#ive been going through such a terrible writers block for OY that I got really upset and fell into a mild depressive episode

[sweetbunnykook]

Invisible Things (M)

Adopted!JK x Detective!Noona - Oneshot/Drabble 

Warning: taboo and toxic relationship, slight smut, angst (light manipulation)

Word: 1,762 

Inspired by Nude by Radiohead 

Synopsis: Jungkook struggles to control himself around you and he hates himself for it. 

“Don’t get a-ny big ideas, they’re not going to happen…”

Jungkook sings softly, careful not to wake you even though you’re separated by a thin but solid wall. He wraps his oversized black and mustard yellow flannel around himself and curls into his pillows. He presses his headphones further onto his ears by the weight of his head. His deep cacao bangs tickle his lashes and with a small shake of his head, he sweeps the strands to one side.

“You’ll go to hell…for what your dirty mind is thinking…”

Can you hear him call out for you? Can you hear his heart weeping? He half hopes you can, and half hopes that you’re clueless to the turmoil resting inside his belly, warm and probing.

Digging his long fingers underneath his pillow, he tugs the end of a pale pink fabric until he can hold it against his chest. He had never wanted to stoop so low, but somehow he knew it was bound to happen, that it was about time he crossed the line. He holds your brassiere up into the golden light luminating from his Iron Man lamp. The superhero’s yellowed eyes stab into the gentle lace as if it could not stand seeing Jungkook hold it so tenderly between his fingers.

Jungkook unhooked the undergarment and brushed his nails over the tarnished metal hooks sewed in the back. Holding it up by the cups, his other fingers trace over the details of the lace sewed onto the otherwise plain surface. He felt white heat, stirring deep in his abdomen, that keeps him gently writhing in bed. His sweatpants tighten uncomfortably around his pelvis, prompting him to reach down and adjust himself as a blush cascades over his acne scar-kissed cheeks.

He reaches over to the Walkman resting next to his pillow, his most precious gift as you had been using the small device since your teenage years, and turns up the volume a tad bit. He wants to drown in the gentle lull of the bass and drums. He wants to drown in the music, away from his screaming thoughts.

How could you do this to her? Do you know how disgusted she would be if she found out? What is wrong with you, you ungrateful little shithead?

Jungkook squeezes his eyes close and brings his blanket over his shoulders. That’s not you speaking, he tells himself; that’s his other mother, the version of you in his head that he’s terrified of disappointing. It’s something he learned to bury inside him, but sometimes she haunts him, follows his angry footsteps.

But he knows, he absolutely knows, you would never be disappointed in him in reality. Upset, maybe. But disappoint? You’re too kind, too naïve, too caring for that. You would simply walk into his room, tell him not to do it again, take the lace away from his hands, and leave. You wouldn’t bring it up again, not over the dining table or over your morning routine of fetching his sports bag from the storage closet.

And that’s why the guilt, despite the stirring in his groin, feels like his chest is about to cave in.

But it’s so, so, so beautiful. The Chantilly lace, looking almost crème in daylight but peony pink under his bedroom lights – he wishes he can see it on you, trace the edges with his lips, breathe in the scent of your perfume-kissed skin. Jungkook groans, audibly, yanking his headphones out and rolling over to the cooler side of the bed. He brings one leg over his black bolster pillow and presses himself against it, seeking friction for the heat in his abdomen multiplies as the lace presses against his cheek. He closes his eyes and replaces the smell of fabric softener with your perfume instead.

Yes, he can just taste how sweet you are. God you’re so soft and supple, your skin warm under his fingertips. He can hear your breath hitch just before your eyes roll back and – fuck – you’re clawing at his shoulders, chanting his name like a prayer. You’re tight, gripping, pulling his heavy length inside you until you can feel his tip nestle in the opening of your cervix. Your lower lip is caught between your front teeth, your eyebrows scrunch in concentration, sweat drips down your jaw onto your clavicle. His pace quickens when you take a hand and squeeze your breasts together, prompting his hips to snap against you like a rubber band.

Nngh, Jungkook, please…please baby, my Kookie, my-

“Jungkook?”

Two innocent knocks and a muffled voice brings the young boy back into reality as he quickly stuffs the sinful fabric underneath his pillow and sits up on the bed, chest heaving, eyes dilated, and still insanely hard. Jungkook quickly brings a blanket up to his hips as the poster-covered bedroom door opens and you peer in; he can see your reading glasses is resting on the lower bridge of your nose, your hair pinned up with a clip, your nightgown loose around your shoulders. You must’ve been in the middle of your nightly reading routine.

“Y-Yeah, mom?” He breathes, inwardly cursing as his voice betrays the panic settling in his stomach.

“I cut up some fruit, do you want some?”

His eyes catch your free hand holding out a small dish of sliced honeydew melon and strawberries. Shit, he’s starving. It only dawns on him, at such an inconvenient time, that he hasn’t had dinner. But he obviously can’t accept your offer or else you’ll walk in to set the dish on his table and you’ll really see the ends of his bangs soaked with sweat and his cheeks pink with shame.

With a heavy heart, Jungkook shakes his head. “I’m okay. T-Thanks, mom. Can you close the door on your way out?”

His voice is desperate, labored.

You flash him a smile and pull the door close, prompting a relieved sigh from Jungkook as he slouches forward. And then the door opens again, your eyebrows scrunched slightly this time. He perks up immediately, clutching the blanket closer to his hips.

“…Are you okay?”

His fists tighten. “Yeah, why?”

There’s a pregnant pause, an undeniable tightness in the air that makes his back prickle with sweat.

Something was off, but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. Jungkook looks like he has something to hide, but then again, when did he not look like that?

You let yourself in the room, placing the plate of fruit on top of his PlayStation console. His spine straightens – he’s anxious, squirming further into his bed. He’s rather relieved that he’s softening slowly the closer you get. The fear of being shamed (not that you would do something like that if you found out) was too much for his mind to wrap around; he needs to play the role of the innocent and clueless son until you realize that all those men you’re going on dates with aren’t worth your time.

His mask was so close to falling a into place. He could simply say he’s been feeling a little under the weather and that’s why he lost his appetite today. It would explain why his hair is damp from sweat too. The plan was fool-proof, the words resting on the tip of his tongue, heavy with lies.

At least, it was, until your gentle and hesitant fingertips brush over his jaw and behind his ears, eliciting the softest whine you’ve ever heard. Jungkook wanted to rip his heart from underneath his ribs and reveal that you’ve been inside the whole time. He wanted, so badly, to tell you everything that’s been on his mind since he submitted his college applications.

I want to stay with you, mother. I want nothing more than to be your pillar, like you’ve been to me since you found me. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you. I want to be with you. Together. Forever.

“Kookie…you know you can tell me anything…right?” You inquire, watching his guilty eyes fall on his lap as his head hangs low. The worry that maybe he mistrusts you, that perhaps a bond with someone you adopted, rescued out of pity, is not as solid as you hoped; it hurt you.

And Jungkook doesn’t want to hurt you, ever. It kills him that he’s made you worry. As soon as he hears your voice sounding so small, not like how you usually are as a prestigious detective of a famous precinct, he knows you’re not going to accept anything but the truth from his doll lips.

So he gives you the truth. Partially.

“It’s just…anxiety, mom.”

You wipe your palm across his damp forehead, underneath his bangs, across his acne scars. Oh how many times you’ve told him not to pick at his skin but he doesn’t listen.

“Do you want me to run you a cool bath?”

He shakes his head, leaning forward to rest his head against your bosom. He breathes in your perfume, subtle but pleasant on your skin. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, one hand moving up the nape of his neck to comb his silken tresses. He murmurs something unintelligible, softly, and wrap his arms around your waist.

“Do you ever want something you can’t have?”

You let his hair flow between your fingers. Poor baby, you think, college stress is already getting to him. “Of course. It’s part of being human…but you learn to accept it.”

“What if…what if I can’t accept it? What if I want more and I just keep craving more…and more and more…what happens then?”

You don’t answer him, because even when you have been an adult much longer than he has, there are some questions you can’t answer with complete gentleness. As a mother, it was your duty to bring his hand closer to the fire, let him be a person who is not just your son. But you can’t let him go. You want to hold onto him, just a little bit longer. Just a little bit.

“You’ll know when you get there, darling.”

Jungkook nods, brushing his cheeks up and down your pounding chest.

“But…I have a chance of getting it…don’t I? A true chance?”

You wince slightly when his nails dig into your sides, but you pretend not to notice. You pretend he’s perfect just the way he is.

“Of course, Kookie. Of course you do. Whether you get this…this thing you want, or not, I’ll always be proud of you. I’ll always love you. I hope you remember that.”