ear, his eyes still found mine. over and over.

like he needed to make sure i was still there.

like he needed to see me.

his gaze would soften just for a second when it landed on me. his shoulders would drop, his jaw would unclench, his fingers would twitch slightly like he wanted to reach out.

and in that moment, between the blood on his knuckles and the sweat running down his temple, he didn’t look like a fighter.

he looked like mine.

like he wanted to be mine. but just didn’t know how to say it. or didn’t believe he deserved it.

and i should’ve hated him for it. for pretending like it didn’t mean anything. for touching me like he loved me, but saying he didn’t believe in love. but i didn’t.

because when he looked at me from the ring like that, like i was the only person in the world that mattered, how could i?

-

he always denied it. every time the thought surfaced, every time someone asked, every time it flickered across his own mind, he shut it down.

“i don’t do relationships.”

like it was a principle. like it defined him.

he said it with certainty. like he truly believed it. because, for a long time, he did.

jungkook had always convinced himself that letting someone become too important was dangerous.

he believed people were weak when they gave their hearts away. when their worlds started to orbit someone else’s.

love made you soft.

vulnerable.

fucking stupid.

and jungkook didn’t want that.

he’d built his life around staying detached. emotionally clean and physically satisfied, but never entangled.

he used to hook up like it was routine. yeona was a habit more than a person, never meant anything to him.

he thought she was clingy, shallow, selfish. but she had a nice body and she let him work at her studio without asking questions.

so he’d fuck her occasionally. just to scratch an itch. nothing more.

then there were the nameless girls from the bar. someone to drink with. someone to push against a bathroom wall. and then forget about the next morning.

but then there was y/n.

and nothing made sense after that.

he couldn’t even think about touching someone else. couldn’t bring himself to answer flirty texts, couldn’t return looks from strangers. no matter how much he tried to fall back into his old ways, it was impossible.

he started drinking more, neat most of the time. smoking more, marijuana or any strong cigarette. taking pills sometimes, not because he wanted to get high, but because he just wanted to forget. numb it. erase the ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away.

but the worst part?

even when he was fucked up, half-conscious, lying on the floor of his apartment, the only thing he’d end up doing was sketching her.

her lips.

her eyes.

her hands, the way they’d tremble when she came.

the curve of her thighs.

the tattoo he gave her, etched the side of her nape.

the way her mouth would part when she looked at him like he was all she ever wanted.

he’d draw her in the dark. like he was trying to confess something he couldn’t say out loud.

he didn’t know how she got under his skin. he didn’t mean for it to happen. but she became his muse.

his obsession. his fucking undoing.

and the worst part?

he still couldn’t admit it. not even to himself.

so he told her the same thing he told everyone else, that there was nothing serious. that he didn’t believe in love.

that he didn’t do relationships.

but then he’d fuck her like she was everything. kiss her like he couldn’t live without her. touch her like she was sacred.

and afterward, when she was curled up on his chest, tracing the lines of ink on his skin. he’d look at her like he meant it all. every kiss. every breath. every unspoken thing he refused to say.

she was the only rule he ever broke. and he was fucking drowning in it.

i know the story’s all over the place right now, but that’s kind of the point. both of them are messy. their emotions, their choices, the way they handle each other… it’s not supposed to be perfect. i just hope it still makes sense somehow lmao ;-;

tag-list: @nikkinikj

© struberri 2025

[struberri]

come and see me || jjk

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 07. cruising

series masterlist

i’ve lost track of how many times i’ve had sex with him. seriously. i’ve stopped counting, not because i don’t care, but because keeping score started to hurt.

somewhere between the second and sixth time, it stopped being casual. at least for me. now it just feels like a cycle i can’t crawl out of. like clockwork, he texts me around 2 am and without a second thought, i’m in my car, half asleep and half desperate, driving to his apartment like i belong there. like i want to belong there.

it’s the end of october now. the nights are colder, darker and quieter. which somehow makes everything feel heavier. i bundle myself up when i leave for his place, but no coat can fix the kind of cold i feel when i come back.

nothing between us has changed. not the way he kisses me like i’m his, not the way we pretend it doesn’t matter and definitely not the way we avoid talking about any of it. except maybe one thing has changed; a new routine. a new addiction.

fucking jeon jungkook at 2 am like it’s the only thing keeping my soul from unraveling. i hate it. but i crave it more than anything.

i’ve already told jihyo. i waited weeks before i admitted it out loud, but i couldn’t take it anymore. i needed someone to look me in the eye and tell me this wasn’t normal. and jihyo? god, she didn’t hold back. she cursed him to hell, called him a selfish asshole, called me a dumb bitch in the same breath but then pulled me into her arms when i started crying and whispered, “i know it hurts. but you don’t deserve to feel like this.”

she always knows how to handle me. even when i’m lying to her face. even when i say it’s just sex. because she knows better. she always knows when my voice trembles a little too much for it to be the truth.

because how can it be just sex when every time i leave his place, i feel more hollow than before?

we don’t do anything normal, me and jungkook. we never cuddle, never sleep next to each other. i’ve never even seen what he looks like when he wakes up, there’s no aftercare besides him wiping my thighs clean, his hands quiet, never speaking unless he’s teasing me mid-fuck. the closest we get to affection is just sex. just fucking.

sometimes he texts me just to get a rise out of me. a stupid meme, a one-word insult, or something cocky that only he can pull off without making me block him. sometimes i do it too, pretending it’s harmless, pretending it’s not the only thread holding us together outside the bedroom.

i was still at work, slouched back in my chair, half-heartedly scrolling through tiktok just to kill time until the clock hit 6 o’ clock.

the office was buzzing low in the background. keyboard clicks, faint printer noises, the occasional laugh from a nearby cubicle. i wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

until a notification popped from the top.

kook:

lets hangout, i’ll pick you up after your work

i stared at the screen for a full ten seconds, blinked and read it again.

what?

my heart gave a strange little jolt in my chest. not excitement exactly, more like panic laced with confusion.

i checked the time. ten minutes left before i could leave.

i shot up from my chair so fast my earbuds flew off my lap. i shoved everything into my bag with clumsy and frantic movements. i wasn’t even thinking straight, my body just moved.

namjoon looked over from his desk, eyebrows lifting. “you good?”

“yeah.” i said, a little too fast. “just packing. haha.” my laugh was the fakest shit i’ve ever heard, but he didn’t call me out.

hwasa glanced up too, blinking like she was watching me glitch in real-time. neither of them said anything else, but i felt their eyes follow me the entire time.

-

by the time i stepped outside, the air had dipped into that icy kind of chill that seeps into your sleeves. and there he was, standing by his car like he belonged in a movie. his back leaning against the door, phone in one hand, his head tilted down as he read something. the streetlight hit the side of his jaw just right, casting sharp shadows across his face.

he looked up the second he sensed me. his eyes met mine and his mouth curved into a slight smile, barely there, but enough to send my stomach doing stupid somersaults.

i turned for a second and caught namjoon and hwasa staring from inside, wide-eyed and whispering.

“are they dating?” hwasa whispered.

“how the fuck would i know?” namjoon muttered back.

i turned to face jungkook fully. his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip before he bit it lightly, a small habit he didn’t even know he had.

“hi.”

i crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes a little. “what’s so special today?”

he shrugged one shoulder, still holding that tiny smile. “nothing. just wanted to hangout with you.”

my chest did that annoying squeeze again. i tried not to smile. god, i tried.

he stepped forward and opened the passenger side door for me, backing away to give me space. i slid inside, the leather cold beneath my thighs, heart hammering way harder than necessary.

he closed the door gently, then walked around to the driver’s seat. before getting in, he tossed one last glance over his shoulder. a small nod to namjoon and hwasa, who looked like they’d just witnessed a live alien abduction.

he slips into the driver’s seat, glancing at his phone once before tossing it into the cupholder. neither of us says a word as we buckle up, the soft click of the seat belts, the only sound in the car.

then he starts the engine. the low rumble of it vibrates beneath us and in seconds, we’re pulling away from my office.

the ride starts off quiet. a kind of silence i’ve only ever been comfortable sharing with him.

i reach forward and turn on the radio, letting it play softly. some random song hums in the background, it’s enough to fill the quiet. enough to hear him occasionally hum along, tapping a lazy rhythm on the steering wheel with his ringed fingers.

i glance at him once, then again, then finally ask, “where are we going?”

he shrugs, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “i don’t know. do you?”

i blink, furrowing my brows. “what the fuck?”

“just driving around, i guess.” he says, voice low, almost lazy. “i was bored… and i missed that pretty face of yours.”

he says it like it’s nothing. like it’s just air, a sentence without weight. but it lands heavy in my chest. stupidly and embarrassingly heavy.

“stupid.” i mutter under my breath, turning away to hide the warmth rising up my neck.

he just laughs. that quiet, cocky chuckle of his and rests his arm along the back of my seat, fingers brushing the ends of my hair as he continues driving with one hand. it shouldn’t make me feel anything. but it does.

we cruise beyond the city, watching tall buildings melt into fields and empty roads, the golden hour bleeding through the windshield like a soft spotlight. neither of us talks for a while.

every now and then, he looks at me. not long enough for it to be obvious. just enough to let me know he’s doing it.

finally, after nearly an hour, he pulls into a small parking lot beside a local beer shop.

i look at him, one eyebrow raised. “is this where you were taking me?”

he shrugs again, unbothered. “nope. we can leave if you want.”

i shake my head. “i’m fine.”

we both step out of the car. i tug my coat tighter around myself, still in my work clothes, the fitted pencil skirt hugging my thighs, blouse tucked neatly beneath it. i feel almost absurd next to him, in his black oversized tee and baggy jeans, all casual and effortlessly cool.

he holds the shop’s door open for me and we walk in together.

the place is simple. nothing fancy. low lighting, a few wooden tables tucked into corners, the soft clinking of glasses from behind the counter. it smells like fried food and beer. somehow, it feels perfect.

we settle at a small table by the window. an elderly woman, probably the owner of the place, approached our table with a polite smile.

we kept the order light, just two bottles of soju, a plate of glazed fried chicken and some kimchi on the side. she nodded gently and walked away, leaving us to ourselves.

jungkook leans back in his chair, legs spread comfortably, while i rest my elbow on the edge, eyes drifting toward the street outside.

he lights a cigarette, the flame flickering briefly between his fingers. he takes a drag, then holds it out for me without a word.

i take it, letting the smoke slip past my lips slowly, curling up into the dim air around us.

jungkook’s watching it rise, his eyes a little low, a little unreadable, like he’s thinking about something but pretending not to.

“so..” he says eventually, “you always dress like that at work? all tight skirts and buttons?”

i give him a look. “i have a real job, you know. i don’t just punch people for a living.”

“hey.” he laughs, head tilted back slightly, “some of us punch very well for a living.”

“you’re not even denying the insult.” i tease.

“denial’s boring.” he shrugs. “plus, it’s kinda hot. seeing you all corporate and pissed off. feels illegal.”

i roll my eyes, but my mouth pulls into a reluctant smile “you’re annoying.”

“you’re still here though.”

i don’t respond to that. mostly because i don’t want to admit he’s right.

he removed his foot from his shoe slowly, then slid it across the floor, light and deliberate, until it touched my bare leg under the table. i froze the second his toes brushed my skin.

“are you crazy? what are you doing?” i hiss, shooting him a sharp glare.

“oops.” his voice is so fake-innocent, it makes me want to punch his handsome stupid face.

his foot starts moving again, slow and cocky, dragging up the inside of my calf like we’re not in a public place with people literally two tables away.

he keeps his face completely unreadable, eyes fixed on mine, like this is just another tuesday for him. i try not to react, not to clench my thighs or gasp but my body betrays me, muscles twitching under his touch.

his toes sneak higher, brushing the edge of my thigh where my skirt’s already riding up from how i’m sitting. i grip the edge of the table, knuckles tight, heart hammering.

“jeon jungkook.” i mutter under my breath.

“hmm?” he hums back like he’s clueless, like he’s not trying to get me to lose it in the middle of a beer shop.

his foot creeps higher, inch by inch, until it’s dangerously close to places it has no business being right now.

but before he can reach further, the old lady shows up. thank fucking god.

she places the food down between us with a polite smile. jungkook pulls his leg back like nothing happened, like he wasn’t just toe-fucking my sanity seconds ago.

“enjoy your meal.” she says

i nod, trying to smile like a normal person and not someone who’s seconds away from combusting.

jungkook picks up his chopsticks, completely unfazed. “you gonna eat or just keep glaring at me?”

“you’re disgusting.” i say flatly.

“you still showed up though.” he shrugs reminding me again.

“shut up.” i said rolling my eyes

he chuckles under his breath, popping a piece of fried chicken in his mouth and chewing slowly, like he knows exactly how wrecked i am right now and he’s proud of it.

i reach for my own chopsticks, mostly just to keep my hands busy before i lose my shit on him. but even as i eat, i can still feel the ghost of his touch on my thigh. warm, smug and infuriating.

“you always this unhinged in public?” i mumble, avoiding his eyes as i take a bite of the chicken.

“only when i’m bored.” he says it so casually, eyes fixed on me as he downs a shot of soju.

“you need help.”

“probably. but it’s more fun watching you squirm.”

i shoot him a glare. “you think i’m squirming?”

he leans in slightly, resting his chin on his palm. “you’re squirming, baby. your thighs were clenching so hard, i thought you were about to snap my foot in half.”

i nearly choke on the kimchi in my mouth. “don’t call me that.”

“baby?” he says again, intentionally softer, drawing it out like he knows i hate how good it sounds.

“you’re actually sick.”

“and yet.” he says, pouring another shot for both of us, “you’re still here.” he says it fucking again.

i snatch the glass and down it in one go just to shut him up.

he laughs under his breath, watching me over the rim of his own glass. “you always drink like that when you’re trying to ignore how wet you are?”

i blink at him slowly. “you have no shame.”

“none at all.”

i pause, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. “you’re lucky this chicken is good, or i would’ve left the second your nasty-ass foot touched me.”

he grins, tongue pushing against his cheek. “but you didn’t. you’re here. eating and blushing.”

“not blushing.”

“blushing.”

i narrow my eyes. “say that again and i’m pouring this soju on your lap.”

he shrugs, already reaching for another piece of chicken. “worth it.”

i stare at him for a second. this man with messy black hair falling into his eyes, lip ring glinting in the light, that annoying little smirk he always wears like it’s tattooed on.

everything about him is infuriating and addicting.

“you’re exhausting.” i mutter.

“and yet.” he says again, winking as he tosses a piece of chicken into my plate, “here you are.”

fuck.

-

i drank more, probably finished off two whole bottles, despite jungkook warning me to slow down. of course, i didn’t listen.

we finished the chicken somewhere between playful banter and subtle touches and when we were done, he paid for everything and by the time we stepped out, i was definitely tipsy.

he wasn’t though, thank god. so at least one of us could drive. it was already 8 pm when we left and he had to practically carry my limping body to the car. he helped me into the passenger seat, buckled me in, then got in himself and started driving.

this time, he took us out of the city, farther than before. away from the lights, the noise, the people. we drove toward the mountains, where everything was quieter and the roads less crowded.

i kept running my mouth the whole ride. rambling about god knows what and he just let me. stayed mostly silent, his hand resting on the wheel, jaw clenched every time i said something stupid or teasing.

finally, he pulled over to the side of the road, a bit off the main path. the place was dimly lit by the last of the sky’s fading gold.

as soon as the engine died, he turned to me, voice low and dry. “you’re running your mouth a little too much, aren’t you?”

i smirked, still hazy from the soju. “then shut me up.”

he looked away for a second, biting the inside of his cheek.

“jungkook.” i murmured, leaning in a little, my voice lower now, softer. “kiss me. please.”

his eyes met mine, then dropped to my lips. my heart stuttered for half a second, but then he leaned in… and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“you are the only one who is drunk right now, y/n.” he whispered. “i don’t want you to feel weird about it later.”

“but i know what’s happening.” i said quickly, desperately. “i’m not that drunk. i swear. i want you to kiss me. i know you want to too, kook… please.”

he swallowed hard at the nickname, jaw tensing before he exhaled and climbed into the back seat.

he looked at me with hunger in his eyes and his legs parted slightly.

“take off your skirt.” he said, his voice rough. “and get over here. sit on my lap.”

i didn’t waste a second. i reached down, unzipped the side of my pencil skirt and slid it off, letting it fall somewhere on the car floor.

i was left in just my panties and i climbed over the console, straddling him in the backseat. one hand braced on the passenger seat, the other gripping his shoulder for balance as i settled into his lap.

he helped me up. his hands firm on my waist, steadying me like my body already belonged there.

his eyes flicked to my lips, lingered, then slowly dragged up to meet my gaze.

“you’re trouble.” he muttered.

my fingers tangled in the collar of his t-shirt, tugging him closer. “and you like it.”

his hands slid up the back of my thighs, gripping them with that same familiar roughness he always used when he wanted to act calm but couldn’t.

“fuck.” he whispered under his breath, eyes flicking down my chest like he was trying to decide whether to ruin me now or take his time with it.

i leaned in, mouth just inches from his. “kiss me, jungkook.”

he didn’t waste another second.

his lips crashed into mine. hot, messy, a little desperate. his fingers dug into my hips, dragging me down harder against the bulge in his jeans. i moaned against his mouth, tilting my head as he licked into me, deep and slow, like he was trying to memorize how i tasted.

his tongue brushed against mine again and again until i was panting into his mouth, grinding down on his lap without even realizing it.

“see?” i whisper against his lips. “not that drunk.”

he smirks against my mouth. “dangerous fucking woman.”

i roll my hips again, dragging the friction right where i want it, right where he’s thick and hard beneath me.

his head falls back against the seat, jaw clenched tight.

“if you keep doing that,” he mutters, voice low and wrecked, “i’m gonna fuck you right here.”

“then do it.” i whisper, eyes locked on his, my voice breathy and daring.

my fingers curl around the hem of his t-shirt, dragging it up his chest, slow enough to make him curse under his breath. he raises his arms slightly, letting me pull it off completely.

his chest is warm beneath my palms, hard muscle under soft skin, and i drag my nails down it just enough to make him hiss.

“you’re really testing me tonight, huh?” he mutters, eyes dark as they drop down to where my panties are soaked through, pressed against the rough denim of his jeans.

i grind down again and he groans, head tilting back against the seat.

“fucking hell, y/n-”

“you said you’d fuck me right here.” i roll my hips again, slower this time, more deliberate. “what happened to that?”

his hand shoots up to my throat, controlling and reminding me who he is.

“take these off.” he says, tugging at the band of my panties, “and ride my cock like you mean it.”

i don’t hesitate.

i slide off his lap just enough to tug them down my thighs and toss them somewhere near the floor of the car. my hands go to the button of his jeans, popping it open, dragging the zipper down, watching the way his cock twitches inside his boxers, already thick and leaking.

i don’t even think. i free him from his boxers, my hand wrapping around him instinctively. he’s so fucking hard it makes my stomach twist.

he grips my hips, pulling me back onto his lap. i hover over him for a second, teasing the head of his cock at my entrance, letting it drag through my slick folds.

his fingers dig into my skin, and he growls, “stop teasing.”

i don’t listen. i line him up, looking right into his eyes as i sink down. slow, stretching, inch by inch.

his head tips back, a low groan tearing out of him.

“fuck, baby…”

i brace myself on his shoulders, grinding down once he’s all the way in. the stretch burns in the best way and i swear i could fall apart just from the way he fills me.

“ride me.” he mutters, breath hot against my neck. “don’t hold back.”

so i move. slow at first, rolling my hips, dragging my pussy up and down his cock in slow, wet pulls. he’s throbbing inside me, jaw tight, hands gripping my waist like he’s about to snap.

his hand drags up my spine, strong and steady, until it finds the collar of my blouse.

“take this off.” he murmurs, voice low, breath hot against my ear. “i wanna see you- see everything while you ride my cock.”

my hands fumble with the buttons, but he doesn’t have the patience. his fingers slip between the fabric, yanking it apart, buttons popping, the sharp rip of fabric breaking through the air.

“fuck- jungkook.” i whisper, half-laughing through the shock, but it’s breathless and aroused. his eyes are on my chest, dark and heavy with hunger.

i reach back, unhooking it, letting the straps fall off my shoulders. he groans when the lace slips away and my bare chest is exposed.

his hands immediately come up, cupping both breasts, rough palms dragging over my nipples, thumbs swiping across them until they’re tight and aching.

“fuck, look at you.” he groans, dragging one nipple into his mouth. “so fucking pretty like this.”

i cry out as his teeth graze me, the sting mixing with the overwhelming fullness of him still buried inside me. i grind down harder, faster, the angle changing and hitting that deep spot inside me just right.

“jungkook. fuck- don’t stop-”

“i’m not.” he groans, switching to the other breast, sucking hard until my back arches into him. “i’m gonna fuck you through it.”

his hands grip my hips again, guiding me now, dragging me down harder with each thrust up. his cock hits so deep i see stars.

“you close, baby?” he pants, his voice all grit and desperation. “that tight little pussy’s squeezing me so fucking good.”

“so close.” i whimper. “fuck, i’m gonna- jungkook-”

he thrusts up harder, slamming into me. “then come. give it to me. make a fucking mess on my cock.”

i fall forward, forehead against his shoulder, nails raking down his back as the orgasm takes me. hard and overwhelming, a white-hot snap that tears a scream from my throat.

“f-fuck- jungkook-!”

my entire body shakes as i clamp down on him, my thighs trembling, heart pounding so loud i can barely hear anything else.

but i feel him.

i feel every inch of him as he keeps fucking me through it, chasing his own high.

“shit, you feel that?” he grits. “how fucking tight you are when you come? gonna make me- fuck-”

his rhythm breaks, rough thrusts turning erratic as he grips my ass with both hands and slams me down one last time.

“gonna fill you up- fuck, take it- take all of it-”

he groans loud against my neck, body locking beneath me as he spills inside, cock twitching deep inside my still-clenching walls.

“jesus- y/n- fucking hell-”

we stay like that, pressed together, sweaty, breathing heavy, my hands tangled in his hair while his face is buried in my chest.

his cock still pulses faintly inside me, warm and thick and i swear i can feel the cum start to drip when i shift slightly on his lap.

he lifts his head after a second, breathless but grinning, eyes half-lidded.

“you ride me like that again.” he murmurs, voice hoarse, “i’m not pulling out next time either.”

i don’t reply. i just kiss him.

and he kisses me back just as hard. like he needs it. like he needs me.

his tongue slides against mine, slow and heavy with want, still tasting like the cigarette from earlier and the soju we drank. his hands roam everywhere, palming my ass, smoothing up my spine, fingers spreading over the back of my neck like he’s trying to keep me there, like he can’t get enough.

“fuck.” he mutters against my lips. “you always do this to me.”

“do what?” i whisper, even though i know.

his eyes flick up to mine. dark, hungry, still a little dazed from the orgasm.

“make me forget where the fuck we are. who i am. everything.”

i smile, breathless. “you’re dramatic.”

he huffs a laugh through his nose and leans back against the seat, pulling me with him. my bare chest is pressed to his now, skin sticky and warm. he hasn’t slipped out yet, still buried deep, still hardening again.

“you’re warm.” i mumble, cheek resting against his shoulder.

he slides a hand down to stroke along the curve of my spine. “yeah? you’re fucking soaked, sweetheart. think i ruined these seats.”

i hum in response, not even embarrassed, just letting my fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. his other hand draws lazy patterns over my lower back, dragging down to the curve of my ass, where he gives a firm squeeze.

“you’re gonna be sore.” he says, almost to himself.

“so?” i murmur.

“so nothing.” he smirks, kissing the side of my face. “just like when you’re sore from the gym. means the work paid off.”

i groan. “you’re disgusting.”

he just laughs, hands still wandering.

we stay like that for a minute, in the dark silence of his car. the windows are still fogged. the air’s thick and humid with the smell of sex and skin and sweat.

eventually, i shift in his lap and feel his cock twitch inside me again. he looks down, brows raised.

“you’re still not done?” i tease, lips brushing his jaw.

“you think i’m gonna be done after that?” he mutters. “with the pussy like yours?”

his voice drops lower, a rasp in the dark. “fucking addictive.”

and then he leans forward, mouth on mine again. hungry, more impatient this time, like he’s already spiraling into round two.

and i don’t stop him.

not even when he lifts me off his lap, lays me down across the backseat, and pushes my thighs apart all over again.

because he’s already inside me again. slipping in too easily, groaning at the mess i’ve made of his cock. his abs flex, every inch of him stretching me open again.

i’m still twitching, too sensitive, too soaked, but he doesn’t give me a break.

“fuck-” i cry out, arching under him. “too much-”

“you can take it.” he mutters, voice rough against my mouth. “you already did. now let me fuck you like i want to.”

he grips my waist hard, holding me down as his hips start a brutal rhythm, dragging thrusts that go deep. the kind of thrusts that knock the air out of my lungs and make my thighs tremble.

i claw at his back, nails dragging over the muscles there. he just groans, burying his face in my neck.

i whimper, lips parted, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “jungkook, fuck-”

he cuts me off with a sharp roll of his hips. “no talking. just take it.”

my head rolls back, breath hitching when he angles his hips just right. “shit- right there-”

“mm, you like that?” he growls.

his words make me clench around him. i feel him twitch inside me. he groans, low and filthy, slamming in harder.

“told you.” he pants, “you’re fucking addicted to me.”

he pulls back for a second, eyes dark and wild, then suddenly lifts my legs, hooks them over his shoulders without warning.

“jungkook-” i gasp, the new angle hitting so deep, i almost sob.

“shh.” he hushes, leaning forward. “let me ruin you like this.”

he bends over me with my legs still hooked over his shoulders, folding me nearly in half. the weight of his body presses me down, pins me there as he starts fucking me harder, rough, relentless, skin slapping on skin.

“fuck, look at you.” he mutters, voice strained. “this pussy’s unreal.”

i moan, voice cracking. “jungkook, i’m gonna-”

“you better.” his hand slips between us, thumb rubbing over my clit without rhythm. sloppy, fast, desperate.

“i wanna feel you cum again.” he grits. “wanna fuck it out of you.”

my back arches. i can’t breathe. it’s too much.

“god, jungkook-” i sob, thighs trembling.

“say my name,” he pants, slamming into me. “let me hear it while you fall apart.”

“jungkook- fuck- jungkook!”

and that’s all it takes.

i break. shatter around him, crying out his name again and again as my body convulses beneath him. he fucks me through it, doesn’t stop, chasing his own high.

“fuck, fuck, fuck- y/n-”

his hips stutter, then he spills into me with a deep, broken groan, thrusts slowing, eyes locked on mine.

we’re both trembling, breathless, his chest still rises and falls against mine, skin warm and damp as the silence settles thick between us. our bodies are flushed, heavy-limbed and worn out, still tangled in the messy aftermath of everything we just did.

after a moment, he finally exhales and leans back, pulling out slow with a soft groan. i wince at the emptiness, at the overstimulation that still lingers like a burn on my skin.

“shit.” he mutters under his breath, reaching for the tissues in the glovebox without saying more. he cleans me first, gentle despite the way he just wrecked me. his hand is warm against my thigh as he wipes the mess between my legs with quiet care.

he tosses the used tissues aside and hands me a few clean ones for the rest. i sit up slowly, still catching my breath, legs trembling slightly as i reach for my panties and wriggle them on. my blouse lies crumpled at my feet and i button it back up clumsily, fingers fumbling over the buttons in the dim light.

he tugs his jeans back on, zips them and throws his black shirt over his head, still not saying anything. it’s not awkward. just… quiet.

once we’re both dressed, he moves to the front seat, leaving the passenger side open. i follow after a beat, carefully crawling into the seat, limbs exhausted. my skirt’s wrinkled and sticking to my thighs and my head’s buzzing from the alcohol and the orgasm and just… him.

he starts the engine again.

the ride back is slow. not a word exchanged. just the soft hum of the tires on the road, the occasional chirp of the night outside and the low bass of a radio station playing something mellow. almost midnight now. the streets are mostly empty.

i curl up in my seat, legs pulled up, head pressed to the cold window. i try to stay awake, but my eyes droop without warning. exhaustion tugs me under, and soon i’m drifting, half-asleep, hair falling into my face.

he glances at me at a red light. then again when we hit a curve. he slows down even more, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting near the gearstick.

he’s careful. so careful.

he drives smoother so my head doesn’t knock against the glass. slows on every bump. doesn’t blast the music. doesn’t say anything. just drives. in silence.

when we finally reach my building, the car rolls to a soft stop at the curb. i blink awake, still groggy, my eyes heavy, body sore in the best and worst ways. the cold from the window seeps into my skin, but i don’t move until i hear his voice.

“we’re here.”

i lift my head, groaning a little as i straighten up. everything aches.

he gets out first, walking around to open my door for me. his hand extends without a word, palm warm as i take it, letting him help me out. my legs feel weak and he wraps an arm around my waist without thinking, steadying me like i might collapse on the pavement.

“you good?”

“barely.” i mutter, leaning into him for support as we make our way to the entrance of my building.

i fumble with my keys when we get to my apartment door and he takes them from me gently, unlocking it himself. i turn to look at him once we’re inside my apartment, the warm light casting a golden hue over his tired face.

“you can stay, you know.” i say softly, glancing up at him. “since you’re already here.”

his eyes flick to mine, unreadable for a second. then he shakes his head, almost apologetic. “nah.” he says, voice low. “i gotta get back.”

i frown. “you sure? you’re really tired.”

“i know.” he gives a small smile, brushing a hand over my arm. “but i’ll be fine. get some sleep, y/n.”

i want to argue, but i don’t. i just nod with my lips pressing together.

he hands me the keys, hoping maybe, maybe he’ll change his mind. but he already stepped back.

“goodnight.” he says.

“goodnight, jungkook.”

and just like that, he turns around, the door clicks shut behind him.

my chest still full of everything i didn’t say.

i don’t know what the fuck we are. i still don’t

all i know is he’ll keeps showing up, keep touching me like he means it, keep leaving like he doesn’t.

and i’ll keep letting him.

this ended up being the longest chapter i’ve written so far :0 and i really put in the effort to make the smut scene stretch out more this time

tag-list: @nikkinikj

© struberri 2025

[struberri]

She's for sure getting pregnant 😂😂😂😂

omg help i’ve thought about this too because considering how many times they’ve had sex by now and all of it raw?? bye

i already have a fixed storyline and that would just stretch it way more than i want ;-;

and y/n’s on birth control anyway, so.. i’m not planning to make her pregnant. but honestly, i could totally write a separate story about a pregnancy plot!

[struberri]

come and see me || jjk

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 06. pound

series masterlist

the apartment smells the same. like vanilla and old smoke. like solitude that’s been lived in. it’s quiet, too quiet after all the noise of him.

i shut the door behind me and drop my keys in the bowl, the jingle louder than it needs to be.

the entire car ride, all i could think about was jungkook and his damn number.

whether i should text him or block it and pretend none of this ever happened. which, let’s be honest, felt impossible.

because no matter how casually we try to play it, i’m already too far in. physically, sure. but emotionally too. and that’s the part i hate the most.

first thing i did when i got in was head straight to the bathroom and take a shower.

i stood under the cold water, letting it dull the heat still lingering on my skin, his heat. the tension, the ache, all of it. and yeah… i felt slightly better.

after drying off, i threw on something light and headed to the kitchen. i took the plan b again, bitter on my tongue and sharp in my throat. i didn’t even bother with food.

i was full.

of everything.

i collapsed onto my bed with my phone in my hand, staring at the screen like it might decide for me.

should i text jungkook?

sure, he told me to. said “text me when you get home.”

but if he really cared, wouldn’t he have insisted on dropping me home instead of just accepting the first bullshit excuse i gave him?

i think about texting jihyo. about telling her what happened. again.

she’d freak out, obviously. ask what’s really going on between us, even though i wouldn’t have an answer. she’d call him names, swear at him like it’s her job and she’d worry. not about him but about me.

and that’s the part that made me put my phone back down.

i just don’t want her to carry this weight too.

it’s already loud enough in my head. already loud enough with jungkook.

-

i put my phone aside, thinking of not texting jungkook.

let’s just forget him. let’s try to.

i knew if i kept seeing him, it’d only ever be sex. hookups. nothing that would mean anything. and i didn’t want that.

he’d ruin me. completely. and the worst part? i think i’d let him.

i closed my eyes, trying to force myself to sleep. i had work in the morning. i needed to function like a normal human being.

but of course, not even five minutes later, my phone buzzed, loud, annoying and wrong at 1:30 in the fucking morning.

i ignored it. probably just some random app notification.

then it buzzed again. twice.

“i swear to god i’ll murder whoever this is.” i muttered, grabbing the phone just to throw it on dnd. but then i saw the screen. not a stupid notification but a stupid person.

jungkook.

i tapped the message.

jungkook:

are you homeless?

i told you to text me

was the sex that bad y/n?

my heart started pounding.

what the fuck.

y/n:

wtf how did you get my number?

jungkook:

some chick chose to ignore the number i gave, so i had to ask the only mutual friend we have

y/n:

namjoon???? oh im going to beat his ass

jungkook:

i’ll beat that pretty ass first y/n

why didn’t you text me?

y/n:

i forgot

oops

i was giggling.

why the fuck was i giggling?

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU Y/N.

jungkook:

forgot?? you looked like you were about to cry when you kissed me bye

y/n:

crying?? my ass

jungkook:

yeah? what was that then. allergies?

y/n:

i’m allergic to dicks actually

yours especially

jungkook:

babe you were grinding on it like it cured cancer

y/n:

i fucking hate you

jungkook:

no you don’t

i stared at the screen, biting the inside of my cheek, trying not to smile.

jungkook:

tell me you’re not thinking about me right now

bet you are

probably still wet

y/n:

i’m going to block you

jungkook:

no you’re not

y/n:

i should

jungkook:

then why haven’t you?

he was right.

i hadn’t.

i couldn’t.

y/n:

shut the fuck up and let me sleep

he left me on seen.

yeah.

so i just put my phone down and turned away from the light, tucking it under my pillow like it didn’t matter.

yeah, me and jungkook hooked up again.

yeah, we’re not a thing.

and yeah, i’ll probably give in again.

but at least i’ll be near him. at least i won’t feel so fucking empty. and with that thought, i let myself drift off to sleep.

because it was easier than facing whatever this is. whatever he is.

and i was too tired to pretend it didn’t hurt.

-

a few weeks passed by like a blur. cold crept into the city air. the mid october chill that made my fingers numb on the steering wheel whenever i drove to him

almost every fucking night.

2 a.m. like clockwork. he’d text, i’d go. no questions and no hesitation.

i didn’t even know what we were anymore. if we were anything. it was just bodies. just sweat. just heat under cold sheets.

and yet… it was driving me insane.

the silence between us louder than the moans echoing off his bedroom walls.

it was eating me alive, but i still showed up. because at least with him, i felt something.

i found out a few days after our second hookup that he’s a professional boxer. he fights in big tournaments and wins them too.

of course he does.

jeon jungkook couldn’t be average if he tried.

he texted me again one night, not at 2 a.m.

it was earlier.

which only meant one of two things: either he lost his match… or he needed to win something else tonight.

i pulled up outside his apartment, without any hesitation. the second i opened the door, he was there.

wet hair sticking to his forehead, a towel slung low on his hips. water dripping from his chest like sweat. like he’d just stepped out the shower just for me.

his hand didn’t waste a second. he pulled me in by the back of my neck and slammed his lips against mine like he needed it to breathe.

his mouth was hot, wild and demanding. he didn’t even let me shut the door. he kissed like he was furious. like something in him had snapped the second he saw me.

and honestly? i loved it.

“bad match?” i muttered against his lips, breathless.

he didn’t answer. he just growled under his breath.

“don’t talk.”

his voice was low and rough.

“just give me your fucking mouth.”

his hands are everywhere. gripping and pulling. and the kiss is rough, hot and desperate.

i tug at the towel first, just to feel the tension in his muscles twitch, just to see if he’s already hard for me. of course he is. i hum against his mouth as my hand wraps around him, slow and teasing.

“you’re always so ready for me, aren’t you?” i whisper, licking into his mouth when he groans.

his hands tighten on my hips, his mouth moving down to my neck, biting hard enough to make me gasp. i dig my nails into his back, arching into the kiss.

he flips us suddenly, pressing me against the wall, his thigh slotting between mine, forcing my legs to spread just enough. “you want it rough?” he mutters against my throat, licking up to my jaw. “say it. tell me.”

“i want it rough.” i breathe, chest heaving.

and that’s all it takes.

he drags my jacket off, my shirt coming with it. doesn’t even unbutton, just tears it open like he’s too impatient for my games now. his mouth drops to my chest, hot and open, tongue flicking over the lace of my bra before his hand yanks it down to expose me.

he sucks hard on one breast, then the other with no rhythm, just hunger. i moan, grinding against his thigh, chasing friction.

he lifts me up without a word, my legs wrapping around his waist and carries me through the hall, lips locked, still kissing me like he’s trying to take something from me.

i drop to my knees the second we reach his bedroom, like my body just knows what it’s here for. the room is still dark, lit only by the amber glow bleeding in through the window, but i don’t need light to find him. i already have his cock in my hand. it’s hot, thick and twitching in my palm.

he groans deep in his chest when i wrap my fingers around him, slow at first, just stroking, watching his abs flex with every breath he takes. his hair’s still wet, falling into his eyes, and fuck- he looks wrecked already. like he’s been waiting for this, for me, for the feeling of my mouth around him.

“fuck, y/n.” he mutters, voice low and rough, “you’re gonna kill me.”

i smirk, licking a long, slow stripe up his shaft, letting my spit coat him.

he jerks at the contact, hips twitching just slightly like he wants to fuck into my mouth already.

i take more of him in, slow and steady, letting the spit gather, letting it drip down my chin, all over my hand. my other hand cups his balls gently, just enough to make him groan, just enough to keep him right on the edge of snapping.

“look at you.” he pants, jaw clenched, eyes burning into mine. “fuck, baby, so messy for me. so fucking good.”

i bob my head, picking up pace, using both hands now, twisting at the base, letting my spit coat him completely. the wet sounds echo in the room. it’s filthy, raw and it only spurs me on.

“shit- y/n, fuck- your mouth is dangerous.” he hisses, bucking slightly.

i moan around him, eyes fluttering. he’s hitting the back of my throat now and i let him, let him feel how deep i can take it, how warm and wet and willing i am for him. tears prick the corners of my eyes and i don’t even care. i want it to feel like too much. i want him to lose control.

his grip in my hair tightens suddenly and he pulls back with a sharp breath, cock slipping from my lips with a wet pop. he’s panting now, chest rising and falling hard and his eyes are wild.

“get on the bed.” he growls. “now. before i come just from your fucking mouth.”

i wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, smiling up at him like i’m proud of the chaos i just caused. “i thought boxers had stamina.”

“don’t test me.” he warns, grabbing me and tossing me on the mattress in one smooth move.

and then his hands are on my joggers.

he strips my joggers off like he’s tearing open a present. fast and greedy, with no care for anything except getting to me. my panties follow next, flung somewhere across the room.

he’s already lying back on the bed, propped up on his elbows, watching me with fire in his eyes. his cock thick, flushed and glistening from the sloppy mess i just made of it.

“get on.” he commands. his voice gravel-deep. low and possessive.

i climb over him slowly, dragging it out on purpose, straddling his waist, letting my soaked pussy glide over the head of his cock without taking him in. just teasing. just enough to make him twitch.

“don’t fucking play with me.” he grits, grabbing my hips hard. “you want it rough? ride me like you mean it.”

“then shut up and take it.” i snap back, slamming down on him all at once. my mouth falling open with a broken gasp at the stretch, the burn, the way he just fills me so deep my thighs shake.

his head drops back instantly, a growl tearing out of him. “fuck- y/n.”

i move without mercy, bouncing on him, dragging my hips forward and back, rolling them so he hits every spot inside me. his hands stay locked on my hips, gripping like he’s trying to keep himself grounded, like i’m pulling his soul out of him with every single grind.

“you missed this?” i pant, leaning over him slightly, my fingers gripping his chest for balance as i fuck down harder. “you missed me?”

“missed this pussy.” he grunts, thrusting up into me now, matching my rhythm. “i missed how tight you get. how wet you are. fuck-”

i moan louder when his hips snap up again, hard, hitting that spot that makes me tremble. “yeah? then take it.” i whisper, leaning in closer, licking the sweat off his neck. “take all of it. fuck me like you mean it.”

he flips us without warning, slamming me into the mattress, cock still buried inside me and starts thrusting down ruthlessly. fast and deep, no pauses, no space to breathe.

“you think you can ride me like that and not expect consequences?” he growls, hand locking around my throat. not tight, just enough to make me dizzy. “fucking brat.”

his pace is brutal now. his hips slamming into mine over and over, the mattress creaking beneath us like it’s struggling to keep up.

i can feel everything. his cock buried so deep, dragging along every soaked, swollen inch of me, the heat radiating off his body.

my whole body’s shaking, hair sticking to my face. i claw at his back, eyes rolling back, but he’s fucking it out of me. i can feel it coming. tight and hot and unbearable. it starts slow, building deep in my gut, then it snaps.

“jungkook- fuck, i’m gonna-”

“come on my cock,” he demands, voice shaking. “right now. let me feel it.” he grunts, thrusting up even harder, faster, so deep it punches the breath out of me.

his words wreck me.

the orgasm crashes through me like a tidal wave. my thighs spasm around his waist, my nails dig into his skin and my back arches on instinct as a loud, broken moan rips from my throat.

i swear i black out for a second.

i can hear myself panting, whining, gasping like i can’t get enough air. everything clenches around him, tight, wet, pulsing and i feel him curse under his breath, grabbing my waist to slam me down harder on him.

“fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he growls.

i can’t even speak. can’t do anything but take it. i’m trembling from how hard i came. my body limp, my brain foggy, pussy still fluttering around him with aftershocks. and he doesn’t stop.

he won’t.

he fucks me through it like he wants another one. keeps dragging it out of me even when i’m whimpering his name, overstimulated and twitching under him.

“you done?” he asks, leaning in close, breath hot on my ear. “or you got more in you?”

i can’t even answer.

my moan is the only response he needs.

and then he pulls out and flips me over.

“good.” he mutters darkly, “because i’m not fucking done either.”

he doesn’t wait.

he presses the tip of his cock back to my entrance, nudging forward so slow, so deep, i feel every thick inch of him fill me. i cry out into the pillow, my fingers gripping the sheets so hard they crumple beneath my palms.

he bottoms out in one long, heavy thrust.

then he pulls back and slams into me again. harder.

and again.

and again.

the sound is obscene, skin slapping skin, wet and loud and brutal. my moans get higher, more desperate with every thrust. my mouth is open but no words come out, just breathless gasps and choked cries as he pounds into me, deeper each time, hips snapping with a pace that feels like punishment.

then he leans down, chest heavy on my back, breath ragged at my ear.

“feel that?” he grits out, his voice gravel and heat. “that’s me ruining you.”

i cry out, because it’s true. every inch of him is wrecking me. stretching me open, fucking the thought out of my head, making it impossible to want anyone else.

he groans, deeper this time and rocks into me again.

“no one’s ever gonna make you feel like this. no one’s gonna fuck you this deep. this rough.”

a strangled gasp rips out of me when his hand snakes around to my clit, circling it with brutal pressure as he stays buried in me, dragging more noise from my mouth, more need from my body, drawing another orgasm from my overstimulated body like he owns it.

“every time you come.” he growls, “i want you to remember it was me. only me.”

his pace is getting sloppy now. desperate like he’s chasing something, like he’s about to lose his mind if he doesn’t get it.

my cheek is pressed to the mattress, mouth open, drooling, moaning every time he thrusts into me. i feel his hand tighten around my waist, keeping me in place while his cock drills into me, hitting that spot over and over like he knows exactly what it does to me.

“f-fuck, y/n-” he groans, voice thick, guttural. “you feel too good. too tight.”

he pulls out just enough to make me whimper, then slams back in, slow but brutal. it knocks the breath out of me, makes my fingers claw at the sheets. my legs are shaking, thighs soaked, and i can feel the mess between us dripping down.

“you’re gonna make me cum,” he mutters, breathless. “fuck, i’m so close. this pussy’s so fucking good.”

i whimper something back, but it’s useless. i’m already gone. i feel it building. tight in my belly, winding up and snapping at the same time.

he slams into me one last time and stays there, buried deep and everything stills.

he groans. right as i feel him twitch inside me. his cock throbs, pulsing again and again as he cums, hot and thick, spilling everything deep inside. it’s messy. his fingers dig into my hips, holding me there while he empties himself completely, his chest collapsing over my back.

i cum right after, body jerking, pussy clenching tight around him and milking every last drop. my moan is long and strangled and raw, my whole body trembling as the orgasm rips through me, leaving me gasping, ruined.

he stays inside me. doesn’t move. just lets himself go soft while his cum drips out around him.

we stay like that, his cock buried in me, our bodies stuck together, sticky, sweaty and shaking.

just lost in it.

another day, another smut

© struberri 2025

[struberri]

come and see me || jjk

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 05. inked deep

series masterlist

i get up from the couch and place my glass down on the table, barely hearing the soft clink over the sound of my own heartbeat. i move in front of him and he’s watching me. he always does.

his eyes dropping to my hand, then rising to meet mine with that quiet and unreadable expression that always makes my stomach twist.

he holds my gaze for a second before slowly reaching out, taking my hand in his. his thumb brushes over my knuckles, his jaw flexes slightly as his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. like he’s biting something back.

“sit.” he says, his voice low and quiet but heavy.

he doesn’t mean the couch.

i glance at his lap, then look back at him with a teasing smirk. my eyes say really? and he just nods, eyes shutting briefly like he’s already imagining how it’ll feel.

my body feels warm all over. like i’ve been dipped in heat. i want to blame the wine, but i know better. it’s him. it’s always been him.

he tugs gently at my hand. it’s not forceful, not demanding. but there’s something desperate in it, like he needs me close, needs to feel me, just to believe i’m real.

i let him pull me in, straddling his lap, my thighs spreading over his. my hand finds his shoulder for balance, the other pressing to his chest, rising fast with each breath. his skin is hot, even through the fabric. he watches every motion like he’s starving for it, like it hurts to see me move that slow.

his hands slide to my waist, fingers squeezing gently. he swallows hard when he sees my lips part slightly. and suddenly, there’s no sound in the room except our breathing.

we’re staring into each other’s eyes like we’re speaking in some language only we understand. i feel like i could live in this silence. or die in it.

his throat bobs as he swallows. i feel his fingers twitch slightly, like he wants to touch more but doesn’t want to rush it.

“what?” i whisper. it’s not really a question. it’s just something to break the silence before it swallows me whole.

he mirrors me. “what?” but there’s a hint of a smirk in his voice. a hint of teasing.

we lean in together at the same time. our foreheads press, breath hits breath and his scent floods into me. cigarettes, leather and something unspoken.

“fuck.” he whispers, and it sounds like a prayer and a curse all at once. his lips are a breath away from mine. like kissing me would ruin him. like not kissing me might kill him.

“i missed you.”

he says it like he didn’t mean to. like it just slipped out and now it’s too late to take it back.

i freeze. because i wasn’t expecting it. i don’t think he was expecting it either.

i don’t have time to answer. he crashes his mouth into mine like he’s starving, like he’s trying to swallow every second we’ve spent apart. and i give in. god, i give him everything. everything i’ve been holding back.

the kiss is messy and deep and too much and still not enough. his hands are all over me, gripping my hips, my sides, my back. like he’s trying to touch everything at once. like he doesn’t know where to start or stop.

i pull his shirt up, over his head and he lifts his arms wordlessly. i follow with my hoodie. our clothes hit the floor with soft thuds. his lips move to my neck, trailing down the untouched side. he doesn’t go near the tattoo. the one he gave me. instead, he chooses new skin to claim.

he sucks hard, tongue flattening against my throat and i moan, quiet and breathy. my hands tangle in his hair, tugging a little, grinding slowly on his lap. i can feel him, hard beneath me. hot and pulsing through the fabric.

“jungkook…” i breathe against his ear. “the bedroom.”

he doesn’t hesitate. he grabs me by the ass and stands in one smooth movement, his mouth never leaving mine.

i cling to him. my legs around his waist and arms around his neck as he carries me down the hall.

we bump into the wall once. laugh into each other’s mouths. he mutters something low and filthy under his breath and it makes me squeeze my thighs tighter around him.

he slams the door open with his foot, doesn’t bother turning the light on. i’m still wrapped around him, kissing him like i’m afraid i’ll forget him if i stop for even a second.

he carries me to the bed and drops me down, climbing on top without pause. his mouth is on mine again in an instant. it’s sloppy, messy and impatient. he kisses me like he’s angry that i was ever gone. our teeth knock and tongues lick into each other’s mouths like we’re starving.

his hands slide over my waist, my stomach, up to my chest, grabbing everything he can like he can’t get enough. i feel his hips grinding into me through the fabric and it’s unbearable. so hot and thick between us.

his mouth drags down my jaw, over my neck, sucking just below my ear before moving lower, kissing down my collarbones, his tongue licking where his lips have already made me ache.

i gasp, fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there. “jungkook- fuck-”

he hums low against my skin, he unclasps my bra, then kisses down further, over the top of my chest, between my breasts, wet open-mouthed kisses that leave trails of heat everywhere. i squirm underneath him.

then i flip us.

and he lets me, falling back onto the mattress with a small groan, his hands still grabbing at my sides as i settle on top of him. i look down at him, flushed, hair messy, lips red and swollen.

i lean down and kiss his chest, slow and teasing right over his sternum, then lower, brushing my lips over his abs.

“still think i’m gonna let you have all the fun?” i murmur, letting my lips hover just above the waistband of his pants.

his hands are already gripping my thighs. “don’t tease me.” he growls.

i smirk. “then stop looking so fucking desperate.”

he doesn’t laugh this time. he grabs me by the hips, flips us again. this time rougher and more desperate. his eyes are dark now, jaw clenched.

“so fucking mouthy.” he mutters, voice dark and his mouth crashes into mine once more.

his hands go to my joggers, yanking them down along with my panties in one rough motion, leaving me bare beneath him. the cool air hits me and i gasp.

his mouth is on my thigh before i can speak. kissing, licking, biting the soft flesh, so close to where i need him. i gasp and grab his hair, thighs twitching as he groans into my skin.

but he doesn’t stay there long.

he crawls back up, slow and heavy, leaves kisses up my stomach, my chest. then he pauses at my breasts.

his tongue flicks over one nipple and he sucks hard, lips hot and wet, hand cupping the other. i cry out, back arching, nails scraping down his back.

“jungkook-”

he pulls back just enough to speak, eyes blown out and hungry. “you want me inside?” he asks, voice wrecked.

“say it.”

“yes.” i breathe, head falling back. “please. i need it.”

he growls low and finally, finally, pulls off his pants. his cock is already hard, thick and heavy in his fist as he jerks it slowly, watching me the whole time.

he settles between my legs and lines himself up, dragging the tip through my slick folds, slow. so slow.

then he sinks in.

inch by inch, deep and unrelenting.

my eyes roll back. i gasp. it’s too much and not enough.

“fuck- look how wet you are for me.” he breathes, eyes locked on mine. “you missed this cock, huh? missed me fucking you like this.”

i moan, nails digging into his shoulders, legs spreading wider. he’s deep, so deep, filling me to the brim with every thick and slow thrust.

his mouth is back on mine. he kisses me while he moves, tongues tangling, lips sucking, breath catching between moans.

his lips grazes over the side of my neck, the other side, but i still feel it. the tattoo. the one he gave me. it starts to burn the second he fucks into me deep. like my skin remembers him. like it knows who it belongs to. every thrust makes it throb hotter, like he’s dragging heat through the ink. like he’s reclaiming it. me.

“so tight.” he growls against my lips.

“feels so good.” i whimper. “you feel so fucking good, jungkook.”

he groans and thrusts deeper, harder. “say my name again.”

“jungk- fuck- jungkook-”

his hips slam into mine with a filthy rhythm, all slick skin and breathless curses. the sound of our bodies fills the room.

i feel everything. every vein, every twitch. he’s there, so deep it aches. he keeps muttering in my ear between thrusts.

“missed this pussy. fuck- i missed how you moan my name when i fuck you deep.”

we don’t stop kissing. even when it gets messier. even when our mouths don’t fit perfectly anymore. we’re panting into each other, cursing between kisses, dirty-talking through the way it builds and builds. every thrust hitting deeper.

i don’t know how long we’ve been at it. ten minutes. fifteen. twenty. time bends around us.

his thrusts start to change.

slower, but deeper. like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me from the inside out. like his body is moving on instinct now, chasing something he’s afraid to lose.

every drag of his cock is thick and perfect. every grind of his hips has me trembling beneath him.

i can’t stop clenching around him. he’s so deep, too deep, it’s almost too much. every thrust feels like he’s pressing right up against something that shouldn’t be touched. but it makes me wetter. makes me cry out into his mouth as he kisses me through it.

“fuck- baby.” he groans, forehead pressed against mine. his voice is barely holding together. “you’re so fucking tight- don’t let go- keep taking it.”

his thrusts get heavier, each one dragging a whimper out of my throat. we’re kissing and panting and losing it together. our mouths can’t even stay connected. it’s too much, too hot, too sloppy. he bites my bottom lip when i moan. sucks it into his mouth, lets it go with a wet pop.

“you hear that?” he pants, slowing his hips down just enough for us both to hear it. the sound of me dripping around him, so slick and messy it echoes in the dark. “you’re making such a fucking mess, baby. letting me ruin this pussy.”

i choke on a breath, nails digging into his back, eyes squeezing shut. “jungkook- i’m gonna-fuck, i’m-”

he grits his teeth and fucks into me harder. slams into me.

“no.” he growls, “look at me when you come.”

he grabs my jaw and kisses me rough, like he wants to taste the moment it happens.

i open my eyes, barely, just as it hits me.

everything goes tight. my stomach coils, snaps, and then explodes all at once. i gasp so loud it breaks the kiss. my body locks up, legs shaking around his waist as i cry out his name. “jungkook- oh m- fuck-”

he groans like he’s been shot. his hips stutter. i feel him twitch deep inside me before he slams in one final time and stays there, buried to the hilt, pulsing as he spills into me.

his mouth drops open against my shoulder, hot breath flooding my skin as he lets out a guttural and broken moan.

“fuck, fuck- y/n-” he’s coming hard, cock throbbing deep inside me as my walls squeeze around him like a vice.

my hands are clutching at him like i’m scared he’ll disappear. his arms are shaking as he holds himself up. we’re both trembling, sweat-soaked, breathless, completely wrecked.

he presses his forehead into the crook of my neck and just breathes.

still inside me. still twitching.

his cum slowly dripping between my legs.

nothing left between us but silence and the sound of our hearts crashing into each other’s ribs.

-

we stay like that for a while.

a couple minutes. maybe more. neither of us speaks.

i can still feel his breath on my neck, hot and uneven. his chest rising and falling against mine. his cock still inside me, softening slowly, but the stretch still lingers. i’m too dazed to move. too full. too tired.

he pulls back eventually, carefully. his body lifting off mine, the weight of him disappearing along with the slow, wet slide of him leaving me. i let out a soft breath. empty again.

he gets off the bed without a word.

i hear the rustle of him grabbing something off the dresser. tissues. i watch him wipe himself down first, slow and quiet. then he walks back over to me, holding a few out.

my arm doesn’t move. i’m too tired to lift it. too soft and wrecked to even try.

he sees that. kneels between my legs instead. doesn’t ask. just… takes care of it.

he cleans me up, carefully and gently. wiping the slow drip of his cum from my thighs.

i don’t thank him. he doesn’t expect me to.

i just lay there, eyes unfocused, staring up at the ceiling as he stands again. he doesn’t go far. just sits on the edge of the bed, naked and quiet.

he lights a cigarette.

i don’t move for a few more minutes. don’t look at him either. i feel the warmth in the sheets where our bodies had just tangled together. it’s already fading.

finally, i sit up. find my bra on the floor first. then my panties. then the joggers.

i feel his eyes on me the second i pull them on. his stare heavy against my back. he watches me dress without saying a thing, smoke curling past his lips.

“you’re not gonna stay?” his voice is low. quiet. maybe more careful than he wants it to be.

i don’t look at him. just step into my pants and say, “no. i have work.”

he doesn’t say anything for a beat. but i feel it, something shift. like he wants to say something but doesn’t. or can’t. like the words are right there and he just… swallows them instead.

he puts his cigarette between his lips again and stands up, slipping into his pair of black briefs.

he follows me out to the living room where the rest of my clothes are. i don’t rush, but i don’t drag it out either. i just want to get out of here. because if i stay one more second, if i look at him too long, if he says the wrong thing, i’ll fall apart. again.

“i’ll drop you home.” he says behind me. “it’s late.”

it’s almost midnight. but i shake my head. “i’ll just get a cab.”

i pull on my hoodie, zip up my jacket. my phone’s already in my hand.

he exhales smoke slowly. watching me.

i walk over to him, slowly. and without warning, take the cigarette from his mouth. bring it to mine and inhale, tasting him on the filter. then lean up, tiptoes needed to reach and press a soft kiss to his lips.

it’s barely anything.

“bye.” i whisper.

he looks flustered for a second. not a lot. just enough to see the crack behind the cocky front. but he doesn’t stop me.

i turn and start scrolling through my phone, opening the cab app. trying to focus on something that isn’t him.

but he steps forward. grabs the phone from my hand gently and says nothing.

he opens the call log, types, saves his number and hands it back.

“text me when you get home.”

i just nod and leave.

-

the air outside hits different. sharper than i expect. cold in a way that settles into your bones when your body’s still warm from someone else.

and i realize, it’s colder without him. but that’s the thing about jungkook. he’s warmth, heat and fire. and if i stay near him too long…

i’ll burn.

AHHH, i took way longer to write this, but i still don’t feel satisfied lol. intense smut is so hard to write ;-;

© struberri 2025

[struberri]

come and see me || jjk

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 04. inked

series masterlist

some nights after work, i’d be so tense it felt like i was vibrating out of my own skin. meetings, deadlines, messages piling up.

i could handle all of that.

what i couldn’t handle was the silence that came after. the stillness of being alone in my apartment with nothing but the hum of the fridge and the taste of him still burned into the back of my memory.

it wasn’t just the lack of sex. it was him.

the memory of jungkook pressing me against the bathroom sink. the sound of his voice groaning against my neck. the glint of that lip piercing just before he kissed me like he wanted to ruin me. the feeling of him deep and slow. his hands gripping my waist like he owned me. his teeth. his scent. the way his tattoos moved across his arms while he fucked me like he was starving.

and the worst part?

my body hadn’t forgotten.

not even a little.

so i touched myself. more than i used to.

sometimes once a night. sometimes twice, if i still felt empty after the first time.

i’d lie back on my bed, freshly showered, skin warm and clean, the sheets cool beneath me.

completely naked.

my hand already between my legs before the ceiling fan even finished its first full rotation.

i thought about his mouth. how wet and filthy it had been against my clit. the way he licked me like it was personal like he had a point to prove.

how he’d looked up from between my thighs, hair messy, eyes blown out and half-lidded, and said, “you want us to get caught, or what?” with the cockiest fucking smirk.

i moaned at the memory. my fingers slipping through slick, circling slowly before dipping inside.

my other hand slid up, palm grazing my stomach, then over my breast, flicking my nipple until it hardened beneath my touch.

i arched into it, hips lifting from the bed, chasing more.

the sound of my own breathing filled the room along with the wet sounds between my legs and the way the sheets crinkled every time i moved.

my legs started shaking.

i rubbed tighter, faster, chasing that heat, that edge.

and then i came.

with a cry that was almost too loud for how alone i was. my back arched, lips parted and body trembling. but even in the afterglow, i felt it again.

that emptiness.

empty in that cold, gnawing way that orgasms couldn’t fill. because no matter how hard i tried, my hands weren’t him.

nothing ever was.

i sat up, dazed, chest rising and falling. i pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes and groaned.

what the fuck is wrong with me?

regret bubbling like poison behind my ribs.

regret for being so stupid.

for letting myself feel this much after a fuck. for pretending it was just sex.

maybe he didn’t care. maybe it meant nothing to him and i was the only one left feeling it all, this burn, this craving, this tension that wouldn’t go away.

i didn’t even have a piece of him.

no number. no message. no photos. no hoodie to wear around my apartment like an idiot. not even a cigarette he left behind.

nothing.

that’s when i started thinking about a tattoo. just an idea, a plan.

pink camellias, soft and shaded, with a gentle stem and thin leaves curving down.

on my shoulder, just below the slope of my neck. the place he kissed the most. well, after my mouth.

it would be my closure. or at least, that’s what i told myself.

i smoked more now, too. not heavy, just often.

during my breaks at work, out by the back stairwell with my earphones in. or at night while cooking, the cigarette hanging from my lips as i stirred noodles or fried eggs, letting the smoke curl around my fingers like ghosts.

it was quiet but peaceful in its own strange way.

the smoke filled the silence a little, cut through the longing which made me feel less alone.

but still, maybe it would’ve been more peaceful if he was with me.

or maybe that was just another lie i told myself when the night got too quiet to bear.

-

i’d never been this excited over a tattoo.

maybe it was the thought of pain. maybe it was the idea of marking myself with something permanent. or maybe it was just the ache of wanting to feel anything again. something sharp enough to cut through the numbness i’d been dragging behind me for weeks.

i didn’t tell anyone. not hwasa, not even jihyo. i wanted it to be a surprise. a secret stitched under my skin before anyone else got to know.

i searched up local tattoo studios while mindlessly chewing on the tip of my pen at work.

i didn’t care for reviews or portfolios or popular artists.

jungkook had been the first man i’d ever touched who had tattoos, who carried them like they were part of his blood.

and now, i think i wanted a piece of that.

i landed on a place close to where i lived. maybe six, seven blocks away from my apartment.

‘inks & roses.’

i checked the website but didn’t scroll too far. the logo looked nice. the name sounded cool, edgy and a little romantic. i didn’t care about the artist portfolios or reviews.

i just called the number listed on their page.

a woman picked up.

her voice had a calm edge to it something smoky, almost deep. she sounded around my age.

“sure.” she said after i asked for a late evening slot, eight o’clock. “we’ve got an opening at eight. i’ll pencil you in.”

simple.

done.

after work, i didn’t waste time. i got home, washed my face, changed into something warm and simple. black joggers, hoodie and my favorite worn-out jacket. my hair pulled back with barely any makeup.

the streets were quiet when i stepped outside. orange light poured from corner shops and closed cafés.

the breeze smelled faintly like smoke and dust and that strange scent that only exists at the end of summer, right before everything dries out and turns to bone.

the studio was tucked between a bakery and a laundromat.

a matte black sign with the shop name printed in blood-red serif.

the moment i stepped inside, i was hit with the scent of cigarettes, leather and antiseptic.

the interior was darker than i expected. black and charcoal-gray walls lined with pinned-up sketches, photos of healed tattoos, old polaroids and scraps of art.

there was a counter by the front and a few chairs off to the side. down the short hallway, i counted four doors, probably separate workrooms. the lighting was low but clean. the whole place felt like someone had poured ink and smoke into a bottle and sealed it.

behind the counter sat a girl with long, dead-straight black hair and choppy bangs that framed her sharp eyes. she wore a tube top despite the chill, exposing her tattooed arms. inked roses, thorns, snakes, words in cursive that disappeared behind shadows.

the moment i walked in, she glanced up from her phone and smiled.

“you must be y/n.”

her voice matched the one from the call.

i nodded. “yeah.”

she stood, grabbed a clipboard from beside her and walked around the counter with practiced ease.

“we’ll be starting in room two. please, follow me.”

and i did, hands in my pockets and heart my beating steady.

-

the woman opened the door and stepped aside, letting me walk in first.

the room smelled like ink and rubbing alcohol.

two men were already inside. one of them was facing me, leaning back in his chair. i could see his face clearly. dark eyes, nose piercing, tattoos covering his neck and arms.

the other one had his back turned, his black shirt stretched tight across his shoulders as he hunched over slightly, elbows resting on his knees. they were mid-conversation.

“hey jay, there’s a client.” the woman said, casually nodding toward me before disappearing down the hallway.

the guy facing me, jay, apparently, stood up with a small smile, giving me a polite nod as he started walking toward the workstation.

“hey. welcome.” he grabbed a clipboard, already in work mode.

the other guy didn’t move. didn’t look at me.

jay pulled on a pair of gloves. “so, first tattoo?”

i nodded, still quietly scanning the room.

“have you already decided what you want?”

i nodded again, reaching into my hoodie pocket and pulled out my phone, opening the photo album and handing it over.

“here.”

and that’s when he turned.

the man in the chair.

his head snapped toward me the second my voice came out, sharp and reactive like his name had been called.

my breath caught.

there he was.

jungkook.

he was leaning back now, fully facing me. his lip ring gleaming faint under the light, messy hair falling across his forehead, tattoos peeking from under the sleeves of his black shirt.

same expression he wore in that bathroom. sharp and cocky in a way that felt dangerous.

he stood up and didn’t say a single word to me. just looked. then he turned to jay.

“hey, jay.” he said, voice low but clear, “can i take this one?”

jay paused, mid-glove tug. “isn’t your shift over.”

“i’ll take yours. i know her.”

the way he said it. i know her. as if he did. as if the entire layout of my body lived in his hands.

jay just smirked, already backing away.

“alright, bro.” he said, patting him on the back and walked out without another word.

jungkook didn’t even look at me again until he was halfway to the hallway. “follow me.”

what a lovely way of saying hello.

i followed him, silently. my heart banging stupidly in my chest.

his room was similar to jay’s. same dark gray walls, same sterile scent, but somehow cleaner and more organized. everything was lined up exactly how it should be.

“sit.” he said, gesturing toward the bench.

i sat.

my palms were clammy. i could barely hold still. i didn’t know if it was nerves or heat or the way my brain wouldn’t stop remembering how he looked above me, inside me, fucking the breath out of my lungs.

“i didn’t know you worked here.” i said finally, voice softer than i meant it to be.

he shrugged as he unpacked things from a drawer.

“just a hobby.” he said like it was nothing. like he wasn’t one of the most intoxicating men i’d ever touched.

he set everything down. small bottles of ink, a sealed needle, antiseptic, gloves, stencil paper. his movements were precise.

“show me the sketch.”

i handed him my phone. he looked at the image for a long time. his gaze lingered, on the screen and then on me.

“pink camellias.” he murmured. like he knew. like he really knew what they meant.

his eyes locked onto mine. something flickered behind them. recognition or maybe memory.

“alright.” he said, setting the phone down. “where do you want it?”

i turned slightly, pulled my hair away from my neck and gestured.

“here. starting at the back of the neck, down across the shoulder.”

his jaw flexed, just slightly. he gave a quiet nod.

then came the gloves. he snapped the black latex on with both hands, rubbing his fingers together as he sat on the rolling stool in front of me.

“take it off. your jacket and hoodie.”

his tone was low, calm and dangerously familiar.

like he was repeating something he’d already said, just in a different room.

i looked at him for a second. he didn’t blink.

so i obeyed.

pulled off the jacket. then the hoodie.

and there i was, in my fucking hot pink bra with tiny black polka dots and a hello kitty stitched right on the left cup.

kill me.

his mouth twitched and then, he fucking laughed.

he laughed.

“don’t laugh.” i said deadpan.

he looked up, eyes heavy with amusement.

“cute.” he said, not even trying to hide his grin.

i rolled my eyes. “shut up.”

-

he prints the sketch on a stencil, eyes narrowed in concentration, hands moving like he’s done this a thousand times. of course, he has but still, it feels unreal. him doing this for me.

he pours some cold liquid over the spot where the tattoo will go and it hits me like a kiss. not the kind you remember, but the kind that makes your chest ache. i close my eyes, still as stone, while the stencil sets against my skin.

i cannot believe i’m doing this.

i’m letting jungkook tattoo me.

jungkook. the man who’s been etched into my thoughts every night since that goddamn party, is about to ink me permanently. mark me again, not with fingers or teeth this time, but with something he’ll leave on my skin forever.

my heartbeat is louder than the buzz of the studio. i can feel his gaze slide across me when he thinks i’m not watching.

the way his eyes linger at my cleavage, my lips, how my hands are fidgeting in my lap. i’m trying to hold it together, this storm of tension sitting thick between us like fog, but i know he’s doing the same. i see it. in the way he shifts in his seat. in the way he keeps licking that damn lip ring like it’s the only thing grounding him.

he pulls the stencil away after a while. the temporary ink clings to my skin like it belongs there. when i look in the mirror, i have to stop myself from exhaling too loud. it’s beautiful. it’s exactly what i imagined.

he doesn’t say anything as he sets up. i don’t either. he gestures for me to lie forward on the bench, chest pressing into the cushion, neck exposed just enough for him to work. i can’t see him from this angle, but i can feel him, close.

that quiet hum of the tattoo machine turning on sends a rush through my body that lands straight in my stomach.

“you ready?” he asks, voice low.

i nod.

“it’s gonna hurt a little. don’t move, yeah?”

another nod. i’m not sure i could speak even if i tried.

then the needle touches my skin.

it’s sharp and precise. god, it burns but in the way you like when you need to feel something real. i squeeze my eyes shut, grip the bench harder. his gloved hand steadies the edge of my shoulder as he begins tracing the lines.

he works in silence, focused and careful. i feel the drag of the machine, the pause of his breath as he shades the leaves, the little swipes with a cloth to keep the skin clean. every now and then, he checks in.

“you good?”

“no, idiot. it feels amazing.” i mutter into the cushion.

he snorts quietly. i hear a bottle cap twist, feel a water bottle nudge against my arm. he hands it to me mid-break and watches as i drink. his eyes drop to my lips again and i catch him staring when i lower the bottle.

nearly two hours go by. the tension hasn’t dropped for a second. the ache in my body isn’t just from the tattoo anymore.

when he finally finishes, he wipes down the area and wraps it in clear film. “done.” he says.

i pull my hoodie and jacket back on, feeling the sting of fresh ink against cotton and skin.

he starts explaining the aftercare routine. don’t peel, no sun, clean it gently, let it breathe- but i don’t hear half of it. i’m too busy watching his lips move. how soft they look. how familiar they feel. how easily they ruin me.

he notices.

and i know he notices, because he pauses mid-sentence, his mouth parting slightly. like he’s about to say something else but thinks better of it.

i get up and head to the door. i mouth him a small ‘thank you’ but before i can open the door all the way, i feel fingers around my wrist.

i turn.

“are you free right now?”

his voice is deeper than it should be. it’s throatier and rough. he’s staring at my mouth again, then my eyes, then my neck.

“yeah?” i manage. “why?”

as if i didn’t already know.

his grip on my wrist doesn’t loosen. his thumb presses lightly into my pulse point.

“come with me.” he says. “to my place.”

i stare. into his eyes. the black of his pupils. the glint of his lip ring when he licks it again, slow like he knows it drives me insane.

i swallow.

“alright.”

he smiles. barely. just a twitch in the corner of his mouth like he didn’t expect me to agree so quickly.

“wait outside for me.”

i nod. start turning toward the door again when i hear him again.

“wait.”

i look back.

and then his mouth is on mine.

with no hesitation. no warning, just heat, just hunger, just him. his hand finds my cheek, the other still tangled with mine. it’s messy, a little desperate, our noses bump and teeth scrape but it’s the only thing i’ve wanted for days. maybe longer.

he pulls back just enough to breathe and bites his bottom lip.

“i’ll see you outside.” i whisper.

he lets go and backs away.

i leave the room without looking back.

the girl at the counter is now smoking. i pay for the tattoo. she doesn’t say much, just gives me a small smile like she’s seen this kind of thing before.

the air outside is sharp, the kind that finds its way under your skin. the fresh tattoo stings and my chest feels too full.

a few minutes later, i hear the door open.

jungkook steps out, wearing a puffy jacket, a helmet in one hand, keys in the other. he says goodbye to the woman, heads straight toward me.

his bike is parked right there. a black harley that looks just like him. it’s sleek, intimidating and impossible to ignore. he hands me a helmet without a word, watching the way i take it from him. he mounts the bike and pats the seat behind him.

i get on.

one of my hands on his shoulders. his body feels warm infront of my chest.

he starts the engine.

and as we pull onto the road, he tilts the mirror, just enough to see my face.

-

the ride to his place was short, barely five minutes but it felt longer with the way the air thickened between us. he didn’t speak. he didn’t need to. not when i could feel the weight of his stare from the rear view mirror every few seconds.

i caught him watching and when our eyes met, i didn’t look away.

“what?”

it left my lips too soft, like i didn’t really want him to stop.

he didn’t answer, of course.

when we reached, he killed the engine with one sharp twist, the low purr of the bike cutting out into the quiet night. the air turned colder the second we stepped off. he walked ahead, his strides lazy, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t taking me home with him like this.

in the elevator, we didn’t talk either. the silence heavy. our fingers brushed once, twice, nothing more. but that was enough. enough to shoot a jolt right to my chest, enough to make me press my thighs together when he wasn’t looking.

his apartment was on the fourth floor. when he slid the key in, he didn’t fumble. he pushed the door open like he’d done this a hundred times, like it was just another night. maybe it was. but not for me.

his place smelled like him. smoke, leather and whatever cologne he wore which was warm, masculine and lingering in the air like a ghost.

he tossed his keys and wallet on the table by the entrance.

“sit.” he said. low and casual, like he wasn’t watching me the whole time.

i followed and took off my jacket as he did. his living room was minimal, dark toned and clean, sleek in a way that felt effortless. like he didn’t care, but still knew how to make it look good.

he walked over to a glass cabinet. the liquor bottles lined up like a quiet promise and opened it like a ritual.

“wine?”

he asked it over his shoulder, already reaching for the bottle.

“sure.”

he came back with two glasses and a deep red bottle already breathing. he poured, handed me one without brushing my fingers- almost. almost.

he sat next to me, but not too close. maybe a foot away. enough to keep us separate. enough to make it unbearable. he leaned his hips forward a bit, elbows on the head rest and the glass resting loose in his hands.

he took a sip but didn’t say a word.

i hated the silence, but i didn’t want to ruin it either. it felt like something was waiting in the quiet. something sharp and inevitable.

still, i cracked first.

“nice house.”

god. why did i say that.

he smiled a little. just the corner of his mouth tugging up. not smug. not amused. more like… knowing. like he was letting me have that one.

“thanks.”

just that. then he looked down at his glass again, thumb sliding along the rim once before he took another sip.

the silence came back. but it wasn’t empty. it buzzed, pulled and pressed against my skin like something alive.

and under it all… i could feel it building again.

the same thing from that night.

the way he looked at me like i was already undressed. the way my body remembered the sound of his voice when he growled in my ear. the way i couldn’t stop clenching my thighs.

i stared at his hand for a moment. his fingers. the way his veins ran under the surface, up his arm, into the tattoos i hadn’t even dared to memorize that night.

i wanted to touch him. i wanted to let myself give in again.

but he beat me to it.

he turned to me slowly, wine still in his hand. his voice low.

“you wanna talk?”

his tongue ran over his lip piercing like it meant something.

“or do you want me to shut you up?”

i nearly dropped the glass. my throat tightened.

he set his drink down on the coffee table. his legs spreading slightly and his eyes didn’t leave mine once.

“come here.”

THEY ARE BACK

© struberri 2025

[struberri]

come and see me || jjk

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 03. aftermath

series masterlist

i had left the party after a few more minutes. said my goodbyes to hwasa, namjoon and jackson- well, at least i tried. they were so drunk they couldn't even wave straight at me.

namjoon had that sleepy grin on his face like he was seconds away from passing out standing up and hwasa was halfway through telling a story about a wine bottle that may or may not have been hers.

the rest of them were scattered. either eating, smoking, dancing or yelling over each other. doing what drunk people do when the night starts bleeding into something messier.

i didn't say goodbye to jungkook. not properly.

just a look.

a long, weird look that didn't really mean anything but also maybe meant too much. one of those looks that hangs between you and someone else when you don't know what to say, so you say nothing at all.

no wave. no smile. no exchange of numbers or ‘hey let's do this again’.

just silence, heat and then the sound of the door behind me.

maybe it was just a casual hookup.

a random night, one of those mistakes you shove under the rug and never talk about again.

that's what i told myself.

and i stuck with that thought all the way down the elevator, across the lobby and while driving my car.

then i walked into the drugstore like nothing happened and grabbed a plan b.

because, you know, no one wants to end up pregnant without a baby daddy.

real classy, right?

-

i reached home around midnight, tossed my boots somewhere near the door, jacket half off my shoulder and i didn't even bother turning on the big lights. just the soft lamp near the TV.

i collapsed on the couch for a second. my legs sore, lips swollen and pussy aching in that good but dangerous way.

and before i could even think about it, my fingers were already typing.

y/n:

i hooked up and uh fucked up..

i didn't expect her to respond. the girl's always busy with meetings, projects, post-midnight editing shit, whatever it is she does on her laptop with five iced coffees stacked beside her but she replied in instantly.

jihyo:

BITCH WHAAAT???

i smiled. like an actual idiot.

like the kind of idiot who blushes after a one night stand with a hot stranger whose number she doesn't even have.

which, no. i reminded myself, hard. this isn't anything. it was a fuck. just a really, really good one.

but i couldn't stop my thumbs from flying across the screen.

i told her everything. from namjoon's apartment to the stupid medusa game to how the music got louder and the touches got bolder. how his lip piercing felt against my mouth. how i ended up in namjoon's bathroom, pressed against the counter with jungkook's tongue between my legs and his cum dripping down my thighs. and how jin kept banging on the fucking door like his ass was about to explode.

her responses came fast. she was shook like it was the first time i ever got laid.

jihyo:

WHO THE FUCK IS THIS MAN

wait not the bathroom..

NOT JIN OUTSIDE ABOUT TO SHIT HIMSELF LMAOOO

i had to tell her the rest. of course, i couldn't keep it away from her. the part where he made me come. not once but twice. his hands. his mouth. the way he looked at me in the mirror while he fucked me like he owned me.

after all she is my bestfriend.

and of course, jihyo was ecstatic.

jihyo:

FINALLYYYYY

THE BAR IS SO LOW IM SICK

LOOKS LIKE THE D WAS FIRE

GOD BLESS HIM

IM MAKING A PRAYER CIRCLE FOR HIM RIGHT NOW

i rolled my eyes, but i couldn't stop grinning.

because she was right. my past hookups were a joke. they barely touched me right. always rushing, always focused on themselves and never cared if i got off, never noticed the way i faked it.

but jungkook?

he noticed.

and he made sure i felt everything.

still, i tried to brush it off. i told her it was just a hookup. a one-time thing. nothing serious. nothing worth asking namjoon for his number over.

jihyo:

so ask namjoon for his contact??

y/n:

nah

it was just sex

i'm not planning to meet him again

even as i sent it, my mouth went a little dry. because it sounded like a lie. because maybe i didn't believe myself.

but still. i said it. typed it out like it was final.

just a one night stand, right?

right.

-

the sunday went by quick, like most of my sundays. slow mornings, some cleaning, a little too much time spent doom scrolling on my phone.

but the only thing that made it different this time was him.

that fucking man.

i kept thinking about jungkook.

not on purpose. i wasn't even trying to.

but i opened tiktok and some random guy with forearm tattoos and black hair popped up on my fyp and my brain just glitched.

like okay. was this man even half as attractive as jungkook? no. not even close.

but still. the resemblance was enough to have my mind spiraling.

then later, when i was cleaning dishes like a responsible adult, my stupid head decided to run a vivid scene of him pressing up behind me, his hands on my hips, mouth at my neck, telling me how much he missed me while rubbing his cock between my thighs.

great. amazing.

thank you, brain.

i actually looked up from the sink and whispered. "oh my god, y/n, what the fuck is wrong with you."

like some kind of exorcism would help.

and ofcourse jihyo did not tease me at all. like not even once every hour.

not even one "sooo did he text yet?" or "u dreaming about that tongue again?" not even a meme.

ugh. fuck my life.

-

monday morning back at work was...awkward.

awkward enough for me to walk into the office pretending i hadn't just been railed in our co-worker's bathroom two nights ago by one of his closest friends.

which, honestly, is not as easy as it sounds.

i was pretty sure namjoon and hwasa knew. i mean, how could they not?

either namjoon figured it out himself cause he's way too observant for his own good or jin told him. or maybe he told the whole group because why wouldn't he broadcast the fact that he nearly shat himself because the bathroom was occupied by two people fucking like animals.

and of course, jungkook is their best friend.

so yeah. they probably knew.

i tried to act normal, sat at my desk, opened my laptop and typed something just to look busy.

then namjoon walked by and did that smile. the polite, innocent one that almost always hides a shit eating grin underneath.

he casually leaned against my desk and in the most nonchalant tone imaginable, asked me.

"so... what's going on between you and jungkook?"

as if he didn't know.

as if i wasn't one second away from turning into dust.

i blinked at him, deadpan. "seriously?"

he laughed. like full dimple, shoulders-shaking laugh and thank god, he didn't push it.

namjoon's respectful like that. he knows how to keep things private when they need to be.

he didn't mention it again, didn't prod, didn't try to make it weird.

i did apologize, though. for using and, um, defiling his bathroom.

he waved it off. "as long as no one broke the sink, i don't care."

-

and then there was hwasa. who, unlike namjoon, did tease me. but in a chill, no pressure, just for fun kind of way.

she gave me that look when she walked in. the look that said bitch, i know exactly what you did and i'm proud.

"sooo... you and tattoo boy?" she whispered when we were alone in the break room.

i gave her a stare. "don't."

she smirked, but backed off.

hwasa never pried. she respected my space, always had.

she understood what it meant to keep certain things for yourself and honestly, i was grateful for that.

plus, she totally got it. she knew i was old enough to make my own messes and if one of those messes happened to involve the hottest guy at the party with a tongue like that and a body built for sin... well. who was she to judge?

"good for you, babe." she said. "raging sex hormones are meant to rage."

i just groaned and buried my face in my hands.

because yeah. monday was awkward.

not unbearable, but enough to make me think twice before walking into a party full of mutual friends again.

so i spent the rest of the day glued to my screen. pretending i was fine, replying to emails like i hadn't been bent over a sink less than forty-eight hours ago.

-

the days passed, frustratingly normal.

same old shit at work. the same coffee from the espresso machine, emails, meetings, small talk in the break room. same lunch with namjoon and hwasa, both of whom thankfully stopped bringing up that night, even though i sometimes caught namjoon biting back a smirk whenever i asked him to pass the soy sauce.

same commute back home to my tiny apartment that felt colder than usual, no matter how high i turned the heater or how many times i changed the sheets.

and maybe that was the worst part. not the routine, not the silence. but the ache and the absence.

after the night with him, i'd been sexually frustrated like never before. it was pathetic.

i'd be doing completely normal things like folding laundry, pouring cereal, scrolling through tiktok and suddenly my thighs would clench and my brain would short circuit with the memory of jungkook's hands. his mouth. his voice. the way he held my waist like he didn't want to let go.

so yeah. i cracked.

jihyo, being the menace she is, she knew something was wrong and she also knew what was wrong. 

so she would take, force me to a club that friday night.

"we're fixing your mood tonight." she said, throwing half my closet on my bed. "if jungkook won't give you another round, we'll find someone who will."

i let her. i let her dress me, drag me out, pour tequila down my throat and press me into the smoke thick air of a downtown club with bass heavy music and guys who couldn't keep their eyes off our legs.

we danced. we drank. we laughed. but nothing clicked.

a few guys tried though.

one of them had good arms but ruined it by calling me 'buttercup' after one drink. like why would you even call me that.

another one reeked of body spray and had the nerve to brag about his crypto gains.

i don't remember the rest. none of them really mattered.

jihyo would glance at me every time i pulled away from another guy. she never pressured me.

she just knew.

she always knew.

she'd look at me with that half smile that said, you're trying, but you already know who you want.

i got in bed that night alone, like always. my thighs still aching and mouth still dry. still haunted by the press of his lips and the sharp sting of his teeth on my neck.

and in the morning, i thanked jihyo. i texted her a simple message.

y/n:

thanks for trying

i know i'm being difficult

to which she replied after some minutes.

jihyo:

you're not

you're just human

and maybe in love, idk

to which i immediately replied.

y/n:

shut up

jihyo:

🤡🤡

classic.

but the truth is, she never made it weird. she didn't say “i told you so” or push me to talk about it more than i wanted. she just held space for me. like best friends do.

i told her not to carry the burden. told her i could manage. told her it would pass. and she just said, "you don't need to rush. you'll know what to do. whether it's letting him go or waiting for him to come back."

and maybe that was what i needed to hear.

because deep down, i wasn't waiting for another hookup. i wasn't waiting for some club guy to fuck the memory out of me.

i think i was waiting for him. or time.

or maybe both.

let’s appreciate y/n and jihyo’s friendship in this chapter :(

© struberri 2025

[struberri]

come and see me || jjk

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 02. heat

series masterlist

the second the door clicks shut behind him, it’s like something breaks.

you barely hear the lock slide. he doesn’t waste a second before his hands are on you, gripping your waist, his body pressing you back into the door, his mouth crashing into yours like he’s waited his whole life to taste you.

he kisses like he’s trying to take something from you and maybe you’re giving it, maybe you want to.

his lips are hot and rough, mouth parted and open, his tongue licking into yours like it’s not even about the kiss, like it’s about control. his lip ring is cold against your bottom lip, the sharp edge scraping your mouth with the metal taste of smoke and liquor.

you moan. shamelessly.

he groans in response, low in his throat like it’s pulling something out of him.

you drag your hands up his chest through the fabric, your fists bunching in his black button-down, pulling at the buttons of his shirt, totally frustrated, needing to feel him.

your hands slide over his hot skin. he groans into your mouth when your nails scrape across his chest.

his hands are on your jacket, pushing it down your arms roughly, like he doesn’t care if he tears it.

“off.” he mutters into your mouth.

“take this off.”

you do as he says. your tank top next. he helps, impatiently, yanking it over your head, leaving you with a lace bra with a tiny bow in the middle.

“cute.” he says with a slight smirk while licking his lips before he unclasp your bra like he didn’t just call it cute a second ago. the straps slip off your shoulders, letting it fall between you.

his mouth goes straight to your chest. he sucks your nipple into his mouth like he’s starving.

his tongue flicks over it while his other hand rolls the other between his fingers, pinching hard enough to make you gasp.

you whimper, arching into his mouth.

your back hits the door again. your nails dig into his arms, dragging down muscle and ink.

he moans into your breast. his teeth graze your nipple and he sucks again. sloppy, wet and perfect.

“jungkook-” your voice cracks.

you peel your jeans down quickly. roughly. your breath stutters when you feel your bare skin.

“fuck.” he breathes, he breathes when you’re bare in front of him. his eyes drag down your body like he’s seeing skin for the first time.

he swallows. you watch his throat move and his jaw twitch.

“you’re- fuck y/n, you’re insane.”

you just smirk, fingers trailing over his tattoos. the ones carved down his arm. you touch his chest and his abs. his muscles flex beneath your palm.

he leans in, his mouth at your neck now, leaving wet and messy kisses on your skin. his lips dragging over your jaw, your collarbone and your throat.

ugh.

you grab at his belt, your fingers shaking slightly with how hard your pulse is pounding.

he watches you. he doesn’t help, just smirks like he’s letting you do it like he likes watching you struggle to get him naked fast enough.

his jeans hit the tile with a thud.

your back hits the bathroom door again as he crashes into you, hands grabbing at your thighs, lifting you until your legs wrap around his waist.

you’re both still in your underwear, bare skin everywhere else.

his hand slides under the waistband of your panties and his fingers find your pussy like he already knows what he’ll find there.

“you’re soaked.” he says against your neck, his voice sharp and low, half amazed.

“yeah, no shit.” you pant, nails digging into his shoulders.

he drags two fingers through your folds, slow and teasing, spreading the slick over your pussy, making you shiver.

he starts rubbing slowly. his fingers circling your clit with perfect pressure.

your head tips back and hits the door.

his mouth latches onto your throat, kissing and sucking marks into your skin like he wants to leave proof.

“i wanna taste you.” he mutters, lips still at your neck.

“then fucking do it.”

he sets you down, eyes locked on you as he drops to his knees in front of you.

you climb onto the counter beside the sink. the marble feels cold but his mouth doesn’t.

he pulls your panties off slowly, his eyes trailing over your thighs and your pussy like he’s obsessed, like he’s high on the sight of you.

and then he dives in.

his mouth is everywhere. his tongue feels hot and thick, licking into you like it’s the only thing he wants, like he needs to make you come before he even thinks of fucking you.

you moan, your head hitting the mirror behind you.

he moans into your pussy and the vibration makes your hips jolt. your thighs begin to tense around his head, your legs keep trembling trying to close, but his hands keep them open.

he holds you wide, his firm grip is digging into your skin and tongue flicking at your clit until you’re gasping.

“fuck- jungkook- oh my god.”

your fingers tangle in his hair, yanking him closer, pressing his mouth harder against your soaked pussy like you need him deeper.

he groans again like your moan turns him on more than anything like the taste of you is his.

you can hear the music still thumping through the walls but you’re panting, moaning and trying to keep it quiet but failing.

“jesus christ.” he mutters, pulling back slightly, his mouth slick and his chin wet.

“do you want us to get caught or something?”

you bite your lip, breathless. “i’d like that.”

he fucking smirks and goes back in, this time with his finger. he eases one finger inside you, slow at first. then two.

his fingers are long and perfect, curling deep, finding that spot instantly. he starts thrusting them, fast and deep, your wetness coating his knuckles.

his other hand keeps rubbing your clit.

you’re shaking already.

“do you like it? huh?” he questions, even though he already knows the answer.

you love it.

“jungkook, fuck- i’m-”

he doesn’t stop, your pussy convulsing around his fingers desperately, you grind down onto them shamelessly, chasing it.

your body shook uncontrollably, your heart thumping loudly in your chest.

a ripple of orgasm washed over you. you fall apart with his name on your tongue.

he pulls his fingers out with a wet sound, sucks them into his mouth, groaning at your taste. then he kisses your pussy once. twice.

he pulls of his briefs, leaving him fully exposed before you. his cock is hard, thick, leaking and heavy in his palm.

you look down and your mouth goes dry.

you stroke him once, twice, fingers wrapping tight around his cock. he hisses.

“shit.”

he doesn’t wait and kisses you roughly. you feel him forward, the tip of his cock rubbing against your entrance.

you’re still so wet, it’s no problem at all.

when he slides in, you both moan. his forehead falling to your shoulder.

“fuck.”

his voice breaks in your ear. “you’re so warm. so fucking tight.”

he doesn’t wait. he starts moving immediately, his hips snapping forward, filling you with every thrust.

you’re pressed up against the mirror now.

steam is fogging the glass behind you.

your fingers are tangled in his hair, his mouth on yours, his cock buried deep, pounding in again and again.

“you feel so fucking good.” he growls.

you can’t even speak.

your moans are ragged, his name comes out broken. he fucks you like he wants to ruin you.

and you let him.

you want to be ruined by him.

his grip on your thighs tightens as he rams deeper, your body jolting with every thrust, your back sliding slightly along the counter with the force of it.

he fucks like he doesn’t care about anything except being inside you like he needs to chase it, your moans, your pussy, your reactions.

and he gets all of it.

he reaches up and grabs your jaw mid thrust, forces your eyes on his.

“look at me.”

you do.

his stare is dark, pupils blown wide and sweat sliding down his temple.

“you’re taking it so well,” he groans. “fuck, you’re perfect.”

you feel delirious like you’re floating and being wrecked at the same time.

his abs tighten, the muscles in his arms flexing as he pounds harder, dragging filthy sounds from your mouth.

he pulls out suddenly, breath ragged.

“turn around.”

your hands brace on the fogged-up counter before your brain even catches up.

you hear his voice behind you. “bend over for me, baby.”

you do.

your knees trembling and your core already aching. you’re a dripping mess.

he slides back into you from behind in one thick thrust and the noise you make is inhuman.

“fucking hell.” he hisses.

“this pussy-”

he starts moving again, this time harder and faster, his fingers gripping your hips like he’s holding on for dear life.

you both look up in the mirror in front of you. it’s steamed and blurry but not enough to hide the way you both look.

he catches your gaze in the glass and doesn’t look away.

“you see that?” he grins, dark and wild.

“look at yourself. look how you take me.”

you can’t.

you’re already falling apart.

his hand slides up your back and wraps around your throat, slightly choking and anchoring you there as he slams into you over and over again.

“you wanna be fucked like this, don’t you?” he leans down, mouth against your ear. “right?”

you moan, loud. you can’t even hide it.

his hand slips from your throat to your clit and starts rubbing again, roughly on rhythm.

you choke out a sound that barely sounds like a name. your walls flutter around him and he groans, like he’s on the edge himself.

“shit, gonna come-”

“inside.” you breathe, half begging, half crazed. “just- fuck- come inside me-”

his rhythm stutters and grip tightens. then he’s spilling into you with a deep and guttural groan, his hips still moving, pressing it all in.

you’re not done.

your second orgasm hits like a crash. your hips jolting, mouth open, moaning into the mirror while his hand doesn’t stop moving on your clit.

your whole body clenches and your vision whites out.

it’s so fucking messy. your arousal mixed with his cum drips down your thigh, but neither of you care.

you stay like that both breathing heavy, his hands still gripping your waist, your forehead against the mirror. sweat sticks to your skin.

everything smells like sex.

BANG BANG BANG

“YA!”

you jump.

“what the fuck. open this door! i want to take a big fat shit.” it’s jin. his voice sounds absolutely betrayed.

you both freeze then burst out laughing.

jungkook kisses your shoulder, then your neck, still catching his breath.

“he’s gonna kill us.”

you turn around. his hair’s a mess and he looks fucking pleased.

you kiss him again. deep and slow this time like the world doesn’t exist outside this bathroom.

you don’t know how long you kiss him.

but you don’t want it to end and maybe he doesn’t either.

eventually you get dressed. he helps you clean up. your legs barely work.

you open the door first.

jin’s standing outside, his face twisted in absolute disbelief, like the sheer nerve of you two has wiped his entire bowel system.

he just stares.

jungkook comes out behind you, smirking and adjusting his belt.

“sorry, hyung.” he says, completely unapologetic.

you just walk away. your knees still weak, pussy sore and his cum still inside you.

you already know you’ll think about this for days and you already want him again.

uff, i typed it with one hand btw

© struberri 2025

[struberri]

come and see me || jjk

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 01. smoke

series masterlist

the music is low, the room is warm with bodies and chatter, a kind of glowing, drunken contentment beginning to settle in and as if cued by some invisible conductor, namjoon steps into the center of it all and claps twice and loud, like a school teacher.

“alright guys.” he grins, cheeks still soft from the last laugh. “before the party officially starts, let’s play a game.”

there’s a collective murmur of approval, followed by the scrape of furniture, the rustle of bodies shifting.

yoongi, who’s now sitting half-slouched with a beer in hand, doesn’t even lift his head. “why does this sound like a terrible idea already.”

“because you’re a lazy fuck.” taehyung you believe, shoots from across the room, voice smooth and a little too quick. yoongi rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.

namjoon grins, proud of whatever nonsense he’s about to unleash. “we’re playing beware the gaze: medusa’s tipsy stare-off.”

“everyone gets a shot in front of them.” he says, already ushering people toward the large low table in the center of the room, bottles clinking as someone lines up the glasses.

“when i say go, everyone looks down. we count to three. on three- you look up at someone. if you make eye contact with a person who’s looking right back at you, you both shout ‘medusa!’ whoever says it last drinks. if no one makes eye contact, no one drinks.”

“so we’re getting drunk off eye contact now.” hwasa snorts

“it’s dangerous.” hoseok murmurs, too amused. you had heard his name during the party.

“it’s fucking genius.” jackson mutters beside you.

you let yourself be pulled into the circle, wedged comfortably between hwasa and jackson.

jungkook is two people to your left, his arms crossed across his chest with a cocky smirk.

just how badly i want to wipe that smirk off his lips.

the table is chaos. shot glasses everywhere. namjoon passing out instructions with the kind of unbothered command that reminds you why he’s good at leading people.

you make eye contact with jungkook briefly before the first round. it’s not intentional. or maybe it is. he’s listening to taehyung and you’re fixing your hair. but your eyes meet and stay for half a second or maybe more but you look away first.

“heads down!” namjoon announces.

everyone looks down at the table, laughter already building in their throats. someone starts counting. “one… two… three!”

your head lifts. you look directly at hwasa and she’s looking at someone else.

across the circle, two other voices scream in near unison. “medusa!”

one groans and knocks back the shot.

the next few rounds are loud and full of drunken noise. every combination you can imagine. friends catching each other by accident, some people trying to be strategic, others just reckless.

you sip your drink slowly between turns, pulse even, half-listening to jackson’s commentary and hwasa’s teasing remarks. you’re good at being calm, good at keeping it casual.

but then the fifth round hits and you lift your eyes, aiming lazily toward jungkook and he’s already looking at you.

his dark brown eyes, slightly hooded, half-lidded in the way that makes his stare feel heavier than it should.

he doesn’t smile. doesn’t even blink. just looks.

your breath snags for a second. both of you don’t say anything, not immediately. a few seconds stretch long and thin between you.

“medusa!”

your voice is a bit too late, a bit too loud.

everyone laughs like it’s just a game. jungkook doesn’t even flinch. he reaches forward, takes the shot in his hand with ease and tilts it back in one motion.

his throat moves and his adam’s apple bobs.

and then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, that silver ring on his lip catching the light again, before he looks at you again.

this time with a barely-there smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

and it does something to you. low in your stomach. something sharp and sudden and impossible to explain.

but for the rest of the game, you don’t make eye contact with anyone. not anymore.

-

the game ends in a wave of flushed cheeks and sloppy laughter, shot glasses left half-empty across the table, some tipped, some forgotten. someone declares the last round the best one yet and jin, at least you’re pretty sure that’s him, slips away before returning with a cake in both hands and a smug grin like he’s been waiting all night for this moment.

everyone breaks into song before he even sets it down.

you stay toward the edge of the group, watching. honestly, it’s sweet how they all crowd around namjoon, their voices slightly off-key but full of love. some clap off rhythm. one of them, you think jimin, is already laughing halfway through the second line. namjoon looks flushed, a little embarrassed, but undeniably happy.

this is the kind of friendship that feels old. like it was built slowly and held tight over years of shared messes and minor chaos. you don’t know most of them. not really. but the way they laugh and lean into each other, the way they move like pieces that fit, it makes something tug lightly in your chest.

photos follow after the birthday song. yoongi pulls out a disposable camera. someone jokes about group shots and bad angles. a couple of them pose stupidly, others try to look cool.

and then, as the shutter clicks again, the bass turns up.

“alright!” taehyung shouts, arms thrown wide like he’s summoning a storm. “party’s officially fucking started!”

the room answers with a round of hoots and whistles, bodies shifting toward the center of the floor.

“food’s out if anyone’s hungry.” hoseok announces from the kitchen.

but you’re not. you’re drunk on the right kind of rhythm. the kind that sways through your limbs and makes your skin feel lighter.

before you can even think, hwasa grabs your hand and pulls you into the middle of the hall.

“let’s get this night started, girl” she yells over the music.

“let’s get it started.” you shout back.

and just like that, you’re moving.

it’s messy and wild and absolutely not graceful. jackson joins in, swaying with a drink in his hand. taehyung is already spinning like he’s got no bones. namjoon does a dumb dance that makes everyone laugh, while hwasa rolls her hips like she was born for this.

you can feel the beat beneath your shoes, can feel the heat bloom under your collarbones. and then, jungkook joins.

you see him before you really register it. he slips into the circle like he belongs there because he does, settling in directly across from you. he doesn’t do anything flashy. no exaggerated moves, no dramatic gestures. he just moves with the music and he watches you, not constantly, not in a way that would make it obvious but enough.

a few songs pass, the circle breaks and re-forms and with each track, jungkook drifts closer.

and he’s beside you.

he doesn’t speak, doesn’t say a single word but he moves in sync with you. it’s subtle and close. his shoulder brushes yours when he leans in to mimic the rhythm. he sings along under his breath, his voice low, barely audible, but close enough to feel.

you feel your skin heat beneath the leather of your jacket.

his hand doesn’t touch you fully, it just grazes your waist once as he spins past, just enough to make you pause and then again, when he sways beside you, his knuckles grazing your wrist.

you don’t know what you’re doing anymore.

you dance a couple more songs. not because you want to keep going but because stopping would mean acknowledging the way your body is reacting to him.

but it’s too much.

the room feels too hot and his presence too loud. the air too thick with what you’re not saying.

so you slip away.

no one notices. not hwasa, not jackson, not the boys mid-dance or the ones laughing by the kitchen counter.

you find the balcony, narrow and quiet, the air outside is cold enough to sober. you rest your arms on the railing and close your eyes.

you can still hear them inside. the bass, laughter, the distant echo of another track dropping.

but you feel him before you hear him.

“tired already?” his voice is smug, you could feel him smirking.

you don’t turn to look. “nope. i can still climb the mount fucking everest.” you say sarcastically.

he laughs, quiet and amused. you hear the flick of a lighter and a soft inhale.

when you glance over, he’s already exhaling, smoke curling past his lips.

he looks at you with his eyes low, slightly hooded, mouth relaxed but precise.

you watch the way he brings the cigarette to his mouth again and then, he offers it to you.

you looked at the cigarette first and then at him.

your fingers brush his as you take it. you take a drag of the cigarette, slowly. you let it burn a little. before passing it back to him.

a moment.

another.

nothing is said, but everything is loud. the glances are longer now. his tongue grazes his lip ring again. you see him swallow. his adam’s apple bobs and his stare sharpens.

and that’s it. that’s the sign.

you don’t say a word.

you walk back through the window, through the music and noise, through the bodies laughing and swaying and living

and you don’t look back, not until you reach the hallway.

when you turn, he’s there.

following you. his eyes locked.

you don’t know where the bathroom is, but your feet find it like instinct. you open the door and he steps in after you.

no one notices. no one has to.

because this part, whatever this is, isn’t for anyone else to see.

i couldn’t stop giggling while writing this because- hello?? the tension between them is insane, i swear i could feel it through my screen. also i tried to slip in some cute moments of the boys because i adore them so much <3

anyway, get ready for some pussy clenching smut chapters :P

© struberri 2025

[struberri]

come and see me || jjk

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 00. first glance

series masterlist

my apartment is quiet when i wake up. quiet in the way that feels intentional. it's not lifeless or dull, just still.

it's not much, but it's decent. one bedroom, a small kitchen with wooden cabinets that always feel a little too sterile, a brown leather couch with the worn out armrest, a ceramic lamp that casts a soft gold hue at night. it's not glamorous, but i chose every part of it.

i like keeping things the way i like them, clean but lived in. the place smells faintly of vanilla and the occasional burnt toast when i'm too distracted to watch the oven.

it's home. not the dramatic kind of home that wraps around your shoulders and sings, but the quiet kind. it holds space for me.

my life, for the most part is a routine. i wake up around 7, snooze the alarm at least twice, get dressed in clothes that make me look like i have it together even on the days i absolutely don't. i leave by 8, drive through the city and sit at my desk by 9.

work begins and ends in a clean loop. emails, calls, charts and meetings. it's corporate in the most typical sense. enough routine to blur the days together, but not enough stress to send me spiralling

but it pays well enough for my rent, keeps the fridge full, lets me buy the things i want without doing the math twice. i think that's a privilege and i don't complain.

i don't hate my job. i don't love it either. it's just there, like an extra limb, something i carry around every day.

my co-workers are fine. most of them i don't talk to unless i have to. we smile in elevators, throw sarcastic comments back and forth in the break room, the occasional shared eye-roll in a meeting that goes on too long, complaints about the same clients, crack the same jokes over instant coffee. but the line between us stays clear.

it's never been hard for me to socialize, not really. i'm not shy. i just keep most things to myself. not out of fear, just choice. i've never been the type to overshare for the sake of being liked. i show who i am to the ones who earn it, not the ones who ask.

there are exceptions though.

namjoon and hwasa.

namjoon has this strange calm about him. he says the kind of shit that makes you pause and think twice. he's got this way of reading the room like it's a book he's already finished and even when we're bickering about something stupid, like what genre of music deserves to be abolished, there's this calmness in him that makes you want to lean closer.

hwasa's the opposite. she is sharp-tongued and bold as hell. she wears confidence like perfume, you notice the moment she walks in. she doesn't care what anyone thinks and doesn't waste time pretending. if she likes you, you'll know and if she doesn't, you'll know faster.

the three of us orbit the same space at work. we sit together at lunch, talk shit about our manager when she isn't around and sometimes, we meet up outside work just to drink and decompress, talk about life like it's a stranger standing across the street.

they know pieces of me. not everything, but enough. and that's enough.

weekends are my favorite. i don't leave the house unless i need to. it's not that i don't want to go out. i just don't need to. sometimes, i watch movies or series curled up under a blanket with the curtains drawn. sometimes, i clean the apartment. other times, i lose hours to tiktok, scrolling mindlessly until the sun starts to dip.

but the best days are when jihyo shows up. my best friend since college. she is a walking contradiction of chaos and clarity.

and the thing is, i don't mind it. because when i'm with her, i get to borrow a little bit of that energy and say yes to things i wouldn't say yes to on my own.

with her, it's girlhood. messy, raw and full of love. sometimes it's laying in bed with face masks on and talking about boys we don't really like. sometimes, it's drunk dancing in the kitchen with the lights off and the volume way too high. and sometimes, it's just sitting on the floor at 1 am with wine-stained lips telling each other the kinds of truths we wouldn't say in daylight.

i don't need a lot of people. just the right ones. and i think, maybe, that's enough.

-

the days slip by so quietly, i hardly notice them go. the weeks fold into each other like soft linen, clean and repetitive.

by the time september arrives, i don't realize it's already been months since anything changed.

in seoul, september is copper. it's the season where the wind loses its bite but keeps its cool and the leaves start dying beautifully. the air turns slower, like it's carrying something soft. sunlight filters through the windows in gold ribbons and people start pulling out their trench coats again maybe even parka, denim and the occasional leather if they're trying.

it smells different, too. like sandalwood and memory. the kind of scent you think you imagine, but swear you can feel clinging to your sleeves when you get home.

on the 12th, i wake up before my alarm. it's saturday and it's also, namjoon's birthday.

he'd mentioned it last week, casually. in between reviewing a client pitch and complaining about the office's broken espresso machine.

"you should come." he said, scrolling through something on his phone. "only a few friends, maybe ten or so."

i'd nodded, eyes still on my screen.

"hwasa's coming too." he added, like that would seal the deal. it kind of did.

i didn't forget to text him at midnight. just a simple message.

y/n:

happy birthday, joon

hope you drink something expensive today

he replied within minutes.

joon:

thank you, y/n

i'll try lol

come early if you can

i stared at the message longer than i needed to. not because it meant anything. just because, sometimes, it's nice to be remembered back.

the city outside is quiet when i drag myself out of bed.

my apartment smells like yesterday's candles. i stretch, take a sip of the cold water and stare at the plants i keep forgetting to water. the world feels paused. a slow kind of beautiful.

i don't know what i'm wearing to the party yet. i don't know who else is coming. i don't know why i feel slightly restless, like something's shifted without me noticing.

but i don't think about it too long. it's just another saturday.

just a birthday. just a small party. nothing unusual. nothing new.

it's just september, dressed in gold.

-

the day goes by without urgency, like it always does. by late afternoon, there's that faint flutter of indecision that comes with any social plan. what to wear, what to bring, whether or not to bail.

you're one hour from namjoon's birthday party on the call with jihyo. "you better not wear something boring." she says. her voice is loud, chaotic and filled with the kind of energy you've grown used to anticipating.

you smile to yourself, pacing around the bedroom, phone balanced between your ear and shoulder as you pull open drawers without real reason.

"define boring." you mumble, holding up a black long sleeve shirt with absolutely no personality.

"anything you'd wear to a work meeting." she replies flatly. "namjoon is your co-worker, your friend, not your boss. don't dress like a spreadsheet."

you laugh, finally tossing the shirt aside. after a back-and-forth of outfit options and half-serious critiques, you settle on something that feels like you. comfort first, but with an edge. something lived-in, soft around the edges, the kind of look that doesn't ask for attention but earns it anyway.

you pull on a fitted white tank that hugs you just right, low-rise wide-leg jeans that hang loose around your legs and over it, a slouchy brown leather jacket that smells like history. it's a little cracked at the seams, the kind of vintage that feels personal. your boots are dark, slightly scuffed and more functional than fashionable but they ground you.

everything about the outfit channels quiet defiance. cozy grunge which is easy to move in and easy to leave in too, if the party goes sideways.

you leave around 7, thanking jihyo for bearing your indecisive ass, to which she replied with a "do something crazy and make me proud." which you obviously laughed at.

locking the door behind you with one hand while adjusting your jacket with the other. it's a short ten minute drive to his apartment. on the way, you stop by a little shop to pick up a small succulent. you remembered somewhere in the back of your mind that namjoon loves plants. and also a sleek box of fancy macarons because flowers felt cliché and a bottle felt too impersonal.

his address was already texted to you a few days ago, so you don't need to ask again. the building is modern and tall with glass panels reflecting the burnt-orange sky. when you pull up and park, you glance up instinctively.

on the third floor, one of the windows glows faintly warm, lights dim behind thin curtains. you spot two silhouettes on the balcony, heads tilted toward each other, smoke curling into the air between them. you take a slow breath before walking in.

the apartment is already buzzing with a couple of people inside.

you're relieved to realize you're not the last to arrive. hwasa spots you instantly from across the room. she's perched on the arm of a couch, mid-conversation with a guy you vaguely recognize from a recent strategy meeting. she beams when she sees you, sliding off the couch in her heeled boots like gravity doesn't apply to her.

"y/n!" she says, pulling you into a quick hug. "you look so hot, i'm proud."

"thanks, hwasa." you say, amused, "you look stunning as always." she smiled to your sincere compliment.

the sound of your name cuts through the room again, this time deeper and warmer.

you turn and find namjoon walking in from the hallway, his dimples out, smile wide and hair styled neater than usual. he looks more rested, more relaxed than he does in the office.

"you made it." he says, pulling you into a quick side hug.

"happy birthday." you say, holding out the gift. "hope you don't already have a cactus named after some philosopher."

he takes the plant and the box from you, pretending to examine them with exaggerated seriousness.

"these are perfect." he says, then looks up, grinning. "but you're still getting yelled for bringing gifts."

"i brought you dessert, don't be ungrateful." you deadpan.

he laughs, something soft and familiar. and for a moment, it feels easy.

the three of you; namjoon, hwasa and you stand around for a few minutes, talking about nothing in particular. he thanks you again, promises to water the plant and then excuses himself to check on others.

the guy sitting on the couch finally rose, offering you a polite nod and a handshake. "jackson." he introduces himself.

you shake his hand, "y/n. we've passed each other in the hallway, i think."

"sounds about right." he grins, already sipping from his red cup.

there are maybe five of you in the living room now. jackson, hwasa and you. two others are still on the balcony, passing a cigarette between them, heads tilted close like they're either whispering secrets or just leaning into the cold. they might be one of namjoon's close friends, you think to yourself.

the three of you in the living room stick together, holding red cups with liquor and soda mixed in uneven ratios. the music plays low but steady with rap, hip-hop and bass-heavy stuff that fills the space without overwhelming it.

namjoon drifts in and out of the kitchen, where two more guys seem to be arranging drinks and reheating food. you don't know their names, but something about their movements suggests familiarity. old friends, maybe. you think.

a few minutes later, the door opens. two more people step inside. a guy and a girl you've seen around the office. the space fills a little more, the volume rises and the night starts to feel like it's finally unfolding.

namjoon checks in frequently, eyes flicking toward the group every now and then like he's making sure no one's left out. at one point, he walks over to refill your cup and says, "the real party's gonna start once my other two friends show up. they're just running late."

you nod, politely curious but not invested. you didn't come for a thrill. you came because it felt right to show up. because you like namjoon and the idea of being around people without needing to perform for them isn't the worst way to spend a saturday.

the music continues, low and warm. your drink tastes like nothing special. the leather jacket clings softly to your arms and the night, so far, is exactly what you expected it to be. simple, quiet and normal.

-

just when the mood starts to settle, when your body begins to relax into the couch cushions and the faint thrum of alcohol warms your limbs, the front door slams open.

two guys walk in, arms heavy with plastic bags that rustle as they step into the living room.

“sorry guys.” one of them announces instantly, breathless but grinning. “yoongi hyung is a menace.”

you blink. yoongi, apparently, is the one walking beside him, looking down with a face so blank it might as well be carved from stone. he doesn’t even lift his head when he mutters, low and unimpressed, “asshole.”

he dumps the bags onto the table with zero drama. he doesn’t explain. he doesn’t need to. he’s completely unbothered.

“it was him, not me.” he adds, but it’s dry, not biting. like they’ve had this conversation a hundred times.

suddenly, the energy shifts. the two from the balcony step back in and now whoever they are, gather in the living room, exchanging half lazy greetings and inside jokes you’re clearly not part of.

you watch as one of them, the one who walked in first, the one with the tattoos, leans in for a ‘bro hug’ with the guys from the balcony. their handshake is loud, their arms wrap around each other’s backs and then they’re laughing again.

your eyes trails to namjoon entering. “i know it was you, jungkook.” he says, pointing without bite, like a big brother who knows exactly who caused the chaos but isn’t mad about it.

“sorry, hyung. got caught up with some work.” jungkook mumbles, lips tugging upward just slightly, his voice is low and almost sheepish.

he steps in, wraps his arms around namjoon with the kind of ease that only comes from knowing someone for years.

and you. you don’t even realize you’re staring until you are.

you’re still sitting on the couch, half-listening to whatever hwasa’s saying to jackson, nodding occasionally like you’re keeping up. but you’re not. your gaze is locked on him.

jungkook.

he’s wearing all black, subtly wrinkled from the humidity outside. the sleeves of his button-down are rolled up to his elbows, revealing a mess of tattoos that crawl up his right arms. even in the low lighting, they’re striking.

he’s sweating, faintly. probably from the bags or maybe just the heat in the apartment. but it doesn’t matter because he still looks-

god.

he looks like a warning. like the kind of guy you don’t want to fall for but always do.

he’s listening to the others talk, nodding occasionally, lips parting just enough to respond and then he does it again.

he licks his bottom lip.

you notice it because the silver ring on the right side of his mouth catches the light each time he does it. it’s slow and deliberate. like it’s a habit, like he doesn’t even realize how distracting it is.

and you? you can’t look away.

there’s something about him that feel.. dangerous. but not in the obvious way. not in the cliché bad boy way. no. this is different. it’s in the quiet confidence. the way he holds space without forcing it. the way his fingers rest on the rim of his cup, the ink, the sweat, the fucking lip ring.

he doesn’t even notice you at first or maybe he did, maybe he’s just pretending not to. but then, he turns slightly, says something to one of the guys next to him and in the middle of speaking, his eyes flick over.

they land on you.

he doesn’t react just holds the stare for a beat too long before nodding slowly at whatever his friend says.

and still you don’t look away. not for a few seconds at least.

you should. you know you should but your body doesn’t move.

maybe it’s the alcohol. maybe it’s the fact that you haven’t felt this specific kind of pull in a long time. or maybe it’s just him.

this boy who walked in sweating, swearing and somehow managed to make the air feel heavier just by being in it.

lol, i ended up adding other kpop idols as well >⩊< also, can we please talk about hwasa and jihyo for a second? ugh. being friends with them would honestly send me straight to cloud nine.

© struberri 2025

[struberri]

come and see me || jjk

it doesn’t start with love. it starts with a glance at a party and a mouth that tastes like smoke and something she’s never been able to forget. one night turns to two and suddenly it’s three months of 2 am texts of craving each other like poison and returning to each other like a bad habit.

it’s not love, it can’t be. because love would mean facing it, naming it and choosing it. so they keep fucking instead. keep lying instead. keep hoping the hunger will swallow the ache.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

total word count: 36.8k+ words

genre: situationship | fuck buddies | erotic romance | smut | tattooist!jungkook | boxer!jungkook | angst | slow-burn | sexual tension | yearning | emotional drama |

start date: 14th july, 2025

end date: 21st july, 2025

rating: 18+

warnings: mature themes | sexual activity | oral sex (f & m recieving) | explicit sexual content | choking | intense sex | fingering | unprotected sex | rough sex | dirty talking | overstimulation | multiple orgasms | sex at semi-public spaces | birth control pills | cream-pie | desperate intimacy | sex as an unhealthy coping mechanism | consensual sex while intoxicated | masturbation | strong language | smoking | alcohol I drug | toxic | avoidance | commitment issues | self-sabotage |

index

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 00. first glance (2.9k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 01. smoke (1.6k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 02. heat (1.9k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 03. aftermath (2k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 04. inked (3.8k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 05. inked deep (2.7k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 06. pound (3.1k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 07. cruising (5.6k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 08. back and forth (1.5k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 09. ruin (4k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 10. something like love (7.7k)

hi everyone, it’s riri! i’m finally posting a fic, something i’ve wanted to do for the longest time. i’ve had a bunch of ideas living rent-free in my head, but laziness always won lol. anyway, i’m super excited to finally share this with you and i really hope you enjoy it. mwah

this story is inspired by 2AM by sza and come and see me by partynextdoor & drake. the vibe of those songs is just too good and honestly, the fwb trope has me in a chokehold especially when the guy is jeon jungkook.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. all characters, events and scenarios are entirely fictional and is created for entertainment purposes only. this story is not meant to reflect the real personalities or lives of the idols mentioned. please read with an open mind and remember that everything here exists in a fictional universe. please do not copy or spread hate.

feel free to drop a comment if you’d like to be tagged in updates. i’d be more than happy to include you!

© struberri 2025