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gimmesumsuga · 6 years

Text

Concealed Weapon (M)

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Word count: 10K (approx)

Warnings: Smut. Smutty smut smut. Unsafe handling of weapons. Dirty talk. Unprotected sex. Bondage. Rough sex. Multiple orgasms. Oral sex (male receiving).

Summary: Jungkook turns out not to be quite who you thought he was, and your reaction takes you both by surprise.

Happy belated Birthday @yminie ! I hope you survive! <3 <3

This is kinda PWP, which is why I chose to keep the super cheesy porno title I first came up with haha (plus, I couldn’t actually think of anything better - so sue me). Also, this is the first moodboard I’ve ever made, so please don’t repost or use without credit.

“Home by seven my ass…” you mutter darkly under your breath as your hands dwell somewhere beneath a layer of lemon-scented suds, a scouring pad clenched in fist.

You'd intended leave the dishes until after having eaten tonight, but seeing as your dinner companion is still yet to show after more than half an hour of you being sat at the table like an idiot, waiting, you figured you'd make a start. Anger is great for removing stubborn baked on bread crumbs from an oven tray, apparently; by the time you're done pretending its surface is your husband's face and stashed it on the drying rack you've never seen it look cleaner.

You wish you could pretend this was the first time he's come home later than intended. It's an occupational hazard you guess; as one of the heads of IT tech support for all of the healthcare providers in the local province it's up to him to make sure every system is running seamlessly no matter the time of day. If a piece of software goes down it's not just the clinicians who suffer - it's the patient's blood results or x-ray reports they can't gain access to who suffer as well.

So maybe you shouldn't be so mad - maybe you should be glad to have a husband so hard-working and committed to his job that he's willing to stay late more often than not. As you pick at little pieces of the beef you'd so painstakingly roasted, long since gone cold, this is what you so avidly try to convince yourself of, but it doesn't really make you feel any better. It doesn't change the reality of you being stood all alone at your kitchen counter with tears threatening in your eyes, all dressed up with nowhere to go.

The sound of keys turning in the front door lock has your ears pricking to attention and your back straightening as you abandon your leftovers in favour of watching the entranceway to the hall. The smouldering embers of annoyance that'd been threatening to dwindle away into sadness come roaring back into life with his impending arrival, and as soon as you hear your husband cross the threshold you're hollering his name, nostrils flared.

“Jeon Jungkook!” His heavy exhale reaches your ears even from several metres away; tired and weary. You know he’ll be worn out after work, and he’s more than likely been dreading having this fight with you all the way home, but your famously short temper won’t let you show him an inch of mercy. Not yet, anyway. “What the hell kinda time do you call this?!”

It’s odd - usually Jungkook would be rushing in by now, a pink tinge to his cheeks and an apology on his lips - but tonight he appears to be taking his time. There’s the sound of his keys clinking against one another as they’re placed on the side and then the heavy tread of his boots coming down the hall that follows, so slow and steady that it only serves to infuriate you all the more. Let him drag this out if he wants; all he’s doing is prolonging the length of the cold shoulder he’ll be receiving later on.

“You could’ve at least called,” you carry on, rounding the kitchen island with one hand on your hip, waiting for him to emerge, “I wouldn’t have bothered busting my ass if I’d have known you - oh my god!”

Hands flying upward to cover your gasping mouth, your wide eyes run rapidly up and down the sorry state of a man who enters your kitchen with his busted lip slanted into a wry smile. It’s not very often you’re at a loss for words and yet here you are, speechless, all anger eradicated by the sight of your husband’s naturally handsome face so marred with cuts and bruises.

“Sorry baby,” he apologises as he comes to a standstill in front of you, voice soft. There’s blood on the usually pristine white collar of his shirt - Jungkook always prides himself in keeping his clothes crisp and sharp - and as your body begins to tremble he touches the pad of his thumb against where his smile has re-opened the split at the corner of his full bottom lip, dabbing it with his tongue.

“What happened?!” You throw yourself into the arms that Jungkook manages to open just in time to receive you, and when he ‘oofs’ in discomfort as you hit his chest you cringe, peeling yourself back just enough to look up at him past your eyelashes. They’re wet, glistening with tears, and your husband smiles affectionately down at you as he wipes them away with his fingertips. You hadn’t even realised you were crying though it doesn’t exactly surprise to find that you are; who wouldn’t when confronted with the sight of a loved one so battered and bruised?

“Some assholes got the jump on me on the way home,” he shrugs, behaving far more casually than you would ever expect of someone who’s apparently just been mugged, “Took my wallet… my phone. It could’ve been worse.”

“It could’ve been worse?!” you repeat incredulously, stepping back but allowing him to keep the gentle grip he has on both of your hands, large palms wrapped around your tiny, angry fists.

“I’m home in one piece, aren’t I?”

“Barely!” You really should stop shrieking sometime soon; it’s not as though it’ll do any good. It won’t fix the torn sleeve of his expensive suit jacket, nor halt the deepening in colour of the bruise that lays across his cheekbone, and Jungkook keeps on cringing as though you’re assaulting his eardrums every time your voice climbs another octave.

“Sorry,” you apologise embarrassedly, withdrawing a hand from one of his and using it to stem any further tears from falling and leaving smudges of mascara behind, “Sorry. Are you-” You sigh, brushing your palm over the lapel of his jacket to wipe away the white specs of dust sprinkled across it. “-Are you ok?”

“I’ll live,” he assures you, once more taking a hold of your hand to raise it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss onto your palm. You know he will, yet that knowledge doesn’t stop you frowning at every single mark your eyes pass over; the gash across his eyebrow from which blood has ran and dried, now crusted and flaking away, or the purple bruising of broken blood vessels that decorates the sharp angle of his jaw.

And these are only the injuries you can actually see. Judging by the way Jungkook tenses when you wrap your arms around him you can only presume there must be more under the rumpled cotton of his shirt.

“Fucking assholes,” you mutter as you press your cheek to his chest, planting a kiss along the way. Jungkook is so soft, so kind, so absolutely good - right down to his bones - how could anyone ever want to hurt him? Ok, so maybe before you saw the state he was in you might’ve wanted to give him a swift kick in the shins, but now? Now the only blood you’re out for belongs to whomever it was who thought they could get away with hurting the love of your life.

Jungkook’s palm slips downward from the back of your neck into the curve at the bottom of your spine, his soft lips pressing to the top of your head.

“You called the police, right?” Jungkook cocks one dark eyebrow at you when you look up, amused.

“And how exactly would I have gone about doing that?” he teases, a playful twinkle in his eye. Your mouth opens as though to argue but then promptly closes again when you realise how valid a point he’s made.

“Well, you should now,” you persist, slipping out of his embrace to cross over into your living room and grab a hold of the phone that sits atop of your coffee table, brandishing it at Jungkook when he walks through the doorway after you, shrugging off his jacket. He throws it onto the back of the sofa and lets you press the handset into his hand before discarding that a moment later, too, sighing.

“There’s really no point,” he tells you with a shake of his head, his dishevelled bangs sticking up at odd angles when he runs his hand through them. His knuckles are grazed too, you notice, and you feel a grim sense of satisfaction come over you on realising that he must’ve at least gotten one good punch in during whatever fumble occured. You hope it hurt. “I barely saw anything; one guy grabbed me from behind and the other had.some kind of ski mask on or something.”

“But what if there was CCTV?” you persist, stepping towards him but stopping when you see a look of annoyance fleet over Jungkook’s face. He looks away from you, his eyebrows furrowing as he places his fists on his hips, shifting his weight.

“Look-” He meets your eyes, and when he sees the way you’re worrying your bottom lip it’s as though he makes a conscious effort to soften his expression. “-All I want right now - more than anything - is a long, hot shower.” Jungkook closes the gap between the two of you, so close that your chests are almost touching, yet his hands remain at his sides as he looks down at you. “I want to shower, I want to eat. I want to snuggle up with the woman I love-” Jungkook returns the little smile that appears on your face, his head tilting slightly to the side, “-And forget all about it.”

How is it that after two long years of matrimony Jungkook can still have such an effect on your heart rate by his proximity alone? Just by standing in front of you - close enough to catch the lingering scent of his aftershave that you know so well - he has you feeling a little weak at the knees; a little breathless as you look up into the darkest chocolate of his eyes.

“Is that ok?” he checks when you neglect to reply, lifting a hand to brush gently against your cheek, voice soft.

“I suppose so,” you force out, recovering enough to let a little bit of snark enter your tone. Jungkook’s already smiling lips part as it grows, flashing his adorably imperfect row of front teeth, eyes crinkling at the sides. “Go on, you stink.” Grinning playfully, you twist your head enough to noisily kiss his palm where it’d been resting on your cheek before stepping away and walking past him. “Don’t blame me if your dinner tastes like microwave.”

You don’t expect the hand that suddenly grabs a hold of yours, nor for Jungkook to suddenly pull you back into his arms and seize a hold of your lips with his own, squeaking your surprise into the kiss and making your husband chuckle at how quickly and effortlessly you melt into his embrace. He kisses you as though it’d been the only thought to occupy his mind all day, one hand in the small of your back and the other still clutching yours, the thick band of metal encircling his ring finger brushing your skin as they lock together, holding tight.

A rolling press of his tongue to your lips is enough for you to grant him access to your mouth, wet muscle meeting in the middle before he chases after it when you pull back, inviting him in. Jungkook groans throatily when you gently tug on his bottom lip with your teeth, forgetting all about the split to the pillow soft flesh until the next time his mouth presses to yours and you feel it there, the drying blood making it feel slightly tacky against your own.

Running his tongue against the inside of his teeth, Jungkook relinquishes you from his grasp, smirking at the way you wobble a little on losing the support of his firm body pressed to yours.

“Tastes pretty good to me.” He grins wolfishly, making sure to cock one eyebrow at you before turning on his heels and heading for your bedroom, leaving you to recover with a flushed red face and one hand pressed to the new-found ache in your lower abdomen.

“God damn it Jungkook,” you murmur to yourself as you will your body to stop acting like some pre-teen girl when confronted with the attentions of the captain of the football team. It’s just embarrassing, especially when less than five minutes ago you were supposedly hopping mad. So much for that.

You’re just putting Jungkook’s dinner into the microwave and punching in the time for it to cook when all over a sudden another sound catches your attention over the shrill beep of the buttons which you press. It’s an unfamiliar tune but still recognisable enough for you to realise that it must be coming from a cell phone, and it’s with a frown of confusion that you abandon Jungkook’s meal to venture back into the living room, looking around.

It’s definitely not yours - you have a very bad habit of leaving it on silent 24/7 and repeatedly missing your husband’s calls - but then whose else’s could it be? The muggers had taken his, he’d said, and yet as you approach the ruined suit jacket that he’d so carelessly flung over the back of the sofa the ringing is most definitely getting louder.

It cuts off before you can figure out its exact location but you carry on patting down his jacket anyway, certain that whatever was ringing must be tucked away somewhere inside, and when you reach into the soft inner breast pocket your fingers close around the solid rectangular form of a cell phone that you don’t seem to recognise once its laid flat in your palm, staring up at you.

What is going on? You’ve never seen Jungkook carrying this sort of phone before; for one thing it’s far too low-tech for anything he’d usually be caught dead with. It doesn’t even seem to have a proper camera on it, for heaven’s sake.

Why would he lie? Why would he have some secret, ancient phone stashed away? You can’t help but jump to the worst conclusion as it goes off again, the screen illuminating to show one missed call and the text message that has just come through, and as you attempt to figure out how to unlock it your heart begins to race with anxiety, eyes darting nervously towards the corridor down which your bedroom lies.

Is he having some sort of affair? This is the question that remains at the forefront of your mind as you try various different combinations of numbers to try and guess his six digit passcode, not even pausing to think of how much an invasion of his privacy your husband might see this as. You’d never dream of going through his phone usually, but this isn’t his - not really. Perhaps it should reassure you that the code that finally works is the same digits as your birthday, yet the nauseating rolling of your stomach only continues as you open up his messages to find one singular text waiting under the initials of ‘NJ’ and nothing more.

Fingers shaking, you open the message and read.

“You better get your shit together, JK. Another fuck up like tonight and they’ll be pulling you out of the river next time. Don’t let me down.”

Pulling him out of the what? What the hell does that mean?

Fumbling, you lock the phone and scramble to slip it back into the pocket you retrieved it from with hands that are trembling even more severely than before, convinced that you’ve already seen too much.

What the hell has Jungkook gotten himself mixed up in?

Whatever it is it sounds really, really bad - the illegal kind of bad - and suddenly you’re no longer so sure that the injuries Jungkook sustained earlier tonight were really the product of two simple muggers. No, this sounds far more sinister, but as damning as this evidence is you’ve no idea how to even begin to comprehend that the man that you love - as silly and sweet and goofy as he is - might ever be involved with someone who could send a message so threatening as that. You’ve met Jungkook’s friends; they’re all as daft as he is!

Cool metal awaits the brush of your fingers when you slot his phone back into its rightful place, and despite how you may tell yourself not to pry any further you’re unable to shake the curiosity that has you fishing out what appears to be a very small bunch of keys from within the silky black pocket.

It only takes a split second of peering down at them spread out along your palm for your to make the connection to the lock with which you know they must belong. Hurried footsteps and shallow breaths lead you directly to Jungkook’s ‘gaming room’ and the desk on which his custom built PC tower sits neatly alongside a 27-inch screen.

The screen remains black and the CPU’s many cooling fans silent, though you know they won’t remain so for very long. It’s a mutual agreement of yours and your husbands to allow each other an hour or so a night to indulge in whichever solo hobbies you deem necessary for maintaining your sanity before settling down to spend the rest of the evening together, whether that be curled in front of the tv or tangled up in bed.

It’s the thought of such times that causes you to hesitate with the key already halfway into the lock, down on bended knee. What happens if you find something in there that you’d rather not see? What if whatever it is puts an end to this lovely little life you’ve built?

You bite your lip, frowning hard at the trembling pincer grip in which you hold the key. Part of you wants to turn back and try to erase all memory of this from your mind but you know that that’d be an impossibility. If you don’t look now you’ll always be wondering, worrying - wracked with suspicion every time your husband leaves your side. No, best to confront it now and deal with the cards that you’re dealt as soon as they reach your hand.

Whatever it is, whatever you’ve faced, you and Jungkook have always gotten through it before.

You take a deep breath as though to brace yourself as you slide in the key the rest of the way and turn it smartly to the right. Opening up the drawer the first thing you see is a neat stack of plastic folders in a variety of colours, and when you take a peek inside the uppermost one it’s full of papers detailing acronyms and figures of which you have no understanding. They’re confusing but look innocent enough, and as you start to remove one folder after the other you dare to feel a little more hopeful than you did before.

You’ve probably gotten yourself all worked up over nothing; there’s got to be a reasonable explanation for that phone and the text that followed, a reason for Jungkook to have all these papers locked away from sight. You shake your head at yourself as you appear to be coming to the bottom of the pile; you should’ve known better than to doubt him. What exactly were you expecting? Pictures of some secret family? Drugs? Maybe even some -

Brass knuckles?

Your stomach drops so violently it feels almost as though it’s fallen out when you see the golden device sat at the bottom of the drawer, the curved metal specially shaped to encase the wearers knuckles and allow them to deliver more lethal a blow to the victim of their choosing.

These can’t belong to Jungkook, surely? Not your gentle husband? He won’t even kill a spider, nevermind don something like… like those. With a sense of morbid curiosity you reach out and lift them from the drawer, turning them over and shivering at how weighty such a weapon feels rested in your palm, and it’s only then that you realise that there’s a matching set laid there too - one for each hand.

“Jesus christ,” you mutter under your breath, and as you lift that one out too you become aware of a fault in otherwise smooth wooden bottom of the drawer. Placing the brass knuckles aside, your relentlessly curious nature has you poking, prodding and jiggling at what appears to be some kind of false bottom. You finally manage to open it up by pressing it downward and then sliding the thin wooden barrier backward and underneath the other half of the panel, gasping involuntarily when you see what lies beneath.

A gun.

A real gun; matte metal grey and chillingly cold to the touch when you run your fingertips gingerly along its barrel, purposefully avoiding the trigger. It strikes you as odd how threatening an inanimate object can look even when lacking someone to wield it, and it’s with a swallow of trepidation that you very gently lift the pistol from its secret compartment to hold it in two hands.

Has Jungkook really ever used something like this?

Unwanted images begin to plague your racing mind as you inspect the makings of it, turning it about in your grip. You see Jungkook stood with gun in hand, his arm outstretched to press the barrel to the temple of some faceless man with whom he regards without a trace of mercy, his expression unfeeling and cold, and the image of it sends a chill right down your spine. This can’t be your husband; not this cruel figure that your imagination has so conjured up.

There must be something else. Some other reason for him to have this - some other reason for him to have kept it all hidden. If you ask him… if you confront him, surely he’ll have -

One strong hand closes firmly around both your wrists, so rough and so sudden you'd very nearly have let the gun fall to the floor if it weren't already being wrenched away from you, out of the reach of your inexperienced hands. You look up sharply at the unexpected touch, your mouth falling open with the sharp inhale you take, and it's Jungkook's face you see staring back down at you, expression as hard and stern as you'd pictured it to be with a gun in hand.

“Jungko-" you start but he cuts you off, tightening his grip around your wrists. It's testament to how large his hands are that his fingers quite comfortably encircle both, pinning them together.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” he questions angrily, brows furrowing even further, shower wet hair dangling in front of his eyes. Your husband must've just this moment stepped out of the bathroom; not even yet dressed, a towel knotted low around his hips and droplets of water clinging to the sculpted planes of his chest.

Purple bruising along his ribs aside, it'd be all too easy let yourself become completely distracted by Jungkook's mouth-watering appearance if it weren't for the gun that hangs by his side. It’s pointed firmly at the floor, steady in his hand, and you’re relieved to see that his index finger is resting well away from the trigger.

You grope for some sort of response, your pulse thudding deafeningly in your ears at having been caught in the act, and when you fail to even try to defend yourself Jungkook huffs an exhale, infuriated.

“I should've known you'd come snooping around in here one day.” Keeping your wrists firmly locked, Jungkook pulls open the top drawer to his desk and rummages for something, gun still in hand. “Too damn curious for your own good,” he adds, grumbling under his breath, and you're just about to start protesting at how unjust it is right now for him to be mad at you when the sight of him pulling a long black strip of plastic from the drawer totally derails your train of thought.

“What are you doing?” you ask, a fringe of panic lacing your voice as he places the gun down on the table with a satisfying ‘thunk’ of wood against metal and then loops what you now recognise as a cable tie around the underside of your wrists, just above where his other hand is squeezing them together.

“Trying to make sure you don't go running off before you hear me out,” he informs you matter-of-factly, and it's with alarming swiftness that Jungkook manages to secure your wrists together, the strip of plastic pulled not quite so tight as to cut into your flesh but enough to remind you that it's there, unyielding against your skin. “Besides, you clearly need some help keeping your hands to yourself.”

He releases your hands and they fall, fixed, to knock against your thighs as you look up at him in trepidation. Jungkook stares right back, unblinking, and you wish you weren't knelt so vulnerably like this on your knees, though his expression - although visibly annoyed - looks neither threatening or unkind.

Before now it's always been a bit of a running joke amongst your mutual friends that you're the one who wears the trousers in your marriage. You're marginally older than Jungkook and have always been a bit more ballsy; a bit more outspoken in circumstances in which your husband would be more inclined to let things go and keep the peace. Even-tempered, patient and perhaps a little bit of a perfectionist, Jungkook has always happily followed your lead - until now.

“I never wanted you involved in any of this,” he tells you wearily, momentarily releasing you from his gaze to turn and take the gun from the table with a shake of his head.

“Involved in any of what?!” You suddenly seem to find your tongue again, vulnerable or not, and as you speak the volume of your voice seems to climb, near hysterical. “The hell are you doing with a gun, Jungkook?! Who's NJ?!” Jungkook pauses at your outburst, apparently changing his mind about putting the gun away and choosing to slam the drawer shut instead, rounding on you with a scowl.

“It's nothing that concerns you.” Incensed, you glower right back up at him, pretending not to notice the way a vein in his neck bulges when he clenches his jaw.

“It is if it means you're coming home all battered and bruised,” you insist vehemently, bunching your fingers into angry little fists whilst you're still able to feel them, “You were supposed to be working late! Where were you?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away but he does laugh, smirking as he reaches out and grabs you by the arm to pull your feet. Defiant, you tilt your chin up. You won't be intimidated; whether he's been keeping secrets or not Jungkook is still your husband, and you know he'd never hurt you.

“So fiesty,” Jungkook admires, smiling growing as he tilts his head, looking down at you from his greater height, “Even when you're so obviously at a disadvantage.”

You wish you were oblivious to the heat you can feel radiating off of Jungkook's naked chest as you stand toe to toe but your body if refusing to play ignorant, heart pounding rapidly against the inside of your ribcage and your mouth bone dry.

“I was at work.”

“Yeah, ok,” you scoff disbelievingly, rolling your eyes toward to the ceiling until Jungkook grabs a hold firm of your chin and pulls your attention back to him with a sharp snap of your name.

“Did you really think a little desk job could've bought us this house?” Jungkook asks, his thumb and forefinger still holding you in place, dark eyes flicking between your own, “That rock on your finger?” You jump as the cold metal of Jungkook’s gun taps against your ring finger, flinching and drawing your clasped hands up to your chest with a deep flush filling your cheeks.

Why are there butterflies swirling frantically within your stomach at the cocky little flick of your husband's eyebrow as he releases your chin? You're supposed to feel angry - betrayed - not like... this. Not like your insides are slowly filling with molten heat; desire pooling heavy in your pelvis.

“Th-then what is it?” Your voice is halting, catching in your throat, and when Jungkook releases you to press two fingers to your sternum and walk you backwards with a wicked gleam in his eyes you're swallowing nervously, yelping in surprise when you're suddenly pushed into the soft leather gaming chair in which your husband spends so many of his evenings. Unable to brace your landing with your hands your fall is somewhat ungainly; the floaty fabric of your skirt settling somewhere halfway up your thighs to expose more skin to Jungkook’s slowly roving eyes.

He leans forward over you, bracing his weight on the arms of the chair that enclose you on either side, and when he speaks he’s so close that you can smell the peppermint of his breath as it blows upon your face.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asks quietly, and you nod. He’s right, you really are too curious for your own good.

With a heavy sigh of resignation, Jungkook straightens up and runs a hand through his damp hair, bicep flexing.

“I work for an organisation called BTS.” BTS… that’s one of the acronyms you remember seeing amongst the paperwork you’d just been scouring through, printed neatly alongside a multitude of dollar signs and zeroes. “Namjoon - NJ - is it’s leader.”

Slowly, you nod. Organised crime, then, you’re guessing; that’s the business to which your husband belongs. How could he have managed to keep this from you for so long? You’ve known each other since your late teens and yet this is the first time he’s ever come home looking like this - the first sign you’ve ever had. Maybe he’s not in so deep as you think. Maybe it’s not as bad as all that. Maybe he’s just their... their accountant or something…

“What do you actually… do?” you persist, though you’re not entirely sure you want to know. Jungkook’s lip curls into a smirk once more as he glances down to the gun that hangs at his side, and before your widening eyes he lifts it till it’s pointed straight at you, mechanism clicking as he disengages the safety, index finger hovering over the trigger.

You heart rate skyrockets the moment it’s turned on you, eyes fixed fixed on the open, gaping mouth of the barrel staring back. It feels as though the organ is in your throat and choking you, thumping hard, blood rushing and roaring in your ears until your husband next speaks, deadly soft.

“What do you think?”

There can be no doubt any longer. Up until this point you’ve been trying to convince yourself that perhaps you’re wrong, perhaps this is all some mistake or you’re just overreacting - over-reaching to draw the most dramatic of conclusions - but no. Every presumption you’ve jumped to appears to be coming true, and now you can't seem to stop wondering about just how many lives Jungkook must have ended with the gun that’s now so steadily aimed at you.

You should be livid at having been lied to for so long, and you should probably be afraid, too, given the circumstances in which you’ve found yourself - and yet you’re not. Maybe in the deep recesses of your mind you have those thoughts, maybe, but not right now; right now the singular, most overwhelming feeling you’re aware of is desire. Desire, lust, want, and need.

You've never seen him look like this before; so powerful, so in control. The dominant aura Jungkook’s exuding has you feeling all hot and bothered under the thin fabric of your clothes, and when he tilts his chin downward to inspect the flush across your chest you can't help but clench your thighs together to quell the aching where they meet, spurred on by his watchful, almond eyes.

“Why lie to me?” Your voice comes out slightly breathless, husky, though if Jungkook notices it he doesn't say so. He holds the gun in place for a second or two longer before letting it drop again to his side with a shake of his head. There's another click as the safety goes back on and a loud, shuddering exhale that passes your lips as he finally puts the thing down.

“It was the only way I could try to keep you safe,” he answers a moment later, the angry expression he's been wearing softening slightly as he turns back to you, one hand still poised upon the desk, “What do you think they'd do if they got their hands on you, if it meant they were able to get to me?" Jungkook gestures to his own face as an example, furrowing his eyebrows. “This is nothing.”

Swallowing, your eyes travel from mark to mark, injury to injury; the gash to the bridge of his nose down to the black cherry bruising of the hip bone peeking out above his towel. Every inch of him, battered or not, is still just as pleasing to your eye - still just as tempting to touch if only you were able - and so busy are you inspecting his finely honed physique that you're barely even aware of the silence that's settled between the two of you until Jungkook lets out a heavy exhale, mistaking your preoccupation for something else.

“It's ok… if you want me to leave.” You look up, blindsided by the pained expression your husband is wearing now - the worry lines evident in his brow. “I'll understand.” He reaches into the drawer again to pull out a switchblade this time, flicking free a small, silver knife as he approaches you and draws your hands away from your chest, cradling them in one of his own. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“- Don't!” you exclaim quickly when he slips the blade between the cable tie and the flesh of your wrist, meaning to cut you free, and at your shout Jungkook comes to a sudden halt, his gaze lifting to look up into your eyes where he's bent over you, leaning close. “I don't want you to leave.” Your throat feels tight with nerves as you bring your conjoined hands, knife and all, towards the base of Jungkook's throat to brush your fingertips along the smooth skin there, digits trembling.

He's still a little damp after his shower - his gorgeous, caramel skin soft and smooth to touch - and you lick your lips with the want to lap up the little dew drops that remain clinging onto his broad chest.

Your husband utters your name under his breath, confused by the hunger in your restless eyes as they trail over the length of him.

“Don't go,” you tell him thickly, and unbeknown to you your pupils expand at the moment you look up and meet his gaze. “Don't let me free.” You bite your bottom lip as Jungkook withdraws the knife, and slowly he begins to understand what it is that has you watching so eagerly as he flips the blade away. “Not yet.”

He observes the way you press your thighs together as he stands to full height, a smile pulling at his lips when he comes to realise the full extent of how aroused you are; the heaviness of your eyelids as you gaze lustfully up at him, the shuddering rise and fall of your chest. This is not the reaction that he'd expected, yet he wonders how he hadn't noticed it before.

“It almost seems like you're enjoying this,” Jungkook muses, beginning to pace around the chair in which you're sat. Your hands are clammy clasped together against your chest, but the sudden, subtle shift to the look in Jungkook's eyes has you tingling all over with excitement in anticipation of what you're hoping is yet to come.

You turn your head so as to not lose his gorgeous visage from your sight as he circles you, swivelling the chair until Jungkook grabs a hold of the back of it to jerk it to a halt, barking,

“Eyes straight ahead.”

Back straight and your eyes wide open, you stare at the wall opposite as instructed whilst your heart gallops at the feel of him stood behind you. Goosebumps rise across your shoulders as Jungkook leans in, not touching you save the brush of soft lips to the curve of your ear.

“Do you like it when I'm bad, baby?” he questions teasingly, blunt teeth nipping at your earlobe, “You like a little bit of danger?”

“M-maybe,” you allow yourself to admit, though there's no maybe about it. Beneath your skirt your underwear is starting to feel warm and damp, and the brief passing of Jungkook's hand around your throat as he nuzzles into your hair, inhaling, does nothing to dampen the growing flames of arousal which are unfurling deep in your insides.

“You've been a naughty girl, poking your nose in where it doesn't belong,” Jungkook scolds as he releases you, tongue tutting against his teeth at the little whimper you fail to withhold. You open up your eyes that'd flopped closed and pick up your head from where it'd fallen back just in time to see your husband come to a stop right before you, and though the heat within his gaze is familiar enough from all the many, many times such as these that've come to pass before, you've never seen him look quite like this.

So dark. So seductive.

“I think you ought to make it up to me.” Jungkook's eyes flick southward and yours follow, down to where the front of his towel is draping awkwardly over the semi-erection concealed beneath. When he begins to untuck the knot that's tied around his hips - his eyes locked on yours - your mouth is quick to water for whatever it may be that he has in store, and as his towel drops to the floor, crumpled messily at his feet, your core starts to drip equally as warm and wet.

You swear you're not a shallow woman, but only an idiot would think to deny how easy your husband is on the eyes. Tall and broad, Jungkook's lithe torso tapers from muscular shoulders into the inexplicably narrow waist you so love to wrap your arms around, and all of him is golden, flawlessly smooth save the dark thatch of neatly trimmed hair nestled around the base of that which currently holds your rapt attention. His cock, half-hard and currently held by one Jungkook's well-practised hands is already leaking the clear, serous fluid that belies his arousal as it's stroked, the muscles of his thighs flexing as he approaches where you're sat.

“Open up that pretty mouth, baby,” Jungkook purrs, pointing it towards your lips, “Show me what a good girl you can be.”

You'd never anticipated before tonight that you would ever be so receptive to the idea of your husband being the one to call the shots between the sheets. Sure, it's something you’ve daydreamed about every now and then, maybe, but with how quiet and obliging Jungkook has always been in the bedroom before now - so solely focused on your pleasure rather than his own - you'd convinced yourself it would likely never happen.

Now that it is, and now that Jungkook's cocking one of his thick, dark eyebrows down at you in expectation, it feels like a dream come true. Eagerly, you shuffle forward on his chair, tied wrists rested on your lap, and obligingly open your mouth nice and wide, sticking out your tongue for good measure.

“That's it,” he mumbles quietly, no longer watching you but focusing instead on guiding his cock into your open, waiting mouth and licking his lips as the pink, weeping tip brushes your tongue. The weight of it is so satisfying, the musky taste one you know and love, and it's with a groan of delight that you finally seal your lips around him and begin to suckle sweetly at its sensitive head, pleased when you hear Jungkook's answering moan.

“Suck baby.” His encouragements are soft but as just as insistent as the firm hand that makes its way into your hair whilst you busy yourself tracing his frenulum with the tip of your tongue, your eyes flopping closed. He neither pulls nor tugs, simply caresses your scalp as you diligently set to work easing him deeper into your mouth - perhaps digging his blunt nails into the roots on the odd occasion that he looks down and is overcome by the sight of your lips stretched so tightly around his girth.

“Come on, pretty girl, I know you can take some more,” Jungkook hums, a little breathless, and you feel your cheeks fill with warmth at the way he addresses you so fondly, “You're so good at sucking my cock. My perfect little slut.” You feel a hand on your aching jaw, supporting it as you slide your mouth back and forth along his length, sucking and slurping as you go.

You're determined to take him all, determined to show your husband what a good, dutiful wife you can be - snooping aside - and after a few more strokes and a conscious effort to relax your throat, you're face first amongst his pubic hair and resisting the urge to gag when his cock twitches on your tongue.

You hear Jungkook groan with satisfaction above you, and when you peel open your eyes to gaze up you're delighted to see nothing but the sharp angle of his jaw from below, his head lolling back as he savours the feeling of being stuffed so far down your throat.

“You’re doing so well,” he says breathlessly as his chin tips forward again, meeting your watering eyes he looks down, “Knew you could be a good girl for me.” Still holding onto your jaw, Jungkook rocks his hips back to withdraw his length almost all the way to the tip before sliding it all the way inside, slow and steady, resting there sheathed fully inside before doing it again and again, gradually gaining speed. “Gonna let me fuck your mouth, aren't you, baby?”

Mouth full and saliva leaking from the corners of your mouth, you nod, and Jungkook flashes you a cocky, satisfied smile.

As your husband uses and abuses the hollow vacuum of your eager mouth in the minutes that follow, your desire for him only continues to grow. Save the brief seconds in which you're forced to close your eyes when you gag, you spend every other moment you can greedily watching the man come apart; every twitch of his toned stomach and every tick of his jaw making your dipping core begin to pulse with need.

So fierce is the ache between your legs that your helpless hands soon grow restless in your lap. They search out the hem of your skirt and slide underneath it, clumsily attempting to provide yourself some much needed relief as best you can with your wrists pinned together as they are. It’s difficult, but by spreading your legs as wide as you can you just about rub the heel of your hands between them, wantonly moaning around Jungkook’s cock at every slightest bit of friction you manage to press against your lace-covered clit.

The rocking of your husband’s hips slows on registering the needful pitch of your moans, turning soft and shallow, willing to let catch your breath, at least, if not yet quite ready to fully withdraw himself from the warm, wet utopia that lies behind your lips.

“You know,” he muses as he lets the slick, swollen head of his cock sit stationary at the entrance of your mouth, watching with a heavy heaving chest as your tongue laves it all around, tracing every ridge and mapping out every vein before swiping up along his frenulum to dip shallowly inside his slit. “If you ask nicely enough, I might just give you a hand.” Opening up your eyes, you see Jungkook’s dark ones glance down past where you’re joined to the desperate shifting of your bound hands against your mound.

“I might even let you have this big, fat cock, if you say please.”

Your core contracts, hard, as if to express its enthusiasm at the prospect, and it’s with a wet slurp and wide, hopeful eyes that you you slip your mouth off of his length to beseech with neither shame nor eloquence,

“Please, god, touch me, fuck me. Whatever you want - anything.” You’re breathless, panting with want, and you know Jungkook’s relishing in just how desperate you appear - you can tell by the slanted smile that spreads across his handsome face - but you’re so far gone at this point that you really don’t care about any dignity that you may have lost. He can be an asshole if he wants, as long as he’s balls deep inside of you.

“I think you can do a little better than that, baby,” he presses, holding your eye contact as he sinks into a deep squat before you, golden thighs so thick that they look almost fit to burst, “I’ve heard an awful lot of begging in my time; it’ll take a lot to convince me.”

God, that really shouldn’t turn you on.

Jungkook hooks his thumbs under the sides of your underwear and you rock onto your tiptoes where your feet are planted on the floor in order to lift your hips and enable him to drag them off, pulling you towards him in the process, and it’s there, slouched deep in the leather of his chair, that you begin to beg and plead for mercy.

He smiles all the way through your whimpers and whines, relishing in the way you shudder with every light brush of his fingertips as he slowly peels you from your clothes - careful not to touch you too much. Your skirt goes first and then your little white ankle socks, his teeth nipping a bite into the meat of your calf as he rolls them off, and then because the cable tie encircling your wrists make it impossible to remove Jungkook improvises, hitching your vest top up above your breasts and then grabbing a hold of your hands, placing them on top of your head.

You’re still whimpering his name when Jungkook stands back to admire the view, taking his time to slowly stroke one large, vascular hand back and forth along his cock that’s weeping excitement at the sight of you. Your hips twist restlessly against the leather, your buttocks wet with the copious arousal that’s leaked from your core, and it’s an act of impulsion that has you boldly picking up your feet from the floor and placing a heel on the end of each arm rest to put yourself on full display, praying it might tempt him into giving in.

“Desperation looks so damn good on you,” Jungkook grits out, his fist tightening around his cock as he pumps it roughly, his attention focused directly on your glistening folds, “Fucking beautiful.”

“Please Jungkook,” you mewl, your needy little hole visibly clenching for him to see, wetness running down between your buttocks and making every inch of your filth slickened skin seem to shine, “I need you, please.”

You’re not sure exactly what it is that finally makes your husband snap. All you know is that one second he’s stood above you, hand wrapped his cock, and then the next he’s all over you, fingers dug deep into the meat of your thighs and his tongue behind your teeth. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since your discovery, and this is like none you’ve shared before, even in your most passionate of moments.

Jungkook dominates in every sense of the word, his teeth sinking into your already well-chewed bottom lip and tongue diving deep, reckless with the weight of his body as he presses himself on top of you, the girth of his cock slipping against your core.

“Oh god,” you gasp into his open mouth as you feel him angle his hips just so, so eager to take you that there’s no preparation, no stretch of his fingers to ready you before he starts to push inside, groaning low as you let out a strangled cry in half-hearted protest, “Jungko-ah!”

Inch by inch, he eases himself inside, his forehead pressed to yours as your walls convulse around the intrusion, like your body is trying in vain to drag him further in faster than Jungkook will allow. He’s dragging this out to enjoy every wail that you release into his mouth, every jump of your hips each time he sinks further in.

“Know you love that burn, baby,” Jungkook grunts out, teeth clenched and jaw tight, “Love my fat cock stretching you out just right.” With your hands bound as they are and your body trapped under Jungkook’s own, you have little choice but to wrap your thighs around his narrow waist and gratefully receive all he has to give you, whimpering with pleasure when he finally bottoms out, the head of his cock nestled snug against your cervix.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” Slowly, he pulls all the way out. “Fuck.” The second thrust is much easier than the first and the third just right, and each and every time Jungkook sinks into you it's to an accompaniment of wet, squelching sounds that border on obscene.

“J-jungkook,” you stammer, driven mad by the excruciatingly slow pace he’s adopted and the leisurely way he rolls his hips against you. Before every thrust he pulls all the way out before plunging back inside, and every time he slips out it leaves you with an ache so fierce deep down in your core that it almost makes you cry, throat burning with the effort it takes to hold back the tears.

“You want it harder, baby?” Jungkook smirks into the crook of your neck where he’d been busy trailing kiss after kiss to your extra-sensitive skin when he feels your heels dig into his meaty buttocks, fighting to keep him inside. Your throat has always been your weakness, and clearly your husband means to exploit by the way he lavishes it with such attention, tongue and lips and teeth working in tandem to make your wriggle around on the end of his cock all the more.

He pulls away just enough to fix you in a dark, heated stare, stilling inside of you before uttering huskily,

“Want me to show you how rough I can get?”

Air stolen out from your lungs, all you can do is nod your acquiescence and the fingers resting atop of your head twist together as you palm begin to sweat, suddenly nervous, wondering what it is you’re letting yourself in for, but Jungkook doesn’t give you time to second guess.

As soon as your head is bobbing he’s abruptly lifting you up and out of his chair, still buried deep within, grabbing handfuls on your ass to hold you in place as you sling your arms around his neck and clench your thighs around him tight, afraid that you might fall.

Jungkook has no intention of letting that happen. Grunting with the effort, he begins to bouncing you rapidly on his cock in mid-air, and the exertion of it breaking him out into a sweat only seconds after he begins, dripping between the frown that creases his brow. Underneath you his powerful thighs are straining to breaking point and yet he still doesn’t stop, not until you’re practically sobbing at how heavenly it feels to have him slam against your g-spot again and again, your face buried at the juncture of his shoulder and neck.

You feel him side-step and then all of a sudden you’re falling backward and your back is crashing down onto the desk, Jungkook grabbing at both of your thighs to push them back and bury himself even deeper into you, utterly unconcerned with the sound of his gun falling to the floor at his feet. He has far sweeter noises to listen to; the endless moans of pleasure that are pouring forth from your wide open mouth, back arching, head tilted back.

“You make the prettiest sounds when you’re taking my cock, baby,” Jungkook informs you through his laboured breaths, “You take it so well.”

With great effort you manage to open your eyes to the sound of his voice, body jolting with every one of his thrusts, and the visage that awaits you has your orgasm you could already feel approaching lurching ever nearer. Jungkook towering over you, his musculature covered in a sheen of sweat and a hungry look in the eyes that follow the path his hand trials downward from your stomach to reach between your legs for the rough pads of his fingertips to locate your clit and pinch it, hard.

“O-oh shit,” you curse at the feel of your high fast approaching; a delicious tightening of every one of your muscles that Jungkook is able to feel from the inside, your passages squeezing even harder than before, impossibly tight. Your whole pelvis feels as though it’s liquefying into a molten heat that spreads further out into your veins with every thrust of his hips and circle of his fingers, alighting every one of your nerves along the way until a wave of white hot pleasure engulfs you from your head to your toes.

“Cum nice and hard for me, baby,” Jungkook encourages even as you convulse underneath him, crying out his name, your stomach muscles tensing in perfect time with your core, “There’s a good girl.”

Your orgasm is so fierce, so long-lasting, that it takes all Jungkook has to hold back and not finish there and then - to pour himself into you as he so longs to. Instead, he forces himself to pull out before the temptation proves too much, and even as in the haze that accompanies your coming down you’re still aware of his sudden absence within you. You look up - chin tilted forward - confusion flashing across your fucked out expression.

Jungkook’s sinks back into his computer chair, spreading his legs open wide, and it’s with a curl of his finger that he beckons you to come take your place on his lap. On wobbling legs you manage to stand, your gaze fixed on the thick cock that awaits you, stood tall against his stomach and shining with the fluid that’d gushed forth with your orgasm.

Jungkook hums lowly as he watches you climb onto his lap, admiring the way your body moves to settle your thighs either side of his own, a hand on your hip to keep you steady. His chestnut brown hair is a mess from having dried in disarray yet it only serves to make him look all more irresistible, and you find It amazing that even having cum so hard just a matter of minutes ago you’re still craving him more and more; your appetite for him insatiable.

Leaning yourself forward, breasts against his chest, you begin to rub your core up and down his length, rolling your hips and softly whining every time it almost slips inside. Without your hands you can’t quite angle everything right, and after a minute or so of senseless grinding against him your husband helpfully grasps his cock between thumb and forefinger to nestle the head amongst your folds, just as eager as you are to put an end to your mutual frustration.

“Fuck, that’s right,” he groans as you sink down onto him, his pretty eyes closing as his chin tilts up, head rolling back, “Bounce on me, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock.” Bracing your forearms against his chest, hands clasped together at the base of his throat, you begin to move. You’ve no intention of taking things slow or drawing this out - you’re both long past that - and the tempo with which you slam yourself down onto his lap, over and over again, is relentless from the offset.

Your thighs burn with the effort it takes to keep going, but it’s worth it; worth it for the pleasure that throbs inside with every smack of his cock against your cervix, every drag of your clit against his pubic bone and every broken moan that falls from Jungkook’s lips. When you start to circle your hips on each stroke up and down his head tips forward again, eyes opening and making you quiver with the intensity with which they look you up and down, greedily taking you in.

“You like riding me, huh?” he asks you, voice strained and his fingertips digging into the flesh of your hips when you nod, boneless, dragging you down onto him even harder. “Ngh - feels so good. Love watching these titties bounce.” Jungkook grabs a handful of your breast to feel it undulate in his palm with your every movement before plucking at your nipple sharply enough to make you gasp, rolling the bud between his fingers and licking his lips like he’d rather it were inside his mouth.

“J-Jungkook,” you mewl, unlinking your fingers to paw helplessly at his skin as you rock back and forth, pace refusing to falter even with your growing exhaustion. It feels to good to stop to stop now - not until you’ve cum again and made him cum with you. “W-wanna cum, please, oh god.”

“Come on then, pretty girl,” Jungkook smiles, leaning his head back against the chair and letting it tilt slightly to the side so as to better admire the view of his cock plunging into your depths over and over again, “No-one’s stopping you.”

“Oh fu-uuck!” You’re close - so close - so very almost there, your head thrown back and sweat beading down your chest with the effort it’s taking to get yourself there without any help from the man beneath you who’s content just to watch you using his body in order to get off, save the extra push and pull of his hands on your hips.

“Come on baby,” he persists, and you can tell from the timbre of Jungkook’s voice and the further hardening of his cock within you that he’s getting close too, “Don’t stop now. You look so good, so perfect for me, fuck, babe, you’re gonna make me cum so hard.” Somehow, you find it within you to start moving even faster, letting out a strangled moan in amongst the sounds of skin slapping and the squelching that accompanies every your every motion thanks to the juices that have seeped onto onto his lap and thighs.

“That’s what you want, right?” His words may be starting to slur - to pour out from his mouth so fast that you’re not even sure that they really make sense - but they’re driving you wild. Jungkook has never been this vocal in bed before you’re starting to think that you might have to insist on it from now on; he’s too good not to. “Want your s-sweet little pussy stuffed full of my cum.”

“Mmff, yes, yes, please, yes,” you chant, unaware that you’re even speaking aloud. Your please are directed more to your own body than to your husband, anyway, egging on the pleasure you can feel growing within until you break for the second time, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip so hard you draw blood. Your movements slow dramatically - a slow undulation of your pelvis rather than the frantic grind that had led you here - but Jungkook is quick to pick up where you left off.

Whilst the walls of your pussy are still clenching around him he grabs onto your ass and begins to thrust up into you from underneath, ruthless, and oversensitivity has you crying out his name and letting your head flop forward to rest on his shoulder as he takes control. Like a ragdoll he lifts you up and down, hips and ass and thighs working hard to reach his end, expending so much energy that he can no longer speak to save the quiet, breathy,

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” that fall endlessly from his lips.

It’s with a faltering cry of your name that Jungkook finally cums, his face pressed into your hair to muffle the moans that follow. You feel every muscle he owns tensing underneath you, as rock solid as his cock has become inside, and then he’s twitching and pulsing and spilling himself inside of you in ecstasy; white hot ribbons of cum squirting out so thick and fast and so much that you can feel it start to seep out even while he’s stuffed so deep.

His breath is hot against your scalp as he tries to catch it, your heaving chests sticky with sweat where they’re pressed together.

“I love you,” Jungkook sighs into your hair after a minute has passed, a hand running through it, and when he sits up you feel him brushing it gently back from your face to look down at where you remain in the crook of his neck, completely exhausted. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

“It’s ok,” you murmur, eyelids fluttering open to be greeted by your husband smiling softly down at you, eyes creasing at the corners, “I’m still mad… and there’s a lot we need to talk about.” It takes a great effort to sit yourself upright again but with Jungkook’s help you accomplish it, smiling sleepily back at him. “But I still love you, even if you’re not quite who I thought you were.”

“Good to know.” Cradling your cheek, Jungkook leans forward and presses a sweet, lingering kiss to your mouth and another peck thereafter, touching noses.

It’s reassuring to have him act so sweetly with you now; gently lifting you off of his length to settle you crossways over his lap, uncaring about the mess that swiftly leaks out of you onto his thighs. He’s extra careful, too, as he cuts you lose from your binds, and after he sets his knife aside Jungkook spends a good few minutes dutifully massaging and kissing at the red marks that are left behind, the soft brown of his eyes full of love as he lavishes you with affection.

No matter who he is - or what he might be - Jungkook is still the man you fell in love with so many years ago. He’s still the same man who falls asleep every night at your side and who kisses you awake every morning; who brings you breakfast in bed and makes you laugh until you cry. It’ll take a lot of time, and a lot of talking, but somehow you’ll get through this. No matter what, you couldn’t bare to part.

You’re not sure what that says about you - but one problem at a time.

“So,” you begin as Jungkook is carrying you across the living room in his arms, your fingers playing in the back of his hair where it’s starting to grow just a little too long, “There’s definitely nothing else you need to tell me?”

“Nothing,” he confirms with a decisive nod, “Promise.”

“Hm.” Dangling your legs over the crook of his elbow, you cluck your tongue thoughtfully. “That’s a shame… I kinda liked the cable ties.” Your husband pauses on the bathroom tile, looking down at you with raised eyebrows and an amused twinkle in his eyes.

“... I’m sure I can think of something.”

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