maddie

dilf enthusiast

[dreamersparacosm]

when did you get hot? ᯓ★ jeon jungkook

— a dreamersparacosm 7k special .ᐟ.ᐟ

SUMMARY. Life after high school has been pretty mundane. Give or take a few breakups, a few quarter life crises, you’ve done well for yourself. Enter Jeon Jungkook: a blast from the past and your ex-Chemistry tutor, except now, it seems he's traded in his glasses and textbooks for a lip piercing and tattoos. The universe is clearly testing you... or maybe it's giving you one last shot to get it right.

pairing. jeon jungkook x reader

word count. 21.7k

warnings/genre. ex-cheerleader!reader, oc used to be a mean girl, ex-nerd!jungkook, jungkook used to be OBSESSED with oc, like clinically obsessed (what is wrong with him), slight sexting (kinda maybe) alcohol consumption, jimin instigating but what’s new, making out in dirty club hallways, fingering in an uber, he’s HUNGRYYY, he has a d*ck piercing!, oral (f receiving), you bounce on it, he fucks you while carrying you, idk read the rest they have sex, he cums inside you

note. WE NEED TO BRING BACK THE DYING ART OF A 10k+ WORD ONE-SHOT. the concept of publishing a 7k celly when my 6k celly hasn’t even been posted yet… i hate me too. i hit 7k a few days ago but this has been in the works since man’s best friend dropped. i’m quite proud of this, if i do say so myself. also before anyone yells at me, this was NOT on the to-do list but when there’s a will, there’s a way (or in my case, if you get a little tipsy, your brain starts thinking of ex-nerd!jungkook and this happens). this is just a fun little thing. porn with plot! but anywho, thank you all for following me, for engaging with my work, for continuing to give me a platform to share my passions. i love you all. here’s to many more celly’s!

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| when did you get hot? by sabrina carpenter

banner creds | masterlist

Saturdays. 3 PM. Brunch. It’s been carved in stone since the day you met Park Jimin during your freshman year at Yonsei University, when he was still closeted and you were still treating every night like your last on earth.

Today, he’s on a rampage about his fiancé of two years, Kim Taehyung.

“Do you know what he did? He bought a twelve foot cactus. Twelve. Fucking. Feet. And guess where it is now?” Jimin waves his fork dramatically, almost stabbing two nearby patrons in the process. “In the middle of our beautifully crafted living room. He’s lost his fucking mind.”

You hum, twirling a straw in your iced latte, half-listening and half-focused on the couple next to you who seems to be arguing. “So sorry, Jiminie. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Thank you.” He sighs. “It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen when I inevitably walk into it. You know, when I told Tae to pursue art, I didn’t think it meant this.”

Taehyung and Jimin have the kind of love story that makes romantic comedies look documentary-level realistic. By comparison, your love life is a blooper reel that never made it to air. They’ve been disgustingly in love since senior year of university, and you’ve been their trusty little third wheel. While it’s comforting to hang out with a couple that has a dynamic as healthy as theirs, you do have to fight the pang of jealousy that hits you everytime. 

“Last week it was the sculpture made of kitchen utensils. This week, desert plants. Next week? Probably something with a blow torch,” Jimin carries on, poking at his salad mercilessly. 

You snort. “Tae doesn’t know how to work a blow torch.”

“He could, is my point. He’ll try anything once.” Jimin’s eyes light suggestively, and the gag reflex hits fast and mercilessly. “Like that one time he wanted to try out suspension and—”

“Jimin. Please. I am trying to enjoy my coffee,” you plead. 

He rolls his eyes. “Like you don’t love us.”

“I do,” you reply quickly. “But please spare a girl the details of your sex escapades.”

“Maybe you’re bitter because you need some sex escapades of your own.” Jimin shrugs. He’s not saying it to be rude—the man doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, unless someone’s rude to his fiance. 

Poor Park Jimin has been running a one-man campaign to get you laid for months. The last time you remotely showed interest in a man was a year ago, and that catastrophe ended with you sobbing on their couch for 72 hours straight while Taehyung made you soup and Jimin burned sage to ‘cleanse the toxic energy.’

You have no interest in any of it.

Sure, sex is cool and all, but the idea of the emotional turmoil that comes with the territory seems like something you can do without. 

“What did I say about bringing up this topic again?” you groan. 

“C’mon, please tell me you have something new that’ll make me feel better about my cactus situation.”

Your fingers collect the condensation on your plastic cup, pretending to be deeply engrossed by it. “I have nothing.”

“So as exciting as my cactus?” 

Your foot kicks his ankle under the table and the noise he makes in retaliation is enough to get dirty looks from the other patrons. “Jesus Christ. Aren’t you a ball of fucking sunshine?” he moans in agony. “This is why you need to have sex. You get all crabby and violent when you don’t. When’s the last time you had sex again?”

Okay—there was that guy from the marketing conference in March…. No wait. That was last year. February? No, that was the guy who ghosted you after two dates. January? You weren’t even in the country in January. December feels like a decade ago but that was... oh god, was that really eight months ago? Nine? The guy with the man bun who worked at the bookstore and couldn’t find your— 

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Yikes.” He gives you a dramatic side-eye, one that screams you are a pathetic loser, but lovingly. “You need to stop getting coffee with me and go get coffee with a man.”

You frown. “Well, you’re a man?”

He rolls his eyes. “A man who doesn’t enjoy the good ol’ cock up his ass.”

Fair play. Jimin leans back in his chair, studying you intently. Never a good sign. “You know what your problem is?”

You pick up your latte, taking a few sips. “Enlighten me, Park Jimin.”

“You’re too picky.”

Coffee snorts out of your nostrils, landing right onto the table. Jimin flings napkins at the mess, disgusted. “I’m sorry, have you met me? I’ve went out with some weirdos.”

“No, no, not the weirdos.” He waves a hand in the air. He;s about to go on one of his famous monologues, and all you can do is sit back in horror and watch. “I’m talking about the good ones. The ones you actually like. You find one tiny flaw and suddenly it's ‘oh, he chews too loud’ or ‘he uses the wrong there, their, they're.’ Like, relax. Nobody’s perfect.”

“Really? Says the guy currently plotting his fiance’s death over a home decor choice.”

“That’s different.” Jimin’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, something he truly only does when you’ve exhausted his last nerve. “Taehyung and I are past the point of no return. We're in too deep. You, my dear sweet angel, are sabotaging perfectly good opportunities because you're scared.”

Of course, you’ve had this conversation with your therapist numerous times, and you’ll do anything to avoid the topic in your personal life.

But before you can open your mouth to argue, a voice cuts through. It’s low but polite, maybe a little uncertain. 

“Jimin-ssi?”

You don’t bother looking up to see who it is. Jimin knows everyone and their mother, their cousin, probably their dog too. Walking down the street with him is no easy feat, considering half of Seoul stops to talk to him. So, you do what you always do: focus on your phone and ignore the small talk about someone’s new job or whatever mundane life update they’re dying to share.

You scroll through Instagram, half-listening as they exchange pleasantries. Something about the gym, mutual friends, weekend plans. Standard small talk that you've heard a thousand times. 

“Yeah, bro, it’s been forever,” Jimin’s saying. He sounds happier than he normally does when he talks to these people. “I saw your LinkedIn update. How’s the new job treating you? Still insane?” 

“Better now that I’m settled in,” the mysterious voice responds, and there’s something familiar about it that tickles the back of your brain, but you’re too busy watching someone's Instagram story about their breakfast to pay attention. “The team’s chill, and I don’t have to be on call on weekends anymore.”

“You deserve it after all that overtime hell,” Jimin laughs. “Oh, hey, you should totally meet my friend [YN] here. [Y/N], this is Jeon Jungkook.”

Your head snaps up. Your phone falls to your lap. 

What. The. Fuck. 

You haven’t heard that name since high school. 

High school you, to put it mildly, was kind of a bitch.

You were a cheerleader, top of the social food chain. Naturally, you failed a few classes because you were too busy making out with Kim Mingyu behind the bleachers and planning which party to hit up on Friday night to care about things like academic integrity. 

When your GPA started looking tragic enough to threaten your spot as cheer captain, the guidance counselor assigned you a tutor. And since the universe loves to have fun with you, you were paired with Jeon Jungkook. Lanky, awkward Jeon Jungkook, with messy brown hair that looks like he cut it himself with safety scissors, thin silver glasses that slid down his nose every five seconds, and wide, innocent boba eyes. 

All that to say—you did what any mean girl would do and took advantage of him. Batted your eyelashes, laughed at his terrible jokes, and suddenly your chemistry homework was getting done without you having to lift a finger. 

Tests? He'd leave his answer sheet just visible enough for you to copy. 

Lab reports? Practically wrote themselves, if by ‘themselves’ you mean Jungkook wrote them while you filed your nails and complained about how boring science was. 

So, this? This has to be a comedic joke. This is a prank. Jimin is pranking you—it’s an elaborate one, you'll give him that. That's the only logical explanation because there is absolutely no way that the scrawny, stuttering kid who used to turn tomato red everytime you asked him to explain a chemistry problem is now standing here, towering over your table. 

The man who stands before you has a lip piercing, one that hugs the curvature of his pink lips. A sleeve of tattoos that curls down his arm in vivid ink. His hair is perfectly tousled, dark chestnut locks falling into each other. 

And most importantly, those arms. Biceps. He could probably bench press you. Why are you thinking about him bench pressing you? Stop thinking about him bench pressing you. Oh god, you're staring. You're definitely staring. Say something. Anything. Be cool.

He is—there's no other word for it—buff. Like, really buff. 

And he's looking right at you with dark eyes that definitely weren't that intense in high school, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“[Y/N] [Y/L/N]...” His voice has a deeper timber to it, with a confidence that high school Jungkook could never have. His tone alone is enough to send a shiver down your spine. “It’s been a minute.”

“Uh, I—yeah,” you gulp down a quarter-sized lump that magically appears in your throat. “It has.”

Smooth. Incredibly smooth. Someone needs to hand you a medal for conversational excellence. 

His eyes narrow into slits, like he’s analyzing you and your pathetic life. Sizing you up to discover that you’ve lost all importance in the world, and are now just another girl in the world. 

Jimin, completely oblivious to everything, beams at the two of you. “Amazing! You two already know each other.” He claps his hands together. “Jungkook, you should sit. [Y/N] and I were just catching up on her sad little love life.”

Damn you, Park Jimin. 

Maybe ten years ago, you wouldn’t have cared if he knew about your romantic failures, but with the black shirt hugging his biceps so perfectly, you resent Jimin’s openness. 

“I was not—” you protest, but Jungkook’s already got a hand on the empty chair between you two, plopping into it. 

“Was she now?” Jungkook tuts, looking over at you expectantly. “How sad is sad?”

“Okay, not sad.” You roll your eyes. “It’s just… quiet.”

His eyes dance with amusement, and you sink into the chair. “I can’t imagine you having trouble in this department.”

If only he knew the half of it. 

You open your mouth to combat the embarrassment, maybe to come up with some elaborate lie about how you have three dates lined up tomorrow night, but a server interrupts you before you get the chance. She smiles at Jungkook, and you can't help but note how her eyes twinkle when she realizes how utterly attractive he is. You sink one inch lower into the chair. 

Please don’t order, Jungkook. Ordering means staying and your brain (or your ego, for that matter) can’t take a second more. 

She asks what he wants, pearly whites on display, and he replies smoothly, “Just a black coffee is fine. Thanks, sweetheart.” 

He turns back to you and Jimin, smiling lightly. Behind him, the server trips over her own two feet a bit before adjusting her shirt and walking off. You watch the whole exchange with a weird feeling in your chest. It's not jealousy—you have no claim to be jealous. But it's something. Maybe annoyance that she was so obvious about it. Maybe annoyance that he didn't seem to notice. 

“So, how do you two know each other?” Jimin’s smile resembles a mischievous cartoon villain who just tied someone to railroad tracks. Vibrating with joy, eyes gleaming, the whole nine yards. You don’t even need to hear him speak to know what he’s thinking. 

“High school.” 

You and Jungkook both say in unison, surprising even yourself. He glances over at you before elaborating. “I was her Chemistry tutor.”

The memory alone sends shivers of disgust down your spine. You can still picture it so clearly: high school you in your cheer uniform, sitting across from him in the library with phone in hand, texting Mingyu about whose parents were out of town that weekend while Jungkook explained electron configurations. He’d push his glasses up his nose, stumble over his words when you’d sigh and lean forward, watch him turn crimson red and stutter through the rest of the explanation. 

Evil. Pure, unadulterated evil. 

“You needed a tutor in high school?” Jimin snorts, taking a long sip of his drink. 

“Hey, that shit isn’t easy.” You push his shoulder playfully. 

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, leaning forward in his chair. “Definitely not easy when you’re too busy with cheerleading practice to study.”

“And you were a cheerleader?” Jimin gapes.

“Okay, that’s enough reminiscing for today.”

Jimin raises his hand. “I’m not done reminiscing. I want to hear more about cheerleader [YN].”

Your face falls flat. Luckily, before Jungkook can embarrass you more with tales from a decade ago, the server comes back with his coffee, making sure to toss him the widest smile her pearly whites can muster. 

Jungkook’s lips wrap around the cup. Your eyes just so happen to fall on the movement, on the way they hug the rim. Were they always that kissable or did he get lip filler?

He meets your gaze.

Shit.

You turn back to Jimin, who’s eagerly awaiting more from Jungkook. “What else don’t I know about high school [Y/N]? She’s never told me anything.”

“Well,” Jungkook starts, and by the way his lips curve upwards, you can tell the next anecdote won’t be endearing. “She did ask me once if we could ‘skip the math parts’ of chemistry.”

Jimin bursts out in laughter. “You’re kidding me.”

“In my defense, chemistry is like, ninety percent math,” you retort. “That’s a reasonable request.”

“It really wasn’t,” Jungkook counters, and his grin widens. There’s something almost… predatory about it. Like he’s enjoying watching you squirm. “But then again, you always did think the rules didn’t apply to you.”

For a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at him. This confidence, this self-assured way he’s teasing you without a hint of anxiety that used to color every interaction, is foreign. 

The absolute worst part of it all is that if he wasn’t currently roasting you for being a shallow human being, this might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever witnessed. 

The eye contact, the slight smirk playing at his lips, the veins poking out of his biceps. All of it both excites and confuses you. 

“What do you mean?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence. 

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, laughs to himself. “Just that some things never really change.”

A pregnant pause fills the space. Jimin’s eyes dart between you two like he’s at the US Open and this is the match of the century. 

“You know, she also once asked me if atoms were contagious," Jungkook adds, turning to Jimin like you’re not even there. It’s a fucking power play—one that high school you invented—and you hate how effective it is. 

A long exhale leaves your mouth, and you have to bite back a thousand venomous words in retaliation. Jimin laughs. “Oh, don’t worry. In college, she asked me if square roots were plants.” 

Okay, so math wasn't your strongest suit. Sue a girl. 

Jungkook’s hands wrap around his cup, taking a quick sip. They’re bigger than you remember, rougher, with calluses to match. 

Truthfully, everything about him is just… more. Bigger, broader, bolder.

You shift gears, clearing your throat to interrupt whatever powwow Jungkook and Jimin have going on regarding your academic life. “What do you do now?” 

“Software development.” Jungkook almost seems surprised that you have an interest in his life. “Started at a startup, but I just moved to a bigger company.”

“What kind of software?” you ask mindlessly, happy to have the attention finally off you. 

“Mobile apps. Some web development.” Jungkook shrugs like it’s nothing, but you catch the hint of pride in his tone. “Nothing crazy.”

Jimin chimes in, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, [Y/N] works in marketing for a tech company. You guys probably have tons in common now.”

You want to sink through the floor. Actually—scratch that. Sinking through the floor isn’t enough. You need the floor to open up, swallow you whole, digest you, and then launch whatever remains into the sun. 

You can see exactly what's happening here. You can see the gears turning in Jimin’s pretty little head. He’s planning your wedding, probably picking out centerpieces. He thinks this whole encounter is fate, some kind of romantic star-crossed lovers nonsense where the nerd gets the girl who was too stupid to notice him the first time around. 

He’s going to be insufferable about this. Probably loop Taehyung into this delusion as well. There will be betting pools on when you finally hook up with Jungkook. 

Which—okay, fine—you wouldn’t be completely opposed to. Hypothetically. In theory. 

“How’s that going for you?” Jungkook turns to you. 

“Good. I’ve been at my current company for a few years now. I just got promoted last year.” Your chest puffs out a little. There’s nothing you need to prove to him. But it doesn’t hurt, especially as he validates your words with a slight nod in approval. 

“That’s awesome. I’m happy for you.”

Not said with even an inch of malice. 

“Thank you.” You flip your hair over your shoulder. “See, and I didn’t even need math or chemistry to be successful.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough.”

“I know how emotionally tolling it was to tutor me, so at least your efforts didn’t go to waste,” you joke, and he cracks a smile at that, bunny teeth poking out. 

“It wasn’t that emotionally tolling.” He shrugs, lifting his coffee to his lips. “It was fun. Y’know, when you weren’t texting that guy you used to date.”

He maintains eye contact with you as he takes one, two sips, and you have to clench your thighs to ignore the second heartbeat that’s beating in your vagina. 

Jimin opens his mouth—probably to ask approximately eight thousand invasive follow-up questions about your high school love life—but his phone buzzes violently against the table, the vibration loud enough to rattle his fork. 

Glancing down at his phone, his expression shifts from pure glee to actual panic. “Shit, I need to head out. Taehyung’s making dinner and if I’m late, he’s gonna put that weird purple pesto in it again.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Purple pesto?”

“You know how he is, babe.” Jimin frantically flags down the waiter, motioning for the check. 

You and Jimin always split Saturday brunch. It’s a tradition, one that you don’t plan on breaking. You reach for your wallet in your bag, prepared to pull out your trusty debit card.

But before you or Jimin can get too far, Jungkook smacks his AMEX Platinum card down like it’s nothing. 

You blink at the shiny metal. “Jimin and I always—”

“I’ve got it,” he says, all casual, like dropping 100,000 won on lunch for three people is normal for him. 

To your left, Jimin has the biggest shit-eating grin of all time. “Thanks, Jungkook. You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s my treat. It’s nice to run into old friends.” He tosses you a side glance when he says the word friends, because that’s hardly what you two ever were. 

Jimin’s phone buzzes again, and his eyes widen as they scan the new message. “Oh no. No, no, no.” 

“What?!” You lean forward, trying to peek at his phone. 

“Yeontan threw up all over the new rug. Taehyung just sent me a picture, it’s…” He makes a sour face. “I gotta go. Code red dog situation.”

“Is he okay?” you ask, because despite Jimin’s dramatics, that little ball of fur is your ray of sunshine. 

“He’s fine.” He stands, shrugging on his thin sweatshirt. “He probably ate something he should have. This was great though! We should all hang out again soon!”

And then he’s sprinting out of the cafe, leaving you all alone at the table with none other than Jeon Jungkook. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d say Jimin planned this. Although, to be fair, you do know better, and he one hundred percent planned this. You're going to kill him. You're going to actually murder your best friend.

The waiter comes by, charging Jungkook’s card while you sit there awkwardly, twiddling your fingers. You don’t know what to do with yourself, quite frankly. 

“Jimin isn’t very subtle,” Jungkook says, signing the receipt and placing it aside. 

“Jimin doesn’t do subtle.” You fidget with your napkin. “He probably planned this.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, really? You think so?”

“I know so. He’s been trying to set me up with someone for months.”

Crossing his bulky arms over his chest, he leans back in his chair. “How’s that working out for him?” 

“Well,” you begin, “Considering the last attempt was one of his coworkers who turned out to be married, I would say pretty terrible.”

“Jesus.” 

“I’m not really into the whole polyamory thing,” you joke. 

Jungkook laughs and stands, and you follow suit, realizing how much taller he is than you. Not that he hasn’t always been tall, but now he has the ego to match it. 

“Want me to walk you to your car?” he asks. 

You bashfully look down at your feet. In your years of living in Seoul, you’ve never once been embarrassed about taking the bus before. The Korean bus system is efficient and better for the environment. But Jungkook, with his fancy tech job, probably has some sleek car that makes the bus system look like a clown car. 

“I took the bus, actually.”

Immediately, without so much as a second thought, he goes, “I’ll drive you home.”

“You don’t need to—”

“I know I don’t need to.” He strolls towards the exit, holding the door open for you to glide through first. “I want to.”

Wait. Is he… is he flirting? That was definitely flirting, right?

If he is very specifically flirting with you, that means he either has a terrible memory or some kind of revenge plot in the works. Both options seem likely and panic-inducing. 

When you finally get outside, the crisp afternoon air dances across your skin. The autumn leaves crunch beneath your feet. You keep a few inches for God between you and Jungkook, and he falls into a comfortable pace beside you, matching you. 

His hands are nestled into his pockets, kicking leaves as he walks. Now that you two are alone, he’s returned to some of his old habits, like being quiet around you when there’s nothing to fill the noise with. 

“How do you like your job?” he finally decides upon asking, and your head lifts to peer at him. He’s gazing at you intently, clearly waiting for an answer. 

“I like it. Most days, it’s creative, but we do a good amount of analytical work too.”

“Why did you choose marketing?” He seems genuinely interested in your answer, which sends tingles down your spine. It’s been a while since someone has cared enough to ask about your life beyond the standard two questions. 

“Well, you know I suck at math,” you start, and he laughs at that. A deep sound that reverberates in his chest and makes your insides mushy. “I also hate science, so that wasn’t an option. I like being creative, and I’m a visual person. I took an intro class and it stuck.”

He nods, soaking it in. “Was college you the same as high school you?” 

You know what he’s asking. Was college you also the biggest bitch alive, or did you grow out of that phase?

“Nah.” You shake your head. “I’m not as shallow… or annoying.”

He smiles. “Good to know.”

You reach his car—a black BMW that looks like it was ripped right off the set of Fifty Shades of Grey—and he unlocks it with a soft beep. 

“Your car is nice,” you note, and his cheeks turn a soft pink at the compliment. 

“Thanks. I figured I should probably upgrade from the bus at some point.” He opens the passenger door for you, causing you to almost trip getting in at the sheer thoughtfulness. 

You frown. “Hey! I still take the bus.” 

He raises his hands up in surrender. “Not hating on the bus. I took that bad boy for years.”

Jungkook closes your door, rounding the car to the driver's seat and hopping in. the inside of the vehicle smells like leather, mixed with the faint scent of his cologne. Your brain can’t help but go a little fuzzy—scents are your weakness. Any man who smells good deserves to get their dick sucked, period. 

“Address?” he asks, starting the engine. 

You give it to him, and he inputs it into the GPS. Fifteen minutes, it spits back. Fifteen minutes in a car alone with Jeon Jungkook, the most confusing blast from your past. 

Peeking over at him, you take his appearance in. His jaw is defined and sharp. Could probably cut glass on that thing. His nose juts out, big enough for you to wonder if he’s ever let a girl sit on his face. God, you really need to get laid. You’ve resorted to sexualizing the man you used to tease in high school like some kind of medieval man who just saw an ankle for the first time. 

The guilt of your past sits heavy in your chest, but your body doesn’t seem to care. It wants what it wants, ethics be damned. 

You don’t deserve to be this turned on by someone you treated like human furniture for two years. But here you are, wondering about the logistics of his face between your thighs, and maybe that makes you exactly as terrible as you’ve always suspected.

Your eyes wander down to his biceps, down to his arms that are cluttered with tattoos. Different designs snake down his skin, some with color, and it takes all your might not to reach out and trace them. Fuck, now you’re thinking about his hands gripping the steering wheel. The veins. Those long fingers— 

“You have a lot of tattoos,” you blurt out. 

His eyes remain on the road, but his lips curl upwards. A little bit like a smirk. “I do.”

“When did you start getting them?” you wonder aloud. 

“College. I started with one, but then I got addicted and kept going.” He glances at you for a second before turning his attention back to the road. “You disapprove?” 

“No! No, they’re… they look good. Really good.” You want to die. “But it is different from what I expected from you.”

His gaze hardens. “A lot of things are different from high school.” 

Silence fills the air as you two continue along the highway in the direction of your neighborhood. Your town is quaint, not too far outside of the main downtown area of Seoul. It’s so peaceful that your neighbors are two elderly women who treat you like their daughter. 

You wonder where Jungkook lives. If you had to guess, he probably lives in Gangnam, the upscale area  in Seoul. Fancy tech job, fancy car… he must have a fancy house to match. Or a fancy girlfriend. 

“Do you live near here?” you ask, hoping to sound as casual as possible. Although, realistically speaking, there is nothing casual about interrogating your ex-Chemistry tutor. 

“Not too far. I’m about ten minutes by car.” His grip loosens on the wheel a little. “Near Hannam-dong.”

So, you were kind of right. Hannam-dong, where all the celebrities and rich people live.

Before you can stop yourself, you say, “Do you live alone, or…?”

It’s possibly the least subtle question in the history of subtle questions, but you need to know.

Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tautens, and when you look over at him, there’s a scarlet flash creeping up his neck. “I—yeah. Alone. It’s just me.”

Is he… blushing? 

“Oh, cool.” You try not to sound too pleased by the information. “That’s really cool. I mean, not cool that you’re alone if you don’t want to be alone, but cool that you have your own space and— y’know, everything.” 

Nailed it. 

“It’s—yeah, it’s good.” He clears his throat, and suddenly, you get a glimpse of the man you remember in high school. Less like the confident, macho guy from the cafe, and more like the boy who used to stumble over his words when you asked him questions. “No one to, uh, bother me or anything. Not that having anyone would be bothering, I just meant—I live alone. No girlfriend or—”

He stops himself, like he’s just realized what he’s saying, and the flush spreads to the tip of his ears. Oh my god. He’s flustered. Jeon Jungkook, with his tattoos and lip ring and his whole sexy confident energy, is flustered because you asked if he lives alone.

The ex-mean girl in you rises to the surface, bubbles in your throat. It’s been a while since you’ve activated her. Not since college, that one time when Park Eunji threatened your spot as sorority president. That version of you knew exactly what to do: touch his arm, squeeze once, watch him stutter. Make him want you so badly it hurts, then pull away. It's muscle memory, this kind of manipulation. You hate that it's still there, your instinct to weaponize attraction.

You want him to be nervous around you. It’s a sick, twisted thought you have, and you don’t know where it comes from, but you want it. “No girlfriend,” you repeat, trying to hide your smile. Reaching out, you place a small hand on his bicep, squeeze once. His bicep is firm under your palm, and the second you make contact, you realize what you've done. That was flirting 101. High school you would’ve done that without thinking twice, but current you? Current you doesn’t have that kind of game anymore. Abort mission. Abort. 

You yank your hand back to your lap like he’s made of volcanic ash. 

“I didn’t—that’s not—” He runs a hand through his locks, messing it up even more. “I’m just giving context about my living situation.”

“No, I got it.” You keep your eyes trained on the road, even though your heart is doing somersaults in your chest. “Though, I have to admit, I’m shocked.”

He gulps thickly. He pulls up to a red light, finally looking over at you directly. There’s vulnerability in his expression, polar opposite to his earlier reactions to you. “Are you making fun of me?”

Huh. You don’t know why, but the fact that old, anxious Jungkook still lives somewhere deep within him makes your stomach backflip. “I would never,” you reply dramatically, waving your hand for emphasis. “I’m just speaking aloud.”

Jungkook hums at that, focusing his attention back onto the street. It’s quiet again, if not for the sound of the engine purring and the awkward tension that’s loitered in the car since you stepped inside. 

He doesn’t need to ask you anything else anyway, since Jimin did a good job of outing you as the most single girl in the history of single girls. He might as well have just admitted you’re a born again virgin. 

The familiar road of your neighborhood looms ahead, and a pit of despair swallows your stomach whole. You really don’t want to get out of the car that smells like him. It would be embarrassing how you’ve begun to thirst over him, but after not getting laid in a while, you’re about ready to unzip your pants and jam your fingers in there. 

“Is it the building up ahead?” he questions, pointing to the cream apartment complex that you reside in. You nod sweetly, smiling brightly. You dial up the ol’ high school charm. 

“Thanks, Jungkook. I really appreciate it.” Another quick flutter of your lashes as he puts the car in park, taking a deep breath and angling his body to look at you. 

“Of course. Anytime.” His face remains stoic, probably hoping to not look like you affect him anymore than you already have.

Your fingers land on the handle, pushing it open to let the brisk air in, replacing the suffocating tension in the car. “Well, I wish you the best. It was nice running into you today.” 

Maybe you should invite him to come up. Maybe you should invite him for a nightcap? Granted, it is midday and there’s no actual alcohol in your home, but you can think of something real quick. 

But he doesn’t move toward you, or show any other inclination of interest. In fact, you’re feeling kind of slutty right about now. He probably thinks you’re some kind of embarrassing gold digger—which like, yes, you might be. For him only. 

Quietly, he says, “You too,” and that’s the end of that. 

And just as you’re about to slam the passenger door shut and head upstairs to scream into your pillow, Jungkook abruptly speaks. “[Y/N].”

You whip around as fast as your body will let you. “Yeah?” 

His big eyes twinkle under the sunlight rays reflecting on the car, two bunny teeth poking out as he sheepishly smiles. You’re going to have fantasies about that mouth later. 

“Just so you know, today wasn’t planned. But I’m really, really happy I ran into you.”

Huh Yunjin’s birthday bash has never been an easy feat. Every year, without fail, there’s a table bought at an exclusive club, and your entire friend group blacks out within the hour. You’re not sure how she gets away with it, but your love for her and mild fear of disappointing her clearly gets her very far. 

Hence why you’re standing in a shopping mall at 3 PM, trying to decipher what makeup product she would like best. Her birthday gift needs to be top notch, because you’re up against Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin, and those two have some kind of gaydar for gift-giving. Last year, Taehyung got her a vintage Chanel bag he “just found” at a thrift store. The year before, Jimin surprised her with tickets to see Beyonce. You’re operating at a disadvantage here.

You pick up another lipstick, eyeing the two intensely. A salesperson loiters over your shoulder, waiting to pounce at any given moment. In the end, you opt for a sleek red lip gloss, one that you know will pair well with her peachy skin. The relief that washes over you at finally securing her gift is endless. 

Pushing past the doors of the shop, you blend into the rest of the mall-goers. It’s pretty packed for an afternoon, but you figure it has something to do with the sales going on. 50% off for shoes… hm. Across the way, you see a sign for 25% off scarves, and you squint to try and make out the tiny writing. Buy one, get one free—

“Oof!”

Your body collides into something firm, something warm. It’s fleeting, and you jump back several feet, immediately armoring yourself with numerous apologies. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going—”

A deep chuckle. “I’m not mad about it.”

You know that voice. That voice has been haunting your wet dreams and your poorly-written mental fanfiction.

When you were ten, you got chosen to attend a unicorn retreat. It was a glorified horse camp, but it was five days of pure magic. Horses walking around with plastic horns on their head, offering unlimited rides to anyone who wanted one. Magical doesn’t even feel like the proper word to describe it. 

You thought that was the most enchanting moment of your life. But this… this rivals any stupid pony. This makes those ponies look like donkeys. In fact, with the luck you’ve been given, you might rent a unicorn and a castle. 

In front of you stands Jeon Jungkook, looking somehow more scrumptious than he did a few days ago. Defying the damn laws of hotness. You’d spent a good few hours tossing and turning in bed, dreaming about his lips, his eyes, his veiny hands. He looks like he stepped straight out of your wet dream, adorned in a zip-up sweatshirt and black t-shirt, fluffy hair askew. 

His eyes still carry that same twinkle from the last time you saw him, and you wonder if they’re like this all the time, or if it's just for you. 

“Hi,” you exhale breathily. 

“Hello.” He smiles at you, and it’s sweet, just a little dopey, and so decidedly adorable that you want to gnaw on his cheeks like a dog with a chew toy. “Must be my lucky day to run into you again.”

“Clearly.” He is flirting. Sure, there were doubts in your mind before this, but anyone who says those kinds of things, is someone who wants to be balls deep inside you. “I don’t normally treat pedestrians like bumper cars, though.”

Jungkook laughs at that, a melodic sound that sends vibrations from your head to your toes. “If I was a better man, I might’ve moved out of the way to make room for you.”

“Well, then I guess it’s my lucky day you’ve decided to not be a better man,” you counter, and he takes a step closer to you, allowing the people behind him to filter around. A mom of three tosses him an evil glare, but you could care less. 

“I was actually hoping to talk to you again so I could ask you a question.” His eyes bore into you, the eye contact making the walls of your vagina contract incessantly. His confidence from the cafe has returned with a vengeance, and you’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but you hope it never leaves. 

“I might have an answer,” you tease. 

His lips quirk upwards into a soft smirk, one that would normally disgust you but doesn’t whatsoever. “I was thinking you and I should get dinner sometime. Maybe catch up one-on-one.”

If this were a game of tennis, you just won match point. He served, you returned, and now the ball’s sitting in his court while he watches it roll away. Checkmate. Victory. Crowd goes berzerk. 

But you know how to play this game. Even though you’re a little out of commission, you still invented half the rules in high school. And rule number one: never let them see you sweat. Rule number two: make them work for it. 

Tilting your head, you pretend to consider it like you haven’t thought about what underwear you would wear to this hypothetical one-on-one time. “Maybe,” you say, drawing out the syllables. “I’ll have to check my calendar.” 

Your calendar is wide open. Your calendar has been wide open for months. Your calendar is begging for plans. Your calendar is weeping with joy at the possibility of having something on it besides ‘therapy 2 PM’ and ‘don’t forget your lexapro.’

But here’s the thing: if you say yes immediately, if you're too eager, too easy, he’ll figure it out. He'll realize you're still that girl who only wants things because they're shiny and new, who gets bored the second the chase is over. Except this time, the thing you want isn’t a spot on the homecoming court or the captain of the basketball team’s attention—it’s him. 

“Maybe?” He’s grinning now, full teeth, like he’s finally been let in on how the game works. “I pour my heart out and I get a maybe?” 

“You didn’t pour your heart out. You asked to get dinner.”

He scoffs, “Same thing.”

“Not even remotely close, lover boy.” You migrate an inch backwards, so miniscule he hardly notices.

Something flickers across his face at the nickname—amusement, or something darker, more interested. His eyes track your movements like a predator watching prey. 

“I feel like you’re just testing fate at this point,” he jokes. You can see the gears turning in his head, shifting and transforming to try and get to his end goal: you. 

“It’s worked once before already.” You shrug, taking a few more steps back. 

“Alright, well, can I at least get your number? Not really feeling like leaving it all up to the universe.” The color drains from his face slowly as he realizes you’re really, truly, going to walk away. His voice raises a little at the end of the sentence. 

“I’ll see you around, Jungkook.”

With that, you turn on your heel, bags in tow, and make your way towards the exit of the mall with what you hope exudes confidence, and not like someone who’s about to sprint outside and scream into the void. His eyes burn into your back the entire way. Don’t turn around. You’re doing so well. You’re a mysterious enigma. You’re unattainable. 

You trip over your own two feet and have to do some weird stumble-hop recovery move just so you don’t eat shit in the middle of the mall.  

Okay, so maybe not entirely mysterious. But you do make it outside with a goofy grin on your face, caught in some kind of daze, all because your ex-Chemistry tutor has made it abundantly clear he wants to see you again. 

The following Saturday, you and Jimin cozy up at a nearby cafe—a different one than last week’s. You suggested it over text a few days ago, after you had run into Jungkook, because there was some perverse thrill to testing fate and the universe’s weird way of working. Jimin, who could care less where he got his cup of coffee, agreed with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“So, tell me again why you didn’t give him your number,” Jimin furrows his brows, picking at his limp salad in disgust. He’s trying this new diet that only allows for 1000 calories a day, and it’s made him even more judgmental than usual. “Walk me through your thought process here.”

You sigh. “Jiminie, I told you already. I’m playing the game.”

“The game… I hate straight people.”

“Hey, you did the same thing with Tae when you guys first started out,” you frown, taking a prolonged sip of your iced latte. Senior year, Jimin refused to see Taehyung more than once a week in fear of seeming too desperate and clingy, even though he texted him every five minutes anyway. 

Jimin lets out a long-suffering sigh, pushing the soggy lettuce into the corner of his plate. “Tae and I are different. We’re homosexuals. There’s no rules when society already hates you anyway. But you are playing a dangerous game with him.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “I’m not. I’m playing hard to get.”

“How do you know he won’t get bored?” It’s an innocent question that, when asked, makes you want to bash your head into a concrete wall. “I mean, you’ve seen the guy. He probably has a roster of girls throwing their phone number at him.”

You pause mid-sip, straw frozen against your lips. You… hadn’t actually thought about it like that. In your mind, this whole thing has been about you trying to regain an inch of the upper hand, about making Mr. Cocky work for it. But Jimin's right—Jungkook isn’t the same nerdy kid who would wait around forever for a crumb of your attention. You’re also not the cheerleader that everybody’s dying to get their hands on. He could have anyone, and yet his sights are set on you (or well, as far as you know).

“Then I guess we’ll just have to see how into me he is.” You shrug, but no ounce of you feels calm. 

Jimin quirks an eyebrow. “Really? Off of one conversation after ten years, he’s supposed to be magically in love with you?” 

“Okay, first of all, it was two conversations, and second of all, do you have no faith in your hot and sexy best friend?” You swish your hair for good measure, but Jimin doesn’t buy it for a second. Your charms have no effect on his gay self. 

“I do have faith in you. However, I can’t recall the last time you’ve successfully kept a guy around after the first kiss…” he trails off, pretending to count on his fingers. You gasp, appalled by the insinuation. 

“Park Jimin,” you scold. He bursts into a fit of laughter, wiping faux tears from his eyes, and you really can’t help but follow suit at the hysterics of it all. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m honest, babe,” he says through another fit of giggles. “You hate to see it.”

“Jimin? [Y/N]?” 

The laughter dies down within a millisecond. Somewhere in the distance, you swear you hear a record scratching. 

Tentatively, you crane your neck upwards. Lo and behold, Jeon Jungkook stands before your table, holding an iced coffee and looking between you and Jimin in bewilderment. He must have a tracker planted inside you, because although you had daydreamed about this scenario approximately ten times in the past few days, never did you actually think it would come to fruition. 

“Why are you here?” you blurt, and Jimin throws you a glare, facepalming. You slap a hand over your mouth. You have the sudden, embarrassing, debilitating urge to vomit. 

Jungkook laughs, and you notice the tip of his ears turning pink. “I could ask you the same thing. This is my regular spot.”

“This is—” You glance around the cafe, like the answer will appear written in invisible ink. “Since when?” 

“Since I moved to the area?” He’s donning a massive grin now, one that lights up his entire face. 

Your face falls flat. In your frantic search for a new cafe, you neglected the fact that the new spot you selected is located in Hannam-dong. Exactly where he told you he lived last week. 

Jimin’s completely forgotten his salad, jumping in to save you from the depths of shame. “Jungkook! Join us.” He’s already pulling out an empty chair before he can protest. 

Jungkook shakes his head, the hoop earrings in his ear moving with him. “I don’t want to interrupt—”

“Don’t be silly,” Jimin retorts quickly, shooting you a look that both screams: you’re an idiot and this is fate knocking at your door. “Come, sit here.”

Jungkook hesitantly sets his drink down, sitting down in the chair. “So, what were you guys laughing at before?” 

You blink a few times, utterly speechless. There’s no universe in which you admit to Jungkook what you two were discussing before his appearance. 

“Nothing crazy,” Jimin starts, and he has this glint in his eyes he only gets when he’s about to do something so diabolically crazy you’ll have to second-guess your friendship. “She was just telling me about this guy she’s playing hard to get with. Real shame, honestly. He sounds great.”

What the fuck is going on? you ask yourself silently. Your mind is shooting blanks. 

Jimin sips his water nonchalantly as if he didn’t just throw you under the bus. 

You finally muster up the courage to speak. “Jimin’s being crazy,” you say, trying to recover some dignity. “There’s no guy.”

“Really?” Jungkook’s smirk is unrattled. “At the mall, you said you had to check your calendar. It sounds like you’re pretty busy.”

Oh, he wants to play this game.  

“I am busy.” You lift your chin in defiance. 

“Doing what?” Jimin chimes in. After this lunch date, he’s lucky if you ever respond to one of his texts ever again. “You texted me yesterday saying you were bored.”

“I hope you die, Park Jimin,” you mutter.

He turns to Jungkook, a conspiratorial grin plastered on his face. “She’s playing hard to get. I told her it's a terrible strategy, but does she listen? No.”

Jungkook’s eyes don’t waver from your face. “Hard to get, huh?” 

“That is not what I’m doing,” you huff, even though that’s exactly what you’re doing, and all parties present at the table know it.

“No, it makes sense.” Jungkook nods, leaning forward in his chair. “After all, you have that busy calendar… you know, the one you need to check.”

“Exactly,” you agree. 

“And have you? Checked it, I mean?”

You stare blankly at him. 

“I’ve been meaning to.”

“Mm,” Jungkook hums, sipping his coffee. The white t-shirt and grey sweatpants combo he’s wearing today makes you feel like a rabid animal who’s been deprived of food for too long. “Who’s the lucky man?” 

“Get this,” Jimin jumps in eagerly. “She met him at the mall.”

“The mall?” Jungkook asks incredulously, dropping his chin into his open palm. 

“And she didn’t even give him her number.” Jimin continues this charade as if you’re not even sitting there. Which, you really wish you weren’t. In fact, you might just bury yourself six feet under this cafe after everything’s said and done. 

“Wow,” Jungkook tuts. “I hope that guy gets her number somehow.”

“Seems like a long shot.” You shrug, fiddling with your straw. 

“Right. I mean, we can’t forget about fate, because fate’s probably working in that guy’s favor.”

It hits you square in the chest, that Jungkook really does know exactly what he’s done, that he is perfectly aware of the effect he has on you. 

​​There's a pause. A long pause. Jimin is grinning like the Cheshire cat, and you're seriously considering faking a medical emergency.

Jungkook’s biceps strain against his shirt, tongue darting out to play with his lip ring. “You know what I think?” His voice drops several octaves, low enough for you and Jimin to hear. “I think this guy should just show up at your door. Skip all the games.”

“That would be weird,” you quip. 

“Would it?” Tilting his head, Jungkook observes you. Feels like he’s seeing right through you with x-ray goggles. “Even if you’ve been thinking about him too?” 

You’re painfully aware of how close he is, how his knee is almost touching yours under the table, how his eyes keep dropping to your lips. Your brain is short-circuiting. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except stare at him and wonder what would happen if you just gave in.

“There’s rules to be followed,” you finally mumble. 

“Rules for what?” Jimin snorts. 

In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the smartest excuse you could’ve conjured up. No one seems to understand the dying art of playing hard to get anymore. 

But, really, it was only a matter of time before you lost your temper and threw in the towel. You were never good at winning anything besides cheerleader championships, anyway. “The game, Jimin. The fucking game I explained to you already. Just so we’re all clear, by the way, I was trying to enjoy my lunch before you two decided to gang up on me, so thank you both very much.”

Jimin and Jungkook deadpan, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. 

Embarrassment courses through your veins, choking your throat. It’s not like you meant to have an outburst and openly admit you’re playing the game with Jeon Jungkook, a man who you used to ignore as if he were invisible. Sometimes a girl gets sexually frustrated and it manifests in interesting ways. 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you grumble. You speed-walk as fast as your legs will take you, all the way to the restroom, locking yourself in one of the stalls and plopping down on the toilet. You can’t pinpoint why you’re suddenly overcome with some silly desire to win this ‘game’ you conjured up in your head, why you won’t just give in to what he so clearly wants to offer you. 

But maybe—and you don’t want to admit it—there’s a residual guilt that lives deep inside you. One that when you really face, reminds you of just how cruel you were to others in high school. There was a time in your teenage life where you thought being the queen bee of high school meant you were at the apex of the universe. Now that the tables have turned, and you’re not as big as you once were, maybe you don’t deserve what the universe is trying to offer you. 

Maybe you don't deserve what Jeon Jungkook is trying to offer you.  

It’s Sunday, but it’s hardly peaceful or restorative. Saturday night was spent partying with Yunjin and Chaewon at some club in Gangnam that served drinks comparable to battery acid, which is why you’re currently battling the worst hangover of your entire life. Your head is pounding so hard you can hear your heartbeat in your eyeballs. And you're pretty sure you're still drunk, which means the real hangover hasn't even hit yet. 

There’s no one to blame but yourself. Your brain was a broken record last night: Jungkook, high school, the game. The only way to stop the endless loop was to wash it down with copious soju shots.

Groggily, you roll over and unplug your phone from the charger. A quick scroll through your missed notifications and it’s the usual suspects: Jimin, Yunjin, Taehyung…

Wait. 

Your eyes squint into slits, trying to make sense of the unknown number that sent you one message at 8 AM. You don’t recognize it. Spam, probably. Or maybe someone from last night asking if you got home okay. You don’t remember giving your number to anyone, but then again, you don't remember much after midnight.

You unlock your phone, rub your eyes, and adjust to the bright white light of your messages. 

[phone] waited ten years to run into you again, [Y/N]. im not really interested in waiting another ten to see if fate brings us together a fourth time

It doesn’t take much time for you to put together the puzzle pieces. 

You gasp, nearly flinging yourself off your bed at the realization. You reread the message one, two, three times, just to confirm he really said your name in it. You try to do a little excited kick under your covers, but your legs are tangled in your sheets and you nearly fall off the bed.

After yesterday’s temper tantrum, you had exited the bathroom to see Jeon Jungkook no longer present at the table. Jimin shrugged, said ‘he was tired, so he went home,’ and that was the end of that. You were under the impression that you ruined the entire charade, that you wouldn’t have to worry about the game because you already lost anyway. 

But here he is, in your messages, contradicting your worst fears. 

you who’s this?

Squealing, you throw your phone to the side, but within a few seconds, it lights up again with a new message. 

[phone] wild guess?

you my amazon package?

You snort as you watch him read it and begin typing. 

[phone] close. even better 

An unwarranted smile sneaks its way onto your face. 

you enlighten me

[phone] it’s your ex chemistry tutor from high school. that weird dude 

you weird dude is how you’re choosing to introduce yourself?

[phone] trying to be humble 

[phone] so about yesterday

Your hangover creeps back into your skull, your head pounding to the beat of a drum.

you we don’t need to talk about yesterday

[phone] why not?

you because i embarrassed myself?

[phone] you didn’t. thought it was cute

[phone] may have also told your best friend i needed your number in the name of saving you from your drought, so you’re not the one who embarrassed themselves 

Staring at the message, your alcohol-riddled brain struggles to make sense of the words in front of you. Heat spreads from your chest to your neck to your cheeks. The guilt tries to claw its way up—you don’t get to feel this giddy, not about him—but your body overrules it with a decisive vote. Your hangover is completely forgotten now, replaced by a warm flutter in your stomach that has nothing to do with last night's tequila.

It’s so unlike him, the polar opposite of what Jeon Jungkook used to evoke in you, but the mere thought of him ending your sex drought sends a tingle down your spine. 

You’re grinning like a foolish schoolgirl now, dignity be damned. You save his number to your contacts, makes it official in your brain. 

you are you offering to get me out of my drought? 

You fling your phone to the opposite side of the bed, and scream into your pillow. 

The buzz causes you to shoot back up, heart thumping in your throat as you read his response. 

jungkook possibly 

Somewhere in the sky, your guardian angel is doing backflips. 

Hands shaking, heart pumping blood erratically, you type back:

you take a girl to dinner first

The three dots pop up almost immediately, and then: 

jungkook tried that already. the girl ran away from me :/ 

Technically, he’s right. You did run away. And now he’s resorted to joking about it, like it doesn’t bother him. But it should bother him. Should annoy him that the girl who didn’t acknowledge his existence in high school is now playing games with him like she has any right to. 

You don’t know how to let him be nice to you, how to let him want you, when all you can remember is a younger you rolling your eyes while he patiently explained molecular bonds. You were cruel. Mostly in small ways that probably hurt more than massive shows of dismissiveness, but harsh nonetheless. 

Guilt sits burdensome in your chest, a thorn in your side. Deep down, you’re terrified that when he finally sees you clearly—really sees you, not the filtered version you're trying to present—he’ll realize what you already know. That you were never worth the wait.

Your fingers loom over the keyboard, twiddling. The guilt is there, always there, always a dark cloud hanging. You were cruel to him. Casual about it, even. Used him like a tool and never once considered that he was a person with feelings that could be hurt.

But maybe—and this is the thought that's been needling at you since the cafe—maybe the worst thing you could do now is waste his second chance on you by playing games. Maybe the cruelest thing would be pretending you don’t want this when you so obviously, desperately do.

On the one hand, honesty is terrifying and vulnerability makes you nauseous. 

But, on the other hand…

you well maybe the girl wants to see if you’re full of shit or not 

Your heart speeds up behind the confines of your ribs. 

jungkook i’m not the same guy from high school. i don’t play about what i want 

With bated breath, you type your response. It’s a question that you know the answer to, and you don’t know why you need him to say it, but he will anyway. 

you and what is it that you want?

jungkook you. 

The night of Huh Yunjin’s birthday creeps up slowly on you, amidst a week busied with work, adult errands, and most stupidly, thoughts of Jungkook. The thoughts of him play, pause, tape spooling, and then rewind on a constant loop, unrelenting in their nature. 

You hadn’t spoken to him much after your last exchange, minus some ‘good morning’ texts from him that you responded to politely. It’s foreplay, if nothing else, because even a few words from him are enough to leave you giddy for days to come. 

You fully intend to take him up on his offer, you just don’t know when. . 

Sinkhole is packed to the brim, sweaty bodies colliding in an attempt to feel human intimacy. A disco ball hangs loosely from the ceiling, transmitting silver light across the dance floor. The DJ is spinning up cringy Top 40 hits you haven’t heard since college, but the amount of soju shots you’ve consumed within the past hour masks the embarrassment you feel. 

“Cheers to my 28th!” Yunjin yells in your ear, raising her shot glass in the air. Jimin abandons making out with Taehyung in favor of lifting his shot glass with hers, and you can’t help but join in on the festivities. 

Yunjin keeps toasting to things that get progressively more unhinged. ‘To being 28! then ‘To my IUD!’ then ‘To tax evasion!’ 

You're not sure she's even joking on that last one. 

You’ve lost count of how many you’ve taken, but the liquor burns less with each passing shot. 

“Happy birthday, baby!” Jimin leans over the table you’re all perched at, pressing a chaste kiss to Yunjin’s cheek. She giggles in delight, smiling brightly in the way only a drunk person could. 

“Oh, why thank you, Jiminie,” she laughs. “And thank you, Tae and [Y/N] for buying the table!”

It was 75% Taehyung and 25% you, but you’ll accept her gratitude. Buying a table at the club with unlimited alcohol was also part of your master plan to get absolutely obliterated and halt all thoughts of Jungkook, at least for the night. 

“[Y/N], we need to find you a hot guy tonight. That dress is doing insane things to your legs,” Yunjin whines, pushing your shoulder. “There’s soooo many boys here.”

Jimin and Taehyung share a meaningful look, one that you don’t miss. Rolling your eyes, you say, “I’m not looking for anyone tonight. I want to spend it with you.”

“Booooring.” She pokes your side, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of Usher. “If you ditch me on my birthday to fuck a hot dude, I won’t be mad.”

“But I don’t want to fuck a hot dude—”

Jimin clears his throat. “Well, actually, you do. He’s just not here right now.”

There goes your vow to ignore all Jungkook thoughts this evening. 

“Jimin.”

“What? It’s true,” he giggles, cozying up into Taehyung’s side. “The guy practically sexted you last weekend.”

Feeling caught, you busy yourself with the hem of your black bodycon dress. “Whether I fuck him or not is nobody’s business but my own,” you mumble. 

“Oh, please,” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “You’ve been needing to get laid for months. We’re your best friends, which makes it our business.”

“She’s just upset that she ignored him in high school and now he’s this big, hunky guy,” Jimin snickers. 

Taehyung frowns. “Bigger than me?” 

“Okay, enough,” you snap, pouring more soju into the empty shot glasses. “I just wanna get drunk and enjoy my night.”

“I’m sure you would enjoy your night more if you had a big, sexy man to take care of you. I know I would,” Jimin chuckles. Not in a mean way, but your heart does sink a little as you watch him give Taehyung an open-mouthed kiss. 

Yunjin turns to you. “Why haven’t you fucked him?” 

You don’t know when this became an intervention, but everyone seems arduously interested on whether or not you fuck Jeon Jungkook. 

You shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t want to—trust me, I do—I just… feel a little bad about how I treated him in high school.”

Your friend snorts, rolling her eyes with an affectionate smile playing upon her lips. “If he felt bad about how you treated him, he wouldn’t be pursuing you.”

“She’s right,” Jimin jumps back in, and you fight the urge to slam his head into the table. He picks up a soju shot. “It’s kinda cute how desperate he seems for your attention. That’s a guy who’s gonna eat you out like his life depends on it.”

The mental image of his moist, plump lips wrapping around your clit has your thighs trembling under the table, but you clamp them before anyone can notice. 

“I’m gonna fuck him,” you promise. “I swear.”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “I hope you do, before someone else snatches you up.” He tilts his head in the direction of a man eye-fucking you, and your stomach queases. 

“He’s cute,” Jimin takes his shot, and you follow suit. There’s no way you’re getting through this night without getting absolutely obliterated. 

“Oooo, there’s a really cute guy over there. 12:00,” Yunjin leans into the group, whispering as lowly as she can over the sound of Kesha. 

You refuse the desire to look. Taehyung, however, lets his eyes wander to who she’s talking about. Luckily, Jimin is too entranced by pouring himself another soju shot to care. “Oh fuck me. He’s fucking sexy. I would let that man give me a rimjob.” 

You slump into the chair. Somehow you have a feeling you’re about to undergo the world’s least subtle setup. 

Jimin’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his skull. Slowly, he angles his body to see who his boyfriend is talking about. “He can’t possibly be that hot—oh my god. Oh my god.”

“What?” you and Yunjin say in unison. If you had to guess, based on Jimin’s track record and the specific tone of that ‘oh my god,’ he’s either spotted a celebrity, a firefighter in uniform, or someone from his legendary whore phase. And given that you’re at a nightclub, you're betting on option three. Jimin’s whore phase is the stuff of legend—a six-month period during sophomore year where he worked his way through half of Seoul's gay club scene. He doesn't talk about it often, mostly because Taehyung gets a very specific look on his face when it comes up, but every once in a while someone from that era will resurface and Jimin will make that exact noise.

“Who is it?” you press on, heart thumping in excitement. 

Jimin’s blonde hair sways as he turns to look back at you. “Okay, don’t panic.” 

Furrowing your brows, you start, “Don’t—”

“That’s Jungkook, you idiots. The fucking guy from [Y/N]’s high school we’ve been talking about,” he says in a hushed tone, punching Taehyung’s shoulder. 

There’s a warm feeling hugging your chest, your body feeling as though it’s been lit on fire. It might be the alcohol, or the sheer joke of it all. Out of all the scenarios you’ve conjured up in your daydreams, this wasn’t one of them. 

You turn your body to track where your friend’s eyes were just a minute ago. Even though Jimin already confirmed it, there’s a tiny part of you hoping his eyes deceive him. But there he is, Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, talking to one of his equally attractive friends. He’s wearing all black—black t-shirt that sculpts his biceps, black baggy jeans that sit tightly on his slim waist. His hair is ruffled, hoop earrings dangling from the holes in his ear. And really, the most sickening part of it all: he has two lip rings instead of the usual one. You’re gonna be sick.

“Earth to [Y/N]...” Yunjin waves a shot in front of your face, and without preamble, you take it from her, swallowing it in one easy sip. The alcohol travels down your throat, but you barely feel the burn. 

“You good?” Taehyung raises an eyebrow. 

“Just peachy,” you lie. You smile at your friends, but they don’t seem convinced. 

Jimin guffaws, leaning back in his chair with an evil grin. “Is that why you just downed another shot?”

“I’m thirsty.”

“For alcohol or for Jungkook?” Yunjin bursts into a fit of giggles, high-fiving Jimin across the table. 

Groaning, you let your head fall into your hands. “I hope all of you die a slow and painful death.”

“He’s gotten even hotter since the last time I saw him,” Jimin notes, sipping his untouched margarita. “How is that possible?”

“Can we please talk about anything else?” You reach for the soju bottle, pouring the last of the clear liquid into your glass. Your second in thirty seconds. A new personal record.

“We will do no such thing,” Jimin’s eyes are gleaming with elation. “You need to go talk to him.”

You nearly choke on the liquor. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“Go. Talk. To. Him.” Jimin enunciates each word like you’re a toddler. 

“Are you insane?” you deadpan. “Like, actually stupid? Have you suffered a brain injury I don’t know about?”

Both Jimin and Taehyung share another unspoken look. “I’m trying to help you.” 

“But I don’t want help—”

“[Y/N].” Jimin doesn’t often get very serious, but the expression on his face makes you squirm. “I’m not letting you fuck this up.”

“I;m not fucking anything up by staying exactly where I am.” You cross your arms over your chest. Realistically, you know he’s right. If you were more drunk, maybe you would bite the bullet, march over there, and plant a kiss right on those lips you haven’t stopped thinking about. But you’re not, so at the table you will stay. 

“This is fate. This is the universe putting him a few feet away.” Jimin gestures vaguely at Jungkook. 

“The universe can fuck off, honestly.”

He sighs, “I’m doing this for your own good.”

And before you can process his movements, a lag in your brain, Jimin turns in his seat, arm raising in a wave, mouth opening to call out his name. 

“No!” You lunge across the table, knocking over Taehyung’s drink, causing him to groan. You latch onto Jimin’s arm, yanking it down forcefully. “Don’t you fucking dare, Park Jimin—”

It’s too late. 

Because in your desperate scramble to stop Jimin from committing social suicide on your behalf, you've made a scene. Swiveling your head slowly, you see Jungkook staring directly at you. 

His eyebrows are raised, a hint of a smirk playing upon his lips. His tattooed fingers toy with the straw in his drink. It feels as though time drags on for hours, as if the hands of a clock are being lugged through molasses. 

You slowly extract yourself from on top of the table, slinking into your chair with as much dignity as you can muster. Your hand comes up in the world’s most awkward, tentative wave. The tiniest flutter of your fingers. 

Jungkook’s lips stretch wider, raising his hand in return. It’s a proper wave, filled with that newfound confidence of his. Then he turns back to his friend, resuming their conversation. It’s not like you expected him to drop everything for you—or well, you kind of did.  You exhale a deep breath. “Oh my god.” You slump in your chair. “That was horrible.”

“That was… bad,” Jimin tiptoes around the word, twiddling his thumbs. 

“I’m going to have to fake my death and move to a different country—”

“Stop being a drama queen,” Yunjin cuts in, sliding a shot towards you. You don’t even know or care where it spawned from, but all you know is you need it. “He waved back. He probably thought it was cute.”

Sighing, you shake your head. “There is nothing cute about what just happened.” You down the shot, and you’ve completely lost count at this point of how many you’ve ingested. 

“Okay, new plan,” you announce, slamming the glass down. “None of that happened. We enjoy Yunjin’s birthday. We do not make eye contact with Jungkook, we do not speak about Jungkook.”

“Yeah, about that,” Jimin trails off, eyes glued to somewhere behind your shoulder. “It’s too late.”

“Too late for what?” 

“He’s coming over here.”

Your entire body halts all movement, rigid like a statue. “What?”

“He’s coming here. Right now,” Taehyung repeats, and your heart drops to your feet. A hornet’s nest of anxiety swarms your stomach, filling your body with buzzing fear. 

You shake your head frantically. “Please say you’re messing with me.”

Yunjin turns to see where Jimin and Taehyung are staring, and the moment she touches your arm, you realize you’re trapped. There’s no way out but through. 

“[Y/N]. It’s nice to see you here.” 

His voice is deeper, a low timbre that makes your brain go all fuzzy around the edges. He stands in front of the table, and you peer through your eyelashes to look up at him. 

Fuck. Fuck, he looks even better up close. 

The two lip rings catch the light of the disco ball. A silver chain dangles from around his neck and you briefly wonder what it’ll look like hanging over you while he pounds into…God, get a grip. You can catch a whiff of his cologne, something citrusy and woodsy that causes a pool of arousal in your underwear.

“Hi,” you manage a smile, struggling to hold the intense gaze he’s sporting. 

He breaks it for a moment, turning to your best friend, nodding. “Jimin, good to see you again.”

“You too, Kook. You should join us!” He scooches closer to Taehyung, patting the minimal space beside him. Jungkook stares at it, then looks back at you with a hunger in his eyes that almost has you keeling over. 

“Actually,” Jungkook begins, “I was hoping I could steal [Y/N] for a drink. If that’s okay with you all?”

He wants to... what? Steal you? For a drink? Alone? You turn to Yunjin, eyes pleading. Help me. Save me. Make up an excuse. But she was never going to let you escape where he’s involved. She looks you dead in the eye, smiles sweetly, and says, “No, she’s all yours.”

You’re going to remember this. You’re going to bring this up at every possible opportunity for the rest of her natural life.

Jungkook’s hand extends towards you, palm up, awaiting yours. For a brief second, you stare at it, at his long fingers, at the veins running down his forearm, at the silver rings stacked on his nimble fingers. The hand that's now being offered to you, in public, in front of all your friends.

You can either take his hand and let whatever this is happen, or you can make up some excuse and run away for the fourth time.

Your heart starts cartwheeling in your chest. You can’t look away from his hand, the one you desperately want to take. Jungkook watches patiently, confidently, like he knows just what you’re deciding between. 

Fuck it. 

You place your hand in his, let your fingers intertwine with his warm ones. It’s secure, and his fingers tighten around yours as if to remind you he has you. Jungkook pulls you to your feet gently. He doesn’t let go as he guides you through the crowd toward the bar, and you’re trying very hard not to think about how right it feels, how you never want him to let you go. 

He parks you at the bartop, where a woman who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else is serving alcohol to a group of minors. Jungkook pats the stool beside him, and you’re more than grateful to take the chair. Your heels have been hurting like a bitch all night. When you sink into the chair, his eyes follow the way your dress hugs your thighs, revealing more skin than your old cheer uniforms. You debate tugging it down, but a warm feeling is flooding your insides at the thought of him wanting to see more of you.  He towers above you, his AMEX hanging loosely from his deft fingers. 

“What do you like to drink?” He leans down, whispers it directly in your ear. The heat of his breath makes your entire body feel like molten lava. 

The bartender begins to make her way over, eyes gleaming when she spots Jungkook. If you were less tipsy, you might come up with a witty response, but your current state only allows you to say, “A dirty shirley, please.” 

He doesn’t make a face at the girly drink, nor bats an eyelash when the bartender touches his arm four times while he recites his order. You can only watch in awe as he hands over his card and turns his attention back to you, body angling toward you as if to shield you from every other patron who might be able to see you. The slight possessiveness he’s exhibiting would normally make you hurl, but he’s so unapologetic about it that you could care less. You hope he puts his mark on you so no man will ever speak to you again. 

Jungkook fiddles with his fingers on the counter, unsure where to put them. The only glimpse of high school Jungkook you’ve seen in days. His hand hovers near your thigh, then his jeans pocket, then back to the counter. For all his cockiness over text and possessiveness, still lies a man who’s intimidated by the thought of truly having you. 

The soju in your body hums through your veins, making everything feel hazy and like a really good idea. Liquid courage, Yunjin calls it. Liquid stupidity, sounds more precise. 

But right now… you’re thinking liquid courage might be onto something. 

Because he’s standing so close you can smell his cologne, something that smells like grapefruit and lemon. Because he angled his body to block out the rest of the bar like you’re the only person here. Because his hand is right there, inches from you, and looks like he wants to touch you so badly it’s causing him physical pain. 

And you’re tipsy enough to think: yeah, liquid courage is real. 

Before the sober, anxious part of your brain can intervene with a thousand reasons why this is a horrible idea, you reach out. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, and his eyes snap to yours, surprise written across his features. 

You don’t utter a word, just simply guide his hand until his palm settles at the small of your back. Every place where his skin connects with yours seems to tingle. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low and chest rumbling with the sound. Again, his mouth is right by your ear, and you can’t think, can’t breathe, can't hear anything but him. 

“Would I have moved it there if I wasn’t?” 

His thumb strokes once against your side. “Just making sure.” 

“I’m tipsy, not drunk,” you clarify, only because you need him to know this is a choice. This is something you tried to talk yourself out of over and over again, but you want this. Liquid courage is making you brave enough to admit out loud what you only ever thought to yourself sober. “I know what I’m doing.” 

“And what are you doing?” His breath hits your cheek, the side of your mouth, and it’s laced with peppermint and whiskey, and you’re dizzy with need. 

“Giving you the green light,” you say, tilting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are hooded, trained on your lips that are coated in shiny gloss. “That okay with you?” 

His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you incrementally closer. He doesn’t need to say anything. 

“Very okay,” he murmurs into your hair. 

The bartender returns with your drinks, but Jungkook doesn’t move his hand. He takes your dirty shirley with his free hand, passing it off to you. His grip becomes more secure, more selfish, like now that you’ve given him permission, he’s never planning on letting go. 

Good, you think. You don’t want him to. 

Jungkook’s hand wraps around the glass of whiskey, taking a slow sip. “Seems like fate was on my side tonight.” 

You take a gulp of your dirty shirley, the sweetness coating your tongue. “I’m starting to think you might be stalking me.” 

His eyebrows raise, a tiny upward twitch in his mouth. “How do I know you’re not stalking me?” 

“Oh, you would know.”

“Really?” He leans in, brown eyes sparking like pools of chocolate. “And how’s that?” 

“Because I’d be better at it,” you proclaim, emboldened by the alcohol. “You wouldn’t catch me three times in two weeks. I’d have a whole system. Disguises, a wig collection..”

He laughs loudly. You notice that his dimples pop when he does so, eyes crinkling. “A wig collection.” 

“At minimum. Maybe some fake glasses and a trench coat.” 

“Clearly, you’ve thought about this,” he hums. 

You raise your hands in defense. “I’m just saying, if I were stalking you, you’d never know it unless I wanted you to know.” 

“Should I be concerned?” he questions, but he’s grinning. 

“Depends,” you tilt your head. “Are you worth stalking?” 

His fingers spread across the expanse of your spine. “I’d like to think so.” 

“Confident.” Another sip of your dirty shirley snakes down your throat, your lips toying with the straw as you peer up at him. 

His gaze never leaves yours. “Besides, you’re the one who guided my hand to your back. If anyone's being forward here…” 

That almost makes you choke on your sugary drink. “I was just—”

“Giving me the green light,” he finishes. “I remember. Trust me, I remember.” 

Your mind stumbles, then short-circuits. 

You resort to drinking more alcohol, needing something to do with your hands that’s not touching him. “This is crazy, right? Us, here?” 

“Crazy how?” 

“You know how. I mean, ten years ago, I was copying your chemistry homework, and now you’re so… you’re…”

There’s not a single English word that properly describes what present day Jeon Jungkook does to you, with his tattoos and lip rings and expensive cologne and platinum credit card and… fuck. 

“I’m what?” He leans closer, waiting, expecting. 

“This.” you say helplessly. “All of this.” 

“Is there something wrong with.” he uses his free hand to motion over his toned body, “this?”

“No. Nothing. That’s the problem.” It slips out before you can stop it. “It would be easier if something was wrong with it.” 

The hand not looped around your waist moves from the bartop to your dress, fingers finding the hem where it’s ridden up on your thigh. He plays with the fabric absentmindedly, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. “If no one’s told you, by the way,” he mutters just loud enough for you to hear him over the music, “this dress looks insane on you.” 

The wind is knocked out of your chest, a jolt of electricity flashing through your core. “No one’s told me yet. You’re the first.” 

His eyes drag up from where his fingers are flirting with your dress, traveling up your body until they meet yours. “You look fucking gorgeous,” he says. “There. Now I'm the second to say it.” 

It’s hard to breathe, hard to swallow. Even harder to find words, or form a coherent sentence. 

“You—I—you can’t—”

“Can’t..?” His hands don’t dare move from your dress, knuckles occasionally brushing against your thigh. “Can’t tell you the truth?”

“You know what you’re doing, Jungkook.” 

“I do,” he agrees. “Is it working?” 

You want to lie. Want to play it cool. Want to maintain some semblance of the upper hand. 

But your downfall was inevitable, right from the moment you saw him standing in the cafe. Like a champagne bottle that someone shook a little too hard, a balloon pressed against a thumbtack. It was always meant to explode. 

“Yes,” you admit. 

“Good.” Both of his hands move to grip the side of your barstool. In one smooth movement, he turns you to face him completely. His legs spread, creating space, and he guides the stool forward with his toe until your thighs slot between his.  He’s caging you in, hands landing atop your thighs, palms warm against your bare skin. 

You’re practically pressed against him, his face level with yours, “Is this okay?” he asks again, fingers digging into the flesh. 

Suddenly, it’s like you’re painfully aware of all the places where he isn’t touching you. Your faces, your chests. You want more, need more. 

“Stop asking me that,” you mumble, looking away, but he guides your gaze back with a finger under your chin. 

“I need to know, princess.” His tone is serious, but you want to smile from the pet name. “Tell me if it’s too much.” 

“It’s not,” you whisper. “It’s not too much.” 

“No?”

“No.” 

His hands slide up your thighs, hiding underneath the fabric, pushing a boundary that hasn't been tested in a long time. “What about now?’ 

You’re going to combust. Right here, in the middle of  Sinkhole, surrounded by people, you're going to burst into flames.

“Still okay,” you exhale. 

For one exhilarating second, his eyes drop to your lips, and you think you’ll get what you’ve been seeing in your dreams the past few nights. You need to get out of here. Away from the crowd, away from the noise, somewhere you can actually hear yourself think—or not think. Preferably not think.

“Do you want to…” you start, then hesitate. The words die on your tongue. 

He cocks his head, hair flopping into his eyes. “Do I want to…” 

Your heartbeat reverberates in your throat. “Talk somewhere more private? It’s loud here.” 

His composure shifts, and you watch the realization hit him. What you're suggesting. What that implies.

“Private,” he repeats. “To talk.” 

“Yes.” 

“About?” 

You deadpan, brain racking for a subject, any subject. “Stuff,” is what you come up with.

A dry laugh escapes him. “And maybe things as well?” 

You pout. “Important stuff.” 

“I’m sure.” His smile is lopsided, goofy and full of light.  He pulls you up from the barstool until your feet touch the ground again. His hand finds your fingers, easily lacing them. “Whatever you want, princess.” 

Where the fuck did that come from? When did he become the type of person to use pet names? And why is it working? Why is that single word making your entire nervous system light up like a Christmas tree?

Tugging you through the crowd, he peers behind him every few seconds to make sure you haven’t floated away. His hand is firm around yours, guiding you through the mass of bodies, and you try and catch a glimpse of any of your friends. 

Unfortunately, you do spot Jimin and Taehyung, pressed against a wall, entranced in a makeout session so intense that they’re definitely not coming up for air soon. At least you won’t have to explain to them where you went. Yunjin is nowhere to be found, probably on the dance floor or already home with one of her many flings. 

Jungkook pulls you through another section of the crowd, leading you down a side hallway that’s mercifully empty. The music is muffled, bass still thumping through the walls but not deafening anymore. You lean back against the cold concrete, the chill a shock against your overheated skin. The wall vibrates with each bass drop, humming in your chest. 

Jungkook stops in front of you, and you have to tilt your head back to see his face. “What did you want to talk about?”  

Your mind shoots blanks. In this dim hallway, you’ve become aware of how completely the tables have turned. Ten years ago, you held all the cards. You were the girl who made him nervous, who had him stumbling over words, who could get him to do anything with a smile and a flutter of your eyelashes. But now you’re the one who’s heart is racing, who feels like you might explode from a single touch. He has the upper hand, utterly, entirely. And you handed it to him willingly. Put his hand on your waist, guided him here, and now you’re putty in his hands and he knows it. 

“You make me nervous,” you blurt out. 

The silence that engulfs you feels like punishment. Your mouth goes dry, palms sweating under the guise of his stare. 

He takes a step closer. There’s little to no space between you. “That’s interesting.” 

“Why is that interesting?” Your back is pressed against the wall. Nowhere to go. 

“You used to make me nervous,” he says, bracing his hand on the wall. His bicep strains and you have to fight the urge to ogle at them. “For years.” 

“That was different, Jungkook.” 

“Was it?” He studies you. “In what way?” 

“Well, because now you’re you, and I’m—“

“I’m me?” His eyebrows raise an inch, lips curling upwards in a smirk. “What does that mean?” 

Why did you drink so much alcohol? Why, why, why? Maybe if you hadn’t, your lips wouldn’t be so goddamn loose. Your filter would still be in tact. You wouldn’t be staring at him like you want to devour him whole. 

You peer up at him, eyelashes fluttering. His cheeks are flushed from the amount of drinks he’s consumed, and he’s close enough that you can see the moles that litter his face. The one under his lip. The one on his nose. You want to kiss each and every single one of them. Map them out with your lips until you have them memorized. 

You give up on any pretense of playing it cool. “You know you’re hot, Jungkook.” 

“Do I know?” The smirk on his face grows tenfold, and god, you want to kiss it off him. “You’ve never told me this before.” 

“High school was different.” 

“You’ve said that a lot, but it’s actually not that different,” he murmurs. 

“Hm?”

His gaze drops to your lips for the hundredth time tonight. “Because I’m still so fucking unbelievably, out of my mind, attracted to you.”

Your brain struggles to process it—that he’s felt this way for years. That it never went away. That all the confidence and cockiness is built on top of the same desire that made teenage Jungkook stutter around you.

“You’re just saying things,” you whisper. But you’ve known. You’ve always known. 

His hand falls from the wall to cup your jaw. “You think I begged Jimin for your number because I was just being polite? You think I showed up at three different cafes hoping fate would bring us together because I’m casual about this?”

“But you said that cafe was your regular spot—”

He fights to hide the smile creeping onto his face. “I’ve wanted you since I was a teenager.” His thumb brushes across your cheekbone. “Somehow, impossibly, I want you even more now.” 

Your heart is trying to break out of the confines of your ribcage. “Jungkook.” 

His forehead is almost touching yours. “What’s different is that now I’m not terrified to tell you.”

You don’t know what else to say to him, so you smile as brightly as you can, letting your happiness live on your face. 

“How many drinks have you had tonight?” he asks. 

You scrunch your brows together. “A lot of soju. That dirty shirley. Why?” 

Bluntly, he says, “Because I want to kiss you. But not if you’re too drunk to remember it tomorrow.” 

You squeak, back slightly arching off the wall. You’ve never wanted anything more, never ached to feel someone the way you do him. Heat travels through your veins, burning you to your core. 

“I told you, I’m tipsy,” you rush to protest. “I’ll remember this tomorrow.” 

It should be embarrassing how quickly you reassure him, how the words tumble out of your mouth. 

His forehead presses against yours, and it’s a miracle you don’t dissolve into a puddle. “Then can I—”

“Yes,” you interrupt. If he doesn’t kiss you in the next five seconds, you might actually die. 

“I didn’t finish the question.” His lips ghost over yours, a gentle taste of what you yearn for. 

“I don’t care what the question is,” you exhale. “The answer is yes.” 

And then his lips are on yours. 

Never in your high school years did you imagine how Jeon Jungkook kissed. Never thought about how his lips would feel against your own. Never cared to think about it. 

This past week, however, you’ve spent more time imagining this exact scenario than you’ve spent breathing. But reality is superior to whatever your brain could conjure up. Your imagination could never describe Jungkook’s demanding kiss, or the way his lips melt into yours with utmost certainty. His hand slides from your jaw to your cheek, cradling it. The other hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

A mix of a gasp and a moan falls from your lips, and he swallows it wholly. Your fists find his shirt, tugging on the fabric, pulling him closer even though there’s no space between you. His lip rings are cold against your mouth, a contrast to the heat of his lips and the heat between your thighs. Parting your lips, his tongue sweeps in, tastes just like you smelled earlier—whiskey and peppermint. Your lip gloss is definitely everywhere at this point—on him, on you, probably on the wall behind you—but you couldn’t care less.

His strong hand travels from your cheek down, down, fingers wrapping loosely around your throat. Claiming, holding. The possessiveness of the gesture sends heat pooling low into your stomach. Jungkook’s thumb presses into your pulse point, feeling how your heart is racing. 

And when you do finally pull away, your heart is still going berzerk. His lips are shiny with your gloss, pink and swollen and thoroughly kissed. You can't help but giggle at the sight. 

“What?” he asks, breathless. The tips of his ears are tickled pink.

“You’re wearing my lip gloss,” you giggle again, reaching up to wipe it with your thumb. But he doesn’t let you get far, catches your wrist and presses a kiss right where your flowery perfume is sprayed. He takes a deep inhale and smiles back at you like you hung the moon and stars. Your heart is pumping so wildly you’re worried it might actually burst out of your chest.

Then his lips are on your neck, trailing down to your exposed collarbone, finding every sensitive spot with ease like he already knows you, like he holds the map to your body. He holds you tight to him, grounding—and thank god because your legs are shaking so badly that you're not sure you could stand without him holding you up.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, and he hums against your skin. His mouth finds your jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to pass out. Your fingers thread through his unruly dark brown locks, tugging slightly at the nape. 

And you can’t really help the intrusive thoughts that leap in your mind, the tidal wave of desire that keeps lapping at your core. He’s insatiable, and you feel gluttonous. “Do you wanna—” you start, but his teeth graze your pulse point and your brain turns to mush. “maybe—ahh—go to mine?”

He halts, pulls back enough to look at you. “Is that what you want?” His voice is strained, the thread of self-control growing weaker and weaker. 

Your brain is fuzzy from alcohol and kissing and the feeling of his hands on your waist, but you know what you're saying. You know what you're offering. You’re done fighting whatever decade-old guilt lives inside you, because you deserve him. Maybe you’re finally ready to accept it. To trust that you’ve grown, that you’re growing, that you’re not done growing and thats okay. You deserve all the good that Jeon Jungkook has to offer. “Yes,” you breathe, “I want—I want you.”

His eyes search for hesitation. “You’ve been drinking, and I don't want you to feel like you need to—”

“I’m sure.” Cupping his face in your hands, you cut his sentence in half. Don’t even let it slip between you. “I know what I want.”

Somehow, his eyes have gone darker, fingers tightening for purchase. “Say it again,” he murmurs. 

“I want you, Jungkook.” Your thumb brushes against his bottom lip, catching on his lip rings. “Take me home.”

“Fucking hell,” he practically moans, and then his lips are on you again with an urgency that wasn’t there before. “We should probably tell your friends we’re leaving.”

“Jimin’s busy.” If you had to guess, he’s on his knees at home, getting topped by Kim Taehyung. “And Yunjin will understand. Your friends?”

“They know who you are.”

A swarm of butterflies kick up in your stomach. 

You tug on his shirt. “Now can we please go before I lose my mind?” 

His answer to that is another quick kiss—but still thorough, because who is he if not a man starved—and he pulls you through the hallway, back into the club, into the thick of the chaos still lingering this late in the night. You hardly register any of it. The lights, the bass of the music, the bodies pressing against you as you squeeze by. None of it matters. 

You feel like you’re floating, like your feet are moving but you can’t feel the ground, like you’re walking on clouds. His hand is wrapped around yours, pulling you forward, and you’d follow him anywhere right now. To the ends of the earth. Off a cliff. 

Once the crisp night air hits your skin, Jungkook is already scanning the street, hand raised to hail a taxi. One pulls up within seconds—it’s got to be fate, or the universe supporting your agenda to get laid—and he opens the door, ushering you inside with a hand on the small of your back. 

Jungkook shuts the door forcefully, immediately snuggling into your side, leaving little to no room for you to create space between you two. Not that you wanted to, but you want to giggle at how utterly fearful he seems of distance from you. 

“Where to?” the driver asks, eyeing Jungkook in the rearview. 

You rattle off your address, and the cab pulls off into traffic. Seoul at this hour is never quiet—in fact, it’s usually more lively, since clubs stay open until the wee hours of the morning. But all you can really focus on is Jungkook beside you, his thigh pressed against yours in the cramped backseat. His fingers lace through yours. An innocent, sweet gesture, a complete contrast from what was happening ten minutes ago against that hallway wall.  

You look down at your intertwined hands—his so much larger than yours, rings cool against your skin. A smile bestows upon your lips. When you glance up at him, he’s staring at you with this fond expression that makes your heart stutter.

“What?” you ask, giddy. 

“Nothing,” he replies, but the smile on his face doesn’t disappear. “I just can’t believe this is happening.” 

“Me neither,” you admit sheepishly. 

His hand reaches over, tugging the hem of your dress down where it’s ridden up your thigh. The action would be chivalrous, if not for the way his fingers linger, if not for the way his jaw clenches, if not for the way his fond expression darkens into something sinister. 

“You need to stop moving,” he says, a deep exhale following his words. 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not even moving.”

“Your… dress is moving.” His hand remains on your thigh, holding the fabric down. “I can’t hold it together if this dress rides up any more.” 

“Oh.” 

He shifts in his jeans, clearly uncomfortable. You have to fight not to avert your eyes to his crotch. 

“Do you know how long it’ll take to get to her apartment?” Jungkook asks the driver. You snort loudly. 

He shrugs. Clearly, the man has never shared Jungkook’s predicament, because he looks unbothered by the urgency in his voice. “About twenty minutes.” 

Jungkook groans, leaning back into the seat, closing his eyes for a second. When he opens them again and catches your gaze, he has to close them to calm his friend down there. And it does make you giggle again, but what you want more than anything is to feel him. For him to give you a part of him that you didn’t know you needed until now. 

You whisper in his ear. “I don’t want you to hold it together.”

His eyes fly open, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Don’t tempt me right now, [Y/N].”

“Why not?” And you pull out your tricks—you bat your eyelashes, tilt your head down, lick your lips to wet them. His face grows pale. 

“Because we’re in a cab,” he murmurs, staring at your lips. “And I’m trying to be respectful.”

“Maybe I want you to disrespect me right now.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he's kissing you again. His hand leaves your dress to cup your face, angling your head so he can kiss you deeper. 

The cab driver clears his throat. You both ignore him, too hypnotized by the other to think about stopping. He pulls you as close as he can, and a frustrated noise escapes from your lips. There’s too many layers, too much distance, and he smiles knowingly against your lips. 

He seems to know just what you need. 

Jungkook’s large hand lands on your knee, caressing the supple skin. 

“You know how to be quiet, baby?” 

You nod meekly. 

His voice brushes against the shell of your ear, hand traveling up your thigh to mask itself under the fabric of your dress.  “Good girl. Spread your legs for me.”

Eyes widening, you stare up at him blankly. There is no way on this planet, Jeon Jungkook, the man who you were sure—up until now—never had his first kiss, is about to finger you in a taxi. But his hand moving near your lace panties says otherwise. You jolt forward at the feeling of his deft fingers swiping at the fabric as discreetly as possible. You gasp, and he tosses you a look before you slap your hand over your mouth. Luckily, the taxi driver seems more focused on the fastest route to your apartment than whatever debauchery is occurring in his backseat. It’s also dark in the car, impossible for the naked eye to see Jungkook’s movements. 

He presses against the wet spot on your underwear, and heat creeps up your neck at the realization of just how turned on he’s had you since the hallway. Maybe even before then, if you’re being honest. He smiles at the revelation. 

Your nails dig into the leather seat of the cab. Jungkook’s tattooed fingers push aside your underwear, his pointer finger collecting the arousal. A whimper escapes you, and when you look at him, the look on his face sends another round of wetness dripping down his finger. “God, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he whispers into your ear, letting two fingers ghost over your clit, gently pushing the bundle of nerves. “Didn’t know public sex turned you on so much.” 

You bite back a moan. The teasing pace he’s set over your clit would be fun, if you had a constant stream of sexual endeavors, but unfortunately, you’re as desperate as a raccoon sifting through trash. Gripping onto his wrist, you push him onto you fiercely. “Needy, aren’t we?” he mutters. 

All you can reply with is a quick nod. He chuckles softly, rubbing circles on your clit with the pad of his pointer and middle finger. Your head falls back on the headrest, eyes squeezed tight, tight, tight as you try to calculate how he found your clit so fast. It’s so wet, dripping onto the seat, his hands, that you could cum just from the stimulation of it all. 

“What do you want, princess? Hm?” Somehow, it sounds like he’s far away from you, like you’re caught on your own cloud of bliss. You want to ask for more, need more like it’s oxygen. His rhythm slows just a tad, enough to have your eyes flying open. “I asked you a question.”

Oh. Oh. So he’s that kind of guy. 

“I want—I want your fingers,” you whisper feebly. 

“Yeah? Where, princess? I’ll give you whatever you want.” he kisses your shoulder, your jaw, and it makes your brain fuzzy around the edges. 

The tantalizing pace he’s set on your clit makes it hard to speak. “W-want you to fuck me with them.”

His lips curl upwards, eyes blazing. “You like my fingers?” Another nod. He removes his fingers from your clit, slipping back out underneath your dress. You’re about to protest, maybe even kick him out of the car, until you watch him make direct eye contact with you, and place his fingers in his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around the digits. You blink. What the actual fuck have you gotten yourself into?

“Please, Jungkook,” you beg, your nails scrambling to dig in his clothed thigh. He chastises you, laughs at you, before slithering under your dress again, plunging his fingers directly into your sopping entrance. You gasp, loud enough to make the driver look in the rearview, but you bite your bottom lip before any more can escape. “I know you can take it. If you can take that douchebag Kim Mingyu, you can handle me. Although, after I’m done with you, my name might be the only name you moan for the rest of your life.” 

You should hate that. You really, really should. But clearly, your dignity has taken the night off, and in its place is a woman who is so endeared over being degraded by Jeon Jungkook. 

His fingers pump in and out, achingly slow, making you feel every inch. You’re gripping his thigh so tightly you swear there’ll be claw marks. Your head rests on the back of your seat, chest heaving. If not for the sound of traffic outside, the driver might be able to hear the way your pussy squelches with each movement. 

Jungkook’s lips press against your jaw, litter around your neck. “More,” you mumble, sounding drunker than you did in the club. 

“God, you’re so fucking wet. I can’t wait to be inside you. Gonna fuck you all night.” Lewd words continue to spill from his lips. Sending waves of arousal onto his fingers, more for him to play with as he picks up his pace. He curls his fingers upwards, reaching that sensitive spot that far and few men have ever found. Your body trembles, thighs shaking, and Jungkook’s hand lands on them to try and steady you. 

His thumb finds your clit, rubbing sloppy circles as he brings you to the brink of your orgasm. Your eyes fight to stay open, looking over at Jungkook—and holy hell. His arm veins are popping out, mostly from the amount of effort he’s putting into fucking into you to completion, his dark hair flopping over his face. His silver chain bounces off his chest, reflecting on the city lights outside. 

And you don’t even realize how quickly you’re about to cum, tears brimming your eyes from the way his fingers pump in and out you wildly, thumb matching his pace over your clit. “So tight around my fingers, princess. You gonna cum?” 

There’s no way you can be quiet about this. Not with how fucking good he looks, not with how easily his fingers slip in and out you, hitting your sweet spot. You bury your head in his neck, moaning into his warm skin, trying to muffle the sound as much as possible. “Fuck, Jungkook.” 

“Want you to cum on my fingers, princess. Can you do that for me?” You nod into his neck. 

Your walls clench around his fingers one last time, to the point where he can hardly move them, his thumb working you through the orgasm that ripples through your body. Your fingers claw at his arm, teeth biting at his neck. You can feel yourself lose control, heart beating erratically in your chest. 

Jungkook’s fingers halt inside you, thumb coaxing you through the rest of your orgasm. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you.” 

Your body completely slumps into him, still feeling full with his two fingers inside you. 

Finally, after he allows you a moment to catch your breath, he pulls them out of your pussy, soaked with your creamy arousal. “Open,” he says gently, but when you look up at him, his gaze is hardly sympathetic. Your lips part for him, and he places his fingers on your tongue. You swirl it around, tasting yourself, sweet and salty and warm, foreign to you. Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours. 

“Good job, baby,” he says as he removes his fingers, pressing one, two chaste kisses on your lips. 

All things considered, you’re in absolute shock. Somewhere between high school and now, Jeon Jungkook learned how to kiss like he’s trying to ruin you for all other men. Where did he learn all this? Who taught him to do that thing with his fingers? How does he know exactly where to put his hands, exactly how much pressure to use to make you lose your mind?

The thought of him practicing on other people—other girls—makes something ugly twist in your stomach. 

You’re an evil, evil girl. “Where’d you learn all that?” 

He raises an eyebrow, tucking a strand of your loose hair behind your ear. “Are you asking about my sexual history now?” 

“No.”

“You are,” he teases. “You’re not jealous, right?”

If only he knew how ill you felt at the idea of another girl knowing how his fingers can easily find their g-spot. 

“I am not jealous.” You feign indifference, but your voice comes out all defensive and petulant, which kind of ruins it all. “Just asking a question.” 

“You want to know who I've been with?” he asks, clearly trying not to laugh. 

“Never said that.” 

He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “There’s been other people. I’m not going to lie about that. But that’s not a big deal.” 

You furrow your brows. “Why?” 

His thumb traces circles on your thigh. “Because I thought about you during all of it. I wondered what you’d feel like, wondered what sounds you would make. So, yeah,” he continues. “I learned some things. But I only ever wanted to use them on you.” 

You kiss him again because you don’t know what else to do with the feeling expanding in your chest. Because he’s looking at you like that and saying things like that and your heart is fluttering out of your body. God, if that doesn’t make you want to drag him upstairs immediately.

The cab pulls up to your building and Jungkook is already pulling out his wallet, throwing bills at the driver without checking the amount. "Keep the change," he says, and then he's out of the cab, pulling you with him.

Your legs are unsteady when you stand—from the alcohol, from the kissing, from everything—and his arm wraps around your waist, steadying you. “I’m not done with you yet, princess.” 

And, really, he’s not joking because he’s on you the second you step through the door to your apartment. Barely even crosses the threshold before his lips are colliding with yours passionately, slamming your spine into the wall by your entryway. His hands cup your cheeks entirely. He can’t get enough of you, like opposite poles of a magnet attracting. Shortly after his affair with the entryway, Jungkook moves a little more down your hallway, but you’re too focused on kissing him to direct him. Your shoes are discarded, purse on the floor, and then your back finds another cool wall to rest against. 

Jungkook assaults your neck, leaving a trail of bruises that are going to take a hell of a lot of explaining tomorrow. Your apartment probably sounds like the set of some cheap porno, what with Jungkook’s whimpers and your moans, and neither of you are even naked yet. Your hands run over the front of his chest, feeling his sculpted body underneath his shirt. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into your collarbone, where he’s leaving hickeys in his wake. His hands wander over your chest, cupping them over your dress. Without another word or warning, he yanks down the top of your dress, your breasts spilling out. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you as he manhandles you, his lips coming to wrap around your hardened nipple. His tongue swipes over the sensitive nub, eyes peering up expectantly, watching every facial expression that contorts on your face. 

Your eyes squeeze tightly, a kaleidoscope of color blooming behind your vision. “Jungkook,” you moan, carding your fingers through his unruly hair. 

Without preamble, Jungkook kisses your nipples one last time before dropping to his knees on your hardwood floor with a resounding thump. 

You open your eyes. The sight in front of you is fucking ungodly. If you look closely, you can see Jungkook from high school, expectantly looking up at you with puppy dog eyes, pushing your dress up to hang around your waist. 

“W-what are you doing?’ you ask. 

He looks drunk. “Need to eat you out. I want to taste you, princess.”

You don’t remember the last time a man has looked so needy to feel you, to taste you. Actually, you can’t remember a time this even occurred. 

You exhale. “Yes. Yes, please.” 

That’s all he really needs. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment more in burying his face between your folds as though it’s his last meal on earth. His fingers come to spread your lips open for him as he flicks his tongue over your nub, sending you bent over as you scramble for purchase in his hair, his shoulders, anything. “Oh, fuck, Jungkook, right there.” 

He notices your struggle to stand upright, and then he’s guiding your leg over his shoulder, toes dangling. He moans into your pussy, a breathy little exhale that sends fire shooting through your veins. Jungkook’s strong arm holds your leg in place over his shoulder. His tongue fucks inside of you shallowly, your eyes rolling backwards. “Tastes so sweet, so fucking heavenly, baby,” he mutters but it barely makes its way into your ears. You can feel his lip rings swiping over your arousal, the cool metal causing your thighs to quake uncontrollably. 

And then you’re just babbling profanities, a mantra of his name, curse words. A litany of praise. Some other embarrassing things you hope he never remembers. 

“I feel g-guilty. For the way I treated y-you in high school,” you stammer, quivering against his face as he licks another stripe up your slit. 

You don’t know why it’s all coming out now, but it is. God, you were such a bitch in high school. Such an egotistical brat who was too caught in her own ways to ever see that there was more to life than social status and cheerleading. 

His tongue encircles your clit, one of your hands flying to his hair to tug. “Don’t feel guilty,” he murmurs. “That’s not what I want you to feel right now. I want to make you feel good.” 

His tongue travels from your hole to your clit, and normally the rhythm would throw you off, but he’s so skillful about the whole thing that you’re teetering on the brink of an orgasm. And he must know, must be able to read your body like it’s something he spent years studying, because he’s sucking on your clit, letting his tongue flick over it repeatedly, maintaining a rhythm that has you screaming, “Oh fuck, oh shit, I’m gonna—Jungkook, I’m gonna cum.” 

That doesn’t deter him the slightest. Spurs him on like he’s entered in some kind of pussy-eating competition. You’ll spend years talking about this experience, you think. 

Your fingers tighten in his hair, tangling, tugging, and your entire body vibrates as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. He fucks you through it, keeps going until you’re pushing him away with your toe forcefully. When he finally gives up, he says from between your legs, “Better than Kim Mingyu?” 

Maybe you shouldn’t care about high school anymore, but you can’t help but laugh, smile at him. “He never even ate me out, Koo.” 

His face softens— whether that’s because of the nickname you adorned him with or the fact that Mingyu was an asshole, you’ll never know—and he’s standing up, pressing a dirty kiss to your lips. It’s messy, sloppy, tongue over teeth, but so undeniably him that you cling to him like a koala. “He’s the biggest idiot of all time to miss out on that.” 

“Hmm,” you hum against his lips. They taste just like you, and it sends another gush of arousal pouring out of you. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist, your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. You’re drowning in him—his taste, his smell, the way he’s kissing you like he’s been starving for it. You can feel his length poking against your thigh, and your heart skips at just how large it al;ready feels through his jeans. 

Your hands roam down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his shirt, tracing lower until your fingers find his belt. You fumble with the buckle, fingers clumsy with desire. Jungkook looks down at your manicured fingers, easily working, speaking to how much experience you have. His cock throbs at the thought. 

You’re about to get on your knees, return the favor, but he stops you as soon as you lower an inch. 

Jungkook simply says, “The next time I want you to cum, is going to be on my cock.” 

Okay, yes sir. He’s all dominating and commanding and it makes your pussy clench around nothing. 

His forehead drops against yours, breath punching out of him. “Fuck, I need to be inside you.” 

The metal clinks as his pants drop to the floor, his Calvin Klein boxers doing little to hide how big he is. Jungkook kicks them off, eager to remove as many layers as possible. Your mouth salivates, and you’re positive a sliver of drool is slithering out of your mouth. His hands tighten on your hips, bruising the skin. 

You kiss him again, but this time, it’s rougher, faster, hand slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, and he makes a sound between a groan and a whimper that makes you feel powerful.  Your hands roam, searching, until—

Holy shit. You gasp into his mouth, feeling his length. He’s big, no doubt about that. But it’s the fucking girth of it that has your mouth watering. He’s thick, and you can feel the veins that decorate his cock. 

Jesus Christ. This is what your Chemistry tutor was hiding under his pants. A fucking anaconda. 

But you’re not about to admit that. 

No shot in hell. 

“Mhmm, I feel like you’re kinda small,” you tease, battling your eyelashes at him as you stroke his hardened length dangerously slow. 

His nostrils flare. “Yeah? Think I’m small, baby?” 

“Tiny.”

Your thumb drags over his tip, and then you feel it. A piece of metal. Jeon Jungkook has a fucking dick piercing. 

His eyes set ablaze as he realizes that you know. “Fucking hell, you’re still the same brat you’ve always been.”

Jungkook’s lips collide with yours, and he kicks off his boxers urgently. “Fuck,” he breathes against your mouth. Suddenly his hands are gripping the backs of your thighs, lifting you up like you weigh nothing. You gasp, legs wrapping around his waist as your back hits the wall harder. The new position puts you at eye level with him, head spinning. He reaches down between your bodies to let his cock sit in between your wet folds, ever so teasing. 

Your fingernails dig into the nape of his neck, head lolling back against the wall. “Please fuck me, Koo. Wanna feel you inside me.”

“Oh, now you want to beg? After you called me tiny?” He hisses as he swirls the tip over your clit, the cool metal of his piercing sending shockwaves down your spine. 

“Please,” you beg. “Pleasepleaseplease.” It’s slurred when it leaves your mouth, breath catching when you look down and see the way the metal reflects off his soaking tip, encased in your juices. “I need it.” 

With that, he pushes into you, all inches of his length, squirming in his arms. You scramble to hold onto something, opting for his biceps that are straining with the weight of holding you up. A moan leaves both of your mouths. He waits until you’re fully adjusted, taking every inch of him. “Feels so good, princess. So tight and warm, holy shit.” 

“Jungkook,” you pant. You’re so full of him, he’s everywhere. Stopping is the last thing on your mind. You’re a woman made of greed. “You’re so—fuck—big.” 

He smiles triumphantly and takes that as his sign to move. He uses his arms to slide you up and down his cock, slamming you onto him, your clit meeting his pubic bone. The piercing drags against your walls with each thrust, hitting the sweet spot inside you that has you screaming a litany of crude words that’ll have your neighbors knocking your door down tomorrow morning. His head falls to the crook of your shoulder, burying himself in your scent. 

It’s more than you’ve ever taken, beyond any sex you’ve ever had in your life. You’re going to be ruined for all other men and you haven’t even made it to the bedroom yet. Your past lovers are about to become a footnote. A distant memory. Ancient fucking history.

The sound of your pussy squelching with each rough thrust fills the room, Jungkook’s hairline beading with sweat as he furiously pounds into you, tits bouncing in his face. He begins to babble, “Used to cum so hard thinking about you, baby. You in that—fuck—cheer uniform, with your nipples hard. I wanted to push it to the side and fuck you.”

You moan at the thought. “Yeah, why didn’t you? I would’ve rode your face with your glasses on.” 

He presses a sloppy kiss on the side of your mouth. “Bet you would’ve loved that, huh? Deflowering the nerd?”

The mental image flashes through your mind—seventeen-year-old Jungkook, all awkward limbs and nervous stammering, those thick-framed glasses sliding down his nose while you sat on his face in the library after hours. You would’ve been so mean about it too. Would’ve made him beg, would’ve had him so desperate and eager to please that he would’ve done anything you asked. Would’ve probably given him the best night of his teenage life and then ignored him in the hallway the next day because you were dating Mingyu and had a reputation to maintain.

“I would’ve made you cum—ahh, shit—so hard.” You try your hardest to maintain eye contact, but everytime you do, your walls flutter around his cock. “You would’ve been obsessed.”

“I was already obsessed,” he groans, nipping at your jaw. His balls slap against your ass, adding to the horrific amount of sounds eliciting from your apartment. “It couldn’t have gotten much worse.”

He has a very fair point. 

You thread your fingers through his hair, already on the brink of another orgasm. Everything about him—his scent, the way his tattoos glisten with sweat, how his bottom lip is tugged underneath his front teeth—sends your mind into delirium. He’s fucking you with enough force to have your head bouncing off the wall every few thrusts, that you feel it resound along your bones. 

“Fuck, I don’t wanna cum yet,” he whimpers into your skin. “But god, I don’t think I’ll be able to last.”

Neither will you, but an idea sparks in your pretty little head. You crook a finger under his jaw, making him look at you. His expression is completely fucked out, lips swollen, cheeks ruddy. His thrusts slow, enough so that he can pay attention to your words. “I want to get on top. Let me fuck you, Jungkook.” 

He nods, and then he’s readjusting you in his arms, with you clinging to him like a newborn baby. You giggle as he frantically tries to find your bedroom, pausing every few moments to press a few kisses to your cheeks and lips. 

Finally, he locates your room, plopping you down on the bed, and you moan at the sudden emptiness you feel with his cock gone. He tosses his t-shirt over his head. 

Jungkook sits up against the headboard, gently stroking his length as he watches you move to bracket his thighs, settling over his tip. “Ready for me, princess?” 

Eagerly, you shake your head in approval, and you sink down inch by inch onto his length. For some reason, in this position, it feels like he’s stretching you out more, your walls sucking him in greedily. Your hands come to rest on his beefy chest, nails digging into the skin. 

There’s not many things you're good at, but one thing you are insanely talented at? Riding cock like it’s your god given right. Your hips undulate wildly, bouncing up and down to accommodate his full length. Jungkook watches in awe, in a trance, as you cream his cock. His hands come to sit at your hips, guiding you the best he can. His head rests against the headboard, lazily watching as you play with your tits. “Ride my cock,” he groans, “just like that, princess.”  

“You stretch me out so good, Jungkook,” you moan, thighs trembling with each movement. He can feel you getting closer to the edge, already riled up from the previous position. Your walls clench around him, sucking him in. His thumb falls to your clit again, finding it so easily after so many rounds. “Right there, baby,” you chant, eyes closed. “Right fucking there.”

“Jesus, I'm so close,” he grunts, beginning to thrust upwards into you as your own pace slows. The sounds are beyond obscene—his cock plunging into your wetness, headboard slamming against the wall. You don’t care about any of it, not one bit, as long he keeps fucking into you. 

It was always obvious from the moment he kissed you at the club that neither of you were going to last long, anyway. 

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” you practically scream, which would have you embarrassed, but he seems just as ruined as you. 

Your orgasm washes over you, legs shaking as your mouth tears open around a sound that might be his name, might be something else entirely. Your walls flutter around him, and Jungkook can’t help himself anymore. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum too. Can I—fuck—can I cum inside?” 

You nod like a broken bobblehead. Thank god for modern medicine. 

He empties into you, bruising your hips with his hold. He’s so attractive when he finishes that you almost orgasm again from the sight. His bare chest heaves, a slight sheen of sweat layered on the skin. 

For a few moments, you two catch your breath, letting his cock soften entirely inside you. He looks worn, eyes drooping. 

But after an eternity, you finally roll off him. You’re not sure what you were expecting in terms of aftercare, but your heart flutters when he lazily wraps his arms around you, tugging you into his side to rest your cheek on his chest. It’s comforting, with his hands playing with your hair, his own heart thumping along in his chest. Reminding you that you’re here with him, and this is real. 

Silence has never been so peaceful. 

You think you’ll fall asleep like this, but then he says, “I want to see you again.” 

Your heart softens around the edges, at the notion that he believes you’ll never speak to him again after this. You can’t blame him for it. It’s exactly what high school you would’ve done. 

But you’re not 17 anymore, and you deserve all the good he has to offer you. No more silly little games. 

“I would really like that,” you whisper back. 

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Mind checking your calendar for me?” 

You grin like a lovesick idiot. “Yup. Checking right now. And it looks like I’m free this whole week.” 

“Thursday, then. Dinner at 7,” he confirms. “You’re not going to, like, make me beg for a real answer this time, are you?”

Giggling, you respond, “Maybe I should check that calendar again…”

He sits up, pouting. “Don’t. Don’t you dare,” he warns, and then his hands are moving to tickle your sides. 

You squeal, squirming away, but he just pulls you back against him. The laughs that escape you are so full of sunshine that you hardly recognize them. You’ve been living under a fog for so long that when it lifted, you forgot how bright life could be. 

“Okay, okay!” you gasp, and his fingers still. “Thursday. 7 o’clock.”

“There we go.” He kisses your forehead. “Was that so hard?”

“Hardest thing I’ve ever done,” you say dramatically, resuming your post, nestled into his side. 

“Liar.” His fingers resume playing with your hair. “You like me.”

You feel like a kid in kindergarten, caught passing a note in class with “do you like me? check yes or no” scrawled in messy handwriting. Like you’re on the playground at recess, heart racing because your crush smiled at you across the monkey bars. But it’s got you just as giddy. “I guess I do.” 

Jungkook reaches over to pull the blanket over you two. “So what happens now?” you wonder aloud. It’s an innocent question, but somehow loaded with more intent than you realize. 

“Now?” he yawns. “Now you let me stay the night. Then tomorrow I’m gonna make you the most fire breakfast of all time. Then Thursday, I’ll take you to the best dinner of your life. And then—”

“There’s more?” Your eyes widen in sarcasm. 

“And then I keep taking you out until you realize you’re in love with me too.”

Your heartbeat is quick but steady in your chest. “Pretty confident about that, hm?”

“Extremely so.” Jungkook yawns again, voice getting drowsy. “I’ve got years of romcom knowledge. I’ve read those Tumblr fanfics. You don’t stand a chance.”

He’s probably right. You don’t stand a chance. In fact, you didn’t from the moment he stood in front of you at that cafe. 

Before you close your eyes and float off into sleep, you mumble out, “God, when did you get so hot?” 

taglist. @mimi1097 @AlmatiarAU @absolutelyjeons @Sabrinahiddig @yooniepot @ggukivrse @Deluluvalerie @Sugak00kie134340 @Angelxkoo @yange7l @mellyyyyyyx @Senaqsstuff @jjkkkk15 @likecrazy22 @impossiblecopoaffire @readingbee44 @EyesforJungkook @lvnderdreams @vintagemoonsstuff @mauveliz @allysh @jeontylv @neurospicynugget @jxniana @haniiii @bo-rimmy @j0cgr0c @roseda @ggukreqz @dltyum @xxxxx1415 @annyeongbitch7 @nesha227 @Cannotalwaysbenight @Satisfied18 @m4aimm @Bangtansfav-7 @secretspam699 @Seolhyuningg @ot7girl4l @writesvani @xsyruhh @songbyeonkim 

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - bad intentions

warnings ; nsfw (18+!!!!!!), unprotected sex

prompt ; in which a TikTok edit sparks a desire to get absolutely destroyed by your boyfriend.

note ; hey… heyyyy *opens door* um idk what this is but I’m back with a new fandom and this random piece of writing. this is my formal request to join the bts fandom pls xoxo i promise im fun and can write hellish smut

It’s cruel that you live with someone as attractive as your boyfriend.

It’s even more evil that the world posts TikTok edits of your boyfriend to seductive songs that make your underwear soak through with arousal.

All this to say, you’re not really making your life any easier by watching every single one that stumbles across your For You Page.

You’ve been better. It was a slow Sunday: one where your boyfriend sits perched on your shared living room couch, mindlessly playing with his lip ring as he watches some Netflix show. It’s nice having him like this, all for you, in a space you two built for yourselves. But you, you’re in the bedroom, aimlessly scrolling through an app that has taken up more than enough of your time and perfectly curated content about your boyfriend and this silly little band he’s in.

But it’s when, and only when, you stumble across an edit of your boyfriend to a The Weeknd song, that you shoot up in your bed, blink rapidly, inhale a sharp breath. Your heart catches in your throat, does that stupid little flutter thing. And then.. the clench that follows down below. You replay it once, twice… a third time.

Don’t be weird. Do not be thirsty.

But, he is yours. That much, you do know.

You close the app, delete the page off your phone. It’s not like you two have a boring sex life, he takes care of you and you never feel dissatisfied. In fact it’s rather the opposite. This one time being two nights ago when he had your legs up on… never mind. You look at your black phone screen in disgust. Do not be a horny little freak.

Well, one last look at the edit won’t hurt.

You go back to the fan edit. Glance at it, slap your hand over your face, peek through your middle and ring finger. Fuck.

The arousal that had pooled before in your underwear was now a full-on ocean. Really, you should have more decorum than this. You don’t really want to bother Jungkook, he’s had a busy week with the boys… but it also has been two days since you two have had sex.

Fuck it.

You swing your legs off the bed, shuffle down the hallway of your apartment. You spot your boyfriend lounging on the couch, his back to you. Even from where you stand, you can see his build, his biceps.. Gosh. You sound like a hormonal teenage girl.

You creep up behind him, wrap your arms around his neck and press a few sloppy kisses down it. His hand flies up to caress your arm that’s hung around his neck, a little laugh leaving his mouth, “Well, hello to you too.”

You decide then and there in that moment: You’re going to die if you don’t have him. Maybe that’s a little dramatic, but you’ve lost all strength.

“Hi,” your voice is frail, weak even, as you kiss along his jaw. He sucks in a deep breaths, fingers drawing circles on your arm. His eyes are glued to the television screen like if he looks anywhere else, he might combust.

You detach your arms from around him, moving to the front, blocking his perfect view of the screen. He looks up at you with those doe eyes you love so damn much. One look at you and he gathers quickly there will be no more watching of television.

With little words, you straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs. Jungkook feels up your thighs, smirks a little, “What did I do to earn this right now?”

You are well aware of how needy and desperate you look right now, but that doesn’t matter. You let out a little sigh, pushing your lips onto his. For some reason, you feel like some little fangirl who is hooking up with her celebrity crush. The cold metal from his lip ring is a welcomed feeling, and you place your hands on his neck, feeling the structure and heat of his skin. God, you are going to cum just from this kiss if you keep it up.

Pulling away a little, you look into his eyes, “Nothing specifically… I just…”

You sigh, go back in to kissing him again. Those plump pink lips of his work against yours, shivers running down your spine as he runs his hands up and down your bare thighs. “Just what, baby?” He speaks in a low tone in between the incessant kissing.

“I’m so fucking horny,” You admit.

Upon the minute those words leave his mouth, you feel his cock begin to press against your inner thigh. You’ve got him right where you want him. And it’s not that this isn’t normal; it is. But you’ve essentially offered yourself up to him on a silver platter and the act of desperation you got going on right now is really doing it for him.

“Hmm?” He hums against your lips, his hands roaming underneath your shirt to trace your spine. And you could marry him right now for being so quick to go along with it. For not pushing you, for letting you set the pace.

You start to grind yourself down on him, the wetness soaking through your pajama shorts you have on. It is criminal how much you need this man inside of you, now. “What do you need from me, baby?” He starts to kiss down your neck as light whimpers exit your throat from the friction of your shorts on his grey sweatpants.

“N-nothing,” You exhale out. “Let me ride you.”

“Fuck.” He groans out.

“You need me that bad?” He brushes a strand of hair off your shoulder, kisses down your supple skin.

“Yes, please,” Your voice cracks. You can’t take it anymore; you think you might combust into a million little pieces.

“Well, go on, my love,” He removes his lips from your skin, smirks, sits back against the couch. “Have me.”

He does not need to tell you twice. There’s no time for pleasantries.

You move your legs off his, lower down his sweatpants enough for you to be able to access his boxers. Your shorts get abandoned next, leaving the underwear on; there’s not a single shred of a fuck left in you.

Jungkook is sat there, an amused look plastered on his face, mixed with a level of adoration you are not sure you have seen before. His arms have moved, now splayed out across the top of the couch, his biceps flexing. You straddle him again, remove his throbbing cock from the confines of his boxers.

Fuck, if you weren’t so ready for him, you would’ve taken him into your mouth.. but your brain decides pretty quickly there’s no time to waste.

You push your panties to the side, rub your juices over his length. He lets out a little moan at that, watches you eagerly get ready to take him whole.

With a gasp, you align him to your entrance in search of relief. You engulf him, take him in inch by inch until you bottom out. Honestly, you could unravel just from that. “Holy fuck, baby,” His head falls back, eyes still glued to the sight of you fully taking him to the brim.

You never really do get used to how big he is; when you two first started dating, he stretched you out so wide you were certain you would never recover. Your bottom lip is sucked in between your top teeth, rushed exhales leaving your body as you slowly begin to move, begin to gyrate your hips and lift yourself up and down on his pulsing cock. “Oh my god,” You breathe out, hands moving to his broad chest, gripping onto him to steady yourself

He’s not doing much, besides just watching you in complete and utter awe, and yet that still takes your breath away.

“You look so unbelievably sexy right now,” He says, barely even realizing the words leave his mouth, since they were mostly meant for his inner thoughts. His hands come around to land on your hips, the pads of his fingers pressing into the bone. There will definitely be a bruise there tomorrow.

You lull your head back, close your eyes tight. It’s all you can do to try and keep yourself together. You’re an absolute mess right now; pussy squelching with each stroke, his cock a mix of yours and his arousal. The only sounds that can be heard in the apartment are the slapping of skin and the moans that continually leave both of your mouths. “[Y/N]…” He moans out. You look at him, deep in those eyes that you love so much.

And there’s such… desire on his face, his pupils blown wide, his jaw slack.

He’s so undeniably hungry for you, and it’s going to kill you.

You speed up your bounces, losing a little more control with each and every passing moment. Your arms snake around his neck, pull him even closer to you. “Fuck, I am so close,” You whisper out, mostly to calm yourself down.

“Yeah?” Is the only word he can muster right now. “Need you to cum for me. Want to make sure you’re taken care of.”

It is all so filthy — the sounds, the look he’s giving you, the way your nails are digging into the flesh of his neck and leaving marks. Your half-lidded eyes meet his, gaze dropping down to his lips. You press a few sloppy kisses on them.

“You like this, hmm?” he asks, fingers digging even deeper into your hip bones that you’re certain he is leaving an imprint on your skull. “Having me like this ready for you? Does that get you off?”

His words elicit a clench around his cock, your walls tightening around him. He is absolutely correct. He knows he’s hit the mark. “Talk to me.” His tone is soft but threatening.

“Y-yes, it does. Oh my god, Kook..” you can barely think, any singular thought beside how incredible his cock feels inside you, how you can feel him penetrate your stomach with his entire length. “I’m gonna cum.”

It’s so close, it’s teetering on the edge. Every nerve ending in your body craves him to a point where you wonder if you need to be institutionalized. All you can see is that stupid edit made by that fan flash across your head, your brain unable to comprehend that that is the man you currently have inside of you. “Cum for me, darling..” He coos.

It nearly wrecks you, this orgasm. It washes over your entire being and you’re so loud you’re certain your neighbors will come knocking down your door. Your bounces go from focused to frantic, hips gyrating wildly, and he wraps an arm around your entire waist, picking you up lightly. He begins thrusting into you at a shallow, quick pace, chasing after his own release. Jungkook lets out a few grunts, eyes trained on the sight in front of him; and then he shudders, his cock throbs inside of you, head falling onto your shoulder as he feels himself empty out inside of you. You’re struggling to catch your breath, gripping onto the hair at the nape of his neck.

“My god..” You breathe out. You’re still sitting on him, cock warm inside you as he lifts his head from your shoulder, meets your fucked-out face.

“Baby, that was so incredibly hot, you have no idea,” His face is flushed, hand reaching up to caress your cheek. You entwine your arms and legs around him, holding him close, drawing him deeper into you. You stay there, hearts pounding in unison, as if they're each trying to break free from your chests, desperate to draw nearer. And still, even in this perfect closeness, you long to feel him even closer.

“Mhmm,” You hum out, quite content with yourself. You press a soft kiss to his lips.

“So… care to share what made you jump my bones?” He teases, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Oh, nothing…” You act coy, but the heat creeps onto your face regardless. He pokes your side, eliciting a giggle from you that has you folding like origami.

“Maybe… just saw a little something on TikTok..” You trace circles on his collarbone, avoiding his gaze.

“Continue.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Some girl made an edit of you..” It’s low when it leaves your mouth, he can barely hear it. “Just wanted to remind myself I can have you.. whenever I like.”

You bury your face into his neck in sheer embarrassment, feeling warmth and the vibration as he chuckles. “You can have me whenever. I’m yours, baby.”

masterlist + request

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - handle with care

warnings ; oral (f recieving), he hits it from the back, hair pulling, blue collar dick🚨🚨

prompt ; in which your landlord sends an electrician to fix your power, and you end up learning firsthand the magic of blue collar dick.

note ; if you are reading this.. this is a queue’d post while im in MEXICO!!!!! you horny little sluts really thought i would leave you alone for 5 days.. i would never. i figured — hey if i can’t post part 5 of tpod i can at least give a life lesson on blue collar dick, right? backstory here is that the other day my best friend and i had a conversation about our sexy ass landlord and that got me thinking… jungkook..? blue collar..? big dick..? so anyways this is the product of that convo! (and also a standalone one shot bc yall be loving these!)

Later, when someone asks you to recap this story, you’ll say that in your defense, you weren’t expecting the electrician to look like he walked straight off some cringy Pornhub set. You’ll say you just wanted your electricity fixed, not to be spiritually humbled by a man who smells like sawdust and pine.

Your apartment is the kind of place that builds character. And by character, you mean mild trauma.

The kitchen light flickers like it’s been possessed since the day you moved in. The ceiling creaks when your upstairs neighbor sneezes. Your shower only has two settings (arctic and molten lava). There’s a weird stain on the ceiling you’ve been ignoring for three months. And today, of all days, the universe decided to cut the last thread holding your sanity together: the power.

No lights. No working outlets. No WiFi. Which means you’re sitting on your couch, in a hoodie and shorts, trying to hotspot your laptop with 3% battery left while rage-texting your landlord like you’re filing an official grievance with Satan himself.

You immediately text your landlord, fully expecting a five-day delay and a $30 deduction off your next rent.

You: hi. respectfully. what the FUCK is happening?

You: i work from home. i pay rent. i have needs. pls fix ASAP.

He replies five minutes later like he’s doing you a personal favor.

Landlord: sending my guy over. 15 mins.

Your landlord is somehow both your greatest nemesis and your weirdest emotional support system. He’ll ignore three maintenance requests, ghost you for a week, then show up unannounced with a half-eaten bag of Hot Cheetos. You’ve threatened to sue him in writing and sent him a happy birthday meme in the same month. And you’re already halfway into a mental spiral about “his guy” being a 60-year-old with pants that don’t stay up and opinions about the current political climate when there’s a knock at your door.

You swing the door open, fully expecting to see a crusty old man with a clipboard and a wheeze, and instead, you see… (and you’ll remember this moment until the day you die.)

Lip ring. Tattoo sleeve. Tool belt slung low over cargo pants. A black tee stretched across broad shoulders. Jesus Christ, the hair. Dark, slightly shaggy, pushed back on top but long in the back, curling at the nape of his neck in a way that should not be allowed near unsupervised women.

“Hey’,” he says, like this isn’t a pivotal moment in your sexual awakening. “I’m here about the outage?”

You blink at him. You are officially unfit for conversation.

This man has a mullet. A tattooed, lip-ringed, mullet-wearing man is standing in your hallway holding a voltage tester like its foreplay.

Suddenly, your pajama shorts feel too short for this moment. You fumble with the doorknob, “Uh. Yeah. Come in. It’s, uh.. yeah.”

Brilliant. Shakespeare could never.

He steps inside, and holy shit, he’s even taller than you thought. The kind of tall that makes your ceilings feel shorter. The kind of tall where you have to crane your neck just slightly to look up at him, which is offensive because you’re not exactly short yourself. He smells like a mix of sawdust, a hint of pine, laundry detergent, and a 2002 Nissan Altima. It’s oddly specific.

He glances around like he’s surveying a battlefield. “Power cut out completely?”

You nod, shuffling behind him as he moves farther into your apartment with the kind of confidence like he’s somehow been to your home before. His boots thud across your hardwood floor, scuffed and loud. The tool belt clinks. His shirt rides up when he stretches his arm to check something near the ceiling and there’s a flash of golden skin and low-slung cargo pants and—

You’re not doing well.

He pops open the panel in the ceiling like it’s nothing. “Y’all been having issues with this before? Flickering? Dead outlets?”

“Sometimes the kitchen light hums like it’s possessed,” you say, which you regret immediately. “I mean, not literally possessed. Not like.. haunted. Just… you know. Buzzing.”

He chuckles. It’s a low, gravelly sound that sinks its teeth into your spine and doesn’t let go.

“Probably a loose connection in the junction box. Nothing too crazy,” he says, grabbing something from his belt that you will now dream about tonight. “You work from home?”

You nod again, helpless. “Yeah. Marketing.”

He glances back at you. “Tough with no WiFi.”

You turn around under the guise of “letting him work” but really just to text your roommate, Sana, with trembling fingers.

You: help. our power went out and the electrician we got sent is so hot

You: he has a MULLET. a mullet, sana. he said “junction box” and i almost moaned

You hear him grunt softly as he stretches to reach something and you nearly drop your phone.

Sana: SEND A PIC RN

You sneak a glance back — he’s perched on your step stool, arms flexing as he reaches into the ceiling. His hair is curling perfectly at the back of his neck, a little messy from the heat.

You don’t send a pic. You can’t. It feels criminal. You feel like you’re watching live porn with consequences.

Then he speaks again, casually. “You smell something burning last night? Or anything weird before it cut out?”

You nearly say “just my ovaries,” but God reaches down and slaps your mouth shut.

Instead, you clear your throat. “Nope. No sparks, no smell. It just… died this morning.”

He nods, focused. “Might be a fuse then. I’ll check the basement in a sec.”

He drops down from the stool with a casual thud and wipes his hands on that rag in his back pocket. That ass, that rag. This is no longer an apartment. It’s a crime scene.

You glance up just in time to see him walking toward your front door, lifting the back of his shirt to wipe his forehead. You black out for a second.

You: he just wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his shirt. i saw ab muscle. like cut definition. i think it smiled at me.

Sana: you need jail or a CONDOM stat. get his number???

You’re halfway through typing “I don’t even know his name yet” when the front door opens behind you, and you almost launch your phone across the room like it’s a grenade.

He steps back into your apartment with that casual, unbothered energy he’s so good at carrying. Hair slightly damp at the edges now, cheeks pink from the walk up your stairs, tool belt still jingling.

“Basement breaker’s fine,” he says, brushing his palm down the front of his shirt. “Might be a wiring issue. Gonna check one more thing.”

You blink. Nod. Attempt human speech. Fail. “Cool. Yeah. Check… stuff.”

Christ. You sound like you learned English from Duolingo five minutes ago.

He smiles then, actually smiles. Full teeth, little bunny front ones peeking out. His lip ring glints as he does it, and your brain goes completely static for a second.

“Want some water?” you blurt, and immediately hate yourself. “Or iced tea? Or, whatever I have in the fridge that isn’t expired?”

He huffs out a little laugh, shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks, sweetheart.”

You freeze like you’ve been slapped by a porn star. He walks past you again like nothing happened, reaching for something in his tool bag, completely unaware that your soul just evacuated your body.

You unlock your phone immediately, fingers trembling, and text in all caps.

You: HE CALLED ME SWEETHEART.

You: arrest him. make him marry me. i don’t care just make it LEGAL

You barely get the message out when he turns slightly and casually, and says, “So… you live here with your boyfriend, or…?”

You blink hard.

The question hangs there, just slightly too relaxed. Like it’s not loaded with potential. Like it’s not every Wattpad plotline you’ve ever read come to life in front of your half-broken Ikea bookshelf.

Your brain short-circuits harder than your kitchen socket. Is he flirting? Was that… are you being flirted with? It’s been a minute. Like, a long minute since you’ve had someone show genuine interest in you. You can’t tell anymore. He could be asking because he needs to know whose ass he’s about to get chewed out by if he knocks something over, or because he’s just curious.

You manage to croak out, “Just my roommate. Sana.”

He nods and doesn’t press. He lets out a low, distracted, “Hm,” like that’s useful information. Like it slots into place somewhere in his head and he’s okay with it.

You, meanwhile, are mentally drafting a will because you’re not sure your heart’s going to survive the rest of this visit.

He leans over your couch armrest to reach the outlet near the floor. His cargo pants pull slightly tighter around his thighs and you look away so fast you give yourself whiplash. You try to look normal, like a woman who isn’t catastrophically horny over someone adjusting your voltage.

You: HE ASKED IF I HAD A BOYFRIEND

Sana: I AM SCREAMING. I’M IN LINE AT TRADER JOE’S. OFFER TO MAKE HIM LEMONADE OR SIT ON HIS FACE IDK CHOOSE FAST

He stands back up, wiping his palms on that stupid fucking rag again, and glances over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t take much longer,” he quips with that lazy, dangerous smile.

You nod, eyes wide, pretending you’re normal. “Cool. Thanks. No rush or anything. It’s not like I need power to… survive.”

He quirks a brow at that, like he finds you kind of funny, or kind of tragic.

You sit on the couch, phone hidden in your lap like it’s a shameful secret. He crouches near another outlet, testing something with one of those little gadgets that beeps and blinks.

“So, marketing,” he says over his shoulder. “Like… ads?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah. I work for a beauty brand. Mostly social media, some campaign strategy. Lots of pretending I know what I’m doing and hoping the algorithm doesn’t hate me that day.”

He chuckles. That low, amused sound that makes your toes curl. “That why you’re so good at talking?”

You freeze. “What?”

He glances back, smile creeping in slow and lazy. There’s an unfortunate amount of sarcasm behind his tone. “You seem to stumble a bit over words.”

You blink again, officially out of working brain cells. “Sorry. I—I can stop. I don’t mean to be annoying, I just—”

“I didn’t say it was annoying.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it. He crouches lower again, tapping something against the outlet. But you hear it anyway and feel it, low in your stomach like a dropped elevator.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, blessedly interrupting the moment before you combust.

Sana: girl. do i need to walk around the block or are you gonna fuck him. be honest.

You bite your lip so hard you nearly draw blood. He straightens up, wiping his palms again. “So do you like it? The job?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. It’s… stressful. But fun, sometimes. I guess,” You scratch the back of your neck.

“You good at it?” He grunts out, looking for something in his toolbox.

Your mind blanks. “What?”

He turns to look at you full-on now, arms crossed, shirt clinging to the curve of his shoulders. “Marketing. All that stuff. You good at it?”

You let out a nervous little laugh. “I mean, I hope so. I’ve been doing it for a few years now, and nobody’s fired me yet.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His tone isn’t aggressive. It’s low and relaxed. But something about the way he says it makes your pulse skip.

“I… I think I am,” you say, slower this time.

He nods once as if that answer pleases him. “You seem like you’d be.”

You’re gonna die. You’re going to actually die. This man is being nice to you, and it feels like your body isn’t prepared for that level of stimulus.

You glance at your phone again.

Sana: WHY ARE YOU TAKING THIS LONG TO RESPOND??? IS HIS DICK OUT. BLINK TWICE

You look back up and he’s leaning against the doorframe that divides your kitchen and living room now, arms still crossed, lip ring catching the light. “So your roommate…?”

You nod, trying not to choke. “Yeah. Her name’s Sana. We’ve lived together since college.”

“She at work?” You swear he looks at your legs in your shorts, but could also be wishful thinking.

“Not right now. She works night shifts at the hospital 15 minutes away from here.,” You twiddle your thumbs in your lap.

He hums, still watching you. “So you’re here all alone today.”

It’s not a question. It shouldn’t be hot. It’s just a sentence. But, the way he says it? The tone? The slight lilt at the end, like it means more than it says?

You let out a strangled sound that you hope reads as a laugh. “Yeah. Just me. Alone. In this… apartment. Where you are. Currently.”

He tilts his head, smiling again. “You’re kind of funny for someone with no electricity.”

You hesitate. Then, blurting before you can stop yourself, “And you’re kind of cocky for someone who still hasn’t turned my lights on yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly appearing. “Hm?”

You shake your head way too fast. “I mean—just—like, you’ve been here for a bit now and you’re fixing my power and it is taking quite long, but I promise I’m not mad about it.. I’m sorry.”

He lets out a real laugh this time. Full, low, and stupidly hot. He pushes off the wall and walks back toward the kitchen like he didn’t just wreck your central nervous system.

You take another breath and text Sana.

You: he’s flirting. he’s literally flirting. i want to crawl inside the oven

Sana: girl. jump on the counter and say “while you’re fixing things, i’m also broken.”

Almost like he was trying to prove a point to you, the lights come back on with a quiet click, a whirr of electricity humming back to life through your walls, and you swear the sound might as well be a death knell.

He steps back from the panel in your hallway, tapping the side of it with a knuckle like he just fixed your entire infrastructure. “There we go,” he says, “Should be good now. Might’ve just been a loose connection behind the breaker, it’s common in these old buildings.”

You nod slowly, like you understood a single word of that. All you really heard was competency and your brain whispered: breedable.

“That’s… great,” you reply, way too softly. “Thanks.”

He wipes his hands again on that same rag and starts packing up his tools, metal clicking together as he slips things back into place. His forearm flexes with every movement, tattoos shifting across his skin like they’re in on the joke.

“Need help with anything else?” he asks casually, not looking at you as he zips up the tool bag. His voice dips slightly.

Your heart stutters. You should say actually, yeah, my back is acting up and I think the solution involves that couch and maybe you using me like a handrail. But instead you go, “Nope. That’s all.”

Your phone vibrates against your thigh, dragging you back to earth.

Sana: have you ever heard of blue collar dick??? this is ur chance

You squint at that text, thumbs pausing mid-reply.

Blue collar dick.

The phrase unlocks something buried deep in your brain. A memory. A TikTok you watched half-asleep one night at 1:37AM, under the glow of your LED lights, while eating dry cereal out of a mug. The girl had looked straight into the camera, wide-eyed and deadly serious, and whispered: “Blue collar dick is not just a concept. It’s a lifestyle. It’s the kind of unholy grip someone develops on you after a man with calloused hands and a union paycheck fixes your sink and rearranges your soul in the same afternoon.”

You’d laughed. Scoffed, even. How dramatic.

He zips up the last pouch on his tool bag and stands tall, glancing toward the door like he might head that way but he doesn’t. He stays.

He rolls his shoulder a little, absently adjusting the strap, and you watch his fingers drag across the curve of his neck.

“You think everything working alright?” he asks, voice low and unhurried like he’s trying to fill the silence. Like he knows you’re still stuck in some sort of horny trance and he’s being generous enough to let you catch up.

“Yeah,” you say, breathier than intended. “Power’s on. Looks like the WiFi is back. I can check if my laptop came back to life.”

You gesture toward your computer like it matters. Like any of that is worth focusing on when he is standing six feet from you.

He hums, looking around your living room where you’re still on your couch. “Place is cute.”

You blink. “Oh. Uh. Thanks. It’s… falling apart slowly, but charming.”

He doesn’t really acknowledge that. “Anything else broken in here?” he asks, stepping away from the wall a little. “Leaky faucet? Shaky table leg? My dad taught me how to fix a ton of stuff, I’m pretty handy with anything. You want me to check something else?”

Your mouth opens and closes. Your brain struggles to find the words, and the words you want to say are not coming out easily, so you just respond with, “No. I mean… no, I think we’re good. You fixed the lights.”

His eyes flicker and stay on you just a second too long. Then he shifts slightly, sets the tool box down again with a thud, and stretches his arms overhead like he’s got nowhere to be. Shirt rides up just enough for you to see the line of his waistband and the shadow of toned skin beneath it, and you almost bite your tongue off.

“You sure?” he asks again, tone casual, almost amused now. “You looked kinda… bummed when the lights came back on.”

Your head jerks up. “What? No. I wasn’t.. I mean, not bummed. Just surprised. Happy. Grateful. Electrified, if you will.”

Electrified. You’re going to throw yourself off the balcony.

He laughs again, and you swear it vibrates in your chest. “I could hang out a sec,” he offers, and it’s not subtle anymore. “Just make sure everything stays stable. Sometimes the lights will turn back off randomly.”

Everything’s stable, you repeat in your brain like an idiot. I am not.

He’s leaning one shoulder against the wall now, lazy and relaxed, eyes still on you like he’s just waiting to see what you’ll say next.

Before your brain can stop your mouth from doing anything reckless, you blurt out, “Have you eaten?”

His brows lift. “What?”

You clear your throat. “Lunch. Have you had any?”

He tilts his head, eyes flickering down to your mouth for one half-second too long. “Not yet,” he says, “Didn’t get the chance.”

You nod like this is normal. Like offering sandwiches to electricians with tool belts and stupidly sexy mullets is part of your daily routine. “I can make you something if you want.”

His mouth curves, slow and teasing. “Yeah? You feed all the guys your landlord sends over?”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly eject from your skull. “Only the ones who save me from having to live in darkness.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Then yeah. I’m kinda hungry.”

He walks over to where you’re sitting, drops his bag beside the couch, stretches with a casual groan that shoots straight between your thighs, and flops onto your couch like he’s done it a hundred times. Like your couch is a perfectly acceptable throne for his man-spreading, bicep-showcasing, very-much-staying presence.

You twiddle your fingers, “If i make you food, it’s only right if I get your name.”

Smooth. Real fucking smooth.

“Jungkook,” He looks over to you, trying to bite back a grin. “And yours is [Y/N], right? Saw it on the assignment sheet.”

“Cool,” You gulp down some saliva that was lodged in your throat.

You march to the kitchen like a woman on a mission, flinging the fridge open with the determination of someone prepping for an exorcism. It’s not that you want to impress him. It’s just that… okay. No. You do want to impress him. You want to serve this man a sandwich so good he files a formal complaint against your thighs for being too far from his face.

You find good bread. Not the sad white slices. You find turkey. Cheese. Lettuce that isn’t slimy. A tomato you aggressively pat dry with a paper towel like a psychotic housewife. You toast the bread and add a little mustard. You even cut the sandwich diagonally, because if you’re going to be delusional, you’re going to be domestically deranged about it.

Your phone buzzes for the billionth time.

Sana: DID YOU FUCK HIM YET

You ignore her. You grab a little paper plate with a cup of water and a napkin and present this meal like you are some Michelin chef. You walk it out carefully, feeling like you should have a white linen apron and one of those vintage Coke ads playing behind you.

“Damn,” he says when you hand it to him, voice warm with surprise. “You really went all out.”

You shrug, trying to act chill. “Just a sandwich.”

He takes a bite and groans.“No, this is next level. Wife-tier sandwich.”

Your face goes hot. You sit down beside him on the couch, one cushion away, legs crossed, heart racing. You grab your phone and finally reply to Sana before she drives to the apartment and physically removes you.

You: sana i need you to take a lap. actually take a five-mile lap. this house needs to be mine for two hours minimum.

Sana: i will literally be gone until sunset

You set your phone down and glance at him again. He’s halfway through the sandwich already, clearly enjoying the hell out of it, crumbs on his fingers, lip ring glinting as he chews.

“So,” you say casually, “how’d you get into electrical work?”

He swallows, wipes his mouth, and shrugs. “Started out helping my uncle with his crew back home. Learned enough on the job that I stuck with it. Took the exam, got certified, picked up my own clients.”

“That’s hot,” you say before thinking.

He pauses, blinks, then smirks again. “Yeah?”

You want to shrivel into the cushions. “I mean, just like the hands-on thing. Fixing stuff. Being good with your hands.”

He glances at you, faintly amused. “It’s a bold choice… Flirting with the guy who knows your wires inside out better than you ever could.”

You’ve made your decision. You’ve committed to the bit. You’re going to have him. You don’t care how. You don’t care if it’s a terrible idea. You’re already halfway there, and if blue collar dick is a myth, you’d like to be the one to confirm or deny it firsthand. You smile, tilting your head. “I like living on the edge.”

He finishes the sandwich and sets the plate on your coffee table with a little sigh. “Damn. Guess I should’ve been in this line of work sooner.”

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at him through your lashes like you’re not actively in the process of losing your mind.

He shifts slightly on the couch, one arm thrown casually along the back cushion, knee brushing yours now, and your whole body tightens at the contact. You look down at his hand, rough, calloused, fingers spread just enough to imagine what they’d feel like anywhere else.

Focus. Focus.

“So,” you start, aiming for casual but landing somewhere around unhinged, “do you, like… do this for a lot of people?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Fix electricity?”

You laugh too fast. “No! Well, yeah. I mean. Yes. But like… do you do this for one person a lot? Regularly? Like… someone special. Like a client. A consistent client.”

He’s still watching you, brows slightly raised, clearly trying to follow your logic. “Huh?”

You look down, embarrassed. Shit. Too subtle. You double back. “Sorry, I meant… like… is there someone who, you know, gets their power fixed all the time? Like a… girlfriend?”

Oh my god. Girlfriend. You say it like you’ve never spoken English before, like the concept of casual inquiry never existed.

His lips tugging up like he knows exactly what you’re asking. “Nah,” he replies. “No girlfriend.”

He reaches for the glass of water you’d set on the coffee table earlier, and you watch his throat work as he takes a slow gulp. His lip ring catches the light again, and your brain completely flatlines.

No girlfriend.

No girlfriend. That’s… fine. That’s great. That’s also dangerous.

Your heart is pounding so loud in your ears you barely register that he hasn’t looked away. When he sets the glass down again, his eyes don’t drift back to his phone or the room or the vague distance.

They stay locked on you.

You shift slightly, suddenly hyperaware of how close you’re sitting. His fingers are still relaxed against the couch cushion, a breath away from the curve of your shoulder.

“Should I expect a full background check with your next outage?”he says, voice low now.

You’re officially in the danger zone now with no intentions of stopping. “Already ran yours. Five star reviews all around. “

He chuckles, quietly. “I’m honored.”

Your breath catches. It’s a small sound. Barely audible. But his gaze dips lower at the sound of it, flickering between your mouth and your throat. He doesn’t hide it anymore. There’s no playfulness left.

“Stop staring” you mutter, trying to keep your voice even.

He lifts a brow. “I’m not.”

“Are you… thinking about kissing me?” This is worse than that one time in 10th grade when you got put in a closet with your crush and you practically slammed him against the door begging him to kiss you.

However, Jungkook doesn’t smile or smile. His gaze lingers on your lips still like he’s counting the seconds. “Would that be a problem?”

Your stomach drops. The air between you turns solid. “No,” you say softly. “It’d be the opposite of a problem.”

He doesn’t move right away, or lunge and lean in. He lets the silence fill with heat, with potential, like he wants you to feel the choice stretch out and make sure you want it just as much as he does. (Is he insane? Of course you do)

You want him to kiss you so bad it’s physically painful. Every nerve in your body is waiting for it, screaming for it, for the weight of his hand on your jaw, the feel of his lip ring pressing into yours.

You inch just slightly closer and your knee brushes against his fully now. Your face is tilted up toward his without even thinking.

“Are you gonna?” you whisper, voice barely there.

His eyes flicker again and then he smiles. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He leans in, not in some clumsy rush. He drags it out just long enough for you to feel your whole body tense with anticipation. His hand finds your jaw first, thumb brushing your cheek, fingers curling gently under your chin.

And then his mouth is on yours.

He kisses you like it’s his job, like he’s done this a thousand times but still finds something new in the shape of your lips. His mouth moves with intention, none of that awkward fumbling, none of the soft, shy hesitation. It’s confident. His lip ring drags against your lower lip and you actually whimper, because of course he knows how to use it.

He groans low in his throat when your fingers knot in the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. One hand slips around the back of your neck, the other finding your waist, pulling you across the couch and into him like he can’t stand even a breath of space between you.

He tastes like faint mint and the sandwich you made him. Your legs shift, tangling with his. His hand is already on your thigh, rough palm skimming under the hem of your shorts, gripping hard enough to make your breath stutter into his mouth.

You gasp when he bites down lightly, but enough to make you feel it. He soothes it with a kiss immediately after, dragging his mouth down your jaw, and murmurs into your skin, “You’re a good kisser.”

You could die. You could die right now and it would be worth it.

You tilt your head back to give him more access, voice breathless. “Yeah? You’re not so bad yourself.”

That earns you another groan, this one deeper, more possessive. His hand slides up your side, under your hoodie, fingers grazing bare skin and making your back arch instinctively.

He kisses you again, messier now and wetter. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing. His fingers sink into your thigh, pull you closer until you’re practically straddling him on the couch and you feel him, hard beneath his cargo pants, pressed against your hip like a threat.

“You sure you don’t need anything else fixed?” he murmurs against your mouth.

And all you can do is nod, eyes heavy, hands trembling against his chest as you whisper: “Hmm. I think my body is out of order. Needs fixing.”

Big hands grip your thighs, and with one swift, greedy motion, he’s pushing you back into the couch cushions. You land with a quiet gasp, hair fanned out, lips swollen, hoodie riding up over your stomach.

He’s hovering, body caged above yours, weight pressed into one arm braced beside your head, the other skimming up your waist and dragging your hoodie even higher. His silver chain dangles loose from his neck and every time he leans down to kiss you again, it smacks against your throat, cold and heavy, sending a shiver straight through you.

He groans when you arch up into him, letting your hips roll slightly, needy and desperate, and he feels it, feels how bad you want him and how worked up you are.

His bicep flexes beside your head, holding himself up so he doesn’t crush you but you kind of wish he would. You let your hand drift up, fingertips grazing the muscle slowly, shamelessly.

Holy fuck, he’s strong.

Strong in the way that makes your thighs press together, that makes you want to find out what else those arms can hold you down against. You squeeze just a little, test the resistance, and he grins against your lips.

“That’s what you’re thinkin’ about?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth to your neck now, teeth grazing your jaw. “My arms?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your brain is literally melting.

He licks a stripe up the side of your throat and bites, just enough to make you whimper, and the damn chain swings again, cold against the same spot.

“You like that?” he asks, “Hmm?”

You nod frantically, whining. You’re gone.

His hand slides down to grip your thigh again, hiking it up around his waist, and the angle has you gasping. His hips dip into yours just enough to make it obvious: he’s hard, and he’s not even trying to hide it now.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” he mutters, biting your earlobe. “Since you fed me and everything. Feels only fair.”

You nod again, breathless. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, lips brushing yours. “Been thinkin’ about kissing you since the second you opened that door.”

His hands are already slipping under the hem of your hoodie, thumbs dragging across the skin of your waist as he mutters, low and sinful, “Lift your hips for me.”

You do instantly and he slides your shorts down so slowly it feels like punishment. They snag slightly at your thighs before he gets them off, flinging them somewhere over the armrest, and then he just stares. Lets his eyes drag from your knees to the place between your thighs like he’s about to pray and commit a felony in the same breath.

You’re not even fully naked, but you already feel exposed. Every part of you twitching with anticipation because the way this man looks at you? It’s like he already knows what you taste like.

He lowers himself, right between your knees and spreads your legs open with two hands and drags your body closer to him.

“You’re already shaking,” he whispers, lips brushing along the inside of your thigh. “What’s got you so worked up, sweetheart?”

You want to answer. You try to answer. But then he presses a kiss right above your knee, then lower and lower. It’s like he’s savoring every inch of you, kissing a trail up your thigh like you’re dessert and he’s been starving all day.

When he finally gets to your underwear, he lets out a low hum.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, thumb dragging along the edge. “You’re soaked.”

You choke on your own spit. He hooks his fingers under the waistband, and looks up at you, eyes dark. You’re propped up on your elbows, watching him like you’re in a live-action fantasy, because that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Gonna take these off now,” he says, almost too gently.

You nod like a bobblehead. “Please.”

He tugs them down painfully slow, and when they slip off your legs and drop to the floor, he doesn’t even hesitate. He just dives in.

Tongue flat, broad, ruthless against you, dragging through your folds. You jolt, hips bucking off the couch, and his hands immediately slide up to pin you down, fingers bruising your thighs as he holds you in place.

He moans into you, tongue curling, lips wrapping around your clit with slow, maddening pressure. The suction makes you cry out, hand flying to grab at his hair, soft, messy strands you curl your fingers into.

“Fuck, J-Jungkook,” you gasp. His grip tightens on your thighs in response. He flattens his tongue again, licking long and slow, nose nudging against your clit just enough to make your legs shake. Then he shifts, tilts his head just slightly, and flicks the tip of his tongue in tight, fast circles.

You swear you see God.

He doesn’t stop, and it’s obscene how good it is. You can hear it. Mapping out every flick, every swirl, every suck that makes your thighs twitch and your head fall back in helpless, high-pitched whines.

He’s so good at it, it’s almost infuriating. Like he’s been training for this specific moment, like he knew your body before you ever laid eyes on his goddamn toolbelt.

“Shit,” you whimper, your fingers gripping the edge of the couch like you’ll fall off the earth if he keeps going.

He pulls back barely, enough to murmur against your soaked skin, “What’s that, sweetheart?”

You look down at him, wide-eyed and desperate, and the sight makes your stomach flip.

His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, locked on yours with zero shame. His lips are wet, his lip ring gleaming, his chain dragging down your thigh. His hands are still gripping your legs tight. “You’re already shaking,” he taunts, “You gonna fall apart before I even get my fingers in?”

You let out a sound you don’t recognize. Your hips buck without permission, trying to chase more friction, more pressure, anything, and he laughs.

“Thought you were gonna take it,” he mutters, kissing your inner thigh again, right where it’s already slick. “Thought you were tough.”

“Jungkook,” Your voice breaks.

“Yeah, baby?” he smiles, “Want more?”

You nod frantically. “Please. Please, please.”

“Mmhmm.” He drags his tongue back up, slow and torturous. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want—” you gasp as he suckles your clit again, just hard enough to make your legs spasm. “I want your fingers please. I can’t—”

“You can,” he says, way too calm. “You’re gonna. Not done with you yet.”

He slides one hand down between your thighs, dragging his fingers through your slick folds, slow and unhurried. You feel the first press of his fingertip at your entrance and it’s over.

When he finally pushes in just one thick finger, your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. It feels so good, too good.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he notes more to himself than to you. “Fuck. Gripping already.”

He curls his finger and you practically wail. You slap a hand over your mouth but he sees it, and then lowers his mouth back down to your clit like he’s starving for it.

His tongue and his finger move in tandem. Circles and pressure and heat all at once, building you up, pushing you higher, dragging desperate sounds out of you that you’ve never made before.

“Jungkook, fuck, please,” you sob, grabbing at his hair. “Please, I need—”

“You need what?” he murmurs against you, adding a second finger slowly, the stretch perfect, his mouth never leaving your clit.

“I need, need to cum, please—”

“Nah,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours as his fingers start to fuck into you even deeper, “Not yet.”

You’re near tears at this point.

He flattens his tongue and moans into you, and your hips jerk off the couch. Your hands are clutching at him now, your stomach tightening, thighs trembling around his head as he talks you through it.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he exhales, eyes locked on your face. “All needy and loud. Fuck, baby. I could eat you all day.”

You’re so close it hurts. He can feel it, the way your walls clench around his fingers, sucking him in.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice hoarse against you. “Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

And you do, embarrassingly hard. It crashes over you like a power surge, hot and fast and blinding. Your hips jerk, your mouth drops open in a silent cry, and you’re cumming so hard you forget your own name.

He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, until your legs are shaking uncontrollably and you’re pushing at his shoulder with a broken gasp.

Still, he doesn’t let up. His tongue is relentless, fingers even more ruthless. You’re sweating, teary-eyed and so close you’re practically vibrating, when you finally snap.

“Jungkook,” you moan, throat raw. “I need you to fuck me. Please. I can’t—“

That gets him to cease. He pulls back, mouth soaked, lip ring gleaming. His hand lingers between your thighs for a second longer before he pushes himself up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting.

You reach up, fingers clutching the front of his shirt, dragging him down so you can kiss him. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it just makes it worse, makes you needier.

He stands up, stripping down as fast as humanly possible. The black tee comes off first, revealing a chest that’s all muscle, abs that flex when he tosses the shirt aside. Then the cargo pants get shoved down, and…

Holy fucking shit.

It swings free and heavy into his palm, and you gasp.

That’s what they meant by blue collar dick. Thick, veiny, the prettiest goddamn cock you’ve ever seen. Long, curved just right, flushed and leaking at the tip as he wraps his hand around the base and starts stroking himself, slow and lazy.

He tilts his head back with a low groan, lashes fluttering, chain swinging over his chest and you just stare.

You’ve seen good dick before. You’ve had great dick, even. This is different. This is the kind of dick that installs central air and breaks bed frames. The kind that fucks through creaky floorboards, says “good girl” like a prophet, and pays in cash everywhere.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still jerking himself slowly, eyes dark as he looks down at you. “You want it, baby?”

You nod like your life depends on it. “Please. Need it so bad.”

He doesn’t waste another second. “Turn over,” he says, voice commanding. “Face down, ass up. I want that spine arched.”

You scramble to obey, flipping onto your stomach, shoving your hoodie up out of the way. You bury your face in the couch cushion, arms stretched forward, hips high in the air and the sound Jungkook makes behind you is inhuman.

“Fucking hell,” he licks his lips, hands gripping your hips, thumbs spreading you open. “Look at you.”

You feel him line up behind you, thick head sliding through your slick folds, teasing but not pushing in yet, and your whole body twitches.

“You’re perfect like this,” he says, one hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades until your arch deepens. “Back all pretty, ass in the air, soaked for me. Fuck, baby.”

He leans forward, voice rasping hot in your ear. “You gonna take it for me like this, yeah? Gonna let me fuck you nice and deep?”

You moan out, whimpering into the pillow. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Atta girl.”

He pushes in slow, allowing you to feel every inch. You feel the thick, burning stretch of him as he sinks in deeper, splitting you open around his cock. Your breath catches on a whimper, eyes rolling back as he fills you.

“Fuuuuck,” you choke out, voice strangled. “You’re so big.”

Behind you, Jungkook lets out a guttural groan.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still sliding in, forcing your walls to open around him. “That too much for you, baby?”

You shake your head, barely able to breathe, cheek pressed into the cushion. “No, no, it’s so good, just, fuck—”

He bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, and you swear you see stars. You’re so full it’s almost unbearable, like he’s in your stomach, You’ve never felt anything like it; your walls clenching, dripping, pulsing and he’s barely even moved yet.

He pulls out halfway and slams back in, then does it again… and again… and again.

His pace is brutal, deep, pounding thrusts that send shockwaves through your spine and bounce off the walls. Skin slapping, the obscene wet squelch of your cunt sucking him in over and over, the couch creaking beneath you. You’re a full mess under him, and he’s moaning now too.

“Fuck,”Jungkook growls behind you, breath ragged. “You hear that? You hear how wet you are for me?”

You do. The sound of your pussy squelching around his cock is loud, echoing with every thrust as your juices coat his length and drip down your thighs onto the couch cushions below.

“Fucking soaked,” he growls again, hips snapping into you.

His hand finds your hair, grabbing a fistful at the base of your neck and pulling. Your head lifts from the pillow you grabbed from nearby in a panic, back arched to its limit, body bent like a bowstring as he fucks into you harder now that he has you right where he wants you.

“Taking it so good, baby,” he pants, yanking your head back just enough to make you moan. He keeps pounding into you, dragging that cock so deep it feels like he’s carving himself into your soul, keeping your head held high by your hair, whispering filth that makes your legs shake.

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” he growls, tone thick and mean. “Wanna fall apart right here on my cock?”

You’re shaking too hard to answer, all that’s coming out are some babbles you nor him have any energy to interpret. Somehow, your brain flashes back to that fucking TikTok. That girl that described “blue collar dick” like it was some natural disaster.

Now you’re living it.

You’re bent over on your own couch, spine arched, tears in your eyes, unable to even think as Jungkook wrecks you with his cock and whispers filthy praise in your ear like it’s his job. This is blue collar dick. This is the goddamn thesis statement of that TikTok. You’re going to send that girl flowers.

“Please,” you cry, “Please, Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” he pants, breath hot against your neck as his fingers reach down and work your clit cruelly enough to keep you from tipping over. “That desperate for it, sweetheart?”

You nod, choking out sobs, your body twitching around him, clenching hard enough that he starts to fall apart.

“Fuck,” he groans, cock twitching inside you. “You’re so tight. Keep squeezing me like that and I’m gonna cum before you do.”

You moan loud into the pillow, your whole body wrecked and burning, still locked in this purgatory he’s created, his cock fucking you deep and hard, his fingers rolling over your clit with precision, holding you right there.

“Say it,” he growls, “Tell me how bad you need it.”

“I need it, please, I need it so bad. I can’t, I’m so close, please let me cum.” Your self -control has exited the apartment.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he grits out behind you, “Fuck, baby, feel how tight you are? How bad your pussy wants to cum for me?”

You can’t answer. You’re drooling into the pillow, gasping, your body jerking with every thrust like you’re being electrocuted.

“Let go,” he groans, voice shaking. “You’re gonna cum for me now, yeah? Go on, baby. Fucking cum.”

The second his thumb presses tightly just right against your clit, you shatter. It hits you like a wave. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, back arching so hard it lifts your hips even higher as your orgasm rips through you, hot and overwhelming. You scream as your pussy clenches around his cock, pulsing and gushing as you cum so hard your vision goes white.

Your arms give out completely. You collapse forward onto the couch with a breathless sob, ass still arched up as your cunt throbs around him, wetness dripping down your thighs in sticky trails. Your face is buried in the cushion, your legs are trembling.

“Oh my fuck,” Jungkook groans, “Just like that. You feel that, baby? Feel how good it is when you cum on me?”

He curses, pulls out fast and you let out a weak little cry at the loss, at the ache he leaves behind.

But then he’s jerking himself over you, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, wrist snapping fast, hips stuttering as he pants over you, chasing his own high.

His head tilts back, bottom lip tucked under his top teeth. A deep, broken moan is ripped straight from his chest as his hips twitch forward and he spills across the curve of your ass in thick, hot ropes. His chain swings with the motion, clinking gently as he fucks his fist through it, painting your skin in messy, perfect streaks.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he groans, his eyes squeezed shut. “You’re… fuck, baby. You’re unreal.”

You’re too far gone to speak.

You stay face-down on the couch for a full minute post-impact, naked and glazed like a donut.

Jungkook exhales somewhere behind you, like he too is processing the life-altering events that just occurred in your living room. You hear his body move as he leans back, chest rising and falling, the distinct sound of a man who just came so hard he forgot his social security number.

There’s cum on your ass. Your hair’s stuck to your cheek. The throw pillow has a bite mark in it. You are not well.

You finally lift your head a fraction of an inch. “I think I just met God.”

Jungkook lets out a soft, post-nut laugh. “Yeah?” he rasps. “Tell him I said hi.”

You look over at him from where you’re sprawled out on the couch, now on your stomach. “…So do I owe you money, or…?”

He snorts. “For what?”

“For fixing my power?” You say it like it’s obvious.. which it should be.

Jungkook leans over and smacks your ass, casual, affectionate. “Nah. This one’s on the house.”

Eventually, he helps you sit up, grabbing the nearest clean towel in your bathroom like this is all completely normal. You look at each other and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry or call your landlord and thank him for being so aggressively useless.

You’ll deal with that later.

Right now, you accept the towel, take a shaky breath. You blink at him, dazed, legs still jelly. “So if I break something else… just a hypothetical, should i call you..?”

He smirks, tugs his pants back up without bothering to button them, and says, “Depends. If you break something else, I expect a personal invitation. No middleman this time.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[rpwprpwprpwprw]

i could only picture this jungkook. god… he’s everything, with that hair, piercings, the prettiest nose and eyes. anyway enough of jungkook and let’s go to the review 🤓:

1- well, first of all: oc is so awkward and relatable (reads horny-clumsy cute). she’s my girlie guys, i mean it. her anxiously thoughts keep coming out in the form of embarrassing comments that got me like… girl 😭 but she’s cute tho. and funny. her friend is so fucking funny too KKKKKKKKKK (and supportive)

2- have i mentioned funny? well, this story is hilarious and the idea is so creative. my mind was like “okay let’s read something funny and new and that got me curious cause topic 3

3- okay she’s tense and she wants that cookie so bad, but is reciprocated? there’s this tense vibe in the air and i kept thinking how this would unfold? who will break first?

4- jungkook (again)… “do you live with your boyfriend or….” VERY SMOOTH FOR SURE (sarcasm). And that sentence is so real cause guys try to casually mention a boyfriend like “your boyfriend must be very proud of you, right?” “hm, yes i suppose 🤨 (i don’t have a boyfriend) but I WAS TENSE. baby relax, unfortunately she’s not you (cause she’s gonna get that cookie, and you wouldn’t)

5- i adore your writing @dreamersparacosm 💗 that’s a topic. and a fact.

guys read this right now i’m serious!!! go read something FUN

[maisonmilli]

little things you do that get to them

🎧Slow Dancing — V

“Maybe we could be slow dancing…”

kim namjoon

when you absentmindedly fix his collar while he’s talking… and don’t even realize what you’re doing

you reading quietly next to him, legs touching, completely in your own world

when you call him “joon” in that soft voice when you’re sleepy

the way you actually listen to his long thoughts instead of zoning out

him pausing mid-sentence because suddenly he’s very aware of how close you are

kim seokjin

when you laugh at his jokes before the punchline because you already know him

you stealing food from his plate and acting innocent

when you hype him up like he’s the most handsome man alive (because you genuinely believe it)

you resting your head on his shoulder during a movie

him getting quiet for a second because he wasn’t prepared for how soft that felt

min yoongi

when you sit in his studio quietly, not asking for attention, just being there

you brushing his hair back while he’s focused

when you speak gently to him when he’s tired instead of demanding anything

you holding his hand first

him pretending nothing happened but suddenly he’s very aware of you the whole time

jung hoseok

when you match his energy and hype him up like crazy

you dancing randomly in front of him, not caring how you look

when you compliment his hard work instead of just his looks

you hugging him from behind while he’s doing something

him smiling big but also going quiet for a second because you caught him off guard

park jimin

when you look at him a little too long while he’s talking

you fixing his hair or brushing something off his face

when you whisper something close to his ear just to tease him

you calling him “baby” casually like it’s nothing

him getting all flustered, voice softer, eyes following you everywhere

kim taehyung

when you hold eye contact longer than normal

you playing with his fingers while talking about random things

when you compliment something specific about him (like his voice or expressions)

you being affectionate without warning

him getting quiet, staring at you like he’s trying to figure you out again

jeon jungkook

when you challenge him playfully and don’t back down

you praising him after he shows you something he worked on

when you casually touch his arm or hand mid-conversation

you being confident without trying too hard

him acting normal but lowkey getting distracted by you the entire time

it’s never about doing too much… it’s always the little things that hit the hardest.

[maisonmilli]

Soft Dom with BTS

BTS x Female Reader | ⚠ Soft dominance, light possessiveness, tension-heavy scenes

🎵 “If you’re looking for devotion, talk to me…” — “Earned It” by The Weeknd

🐨 Namjoon — The Voice That Lowers

It’s never loud.

That’s the thing about him.

You’re rambling. A little upset. A little stubborn. Crossing your arms while pacing his studio.

“I just think you don’t understand—”

“I do.”

His voice drops. Not sharp. Not angry. Just… grounded.

You stop mid-sentence.

He walks closer slow, calm steps. His hands slide into his pockets like he’s containing himself.

“Don’t assume I’m against you,” he says softly. “I’m on your side. Always.”

It’s the way he looks at you steady eye contact. No wavering.

“And lower your voice when you’re frustrated,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “Not because I’m controlling you. But because you deserve to be heard clearly.”

You feel it in your spine. That authority that isn’t force it’s certainty.

He brushes your hair behind your ear.

“Talk to me. Not at me.”

And suddenly, you’re calm.

Because he doesn’t dominate you.

He centers you.

🐹 Jin — Teasing Dominance

He pretends he’s not like that.

But he absolutely is. You’re on the couch, arguing about who gets the last strawberry.

“It’s mine.”

“It’s not.” You grab it but he’s faster. Holds your wrist lightly.

Raises one eyebrow. “Are you challenging me?” he says, amused.

You roll your eyes. He leans closer, voice playful but slightly lower.

“Be careful. I might like that.”

He lets go. Lets you take the strawberry. Because he always lets you win. But the smirk stays. And later, when you’re still pretending to be annoyed, he whispers: “You look cute when you think you’re in charge.” Teasing. Light. Never overwhelming.

He doesn’t need to overpower.

He just enjoys the game.

🐱 Yoongi — Quiet Control

He barely speaks.

That’s why when he does you listen.

You’re overthinking again. Spiraling. Talking too fast. He doesn’t interrupt.

He just reaches out and gently hooks his finger in your sleeve. Pulls you back to sit beside him.

“Enough.” Soft. Firm. Not angry. He places your hand in his.

“Breathe.”

You try to argue.

He squeezes your fingers slightly. “I said breathe.”

It’s not command. It’s reassurance wrapped in control. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. When you finally calm down, he brushes his thumb across your knuckles.

“I’ve got you. So stop trying to hold everything alone.” And somehow, that feels stronger than anything loud.

🐿 Hobi — Confident Reassurance

He’s warm. Bright.

But when he gets serious?

It’s different.

You’re nervous before an event. Doubting yourself.

“I don’t look good,” you mumble. He gently grabs your chin.

Not forceful. Just enough to make you look at him. “Look at me.”

You do. His expression softens — but his tone is steady. “Don’t talk about my girl like that.” Your heart flips. He smiles, but there’s something solid underneath.

“You walk in there with me. Head high. And if anyone looks at you wrong—” he pauses, grin widening, “—they’ll answer to me.”

Playful. But real.

He fixes your outfit carefully. Straightens your collar.

“Trust me,” he whispers. “You shine. I just get the privilege of standing next to you.”

His dominance isn’t pressure.

It’s pride.

🐥 Jimin — Intense Eye Contact

He doesn’t touch you at first.

He just looks at you. And that’s worse. You’re joking with someone else at a party. Laughing loudly. When you turn around, he’s watching.

Not jealous.

Just… intense. He steps closer. Close enough that you feel his presence before he even speaks.

“You having fun?” His tone is soft.

But his eyes don’t break contact. You nod. He leans down slightly.

“Good. Just remember who you’re going home with.”

Your breath catches.

He smiles sweetly. Almost innocent.

But his fingers lightly brush your waist — grounding. Claiming without claiming.

He doesn’t need to announce anything.

His gaze says enough.

🐯 Taehyung — Slow, Deliberate Closeness

He moves slowly.

That’s what makes it unbearable.

You’re cooking. He comes behind you quietly. Doesn’t speak. Just places his hands on the counter on either side of you. Not trapping.

Just surrounding. “You’re ignoring me,” he murmurs against your ear. You pretend not to react. He leans in closer. His breath warm.

“I don’t like that.”

His voice is low. Calm. Almost lazy. But his presence is heavy. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t grab. Doesn’t demand. He just waits.And eventually you turn around, Because he knows you will.

He smiles softly. “See? You come back.”

His dominance is patience, he doesn’t chase. He pulls.

🐰 Jungkook — Playful but Possessive Tone

He’s teasing you all day. Play fighting. Stealing your phone.

You roll your eyes. “You’re annoying.”

He grins.

But later, when someone flirts with you as a joke — you see the shift. He wraps an arm around your shoulders casually.

“Careful,” he says lightly. “She bites.” You look up at him.

He leans down slightly.

“And I don’t share.”

It’s playful. But there’s weight in it.

When you’re alone later, he nudges your forehead with his.

“You like making me jealous?” You shrug.

He smiles — but his hand tightens around yours. “Don’t test me too much.”

Then he kisses your knuckles softly. Because he would never cross a line. But he does like reminding you he’s there.

[boy-inluvv]

ok but what if i said u were very drunk and handsy with jungkook and kept kissing his moles and tugging at his piercings with ur teeth. what then.

what if I said I love the way you think and I love when you request 🙂‍↕️ hear me out.

I didnt know if you wanted him drunk too, so I just did both👍

drunk in love. sfw(?) kinda not im ngl there is a lot of touching each other in this one so ill say suggestive.

“Hey- no, you’re done for tonight.” Jungkook warns, pulling the half empty bottle of soju towards him.

“Im not… that drunk!” You insist, but the pacing and slur of your words was making it painfully obvious. You lean on him; he sighs through his nose. Jungkook puts an arm around your shoulders. He could tolerate quite a bit more alcohol than you could, already two and a half bottles in. You… tried to match him, but..

“You’re drunk.” He repeats to you, amused. “Very drunk.”

“Shut up,” you sway, laughing a little. “Im fine…”

“- shut up?” He asks, pushing you playfully. “Come shut me up then. If you’re that fine.” He takes a long swig of whats left in the bottle.

“You can have some but I cant?” You ask in a haze, climbing up onto his lap. He sits back— not expecting you to be this bold.

“Yeah.” He confirms, knowing it would stir more of a reaction. “Its mine.”

Your eyes are unfocused, unable to think of much other than the way he just wet his lips. You kiss him just to taste the alcohol. He lavishes in it.

“Mh.” Jungkook relaxes, eyes closed. Your hands sneak under his shirt; expected behavior from you.

What he doesnt anticipate is how you keep going, leaving him panting for breath between kisses. He settles both hands on your hips and grips you tighter the second you tug on one of his lip rings a little.

“Baby,” he begs when you give him the chance. “I gotta breathe, honey…” he turns his face from you.

“But ‘myou taste good,” you slur, pressing kisses to the moles on his face and neck instead. One of your hands is on his pecs, the other is trying to figure out a way under his waistband.

“Relax,” he grows flushed— more than he already was from the soju. He tries to move you in his lap so you wouldnt squirm so much. “Hands up here.” Jungkook scolds softly, dragging your wandering hand back up to his chest. He wasn’t about to initiate anything with you wasted.

“Ugh,” you complain, pressing another kiss to his lips that ends with a pull on his rings.

“I know,” you were driving him nuts. “Trust me baby, I know.”

“Can… you jus’ kiss me… m’stop bein hot…”

He smiles against your lips. The alcohol is finally settling in for him. Jungkook’s eyes are lidded, his skin is hot.

The two of you make out so long his lip rings start to make your bottom lip ache. You’ll definitely get bruises— it didn’t matter to you now.

He gets too warm and pulls his hoodie off. You gain more access to his skin this way. excited, you dip your head to continue kissing all the little spots you missed along his collarbones and a bit near his shoulder.

“You’re so pretty,” you mumble, so attracted to him it was overwhelming. “Take this off too.” You’re groping his muscles now.

“You want the shirt off?” He muses. Cute. “Alright, alright.. you gotta let go of me,” he gently moves your head back.

“Yesss……” you hiss, drinking in the sight of his bare torso. You look between the two of you to see if there was enough room for you to sit between the couch and the coffee table. An idea comes over you.

“What are you.. oh my god,” he leans his head back against the back of the couch, one hand on your shoulder as you lower yourself between his legs enough to press kisses down his chest and abdomen. Everywhere you could get your mouth on was free reign. He should stop you, probably, before you do anything he can’t resist.

[winedarkthoughts]

how to submit

↳🔒 pairing: dom!jimin x sub!fem.reader (feat. taehyung and jungkook)

↳📓 genre: bdsm!au, slight angst + fluff (aftercare)

↳☕ word count: 6.8k

↳🍳 summary: after countless unfulfilled nights, you finally cave and seek out the services of a professional dominant to meet your needs.

↳🕶 content warnings: anxiety, sex work, mentions of internalized kink/slut shaming, pre-established boundaries, master/sub dynamics, blindfolds, rope bondage, touch starvation,

↳🍕 a/n: inspired by transference by dark-muse-iris on ao3.

You never thought you’d ever regret arriving somewhere early. Until this exact moment.

It gave you too much time to overthink it all. It being the fact that, in just a few minutes, you’d be discussing the details of your very first professional BDSM session.

You chose a table on the cafe’s sunny patio instead of inside, since the chatter outside meant a lower chance of any other patrons overhearing the quickly approaching conversation. A conversation you never thought you’d actually be having with a real person. Not face to face, at least.

You’re clutching your iced coffee in your hands, using the chill to ground you.

Honestly, you’re impressed with yourself for going through with this, for giving yourself something you’ve always wanted. If you can manage to get through the initial nerves, maybe you’ll even allow yourself to enjoy it.

Just as you’re about to check the clock for the twenty-sixth time, you hear someone approaching your table. Several someones.

Throat momentarily closing, all you can think is don’t freeze, don’t freeze, don’t freeze. You can’t make yourself look up until they’re hovering at the edge of the table, waiting for you to acknowledge them.

First your gaze meets their shoes. Two pairs of sneakers and one pair of black Chelsea boots. You only force your eyes to move any higher until you hear one of them say your name in a questioning tone.

A beat of silence...that becomes much too long.

You take a deep breath, swallow hard, and think of the only string of words that helps you push yourself out of your comfort zone.

Fuck it.

“Hi,” you finally respond. “Yes, that’s me. Please, have a seat.”

They take you up on your offer with polite, and slightly relieved, smiles.

“I’m Jimin.” The man wearing the boots says cheerfully, extending a hand for you to shake. He’s dressed in a button-up coat, blonde hair styled up out of his face.

He slips the chic black sunglasses off his nose, revealing a pair of kind brown eyes. He’s very attractive, almost unfairly so. It makes you want to avoid eye contact.

The one wearing a white t-shirt and backwards cap makes that easier by introducing himself next.

“Taehyung,” he says, shaking your hand as well.

He’s gorgeous too damnit, with black hair curling at the nape of his neck under his hat.

Move on, move on. Immediately averting your eyes, you turn to the third man.

“I’m Jungkook, it’s nice to meet you,” he says shaking your hand firmly.

You’ve got to be kidding. Wide, doe eyes, long brown hair hanging in front of his face. He’s dressed in joggers and an oversized sweatshirt, all black.

Every single one of them is extremely attractive. You can’t tell if it makes this whole thing easier or harder.

“Thank you all for meeting with me,” you say, looking at each of them very briefly before returning your eyes to your drink.

“Thank you for contacting us! We're excited to discuss some details,” Jimin replies, sounding enthusiastic.

Your gut does a little flip.

You’re reminded of the fact that before scheduling this initial consultation, you’d spoken at length with Jimin online about your preferences for the session. But there’s something about being a faceless avatar, about hiding behind a screen, that gave you enough courage to talk openly about your fantasies. In-person was another story.

The fact that the three of them had all agreed to meet with you, had all agreed that you’d be “a good fit,” was somehow just as unnerving as it was reassuring.

It made perfect sense for all of them to be in the know about their clients, they were business partners after all, and you should be glad to hear that they were considering taking you on, but something about being the one with all their cards showing...it makes you squirm.

Maybe he senses how nervous you are, because then Jimin is suggesting that they go order something themselves. Jimin and Taehyung get up to go inside the cafe, leaving you alone with Jungkook. 

You’re equally relieved and nervous at the fact. On one hand, it discourages you from making a hasty, anxiety-fueled escape that you’d most likely regret later. On the other hand, you now have to make conversation while simultaneously pretending that you aren’t sweating straight through your clothes. 

Stealing a glance, you watch him brush the fluffy hair out of his eyes. He looks at you warmly, calmly.

There’s something about Jungkook that makes him a little less intimidating compared to Taehyung and Jimin. Maybe it’s his oversized clothes or his doe eyes. Either way, you feel a little less apprehensive around him.

“So, how’d you hear about us?” he asks, saving you from the awkward silence. You suppose they must be used to dealing with nervous newcomers.

“Oh umm...google.” 

Mmm hmm “google.” That’s the short version. You don’t mention how it took you weeks to simply type “BDSM” plus the name of your city into the search bar.

Not to mention the hours spent staring at the glowing screen in an otherwise dark room (secrets seem safest in the dark), plucking up the courage to finally admit that you have kinky desires, let alone book a consultation.

“Oh yeah? Most people seem to find us through social media,” Jungkook replies.

Yes, you’ve looked into their social media platforms. They’re quite popular on Instagram and TikTok. They don’t show their full faces in their videos though, only partially. You suppose that makes perfect sense if you want to retain some anonymity or have a side gig, but after seeing how attractive they all are, you can’t but think that they’d be even more popular if they—

“Is this your first time?” Jungkook asks. It must’ve looked like you were spacing out, because he’s tilting his head trying to catch your gaze.

You meet his eyes for a moment before shifting your focus down to your fidgeting hands.

“Mm hm. Yup.”

“First time engaging in kink or first time with a professional dom?”

Jungkook tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. When your eyes flick up to follow the action, he’s still watching you with that warm smile on his face.

It’s hard for you to believe that the endearing man sitting in front of you is a “professional dom,” as he calls it. Especially when his form is engulfed by his humongous clothes, sleeves hanging well past his wrists.

You don’t realize that he’s asked you a question until he cocks his head to the side, waiting patiently.

“Oh! Umm, sorry. Kind of both I guess,” you answer.

He chuckles, and all you can think is oh god he’s laughing at me oh god this was a bad idea this—

“You don’t have to be so nervous, you know,” he says reassuringly. “I know our website says we can be selective with our clients, but we already think you’d be a good fit. I mean, Jimin was pretty much sold after he read your responses to the prompts.”

You remember answering those prompts. After you’d mustered up the courage to reach out to them, the application process began with an individual profile and a questionnaire. You remember being equally impressed and intimidated by their attention to detail.

Most of the questions were pretty basic (kinks, preferences, boundaries), but towards the end they delved far deeper than you expected, asking things like why does BDSM appeal to you, what’s your own definition of a healthy, consensual scene, what made you seek out the services of a professional dom, etc.

And yes, maybe you got a little carried away with your responses since no one had ever expressed interest in them before, but obviously it benefited you in the end.

A bit of tension eases inside your chest, along with an exhale of relief.

“Ah, that’s good to hear,” you breathe out, cracking your first real smile, and Jungkook returns it with earnest.

“So, um, how long have you guys been doing this?” you ask, finally starting to find your voice after Jungkook shared that bit of comforting information.

“Five years now. Really, it’s crazy how time has flown by,” Jungkook says. “It started out as a hobby. I met Jimin and Tae at a Fetish Con, and we just instantly hit it off.”

You try and fail to imagine Jungkook’s sweater and joggers switched for latex and chains. It’s a little hard to picture him being assertive at all, really.

“We started growing and networking, and soon it turned from a side gig to a real business! We’re really lucky to get to do what we love for a living.”

His eyes shine with passion, and it’s clear that he genuinely enjoys his work.

It reassures you even more. One of the reasons you’d never engaged in any kind of kink before was because of a persistent fear of the other person feeling burdened by your desires. You’d never felt comfortable enough to divulge any of your kinks in case your partner was only going along with it because of you and not truly enjoying it themselves.

By using the services of a professional dom, it was much more likely that they would derive just as much pleasure as you during the experience. And you wouldn’t have to feel guilty because you were compensating them for their time.

“So, how long have you been interested in this kind of stuff?” he asks, voice filled with good-natured curiosity.

In an instant, you’re brought back to every sleepless, unfulfilled night. Every time one of your past partners couldn’t get you to cum, every time you were left wanting more after vanilla sex.

That same ache, the ache that comes with wanting something you’re ashamed of, creeps right back into your mind. An itch left unscratched for too long.

You’re brought back to the glow of your laptop screen in the dead of night, fingers hesitating over the keyboard in your desperate search. At first, a search for like-minded people so you wouldn’t feel so alone. Then, eventually, for someone willing to scratch the itch itself.

Jungkook brings you back to the present by fiddling with his earrings.

“Umm...awhile,” you finally reply.

Even though your response is brief, Jungkook still nods his head in understanding.

“Vanilla just doesn’t do it, huh?” he asks playfully.

“No, not really,” you say, chuckling along with him.

“Sometimes...” you begin, trying to find the words to describe it. “Sometimes it’s not even about sex at all. Sometimes it’s about the catharsis, you know? I just want to turn my brain off sometimes, give someone else the reins, if that makes any sense?”

Jungkook nods, a knowing smile on his lips.

“I think we’re gonna get along real well,” he says.

It’s then that Jimin and Taehyung return with their order, placing various drinks and pastries on the table.

“Caffe latte and butter croissant,” Taehyung says, passing said items to Jimin.

“Hot chocolate and cinnamon roll,” Jimin replies, passing said items to Taehyung.

“And a cold brew with a peanut butter cookie,” Taehyung finishes, passing said items to Jungkook.

You notice that Jungkook never told them his order. Either they took a lucky guess, or they must know each other pretty well.

“Everything going okay over here?” Jimin asks, shooting you another radiant grin.

You can only hold eye contact for a few seconds, feeling blinded. They’re so handsome it’s almost criminal.

“Mm hmm,” you mumble, sipping on your coffee to distract yourself.

“Good, good,” Jimin replies, running a hand through his hair.

 He stirs a few sugars into his latte, lazily swirling the spoon as he scans you up and down.

“So, were you looking for recurring services?” he asks.

Your hands tighten around your cup.

Yes, yes you are. But is that too much to ask? Will that scare them away? Do they even do that sort of thing?

Clearing your throat, you remind yourself why you’re here. Fuck it.

“Mm hmm,” you affirm with downcast eyes, fighting the shame bubbling up in your throat. “If that’s okay with you guys. If the first session goes well, I mean. You know, if you do that kind of thing. And if you’re willing, you know.”

You hear them chuckle.

“Of course!” Jimin says, cheerful as ever.

You don’t see it, but he’s been trying to catch your gaze ever since he sat down.

“But I’m getting ahead of myself,” Jimin jokes. “For the first session, we usually recommend a one-on-one scene so you can get comfortable.”

Now you’re focused on picking at the skin around your nails, honed in on every word they’re saying despite avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Okay, sounds good,” you reply.

Jimin tilts his head to the side, an amused smile on his face.

He can tell that you’re nervous, and that you’re shying away from his gaze. But you have nothing to worry about, if only he could express that with his eyes if you’d just look at him.

“Do you have any preference when it comes to who conducts your first scene?” Taehyung asks.

They all know that Jimin usually volunteers for the first session. He’s the best at planning and easing in the newbies, establishing the sacred trust that makes their job so fulfilling. He always enjoys chipping away at the exterior, no matter how tough, to get at the soft center that just wants love and acceptance and relief.

You shake your head, still looking anywhere but their faces.

“Alright then,” Jimin says, immediately deciding that he wants to be the one to break down your walls and give you what you really need.

“So all that’s left is the consent forms, since you’ve already completed the questionnaire,” Jimin continues, handing over a few sheets of paper.

Oh god, it’s really happening. Holy fuck...

You can hardly believe it. Heart beating fast and loud enough to worry that they might hear it, you take the forms and scribble out the last few signatures.

It’s okay you dumb bitch, you hear in your head. Just calm down and don’t fuck this up.

Jimin calls your name and you whip your head up, only to avert your eyes immediately.

“Sorry, sorry!” you blurt out almost instinctively. “I’m just a little nervous.”

“No worries!” Jungkook replies, tilting his head to the side to try to catch your gaze like Jimin is still doing.

But your eyes dart around to avoid looking at any of them.

You’re a tough nut to crack, all three of them will admit that much.

You don’t see it, but Taehyung and Jungkook look at each other, sharing a knowing smile. They all enjoy a challenge, especially when the challenge presents such a compelling reward. Because from the looks of it, you share all of the same interests, values, and boundaries that they're compatible with.

Once you hand back the forms, Jimin pulls out a black composition notebook.

Taehyung and Jungkook know what that means. Now you're getting into the thick of it, the juicy details.

Jimin always takes detailed notes, preferring to flesh out the scene in writing so it practically comes alive under his hands. Taehyung and Jungkook will take occasional notes, on their phones or on post-its, preferring to listen and let their imagination fill in the gaps. But Jimin finds a particular joy in acting as the main orchestrator of each session.

Your first scene will be first and foremost about building trust, Jimin tells you.

"We'll get you nice and comfortable with the dynamic, exploring what works best," he explains enthusiastically, pen twirling in his hand.

The scene will be bondage-focused, nonsexual, with Jimin as your dom.

There's a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, and it isn't helped by the fact that Jimin still keeps trying to hold eye contact with you.

The four of you chat for a while longer, discussing the finer details. Jimin advises you to wear comfortable clothing, and to show up well-rested and hydrated.

You can't believe this is actually happening.

"I should probably let you know," you begin, hesitantly. "I have an anxiety disorder, and there is a possibility that I might have some sort of...attack."

They're watching you so intently, and their eyes are filled with nothing but openness and understanding. You're not used to it.

"That's perfectly fine. We're quite familiar with working with anxiety. If you have an attack or feel one coming on, we'll be there to help you through it. Make sure to bring your medication, if you take any," Taehyung advises.

You nod, mostly to yourself, making a mental note to bring extra pills to the session. You're hoping that the scene will be a temporary relief from your anxiety, but there's always the possibility that your mind will find a way to sabotage that.

"Thank you for letting us know," Jimin says, giving you another warm glance.

It makes a different kind of warmth bloom in your stomach, the warmth of understanding and acceptance.

You sign a few more forms, discuss a few more details. Then the four of you are shaking hands and saying your goodbyes.

You walk away from the cafe with a racing heartbeat, equal parts nervous and excited.

You're early again, sitting in your car in the tiny parking lot. Their location is in a downtown neighborhood of old, cottage-like houses that have been converted into small businesses, all painted neutral shades of blue and white.

The sign by the driveway reads P.K.J. It's their surnames (Park, Kim, Jeon), nondescript and unassuming. Though if you were to look at it a different way, the P could very well be a cursive D, and the J could be a swirling letter S. DKS, Designed Kink Scenes. The name of their BDSM service.

So you know you're in the right place, and the minutes are quickly ticking by.

It's a cute little place, with a cobblestone pathway leading to the front door and flowerbeds under lush trees shading the yard. Not at all what you'd expect when you think of a sex dungeon. Or...whatever they would call their place of business.

You came close to bailing several times, your anxiety seeming to creep up your throat as your breathing picked up speed. But after popping a few prescription pills, you were able to calm yourself down. And you know you really want this. If you chickened out now, you know you'd regret it.

So when the clock strikes five till, you take a deep breath and force yourself out of the car, muttering another quiet fuck it to yourself.

There's an intercom button next to the door, and you press it after wiping the sweat from your palms.

"Hello! Who is it?" a chipper voice calls, sounding like Jungkook.

"Hi!" you squeak out, maybe sounding a little too excited. "It's ____, I'm here for my...appointment."

Appointment? Session? You aren't sure what to call it. But Jungkook knows what you mean.

"Okay! Jimin will be there in just a minute!"

You're only kept waiting about fifteen seconds. The door opens to reveal Jimin dressed in jeans and black cap, greeting you with a radiant grin.

"Hi! Glad you could make it," he says, every bit as cheerful as Jungkook, but there's a mischievous tone to his voice. He gives you a slight smirk as he opens the door wider to let you in.

Ah. He must've seen you waiting in your car for the last twenty minutes, anxiously twitching and talking to yourself as you debated on whether to abandon the entire endeavor.

"Ha ha," you say awkwardly, deadpan. Jimin just chuckles, as if to say just teasing.

You enter into what looks like a very small waiting room. Clean carpets, thriving houseplants, calming paintings on the walls, and two plush armchairs.

There's comfortable silence as Jimin leads you up a set of narrow stairs and into another room. It's painted in the same neutral colors, beige and cream, with floor mats to soften the ground. Various cabinets and dressers line the walls, and you don't have to guess what they're storing.

"Alright," Jimin says, cracking his knuckles after he closes the door behind you. The small gesture sends shivers down your spine.

"Go ahead and put your stuff down here and disrobe to your comfort level."

You do as he says, setting down your bag and slipping off your shoes. Just being in your socks seems strangely vulnerable. You opted for a pair of comfortable leggings and loose tank top, not quite ready to show any more skin than strictly necessary.

Jimin digs through a few drawers, and when he turns around, several bundles of rope hang from his hands. It's then that you notice how the muscles of his arms strain against the sleeves of his gray sweater.

He's a lean man, but certain parts of his body are especially defined. His thick thighs in those jeans, the sharp jawline and chiseled neck, the way his top slopes down the slight curve of his chest. Even his hands, distinctly veined and sinewy, are eye-catching.

He's looking at you from under his cap, calculating.

“Come here,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

You immediately step onto the mat where he wants you.

The ropes still dangling from his hand, he begins to walk in a slow circle around you, methodically scanning you up and down.

“Tell me your safe word,” he commands gently.

“Turtleneck,” you reply, earning a small smile from him.

“Good.” Just that one word makes you feel weak in the knees, because something in his voice changes. His tone deepens, seeming to curl around the edges, and it drips with authority. It says you will listen now, I’m in charge.

“Here’s what's going to happen,” he says, still circling around you. “I'm going to tie you up, and then we'll talk for a bit."

Your brows furrow slightly, eyes fixed to the bamboo-colored mat under your feet.

"Talk?" you say. About what?

"Yes," Jimin replies swiftly. "I'd like to get to know you, _______."

Somehow, that idea is more terrifying than everything else combined.

Again, you offer nothing but another awkward, deadpan laugh.

"Won't you kneel for me?" His voice drips like poisonous honey.

You swallow the nervous buildup in your throat, and after a few moments of hesitation, you drop to the floor one knee at a time.

Jimin smiles at you, pleased.

"Good," he praises. "We'll go nice and slow, okay? I know you're nervous."

How does he manage to sound so comforting and authoritative at the same time? It's something about his voice, naturally high-pitched but with an edge that he uses to his advantage.

You manage a nod.

"And from now on, I'd like you to use your words," he instructs.

You nod again, but he raises an eyebrow at you.

"Uh, yes, okay," you mutter.

The corner of Jimin's mouth twitches like he isn't quite satisfied. He begins to circle you again.

"Hmm, what should I have you call me?" he says, half to himself.

There's a pause of reflection, and you start to ask a question before you can help it. Jimin looks at you after you cut yourself off.

"Speak, lovely," he instructs. Being called "lovely" from anyone else would surely make you cringe, but somehow Jimin makes it work effortlessly, making your face heat up a bit at being the target of a pet name.

"What do you like to be called?" you ask curiously. You may be paying him to perform a service, but kink is a two-way street, and you want him to enjoy himself as much as possible too.

He offers another radiant smile in response.

"What a good question," he practically purrs, smirking slightly.

You're starting to descend into that special headspace. You're being good, you're pleasing him.

"I'd like to be your Master, if you'd let me," he says, maintaining strong eye contact.

It makes you rip your eyes away and look down at the floor.

"Yes...Master," you say with a little effort. It's a bit awkward, but you want to please him.

"Look at me," Jimin orders, more firmly.

Now, that takes even more effort. Jimin is a particularly hard man to look in the eyes. You were hoping to avoid it for as long as possible.

"That's an order, lovely," he says, soft yet stern.

It takes you a minute, you'll admit. You feel the tell-tale signs of anxiety, ants under your skin, twitching fingers, darting eyes. Your heart rate is rising rapidly.

"Hey," Jimin suddenly says, dropping to one knee in front of you. He puts a cautious yet comforting hand on the side of your face, and when you melt into it instead of jerking away (surprising even yourself), he lets his thumb stroke across your cheek.

"You're okay, ______," he says soothingly. "You're here with me, I've got you."

The touch helps, calming down your heart rate a bit. It gives you the strength to finally meet his eyes.

They're warm and soft and concerned, drinking in your reactions. They crinkle a bit with his smile when you meet his gaze.

"Good, good girl," he says.

It sends another wave of comfort through you.

"Do you want to stop? Take a break?" he asks.

"No," you blurt out almost immediately. If you stop now you'll have to ease back into that headspace. No, you can work through this. Your anxiety won't beat you this time.

Deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth, like your therapist taught you. You're fine, you're grounded, you got this.

"I want to keep going," you say, putting effort into communicating your desires.

"You sure?" he asks.

You nod with a smile of your own, and then remember what he said.

"Yes," you reply. Then playfully add, "Master."

He smiles again and nods, rising back to a stand.

"How about we try this," he says, going to one of the drawers and shuffling around. He returns with a length of white cloth.

"Then you won't have to think about what you see," he adds.

Glancing at him briefly, you nod in agreement.

Jimin steps behind you and wraps the cloth around your eyes, tying it behind your head while being careful not to pull your hair. When the knot is secure, he smooths down the material so you're well and truly blind.

"How's that?" he asks.

"Good," you reply. The darkness helps. Just like he said, it's one less thing to think about.

"I'm sorry," you blurt out, self-consciousness creeping in.

"None of that, lovely," Jimin replies, still calm yet strict. "I won't have it. There's nothing to apologize for."

Still, the same gloomy feeling lingers a bit.

"If you still feel the need, you can say "thank you" instead," he suggests.

A pause.

"Thank you." Then you add hesitantly, "Master."

You hear him chuckle.

"Very good."

He's approaching you again, along with the sound of rope being threaded through his hands.

"I'm going to put you in a type of chest harness that will restrict your arms, is that alright?" Jimin asks.

''Alright," you reply, shifting on your knees, eager to really get started.

"Give me your wrists."

You obey, holding them out in front of you.

He starts to loop the rope around them, at one point using two fingers to test the tightness. You can't see what he's doing, but you feel the slight burn from the rope, the tug as knots are secured.

"So tell me, _______," Jimin begins as he works the rope. "What do you do for a living?"

You give him the small-talk answer, simple and lacking details.

"Hmm, do you enjoy it?"

Ah, no one's ever asked you that before. Not even relatives at family gatherings.

"Enough, I suppose," you reply, beginning to feel the first stirrings of vulnerability. "I mean, it's nice to work alone for the most part, and the work isn't that laborious."

Jimin hums to himself like he's thinking.

"Do you enjoy being alone?" he asks.

A pause.

"Yes," you finally reply. "It's safer, I guess. I only really feel safe when I'm alone."

"Hmm, palms together," he orders, and you obey.

Jimin guides your arms up so your tied wrists are held above your head, then he gently moves your arms to bend at the elbow, your hands now resting near the back of your neck.

You can't help but gasp when he pulls on the rope to wrench them back just a little further.

"Color?" he asks cooly.

"Green," you answer, a little breathless. You're starting to feel it now, the sense of helplessness that comes with being bound. With every passing minute, he's making you more immobile. And it makes heat coil lower and deeper.

Then he's using the tail end of the rope binding your wrists to wrap around your torso.

"Introverted, huh?" he asks, starting to wrap the rope around your chest. A pass underneath your breasts, then up to your shoulder, down the other shoulder, then just above your breasts.

"Yes," you answer, slightly out of breath from the speed at which he's now tying you. "Always have been. It's a little annoying, to be honest."

"Oh? How so?" Jimin asks, tying off the knot.

"Well," you begin, the blindness and chest harness making you feel more vulnerable. "I wish I could enjoy being with people more. But I'm just so picky with who I spend my time with."

Jimin hums as he checks the tightness of the tie.

"There's nothing wrong with being selective about your company. Life is short, after all," he says.

Your upper body is now restricted, rope weaving around your chest, arms bent back. You can hear Jimin uncoiling another spool of rope.

"I'd like to secure you to the ceiling. Is that okay?" he asks.

You nod, feeling your mind go a bit fuzzy.

"I'll wait," Jimin says, sounding a bit more stern.

"Yes," you blurt out, remembering to verbalize. "That's okay."

"That's a good girl," he practically purs, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You nearly shiver. Jimin notices.

You can hear him stringing the rope to some kind of hook in the ceiling, and then he's connecting it to the rope binding your wrists.

"Are you cruel?" you can't help but blurt out.

He freezes for a split second, then he lets out a chuckle.

"Do I seem cruel?" he says playfully. Then he yanks at the rope so you feel a little jerk, and it sends a jolt through your stomach.

"Only in the good way," you manage to reply.

He chuckles again, a light, tinkling sound.

"I can get cruel at times," he says. "But only towards those that deserve it."

"Do you think I deserve it?" you blurt out again, feeling bold.

There's a pause of silence.

"Maybe. We'll see," he says softly.

Footsteps as he walks around you in a slow circle.

"So work is just okay. What about relationships?" he asks.

You move your head a little towards where you think he is in the room.

"Not the best either. Haven't really been involved in anything long term in a while," you reply.

"And why is that?"

You hesitate, squirming a little in your bonds.

"I guess I have trouble trusting people. And I've never been comfortable enough with anyone to tell them about my...sexual proclivities," you admit, looking towards the ground even though you're blindfolded.

"Hmm, and how long have you had kinky desires," Jimin asks, sounding genuinely interested, still circling you in slow measured steps.

It makes you feel a bit like a bug under a microscope.

"Ever since I can remember," you say, and it feels like ripping a bandaid off. "I remember fantasizing about being tied up before I even knew what sex was. When I shared that with my ex, he called me a freak. I didn't want to tell anyone else after that."

"That's quite a common experience with kinky people, feeling alienated. But there's a lot of us out there who fully understand and embrace the way power dynamics and sex are intertwined. It's just a matter of finding people you connect with," Jimin says.

You feel a little wave of relief wash over you, because it seems that you found exactly that. Maybe your seemingly endless feeling of dissatisfaction is finally over.

You hear Jimin stepping towards you, his hand coming to the rope securing you to the ceiling. He unties it, letting it plop to the ground, and you can't help but feel a little disappointed.

Then, he's got two fingers in the back of your chest harness, giving you a gently tug towards him.

"Don't worry, lovely," he says into your ear. "I'm not quite done with you yet."

You didn't realize that you were holding your breath until you hear yourself gasp when he releases you. It's only then that you realize your arms and shoulders have gone a little numb and tingly.

"I'm going to release your arms, and then I'll bind your legs, okay?" he says.

"Yes, Master," you breath out as the ropes start to go slack around you.

"Good girl. You're learning quick."

He quickly unties the ropes securing your arms and wrists, gently rubbing your skin as he does so to bring back some feeling. He leaves the chest harness in place, his hands coming to reposition you the way he wants: on your knees, slightly elevated on your toes so your legs aren't completely folded underneath you.

He quickly gets to work winding rope around your left side, securing your thigh to your lower leg near your ankle. Then, the right side bound just the same. Then he grasps your wrists in front of you, tying them together and lowering them to let your hands rest between your legs.

There is the urge to reach lower, to relieve some of the tension there, but you won't. Not during this session. 

"How do you feel?" Jimin asks when he's done.

You're feeling floaty, so it takes a few seconds for you to gather your thoughts.

"Good, green," you almost whisper. "Like I'm..."

You trail off.

"Don't be shy, sweetheart. Go on and use your words," Jimin orders gently.

"Like I'm safe," you finally say, feeling silly saying it out loud.

"Is that a strange feeling for you?" Jimin asks, once again sounding genuinely interested.

"I guess so. I don't know but, as a woman, when you tell a man that you want them to dominate you, they usually think that means pulling your hair, tearing your clothes off, calling you a "bitch" or "slut" or something. But that's not really dominance. It can be enjoyable if you're into that kinda thing, but the men I've dated seem to think that that's all I'm looking for when I say I want kinky sex," you say, tongue feeling loose now that you're getting comfortable.

"And what is it that you want?" Jimin asks softly.

You think for a moment.

"It's not about pain or being powerless by itself. It's about someone else taking control of you out of care and love, treating your surrender as something almost sacred. It's about giving it to someone you trust and them respecting you back because of it. Does that makes sense?"

You hear a soft chuckle from Jimin.

"Yes, it makes perfect sense."

"I mean, I'm not saying "all men," but a whole fuckin' lot of them seem to think that bdsm is just violent sex. But it's not just that! It's a way for both people to feel release through control."

There's a moment of silence as you realize just how much you've been talking.

"Sorry, I'm rambling," you blurt out.

"I like hearing you talk," Jimin immediately replies, an almost challenging tone in his voice.

"Just like yous said, kink is a two-way street. Both parties have to be willing to not only listen to each other, but also put in the effort to communicate their thoughts and desires."

You wriggle a little, feeling the tight sensation of ropes around your wrists and legs, the cloth tied tight around your eyes.

"A real dominant will implement discipline and control through the lens of acceptance and love, not condemnation," Jimin goes on.

You hear him get to the floor, feel the heat of his body behind you.

"I'd like to guide you, _______. Instruct you, mold you, challenge you, support you, help you blossom into your full potential," he says, his mouth by your ear.

"I'd like to be the one to help you become more comfortable with expressing your needs. And it will become easier, trust me," he says with a little chuckle.

You can't help but laugh along, feeling nice and fuzzy in the head.

"May I rub your back?" Jimin asks, and you nod in response. He again chuckles softly, as if to say I'll forgive you this time for not using your words.

His hands come up to massage your shoulders, fingers skimming over the rope weaved around your torso. 

At some point, he slowly unties the ropes around your thighs, rubbing the skin to bring back some feeling. He switches between massaging your back and untying your bonds, muttering soft reassurances in your ear.

And you didn't realize just how touch starved you felt until now. Every press of his fingertips makes you want to melt further into his embrace, the feel of his skin on yours is almost intoxicating.

When he finally moves to untie your blindfold, you've got moisture building up behind your eyelids.

Jimin's face softens at the sight of your red-rimmed eyes.

"Hey, it's okay, lovely," he mutters gently, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"I'm so proud of you," he assures you, tracing a thumb across your cheek. "You did so good for me."

That gives you the courage to finally look into his eyes.

"Really?" you practically squeak out, rubbing at your eyes.

"Of course!" Jimin insists. "You were open and honest, communicative and responsive. A very good first session, I'd say."

You still shrink in on yourself a bit.

"But I—" you start, something within you still wanting to protest.

But Jimin grabs your hand and yanks it towards him, placing your palm over his chest. You feel the thumping of his heartbeat.

"It was a good scene," he says, voice calming yet commanding. "You can see that I enjoyed it."

That makes a slight blush bloom across your cheeks.

"Cute," Jimin says, chuckling.

Now that the fuzziness is clearing up, you register more details. The black cap on Jimin's head as he adjusts it, the silver earrings dangling from his ears, the slight sheen of sweat on his skin.

"Come here," he mutters, bringing you close to his body. He cradles you against his torso, running his hands up and down your arms in comforting movements.

You don't realize that your eyelids are fluttering until he mutters, "You're quite endearing like this."

"What time is it?" you mumble, looking for a clock.

Jimin's laugh reverberates through your back.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. We've got time," he says.

But now that you're slipping from that special headspace, you don't want to overstay your welcome.

"My jacket..." you start, moving towards your bag. But Jimin shushes your protests and gently pushes you back down.

"Don't get up, I'll get it," he reassures. He returns and wraps your jacket around your shoulders a few moments later, then wrapping his arms around you too.

"Five more minutes, okay lovely? Just relax," he coaxes, tucking your head underneath his chin, and it's unclear if he's informing you of a fact or making an excuse for himself.

A few more blissful minutes later, and Jimin is shifting you into an upright position.

"There we go," he says, guiding you to stand.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yes," you reply, just a little breathlessly. "Just very relaxed."

"I'm glad to hear it," Jimin replies with a smile. "Will you be alright getting home? We'd be happy to give you a ride."

"No, I'm fine, I'm good," you insist, and after scanning your face, Jimin relents.

"Um, do you take tips?" you ask hesitantly, reaching for your wallet.

But Jimin just smiles and waves you off.

"Trust me, you've done more than enough," he says.

"But, I do have some homework for you," he says.

When you nod in agreement, he leans forward to whisper it in your ear.

"Have a good rest of your day, ______," Jimin says, leading you out the door.

"Thanks, you too," you reply, feeling light and relieved from the session.

You don't notice it, but Jimin watches you get into your car and drive off until you're out of sight. 

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! i'd love to hear any of your thoughts :) let me know if you' like to see me expand on this au!

[ayunas-tuna]

língua do desejo ━━ 2.8k ˚ smut

pairing: vacation fling!jimin x reader genre: smut with plot (kinda), vacation fling au, strangers to lovers, light angst, soft romance, language kink tags/warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), soft dom, fingering, riding, balcony sex, language kink (portuguese), body worship, dirty talk, thigh grabbing, desperate grinding, praise kink, unprotected sex (be safe irl), intense eye contact, breathy moans, emotional tension.

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꒰ঌ summary : you meet jimin at your cousin’s wedding in rio and things just spiral from there. he’s beautiful, charming, and way too observant. he doesn’t speak portuguese, but he listens to you like every word you say is meant just for him. you start teasing him on purpose. whispering things he can’t understand just to see the way his jaw tightens and his fingers twitch. it’s a slow build. soft looks, hot glances, quiet tension, like something’s about to snap but neither of you says it out loud. until one night, it finally happens. he pulls you into his lap, you say something filthy in his ear, and he breaks. it’s messy. hot. needy. a little sweet. he wants all of you even when he doesn’t know what you’re saying. and afterward, when you’re both lying there sweaty and tangled up, he’s still whispering… what did that mean? what did you call me? and you just smile. you’ll tell him later. or maybe never.

the heat in rio hits you like a kiss, slow and heavy and impossible to ignore. as soon as you step off the plane, it wraps around your skin, sticky and warm, like the city is already pulling you into its rhythm. you wipe your damp hair back from your face and wish you hadn’t worn that stupid jacket on the flight. your skin itches, craving fresh air and sun, not recycled airplane heat.

the taxi winds through the streets, windows rolled down, the noise of the city alive around you. palm trees blur past, brushing the sides of the car, their leaves rustling softly in the humid breeze. the smell of salt and some wild green something, maybe the rainforest, maybe something else fills your nostrils. you lean your head against the window and let the scenery wash over you, the colors brighter and more alive than you expected.

you’re here for your cousin’s wedding. the villa they rented is perched high above the ocean, white walls glowing in the afternoon sun, surrounded by flowering bushes and the faint sound of waves crashing somewhere far below. it smells like fresh paint and jasmine, like summer and beginnings.

you step out of the taxi, the pavement hot beneath your sandals, and immediately your eyes catch him.

he’s standing on the balcony, leaning lazily against the railing, his linen shirt open just enough to catch the light on his collarbone and that gold chain resting there. his hair is tousled like he’s just come in from the beach, sun-kissed and messy in the best way. jimin. the groom’s cousin. the one everyone’s talked about in whispers and smiles.

he’s watching you. not like you’re just another face in the crowd, but like he’s trying to memorize you already.

you catch his gaze and your lips twitch into a smile. you say something to your aunt in portuguese, the words flowing easily from your mouth without thinking, full of teasing warmth.

jimin’s eyes flicker with interest but also confusion. he steps closer, lowering his voice when he asks, “what did you just say?”

you laugh softly, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “you wouldn’t want to know.”

he tries to hide his smile but it breaks through anyway, shy and a little breathless.

you turn and walk away, your heart doing that stupid fluttery thing you hate but secretly like.

you don’t know it yet but this moment is the start of something you’ll never forget.

you barely get a chance to catch your breath before the wedding party kicks into gear. music spills out from every corner of the villa, the beat bouncing off the walls and making your skin tingle in time.

later that evening, you find yourself at the beach bonfire, the sky dark but stars sharp and scattered overhead. the air is cooler now, but the heat between people feels electric.

you spot jimin across the firelight, sitting with a few others but somehow completely apart, like he’s watching the flames but really watching you.

he catches your eye and raises his glass in a small, shy toast. you smile back and walk over, slipping into the circle.

you lean in close and whisper in portuguese, your voice low and slow, “você fala tão bem com os olhos.” you speak so well with your eyes.

he blinks, clearly not understanding the words but loving the way your voice wraps around them. “what did you say?” he asks, his eyes dark with curiosity.

you grin and don’t translate. instead, you lean closer, letting the heat of your breath tickle his ear. “something you don’t want to know.”

he laughs, that soft laugh that makes your chest squeeze tight. the way he looks at you now is different, more open, more… interested.

you can feel the tension building, like electricity waiting to spark.

he reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. your heart stumbles.

“teach me,” he says quietly, “teach me what you’re saying.”

you consider it for a moment, then whisper, “maybe later.”

he smirks, but there’s something in his eyes that says he’s not giving up anytime soon.

and just like that, the game between you starts to play out. slow, teasing, and impossible to stop.

the next few days pass in this strange, quiet rhythm.

you don’t seek jimin out, but he always seems to be where you are. by the pool. near the drinks. waiting for an uber to the beach party at the same time you are. he doesn’t hover, doesn’t push. just… appears. like the universe keeps throwing you into each other’s orbit to see what happens.

every time you speak portuguese, his head turns.

it’s not just the words. it’s your voice. soft, low, like you're saying something intimate even when you're not. sometimes you catch him staring at your mouth. like he’s trying to understand you by watching how you form your syllables.

you’re lounging on the villa steps one afternoon, sunglasses sliding down your nose, sweat curling around your neck. jimin walks by, shirt clinging to his chest, skin golden and damp from the heat.

he pauses. “you look like you’re melting.”

you glance up at him, take a slow sip of your drink. “maybe i am.”

his mouth twitches. “what do you say in portuguese when someone looks like that?”

you smile lazily, tilt your head. “when someone looks like what?”

“like… that,” he says, gesturing vaguely at you. “like they’re trying to kill me.”

you hum, pretending to think. then, slowly, you say, “você me olha como se já soubesse como eu gosto de ser tocada.”

he blinks.

you let it hang there.

he leans in a little, voice lower now. “what does that mean?”

you shrug, eyes never leaving his. “you’ll figure it out.”

he looks wrecked for a second. cheeks a little pink, mouth parted just barely.

and then someone calls his name from across the terrace. he hesitates, still looking at you, then finally backs away with a soft laugh, like he knows he’s in trouble and doesn’t mind at all.

later that night, the wedding party spills out into the city. dancing, drinks, way too much laughter echoing down the narrow streets of rio.

you don’t remember exactly how it happens, but somehow you and jimin end up in the back of the same cab, pressed too close together, the air conditioner broken and the music too loud.

you’re not drunk, not really. just floaty. warm. loose in a way that makes you lean into him a little more than you should.

his knee brushes yours. neither of you move.

“where are we going?” you ask, voice soft, eyes on the road.

“back to the villa, i think,” he says. “i lost everyone.”

you nod, barely paying attention. the city lights blur outside, golden and fast, and the heat between your legs has nothing to do with the weather.

his fingers graze yours on the seat between you. not on purpose. maybe.

you turn your head, slow.

“you keep looking at my mouth,” you say.

he swallows. “i know.”

you smile, tilt your head. “why?”

he doesn’t answer right away. then, quietly, like it costs him something: “because i want to hear you say something that’s meant for me.”

you blink, surprised.

then you lean in, lips brushing the edge of his jaw as you whisper, “tudo que eu digo é pra você.” everything i say is for you.

he exhales hard through his nose, eyes shut, jaw tense.

“jesus christ,” he mutters.

you kiss his neck. just once. just to see.

he turns toward you, fast. his hand finds your thigh, firm. warm. he doesn’t pull you in, just rests it there, like he’s asking.

you give the tiniest nod.

the cab stops at the villa. you don’t remember walking up to your room. you only remember the way he stood behind you in the elevator, not touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off of him like a second sun.

your hands shake when you unlock the door.

he steps inside like he’s crossing a line he’s been staring at all week.

you don’t say anything.

neither does he.

you just look at each other for one long, burning second.

then you kiss him.

and it’s over.

his lips are soft. a little unsure at first, like he’s still testing the edge of whatever this is. but the second you pull him closer. fingers tugging at the back of his shirt, your body pressed tight to his. he makes this sound, low and breathless, like he’s finally letting go of whatever he’s been holding in. his hands roam your waist, your hips, your back. he doesn’t settle anywhere for long. like he doesn’t know where to start, or maybe like he wants to touch all of you at once.

you drag him backwards toward the open balcony doors, kissing him between steps, stumbling a little because neither of you can stop. the night air is thick and warm as it rushes over your skin, but it doesn’t cool anything. your blood’s still boiling. the moonlight floods in, pale and heavy, painting both of you in silver. you back him into one of the balcony chairs and straddle his lap, your dress sliding up as you settle your weight onto him. he’s already hard beneath you.

he curses under his breath and grips your thighs, looking up at you like you’ve just knocked all the air out of his lungs. “say something,” he whispers, voice shaky, like he needs it.

you lean down, lips brushing his ear, and murmur, “você quer me ouvir gemer?” his breath stutters. his grip tightens. “what… what does that mean?”

you smile, press a kiss to his jaw. “you want to hear me moan?”

he groans, a real, full-body kind of sound. “fuck.”

you rock your hips against him, slow and cruel, grinding down once just to see what he does. his head drops back, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering shut. he looks so pretty like this. flushed, panting, already falling apart and you’ve barely touched him.

you kiss down his neck, soft and slow, and whisper against his skin, “você fica assim só de me ouvir?” he gasps, doesn’t understand, not really, but he nods anyway. his voice is barely a whisper. “i don’t even know what you’re saying but… fuck, keep saying it.”

you hum in approval and guide his hands up your thighs, under your dress. his fingers are warm and a little shaky, sliding over your skin like he’s not sure he’s allowed to. you let him touch, let him get bolder. when he finally reaches your underwear and pushes it to the side, he groans again, fingers slipping into the wet heat waiting for him.

your head drops to his shoulder as you roll your hips into his hand. “isso,” you murmur. “assim.” he starts to get the rhythm, fingers pumping slowly, the heel of his palm pressed against your clit. your whole body tenses with how good it feels, how perfectly desperate he is. his other hand grips your thigh like he’s holding on for balance. “you’re so fucking wet,” he whispers, almost like it hurts. “jesus, what do you do to me…”

you sit up, your breath coming quick, and look at him. he’s wrecked. cheeks flushed, eyes heavy, his cock straining under his pants. he looks like he’d let you do anything to him.

“tão obediente pra mim,” you murmur. so obedient for me.

he whines. actually whines.

“tell me what to do,” he begs. “say it in portuguese. please.”

you smile. slow, dangerous. and lean down until your forehead rests against his. your voice is a whisper. “tira a roupa.”

take off your clothes.

he moves fast, fumbling with the buttons, shrugging off his shirt, then his pants, his boxers. he’s hard and flushed and already twitching against his stomach, leaking at the tip. you don’t look away. don’t hide how much you want him.

you slide off his lap and stand up, pulling your dress over your head in one slow motion. his eyes never leave you. you take your underwear off last, slow enough to torture, and when you step out of it, he looks like he might lose his mind.

“come here,” you say, softer now. he does.

he steps into you like he can’t help it. his hands slide around your waist, holding you bare and close, like he’s still scared you might disappear. you kiss him again, slower this time, deeper. his hands wander over your skin like he’s trying to memorize every inch. your stomach. your back. the curve of your hips. he moans into your mouth when your fingers wrap around his cock, slow and easy, like you’re savoring him.

he’s warm and heavy in your hand, already leaking, already pulsing. he drops his head to your shoulder and groans when you stroke him once, twice. you press soft kisses to his temple and whisper, “gosta disso?” – you like that?

he nods, desperate. “yes. fuck, yes.”

you guide him back toward the balcony chair again, but this time you keep him standing. you sink to your knees in front of him, lips brushing over his hipbone as you say, “olha pra mim.” look at me.

he does. dazed. shaky. ruined already and you haven’t even started.

you take him in your mouth slowly, letting the heat of you melt around him. he gasps, one hand flying to your hair but not forcing, just holding, grounding. his thighs tremble. every time your tongue moves he lets out this soft, broken sound like he’s losing the ability to hold back.

you pull off with a soft pop, breath warm on his skin, and say, “você quer gozar assim ou dentro de mim?”

he whimpers. “what, what does that mean?”

you stand up, press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “do you want to come like that,” you whisper, “or inside me?”

his hands are on you instantly, pulling you into him, mouth crashing into yours. “inside,” he says, rough and breathless. “please. inside.”

you turn and guide him toward the bedroom without another word. the sheets are cool against your back when he lays you down, but it doesn’t last. not with the way he’s kissing you now. like he’s starving. like every second without your body against his is unbearable.

he lines up at your entrance and pauses, forehead pressed to yours, eyes searching your face. “tell me if you want me to stop,” he says.

you shake your head. “i won’t.”

then he pushes in.

slow, careful, inch by inch until you’re full, stretched around him, your breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. his mouth falls open like he’s never felt anything like this. like you are something unreal.

he stays still for a second, buried deep inside you, trying to breathe.

“fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “you feel… oh my god.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, legs tightening around his waist.

“move,” you whisper. “go slow.”

he does. every thrust deep and deliberate, like he wants to feel all of it. your nails scrape down his back and he moans. you say his name in portuguese, soft and breathy, and he thrusts harder without meaning to. he says your name in return, like a prayer.

his hands are everywhere. your hips, your thighs, your face. he kisses you through it, messy and open-mouthed. every time you whisper something in portuguese, he moans louder. me fode assim. isso. não para. he doesn’t know what the words mean but his body does.

you feel him start to tremble. he’s close. you are too.

“don’t stop,” you gasp, clinging to him, your voice broken now. “don’t stop, i’m right there-”

he fucks you through it, chasing your high, his name falling from your lips in pieces.

you come first. hard and fast and full-body, your legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry. jimin groans as you clench around him, and within seconds he’s coming too, deep inside you, hips stuttering, body going stiff before collapsing over you.

you stay like that. tangled up, slick with sweat, chest to chest, both of you breathing like you just survived something.

he presses his lips to your shoulder. then your neck. then your cheek. his hand strokes your side, lazy and warm.

“what did you say earlier,” he mumbles, lips barely moving, “on your knees… that one line… what was it?”

you smile, eyes still closed, voice hoarse. “you’ll have to learn portuguese if you really want to know.”

he groans and buries his face in your neck.

“you’re evil,” he says. “so fucking evil.”

[swanlakebaby]

thigh riding | pjm

→ summary: after arriving home late from work, jimin punishes you by making you ride his thigh; but it's not that easy. → pairing: dom!jimin x femsub!reader → tags: smut, riding, thigh riding, dom, sub, edging, orgasm denial, kissing, soft dom, jimin, bts, punishment, helpless, pet names kinda → word count: 3k → a/n: I included more dialogue than I usually do soooo I hope u enjoy!

masterlist

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the click of the front door was louder than you intended, echoing through the unnaturally silent apartment. you winced, kicking off your heels with a sigh of relief that was immediately swallowed by the suffocating stillness. it was after one in the morning. way later than you'd promised.

jimin's text from three hours ago burned a hole in your memory: 'waiting for you. don't be too long.' you'd meant to reply, to tell him the client dinner was running over, but your boss had droned on and on, and by the time you'd escaped, all you could think about was getting home. now, the consequences of that silence loomed large, tangible in the darkness of your shared living room.

a single lamp cast a warm, golden glow in the corner, illuminating the sleek lines of the sofa and the empty space on the coffee table where he usually left his book. he wasn't there. your heart started a nervous little rhythm against your ribs. you padded softly towards the bedroom, your stockinged feet silent on the hardwood floor.

the bedroom door was ajar. peeking inside, you saw him.

he was sitting in the armchair by the window, a silhouette against the moonlit glass. he hadn't turned on the main light, leaving him in shadow, but you could see the glint of light on his hair, the sharp line of his jaw. he was just… waiting. he hadn't changed out of his dark trousers and soft black sweater, the one that clung to his biceps in a way that always made your mouth a little dry.

"jimin?" you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

he didn't move. the silence stretched, thick and heavy, pressing down on you until you felt small. this was it. the calm before the storm. you knew him so well, knew the stillness was a far more dangerous sign than any outburst would be. it meant he was thinking, planning, and you were the subject of his thoughts.

"come here," he said, his voice low and even. it wasn't angry, not yet. it was worse. it was controlled.

you obeyed immediately, crossing the room until you stood before him. you could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne mixed with something that was uniquely jimin. you kept your eyes downcast, fixed on your hands clasped in front of you.

"look at me," he commanded.

slowly, you lifted your gaze. his face was partially in shadow, but you could see his eyes. they were dark, intense, and fixed on you with an unnerving focus. he reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw, his touch a stark contrast to the cold authority in his voice.

"you're late," he stated simply. it wasn't a question.

"i'm sorry," you rushed out, the words tumbling over each other. "the dinner ran late, my boss wouldn't stop talking, and my phone died and i..."

he held up a hand, and you fell silent instantly. "i don't want to hear excuses. you know the rules. you promised you would be home by eleven. you promised you would text if you were going to be late."

"i know, i just..."

"no," he cut you off again, his voice dropping a register. "you didn't 'just' anything. you were careless. you were disobedient." he let his hand fall from your face, trailing down your neck, his thumb brushing over your pulse point. he could feel how fast your heart was beating. "and you know what happens when you break the rules, don't you, princess?"

a shiver, equal parts fear and anticipation, ran down your spine. you nodded, unable to form words.

"use your words."

"yes," you breathed out. "i… i get punished."

a small, humorless smile touched his lips. "that's right. you get punished." he leaned back in the chair, spreading his thighs slightly. the motion was casual, but it was a clear invitation, a command. "strip. slowly."

your fingers trembled as you reached for the zipper of your dress. the fabric whispered down your body, pooling at your feet in a dark heap. next came your bra, then your panties, until you were standing completely bare before him, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin. you felt exposed, vulnerable under his steady gaze, which roamed over every inch of you like he was assessing his property.

"good girl," he murmured, though the praise did little to soothe your nerves. "now, come here."

you took a step closer, and he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his trousers, just below his belt buckle. "you're going to ride my thigh," he said, his voice a low purr that vibrated through you. "and you are not going to finish until i say so. do you understand me?"

your breath hitched. thigh riding. it was one of his favorite punishments. it was humiliating, deliciously so, forcing you to use his body for your own pleasure while he remained mostly detached, watching you fall apart. it was a test of control; his over you, and yours over yourself.

"yes," you whispered, your voice thick.

"louder."

"yes, sir."

"good." he patted his thigh, the fabric of his trousers smooth and expensive looking. "climb on."

with a deep, shaky breath, you swung a leg over his lap, straddling him. his hands immediately went to your waist, gripping you firmly and positioning you directly over his powerful thigh. the muscle was hard beneath you, even through the material of his pants. he kept you still for a moment, letting you feel the heat of him, the solid strength of the leg you were about to use.

"remember the rules," he said, his lips brushing against your ear. "no cumming. and i want you to look at me the entire time. don't you dare look away."

you nodded, your eyes locked with his. the intensity in his gaze was almost overwhelming. he was enjoying this, enjoying your submission, the power he held over you.

"move," he commanded.

it was awkward at first. you began to rock your hips, a slow, uncertain rhythm. the friction was minimal, a dull tease against your most sensitive flesh. you could feel the slickness already building, coating his trousers as you moved. a flush of heat crept up your chest and neck, coloring your cheeks. you felt so exposed, grinding yourself on his leg like an animal in heat while he just watched.

"faster," he ordered, his grip on your waist tightening, guiding you into a more forceful rhythm. "don't be shy. you wanted to be late, now you're going to work for my forgiveness."

his words, sharp and degrading in the best possible way, spurred you on. you increased your pace, the friction becoming more intense, more focused. the hard muscle of his thigh pressed perfectly against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through you with every roll of your hips. you couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

he chuckled, a low, dark sound. "does it feel good? using my thigh to get yourself off like a desperate little thing?"

you bit your lip, nodding, your eyes still locked with his. you could see the satisfaction in his expression, the way his pupils dilated as he watched you lose yourself to the sensation. his hands roamed from your waist, up your back, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine before coming around to cup your breasts. he rolled your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, pinching them just hard enough to make you gasp.

"keep moving," he reminded you, his voice a low growl. "don't you dare stop."

you obeyed, your movements becoming more frantic as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. you were so close. the pressure was building, an exquisite ache that demanded release. you could feel the orgasm right there, just out of reach, and you chased it, grinding down harder, faster, your breath coming in ragged pants.

"please," you begged, the word tearing from your throat. "jimin, please…"

"please what?" he asked, his tone mocking. "please let you cum? have you earned that? have you been a good?"

"i… i can be," you panted, your vision starting to blur at the edges. "i'll be so good, i promise, just please…"

he watched you for a moment, a predator assessing its prey. he could see how desperate you were, how your body trembled with the effort of holding back. he was pushing you, testing your limits, and you were failing so beautifully.

"no," he said, his voice flat and final. "you haven't earned it. slow down."

a sob of frustration caught in your throat. it was the cruelest punishment, to bring you to the very edge of bliss only to deny you. you forced your hips to slow, the rhythm becoming a torturous grind. the pleasure didn't subside, it just simmered, a low, persistent thrum that kept you on edge, desperate for more.

"that's better," he murmured, his hands returning to your hips, holding you in place. "i want you to feel it. i want you to think about what you did wrong. you were careless tonight. you made me worry."

the gentleness in his voice was almost worse than the commands. it was a reminder of the care beneath the dominance, the love that was the foundation for this entire dynamic. you had disappointed him.

the gentleness in his voice was almost worse than the commands. it was a reminder of the care beneath the dominance, the love that was the foundation for this entire dynamic. you had disappointed him. that was the true punishment, not the ache in your thighs or the desperate, unfulfilled throbbing between your legs.

"i'm sorry," you whispered again, the words thick with unshed tears of frustration and genuine remorse. you meant it with every fiber of your being. "i'm so sorry, jimin."

he hummed, a low, thoughtful sound in his chest. "i know you are. but being sorry isn't enough. you need to learn." he shifted his leg slightly, the movement making you gasp as the new angle sent a fresh wave of intense pleasure straight to your core. "now, show me how sorry you are. ride me like you mean it. make me believe you want my forgiveness."

with a choked sob, you complied. you poured all your regret, all your desperation, into the movement of your hips. you rode him with a renewed sense of purpose, your body slick and sliding against the expensive fabric of his trousers. the friction was exquisite, a perfect, maddening pressure against your clit that built the tension in your abdomen back up to an almost unbearable level. your hands, which had been resting on his shoulders for balance, gripped him tightly, your nails digging into the firm muscle through his sweater.

"look at me," he reminded you, his voice firm but not unkind.

your eyes, which had slipped shut in concentration, flew open. the sight of him nearly undid you. his face was still cast in shadow, but his eyes burned with a dark fire. his lips were slightly parted, his gaze fixed on the point where your body met his thigh, watching as you used him for your pleasure. a faint flush colored his own cheeks, and you knew, with a jolt of satisfaction, that this was affecting him too. he wasn't as detached as he pretended to be. his control was a carefully constructed facade, and you were the only one who could see the cracks.

"please," you begged again, your voice ragged. "please, i'll do anything. i need it."

"what do you need?" he prompted, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, squeezing the flesh and pulling you harder against him. "tell me. use your words."

"i need to cum," you cried out, the admission humiliating and thrilling all at once. "please, let me come for you. i want to be good, i want to be a good girl."

he was silent for a long moment, letting you writhe and whimper on his lap. the only sounds in the room were your desperate pants and the wet, slick sounds of your movements. he was enjoying your torment, savoring the power he held. he was the master of your body, the keeper of your pleasure, and right now, he was denying you.

"no," he said again, the single word a devastating blow. "you don't get to cum yet. you're not sorry enough."

tears of pure frustration finally spilled over, tracking hot paths down your cheeks. it was too much. the pleasure, the denial, the humiliation. you felt like you were going to shatter into a million pieces.

"stop crying," he commanded, his voice softening slightly as he used his thumb to wipe away a tear. "you know i hate it when you cry." he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours. "unless they're tears of pleasure. are you going to give me tears of pleasure, princess?"

you could only shake your head, your body trembling uncontrollably. you were so close, so agonizingly close. the coil in your belly was wound so tight it felt like it would snap at any second.

"then i guess you'll have to keep trying," he whispered, before capturing your lips in a punishing kiss.

it was all teeth and tongue, a dominant, claiming kiss that stole the air from your lungs. he devoured you, his tongue exploring your mouth, his teeth nipping at your lower lip. the kiss was a brand, a mark of his ownership, and it sent you spiraling. your hips bucked wildly, grinding against him with abandon, chasing an orgasm you knew you weren't allowed to have.

he broke the kiss, both of you breathing heavily. "slowly," he ordered, his voice strained. "i said slowly."

you tried, you really did. you forced your hips to slow their frantic pace, but your body was fighting you, desperate for release. every slow, deliberate roll of your hips was a form of torture, the pleasure building and building with no hope of relief.

"that's it," he praised, his hands stroking your back soothingly. "just like that. so good for me, following directions even when it's hard."

his praise was a balm and a weapon. it soothed your nerves while simultaneously stoking the fire in your core. you wanted to be good for him. you wanted to please him more than you wanted your own release.

"who do you belong to?" he asked, his voice a low murmur against your ear.

"you," you answered immediately, your voice a breathy moan. "i belong to you."

"and who decides when you get to cum?"

"you do. only you."

"good girl," he said, and this time, the praise felt genuine, earned. "you're learning."

he let you continue like that for what felt like an eternity, a slow, agonizing rhythm that kept you teetering on the very edge of release. your thighs burned with the effort, your body trembled with exhaustion and need. you were completely at his mercy, a puppet with him pulling the strings.

finally, just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, he spoke again.

"stop," he commanded.

you froze, your body rigid with anticipation. your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the silence of the room.

"look at me," he said, his voice soft, but still holding an undercurrent of authority. "have you learned your lesson?"

you nodded vigorously, your eyes wide and pleading. "yes. yes, sir. i'll never be late again. i'll always text. i promise."

he studied your face, his eyes searching yours for any hint of insincerity. he must have found what he was looking for, because a slow, satisfied smile spread across his lips.

"good," he said. "because i hate punishing you." he leaned in, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to your forehead. "but i do love watching you fall apart."

his hands moved from your hips, one sliding up to tangle in your hair, the other snaking between your bodies. his elegant fingers found your clit, swollen and sensitive from your exertions.

"i think you've earned your reward," he whispered, his thumb circling the tight bundle of nerves. "cum for me, princess. cum all over my hand. now."

that was all it took. the combination of his words, his touch, and the hours of built-up tension sent you flying over the edge. your orgasm crashed over you with the force of a tidal wave, a blinding, all-consuming pleasure that ripped a scream from your throat. your body convulsed, your back arching as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you. you were dimly aware of jimin's voice in your ear, murmuring praises as he worked you through your orgasm, his fingers never ceasing their relentless assault.

when it was over, you collapsed against him, boneless and spent, your body trembling in the aftermath. he held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace. for a long time, you just stayed like that, your head on his shoulder, his heart beating steadily under your ear.

"you were so beautiful," he murmured, his lips pressed against your hair. "so perfect for me."

you hummed in contentment, too exhausted to speak. he shifted, standing up with you still in his arms, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. he carried you to the bed, laying you down gently against the cool sheets. he disappeared for a moment, returning with a warm, damp cloth. he cleaned you up with a tenderness that brought fresh tears to your eyes, this time of gratitude and love.

when he was done, he climbed into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms and tucking the blanket around you. you snuggled against him, your head on his chest, feeling safe and cherished.

"i'm sorry i was late," you whispered, your voice sleepy.

"i know," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "but you're forgiven now. get some sleep, princess."

you closed your eyes, a feeling of deep contentment settling over you. the punishment was over. you had learned your lesson. and you were, once again, his good girl.

[luvitera]

A soft morning turns intense and ends in comfort: light slips through the blinds across warm skin and tangled sheets, as sleepy teasing over breakfast slowly shifts until the kitchen feels like a promise.

pairing: jeon jungkook x fem/reader

genre: morning after. domestic fluff. smut. possessive jk. established relationship

warnings: explicit sexual content. dom/sub dynamics. fingering. oral (male receiving). rough sex. choking (light). spanking. degradation (light). praise kink. creampie. aftercare.

word count: ~6k

note: thank you so much for liking my previous post! I hope you like this one as well ♡

──────────୨ৎ───────────

Sunlight filtered through the blinds, painting soft stripes across the tangled sheets. The room still carried the faint scent of soap and something warmer, something shared.

Jungkook lay on his back, one arm draped over his forehead, breathing slow and deep. When his eyes finally opened, he squinted at the light before turning his head toward me. The moment he saw me, something in his expression shifted—sleep melting into quiet focus.

His hand slid under the covers, finding my hip, his thumb tracing slow, absent circles.

"Morning…" he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

His gaze lingered on my face, taking in every detail now visible in the soft daylight—the same details he had memorized in the dark.

"Sore?" he asked, low and knowing.

I hummed softly in response.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, satisfied. His thumb paused, then resumed its slow movement as he pushed himself up slightly, brushing a few strands of hair away from my face.

"Good," he murmured. "Means I did my job right."

I gave a small, sleepy sound, and his lips curved into a soft smile.

"Cute," he added, leaning closer until his face hovered just above mine. "You always get like this… quiet, all soft." His thumb traced along my jaw. "Makes me want to keep you here all day."

Another content hum left me.

He sighed, settling back but keeping his hand on me. "I'll make something to eat. Stay right here."

I nodded faintly.

He smiled, warm and lazy, squeezing my hip before leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of my lips. Then he sat up, stretching, muscles shifting under his skin before he glanced back at me.

"You're getting eggs," he said.

I frowned slightly. "I don't want eggs."

He paused, then laughed under his breath, turning back toward me with a raised brow.

"No eggs?" he repeated, leaning forward again, elbows on his knees. "Then what do you want?"

"Something more… tasty."

The smirk that spread across his lips turned slower, darker.

"More tasty, huh?" His fingers brushed lightly over the sheets near me. "I can manage that… but you'll have to tell me—how hungry are you?"

"A lot."

Something in his gaze sharpened. He leaned closer, voice dropping.

"Then come here."

I blinked. "Wait—I meant real food."

He laughed, the tension breaking instantly as he ran a hand through his messy hair.

"Right. Real food," he said, shaking his head. "My brain's still in bed with you."

"Perv."

"Guilty," he shot back easily, grinning as he stood.

I crossed my arms slightly. "I want waffles."

He stopped at the door, sighing dramatically before glancing back with a teasing smile.

"Waffles? Now you're just demanding."

"If I am, then don't."

A low chuckle escaped him as he leaned against the frame.

"So demanding… and then not?" he teased. "You're confusing me this morning."

"Just do whatever you want."

His eyes lit up instantly.

"Careful," he said, stepping back toward me, voice dropping again. "You know what happens when you give me that kind of permission."

I rolled my eyes.

He softened, laughing quietly before reaching for my hand.

"Come on," he said. "You're coming with me. I don't trust you not to fall asleep again and blame me."

I let him pull me up but instead of letting me fully steady myself, his grip tightened just slightly. There was a flicker in his eyes, something playful… and a little dangerous.

Before I could react, his hands slid to my waist.

"Jungkook—"

In one smooth motion, he lifted me.

A quiet gasp left me as my hands instinctively found his shoulders, and my legs wrapped around his waist. He let out a soft, amused breath, steadying me effortlessly, like he'd done it a hundred times before.

"Much better," he murmured, his voice lower now.

Our faces were suddenly close—too close to ignore the warmth between us.

He started walking down the hallway like that, completely unbothered, one arm secure around me while the other brushed lightly along my thigh, absent but deliberate.

"Now I know you won't run off," he added with a crooked smile.

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "You're impossible."

"Mm," he hummed, glancing up at me. "And yet, here you are."

Sunlight spilled across the floor as he carried me, his thumb lazily tracing patterns against my side. The whole thing felt unfairly easy for him—like holding me there, close, was the most natural thing in the world.

"Consider this," he added, voice dropping just a little, "premium service. Breakfast delivery included."

I rolled my eyes, but my grip on him tightened slightly.

He noticed.

His smile softened—less teasing now, more something warm… something that lingered.

And without putting me down, he carried me straight into the kitchen.

He set ms gently against the counter but didn’t move away.

Not really.

His hands lingered at my waist for a second longer than necessary.

Then he finally stepped back, grabbing a bowl.

“Waffle protocol,” he announced. “Might get a little experimental.”

I watched as he cracked an egg—slightly messy—then fished out a bit of shell with a sheepish smirk.

“Extra crunch,” he said. “Very professional.”

Flour dusted his fingers, a bit of egg still clinging to his skin. I glanced at his hands, and he noticed immediately.

“These?” he asked, lifting them slightly, amused. “Multi-purpose.”

He slowly brought his thumb to his mouth, licking it clean, eyes never leaving mine.

“Messy,” he added quietly.

The air shifted—warmer, heavier.

He dipped a finger into the batter again, swirling it lazily.

“For now… just pancake mix,” he murmured.

When i stepped closer, taking his hand and guiding his fingers to your lips, he froze.

A sharp inhale escaped him, his entire body going still as his gaze locked onto you.

“…That’s not part of the recipe,” he said, voice rough.

I didn’t pull away.

He exhaled slowly, tension flickering through him. “That’s… one way to clean up.”

When i finally let go, he flexed his fingers, still watching you like he’d forgotten everything else.

He stepped closer, caging you against the counter. His voice was low, rough—still morning-raw, but stripped of any leftover sleep.

"What do you want?"

I didn't answer right away. Just looked up at him through your lashes, let the silence stretch.

"What do you want?" I returned the question .

His jaw tightened. Something flickered behind his eyes—something darker than playfulness. He leaned in, one hand braced on the counter beside my hip, the other coming up to grip my chin. Not hard. Just enough to tilt my face toward his.

"I want you to stop playing with your food."

His thumb dragged across my lower lip, slow and deliberate.

"So I'm your food?" I murmured against his skin.

"If that's how you want to put it…" His voice dropped to a murmur, lips brushing the corner of my mouth. "Yeah."

"I don't know. You can show me what you have in mind."

The words left my lips before i could stop them. A dare. A test. She wasn't sure which.

His predatory grin didn't falter. If anything, it sharpened—curling at the edges like he'd been waiting for me to say exactly that. His eyes held mine, dark and unblinking.

The gentle touch behind my ear slid down. His thumb traced the line of my jaw with excruciating slowness, his skin still damp from the batter, leaving a faint, cool trail along my heated flesh. I shivered. He felt it. His gaze flickered with satisfaction.

"Show you?"

He leaned in, closing the last inch of space between us. His lips brushed against the shell of her ear—not quite a kiss, more like a threat wrapped in velvet. His breath was hot, uneven. His voice dropped to a thick, honeyed whisper, dripping with promise.

"I can do much better than that. I can let you taste exactly what I have in mind."

"Mmmm."

The sound was soft. Low. It vibrated against his thumb, still resting on her jaw. A murmur of surrender. Of approval.

That single sound seemed to travel straight through his skin, his muscle, his bones. It landed somewhere deep in his core and lit a fuse he hadn't even known was there.

His breath caught. The wolfish smile turned into something darker. More possessive.

He moved his hand, cupping my chin firmly. His fingers pressed into my skin—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to let me know i wasn't going anywhere.

"Good."

He breathed the word out like a promise. His eyes flickered down to my lips, lingering there for a heartbeat too long.

"Because you're about to get the whole fucking menu."

With that single, soft sound of approval, something in him snapped. The low burn of the last few minutes flared white-hot. He was done talking.

He let go of my chin, his hand sliding to the nape of my neck. His fingers tangled in my hair, gripping firmly, and he pulled my mouth to his in a sudden, claiming kiss.

It was deep, the kind of kiss that swallowed my air and left you dizzy. His tongue swept against yours, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he wanted to do with it. His body pressed my back against the counter, the edge biting into my hips, and i couldn't tell if the heat pooling low in my stomach was from him or from the way his fingers flexed against my scalp.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His forehead dropped to yours, eyes still closed, jaw still tight.

His voice came out wrecked. Low. Almost a growl.

"That's the only sound I want to hear."

My lips curved into a smile. You knew he could feel it.

"I thought you wanted more."

His eyes snapped open. Something feral flickered there, raw and unguarded. His grip in my hair tightened just enough to make your breath catch not painful, just… present. A reminder.

His mouth hovered over mine, lips barely brushing as he spoke.

"Oh, I do."

His other hand slid from the counter to my waist, fingers digging into the soft curve of your my, pulling me flush against him.

"I want everything."

And the way he said it—low, certain, like it was already his—made my knees weak and my cheeks burn all at once.

I slid my hand down, first to my nipples through my shirt to show him how hard they were, then down to my heat. The deliberate movement was pure visual provocation. His eyes tracked my hand's slow descent, the hitch in his breathing the only sign he was still alive and not carved from stone. When my palm finally pressed against the heat between my thighs, a ragged, animal sound tore from his throat.

He watched, utterly transfixed, for one more agonizing second before his control shattered. His hand snapped out, grabbing my wrist and pinning it to the counter beside us. He leaned in, his mouth a breath away from mine, his voice a guttural command. "Don't. You don't get to do that. Only I do."

"Really? Then why am I the one touching myself right now?"

The challenge in my words, the sheer defiance of my action, slammed into him. His jaw tightened, the feral heat in his eyes solidifying into something dangerously focused. My wrist was still pinned beneath his, but the implied control I'd just exerted was a spark thrown on dynamite.

He pressed my wrist harder into the cold countertop, his other hand coming up to grip my jaw, forcing me to hold his gaze.

"Because I'm letting you. For about three more seconds. Then your hands stay right here." He released my jaw, trailing his fingertips down my throat, over my collarbone, stopping just above the fabric of my shirt. "I decide what you feel. Where you're touched. And right now..." His fingers slipped under the hem of my shirt, grazing the skin of my stomach. "I'm starting here."

He dropped to his knees on the kitchen tile, his mouth finding the soft skin of my stomach first in a series of open-mouthed, searing kisses. He moved upward slowly, worshipfully, his hands holding my hips steady as his lips traced a blazing path over my ribs, then higher, until his warm breath ghosted over the thin fabric covering my breasts.

He didn't look up, his focus entirely on the peaked flesh beneath my shirt. He closed his mouth over it, fabric and all, sucking gently, then harder, his tongue circling the stiff peak through the material. A low groan rumbled from his chest against my skin.

"Told you." He breathed the words against me, his voice muffled. "My decision. My touch."

A sharp intake of breath escaped me—the only sound in the quiet kitchen, cut through by the wet, hot sound of his mouth working over my shirt. The sensation was almost too much: the fabric rasping against my oversensitive skin, his tongue a firm, persistent pressure, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips still brushing the damp cotton. His voice was thick, rough with want.

"That's the sound." He looked up at me, his eyes black with intent. "Now tell me you don't want my hands on you instead."

He didn't wait for a verbal answer. My gasp was permission enough. His hands moved from my hips, sliding up my sides to grip the hem of my shirt. He pulled the fabric up and over my head in one swift motion, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. His dark eyes swept over me, the morning light painting my skin in gold. His voice was a reverent rasp.

"Better."

He drank in the sight of my bare skin, the sharp rise and fall of my chest, with a hunger that was almost painful. The air grew thick, the only sound our mingled, ragged breathing. His hands slid up my waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, his gaze never leaving mine.

"All mine."

He held me there, suspended in his gaze for a long, trembling moment. The morning air was cool against my newly bared skin, but the heat from his hands and his stare was overwhelming. His thumbs made slow, deliberate circles just below the swell of my breasts, a promise of where his mouth would go next.

He leaned forward, his breath hot against my skin as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss just above my navel. His voice was a low vibration against me. "Every inch." Another kiss, higher. "Every sigh." His lips brushed the underside of my breast, his tongue darting out to taste my skin. "It all belongs to me now."

Then he slipped his hand into my panties to feel my wetness. His declaration hung in the air between us, a possessive truth he was determined to prove. Keeping one hand splayed possessively on my waist, his other drifted lower, his fingers tracing a line along the top edge of my panties before slipping beneath the fabric.

His fingers slid through the heat and slickness he found there, a dark, satisfied sound rumbling in his chest as he looked up at me. "See?" His voice was thick, his touch deliberate, circling but not yet giving me the pressure I craved. "Even your body knows who it answers to."

"Then give my body what it wants."

My words were a direct order—an invitation and a challenge wrapped in one. His fingers, still slick with me, paused their circling. A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips against my skin as he looked up at me, his dark eyes gleaming with absolute authority.

He withdrew his hand from my panties, holding my gaze as he brought his glistening fingers to his own mouth, tasting me without breaking eye contact. His voice was a low, commanding purr.

"I will. But on my terms. And only when I'm sure you remember who's giving it to you."

He stood up slowly, his movements deliberate and full of predatory grace. His eyes, dark and hungry, never left mine as he crowded me back against the kitchen counter. He gripped my hips and spun me around, pressing my front against the cool marble countertop. His body caged me from behind, his voice a hot whisper against my ear.

"You ask so pretty. But I'm not done reminding you."

He put a finger in. He didn't hesitate. His finger the same one that had just tasted me slipped inside me with a smooth, deliberate stroke, filling me with a sudden, aching fullness.

His other hand splayed across my lower back, pinning me gently but firmly against the counter as he worked his finger deep, then shallow, his breath hot against the nape of my neck. "There." His voice was a low, possessive growl. "That's what you wanted. But it's not enough, is it?"

"No."

His finger stilled completely inside me, the sudden cessation of movement almost more jarring than the penetration itself. His body went rigid against my back.

He pulled his finger out slowly, deliberately, and turned me around to face him. His eyes were dark pools of stormy intensity, his jaw tight. "No?" His voice was dangerously low, almost a whisper.

I didn't have to speak. He put two fingers inside me. A dark, appreciative sound rumbled in his chest at my silent demand. His hands slid back to my hips, keeping me firmly caged against the counter. His voice was a low, taunting murmur against my skin.

"Greedy." The word was a caress. He didn't tease this time. Two fingers pressed against my entrance, then slid inside me with a slow, deep, deliberate stretch, filling me completely. "Is that better?"

"Mhm."

A low, throaty chuckle vibrated against my back. His two fingers worked inside me, deep and slow, curling just right to make me gasp. His other hand slid around my hip, his palm pressing flat against my lower stomach, holding me firmly in place against the thrust of his fingers.

The two fingers inside me curled deliberately, his thumb finding my clit to apply a slow, circling pressure. Every movement was a claim, a demonstration of the control he'd demanded. His dark eyes watched my face, waiting. His hands moved slowly, caressing me with a tenderness that made me shiver.

The rhythm inside me shifting from slow and deep to something sharper, controlled, punishing pace that demanded my full attention.

He brought his lips to the sensitive skin just below my ear, his teeth grazing lightly as he spoke, his voice rough with approval.

His thumb pressed harder against my clit, his fingers curling upward. "Now show me."

His thumb began circling my clit with a rough, unyielding pressure, while the two fingers inside me drove deep and fast, his wrist working with a focused, relentless rhythm. He watched my face, his own expression one of intense concentration and dark pleasure, orchestrating every sensation that would bring me to the edge.

His gaze locked on mine, his breathing becoming heavier in time with his movements.

"That's it. Come for me. Give it to me."

His rhythm became punishing in its precision, his thumb a relentless point of pressure and friction, his fingers a deep, driving force inside me. The air grew thick with the sounds of skin, ragged breathing, and the unyielding pace he set. His eyes never left my face, watching for every flicker of reaction as he commanded my release.

His free hand came up to tangle in my hair, gently pulling my head back to expose my throat, his voice a ragged, possessive command against my ear.

"Now. Don't you dare hold back."

His command was followed by the brutal, final escalation of his touch. His thumb worked my clit in fast, ruthless circles, his two fingers pistoning deep inside me with a force that pushed me back against the hard counter with every thrust. The combined assault was overwhelming, designed to break my control entirely and deliver exactly what he'd demanded.

His grip in my hair tightened just enough to anchor me, his lips brushing my ear as he drove me relentlessly toward the edge, his voice a raw, breathless growl.

" Come on. Give it to me. Prove it."

His dark eyes were heavy-lidded with a primal satisfaction, watching my every reaction as he drove me toward the climax he'd commanded.

The relentless rhythm brought me to a orgasm that shook my entire body. As my shudders subsided, his fingers, glistening, pulled slowly from me. He held his hand up between our faces, his gaze dark and triumphant as he watched me.

"You liked my fingers earlier, didn't you? Taste them now."

He brought his wet fingers to my lips, pressing them gently but insistently against my mouth, his eyes holding mine with a primal, commanding intensity.

"Open."

His command hung in the charged air, his gaze unwavering. The taste of salt and my own release already ghosted my senses as he held his fingers pressed to my lips. His eyes darkened further, a vein pulsing in his jaw as he waited, his entire posture rigid with expectation.

I opened my mouth. His index and middle finger slipped past my lips, resting on my tongue. He watched with rapt, possessive attention as my mouth closed around them, his expression one of dark, profound satisfaction. He let out a low, gravelly hum of approval, his other hand still possessively holding my hair.

"Good girl. Swallow."

"Just like that."

His eyes remained fixed on me, watching me swallow. The air was thick with the raw aftermath of what had just happened, the silence broken only by our breathing. He slowly withdrew his fingers from my mouth, his thumb tracing my lower lip in a possessive caress. His gaze was dark and satisfied.

"So, now what should I do with this wet pussy of yours?"

He didn't move away, his body still caging me against the counter. His hand slid down from my hair to grip my hip, his touch branding through the thin material of my clothes. The question hung between them, a raw, provocative promise.

He pressed a kiss to the slope of my shoulder, his voice a low, predatory murmur against her skin.

"Tell me what you want. Or I'll decide for you."

"Mm. You should decide." I answered.

A dark, predatory smile curved his lips at my response. He straightened up, his grip on my hip tightening possessively as his gaze raked over me.

He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a low, dangerous purr.

"Good answer.”

His low, dangerous purr vibrated against my ear. The air grew thicker, heavy with the scent of him and her and the raw promise in his words. His hand on my hip was a brand, his body a cage of heat and muscle.

His free hand came up to grasp my chin, tilting her face to meet his burning gaze.

"Then I'm going to make you scream my name against this counter until you forget you ever had a choice."

A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest at my submission. His grasp on my chin tightened just enough to be felt, his eyes holding mine captive.

He released my chin only to slide both hands down to my thighs, hoisting me up onto the kitchen counter in one smooth, powerful motion.

"Let's see if you can keep that attitude while you're coming apart for me."

He settled me firmly on the cold marble, the contrast to his own heat stark. His hands slid up my thighs, pushing the hem of my shirt higher, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts and underwear, tugging them down my thighs in one rough, decisive motion. The cool kitchen air kissed my newly exposed skin.

He leaned back, his gaze a dark, burning possession as it roamed over me.

"There. That's all I need off. Now put your hands back. Don't make me."

I did what he told me.

His eyes darkened with approval as I complied, his gaze locked on my hands moving back to brace against the cold countertop.

"That's my good girl. Now, keep them there. Let's see how long you can remember who you belong to."

A low, rough sound of approval rumbled in his chest. He leaned in, his warm breath fanning over my neck, one hand sliding around to the small of my back to pull me closer to the edge of the counter.

His other hand slipped between my thighs, his touch deliberate and knowing, his lips grazing my ear.

"Waiting was the only right thing to do. Let's see what else you can do right for me."

The distinct, deliberate sounds filled the silence the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of the quiet slide of his sweatpants. Then, the whisper of his shirt being pulled over his head.

"Much better. Now, where were we?"

He started to tease my entrance with his dick. The teasing pressure of him was maddening, deliberate in its slowness. He held himself there, a hot, heavy promise against my most sensitive skin, not giving me what I craved, just letting me feel the potential.

His breath hitched, a low groan escaping him as he kept that torturous, shallow contact, his hands gripping my hips to hold me steady.

"Look at you. Already begging for it and I haven't even started. Tell me, baby. Who do you belong to?"

"To you, love."

A sharp, approving breath escaped him at my words. His hands tightened on my hips, possessive and sure.

"That's right. And don't you ever forget it."

With my answer given, he ceased his teasing. In one smooth, powerful motion, he thrust forward, claiming me completely, filling the space between us with a deep, shared groan. The sudden, overwhelming sensation of being taken, of being joined, was punctuated only by the solid sound of his palms hitting the counter on either side of my hips, caging me in.

The sharp, breathless sound that escaped me seemed to fuel him further. The initial, claiming thrust settled into a deep, intense connection, his hips flush against mine for a long, weighted moment.

His forehead dropped to rest against my shoulder, a deep groan vibrating against my skin as he began to move, slow and deliberate at first, each roll of his hips measured and possessive.

"Ahh is right, baby. Every sound is mine."

He started slowly but then faster. The deliberate, slow pace was a taunt, a promise of building pressure. But as my body responded, that measured control fractured. His rhythm shifted from deep, claiming strokes to something more urgent, his hips snapping against mine with a new, hungry speed.

His breathing grew ragged, the counter creaking slightly under the force of his movements as he drove into me, each thrust deeper and faster than the last.

"That's it. Take all of it. You're mine."

The only sound was the slap of skin to skin. His balls to my ass. The rhythm intensified, the room filled with the primal, rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin, each powerful thrust creating a sharp, wet slap that echoed against the tile.

His voice was a rough, broken growl against my ear, his body moving with a frenetic, desperate energy.

"Fuck... that sound. You feel it? That's me claiming what's mine."

His pace became relentless, a frantic, driving rhythm that left us both breathless. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and skin, and the sharp, echoing slaps grew faster, more demanding.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of my hips, his grunts becoming more strained and guttural with each thrust, the sound raw and unrestrained.

His rhythm became a punishing, unrestrained force, his hips slamming against me with a new, primal intensity.

His hands flew from my hips to tangle in my hair, holding it tight in his fists as he pistoned into me with brutal, perfect force, his voice ragged with ecstasy.

The sharp, stinging crack of his palm against my ass echoed the harsh slap of our bodies, a punctuation to his frantic rhythm.

The slap was followed by another, then another, each one landing on the flushed, sensitive skin, his fingers digging in possessively. His other hand, its intricate ink stark against my throat, slid up to wrap around my neck, not squeezing, but holding, a dominant claim as he drove into me with unrelenting force.

My back arched off the counter, a helpless arch of pure pleasure that I couldn't control.

The slaps stopped, the hand at my throat tightened just enough, and his rhythm became a final, desperate, unstoppable drive.

His breath was still hot and ragged against my skin, his body pressed heavily against my back as he slowly softened inside me. The kitchen was silent now save for our panting breaths, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

He loosened his grip on my throat, his tattooed fingers tracing the skin he'd just claimed.

He pressed a possessive kiss to my shoulder, his lips against my damp skin.

He saw that I was going to come, so he slowed his move.

He deliberately slowed his punishing rhythm to a torturous, shallow grind, denying me the friction I was chasing, his voice a low, teasing command against my ear.

"Oh no, you don't. Not until I say so."

"What?!"

His smirk deepened at my startled reaction, his hips still moving in that deliberate, slow grind that kept me right on the edge.

"You heard me. I decide when you come. Not you." His voice was a low, unwavering command.

His control was absolute, his body a firm, unyielding cage that kept me pinned on the razor's edge he had created.

He maintained the slow, maddening rhythm, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke, his tone dripping with dark amusement.

He nipped at my earlobe, his voice a dark, velvety promise.

"That's right. You asked for this. Now you get the whole fucking package. And my package doesn't come until I'm good and ready to give it to you." He chuckled, the sound low and self-satisfied. "Be a good girl and wait."

He kept up the slow, deliberate grind, savoring every tremor and hitched breath he could feel from my body pressed against his. The morning light filtered through the kitchen window, casting stark shadows and illuminating the flushed skin of my neck and shoulders under his gaze.

He leaned his weight more fully into me, his own breathing beginning to even out as he watched the muscles in my back tense and strain, a low hum of satisfaction in his chest.

"Feels good, doesn't it? This edge. Knowing I'm the only thing holding you back from it." He pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the nape of my neck. "My good girl."

In one swift, powerful motion, he withdrew from me and lifted me from the counter, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he turned and carried me to the nearest wall. The tile was cool and unyielding against my back as he pressed me firmly against it, bringing us face to face.

His dark eyes locked onto mine, his arms caging me in, his voice a low growl.

"Better. I want to watch you. Watch you try to hold on."

The shift in position seemed to unleash something primal in him. With me pinned against the wall, legs wrapped tight around his waist, he drove into me with a renewed, brutal pace. Every thrust was hard, deep, and punishingly fast, the force of it rattling my body against the cool tile.

His eyes blazed, locked on my face, his breathing ragged as he chased his own peak, his voice a raw, broken growl.

"Look at me. Look at me when you come. Only when I let you."

I couldn't anymore, so I came. But he didn't.

My climax broke like a wave against a cliff, my body shuddering and convulsing around him in a desperate, involuntary release.

His jaw tightened, a dark, triumphant fire burning in his eyes as he watched me come undone for him. He didn't stop, didn't give me a moment to breathe, his voice a harsh, ragged command against my lips.

"I didn't say you could. But since you did... Now you take it. Every last bit of it. Until I'm done with you."

His words hung in the air, a sharp accusation laced with dark amusement and possessive fire. The brutal, fast pace of his hips continued unabated, making the wall shudder with each impact.

His hands gripped my thighs harder, his forehead pressed against mine as he drove into me, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.

"That's two for you, angel. And I haven't had mine yet. Someone got a little too impatient."

His fingers curled slightly in your hair—not rough, just enough for you to feel the weight of his hand.

"Show me how sorry you are. On your knees."

The words were a low, absolute command that hung in the charged air between us. His grip on my thighs loosened, signaling the expected descent. His dark eyes held mine, unyielding, the promise of what was to come simmering in their depths.

"Now angel"

He watched me slide down the wall, his gaze intense and unwavering. The cool kitchen floor met my knees. He took a half-step back, his form towering over me in the morning light, casting a long shadow that enveloped me completely. His breathing was still ragged from exertion, his expression one of dark, possessive expectation.

He reached out, his fingers gently but firmly tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb brushing my jawline. His voice was a low, velvety command.

"Good. Now, look up at me. Don't you dare look away. And open your mouth."

His command hung in the air, a final, unyielding order. He looked down at me, his expression a mask of dark anticipation and absolute control, waiting for my compliance. His hand remained at my jaw, his thumb stroking my lower lip once, his eyes burning into mine with unwavering intensity.

My mouth obeyed his command, opening for him on the cool kitchen floor. Jungkook's gaze darkened with satisfaction as he looked down at me, his thumb still resting on my lower lip.

He let out a low, appreciative hum, his other hand moving to his waistband. His voice was thick and velvety.

"Good girl. Now, you're going to pay back every last bit of what you owe."

His tone brooked no hesitation, the command leaving the air heavy with expectation. His thumb pressed gently but firmly against my lower lip, a physical reminder of his control as he waited.

He held my gaze, his own dark and unblinking, a silent dare etched into his features. His breathing was steady now, a controlled rhythm compared to the earlier frenzy.

"Go on. Show me how sorry you are."

A low groan rumbled in his chest as I took him in, his head tipping back slightly. His fingers gently tangled in my hair, not forcing, but guiding my rhythm as he watched me with heavy-lidded, possessive eyes.

His voice was a strained, deep hum of approval.

"That's it… just like that. Take it all. You remember who you belong to right now."

The sudden, forceful thrust deeper into my mouth drew another low groan from him. His fingers tightened in my hair, anchoring me in place as he held himself there for a moment, his jaw clenched.

His voice was a rough, strained growl as he looked down at me, his movements becoming more assertive, setting a punishing pace.

"That's it... take it all. Don't forget who you're paying back."

The force of his thrusts sent him deep, hitting the back of my throat with a wet sound. His hips stuttered slightly at the sensation, a sharp hiss escaping his clenched teeth. His grip in my hair tightened, holding me steady against him.

His movements became slower, more deliberate, each deep push a controlled act of possession. His voice was a ragged, breathless whisper.

"Yes... just like that. Right there. You're taking it so well."

The sounds were messy, wet, and obscene. His cock was slick with saliva, every hard thrust coating his length and my mouth.

His breathing became ragged, his hips losing their controlled rhythm. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat, his hand fisting tighter in my hair.

"Fuck... that's it. Get it all over you. Show me. Look at me."

His command cut through the wet, sloppy sounds. His dark eyes burned down at me, demanding my gaze meet his even as he moved in my mouth.

His thrusts slowed but did not stop, his grip in my hair keeping me from pulling away. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp, thick with lust.

"Look at me when you take it. I want to see your eyes."

His words hung in the air, a rough, demeaning praise that seemed to tighten the very atmosphere between us. His hips continued their slow, deliberate thrusts, his dark gaze locked on mine, watching for every flicker of reaction.

His thumb brushed along my cheek, smearing a trail of wetness across my mouth. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp, thick with lust.

His movements in my mouth had stilled completely, though he remained buried deep, his hand still fisted possessively in my hair. His dark eyes watched me, glinting with dark amusement and a promise.

He used his grip to tilt my head back just slightly further, his thumb stroking my jawline. His voice was a husky, intimate murmur.

"Stick your tongue out."

He remained hovering over me, his dark gaze expectant and unyielding. The command hung in the air, a direct order that left no room for hesitation.

He kept his grip firm in my hair, his other hand coming up to gently tap the tip of my chin with his thumb. His voice was low and thick with anticipation.

"Let me see it. All of it. Don't make me ask again."

He gave a low, dark chuckle of approval at my obedience, his thumb still resting on my jaw. Slowly, he withdrew from my mouth with a slick, wet sound.

He stood straight, his cock flushed and glistening in front of me. He wrapped his hand around it, his strokes slow and deliberate at first, his other hand still loosely tangled in my hair.

"Good. Now watch. Watch what you did to me and swallow."

The single word was a command, low and thick with intent. His hand was still moving, his strokes becoming faster, more urgent. The air grew thick with the scent of him and the charged anticipation of his release.

His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, remained locked on my face. His breathing hitched, his muscles tensing.

"Every drop. You'll take it all."

After his release he took a moment. His breathing was still ragged, his chest heaving as he looked down at you. His hand slowly loosened in your hair, fingers smoothing through the tangled strands instead of gripping.

For a long moment, he just stood there, watching you.

Then he dropped to his knees in front of you.

The kitchen floor was cold against his skin, but he didn't seem to notice. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing gently across your cheekbones, wiping away the mess he'd made.

"Hey," he murmured, voice soft now – stripped of command, stripped of darkness. Just him. "You okay?"

You nodded, still catching my breath.

His forehead dropped to mine. He stayed like that for a second, just breathing with you.

"You did so good," he whispered. "So good for me."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. Then the tip of my nose. Then my lips – soft this time, barely there, nothing like before.

"Come here."

He pulled me gently against his chest, one arm wrapping around my back, the other cradling the back of my head.

He didn't rush. Didn't try to get me up or clean me off or say too much. He just held me, his thumb tracing slow circles against my back, until mu breathing evened out and the trembling stopped.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were soft. Tender. Nothing like the storm from before.

"Let's get you off this floor, yeah?"

He stood first, then reached down, taking both your hands and pulling me up slowly, carefully. My legs were still unsteady, and he noticed immediately – one arm sliding around my waist to keep you upright.

"Easy. I've got you."

He led me to the counter, grabbing a kitchen towel and running it under warm water. When he came back, he knelt again – not to command, but to care.

His touch was gentle as he wiped my face. Each movement slow, deliberate, tender.

"There," he murmured, tossing the towel aside. "Better?"

I nodded.

He stood, pulling you into his chest again, one hand cradling the back of my head.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For the rough part. Got a little… lost in it."

I shook my head against his chest. "I liked it."

He let out a soft laugh, his chest vibrating against your cheek. "Yeah. I know you did."

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

"Still. You tell me if it's too much. Always."

I pulled back just enough to look up at him. "I will."

His thumb traced your jaw one more time – soft, almost reverent.

"Good girl."

He said it differently this time. Not like a command. Like a promise.

"Now," he said, glancing at the forgotten waffle batter on the counter, "I think I owe you breakfast. Real breakfast this time."

I laughed softly. "You think?"

He grinned that warm, crooked grin from the very beginning of the morning.

"I know."

He grabbed a blanket from the living room and wrapped it around my shoulders before guiding me to a chair at the small kitchen table.

"Sit. Don't move. I'm making you waffles. And coffee. And whatever else you want."

I watched him move around the kitchen naked except for his boxers which he had put on, hair still messy, skin still flushed. He cracked new eggs into a bowl, this time without missing.

He glanced back at me, catching my staring.

"What?"

"Nothing," you said, smiling.

He smiled back, soft and private

[97linelover]

midnight highs - Jeon Jungkook

summary: well what else is supposed to happen when your boyfriend posts a video of him doing the hooligan challenge? You basically beg him to take you on his bike.

A/N: Sorry but we all freaked out over his new video right???

word count: 3K

WARNING NOT FOR AUDIENCE UNDER 18!

Your boyfriend, Jungkook, is of course objectively speaking one of the hottest men on the planet.

Since the Arirang comeback, the atmosphere around BTS has shifted into high gear. The members have been more active than ever, reposting fan edits, commenting on theories, and sharing glimpses of their lives that keep the internet in a perpetual state of meltdown.

But lately, Jungkook’s feed has taken a specific, darker turn.

He’s been obsessed with "hooligan" transition videos, reposting edits of bikers shifting from casual riders to sleek, rebellious silhouettes against the night sky. For the fans, it’s a thrill. For you? It’s a slow burn. You know exactly what’s tucked away in the shadows of his massive garage: a small, meticulously maintained collection of Harleys.

Chrome pipes, leather seats, and the heavy scent of oil and gasoline.

The bikes are one thing that make Jeon Jungkook happy.

Right now, they sit in silence, glowing under the dim LED garage lights like sleeping predators. They are waiting for their owner to return from his grueling schedule, waiting for the moment he trades his stage outfits for a heavy leather jacket and boots.

Jungkook loves the adrenaline of the open road, the way the wind drowns out the noise of the world.

And you? You love watching him.

You know the way his grip tightens on the handlebars and the effortless, powerful way he leans into a curve.

Currently, he’s finishing a tour stop in Japan, thousands of miles away from the quiet hum of his garage. But the countdown has started. You can almost hear the roar of the engine as he counts down the hours until he’s back home and back to you.

The vibration of your phone is constant, a rhythmic humming against the table that keeps you smiling between sips of your drink. Jungkook has always been like that no matter how famous he gets or how many thousands of fans are screaming his name, he never lets you wonder where he is.

JK: Just touched down. Finally. JK: Seoul air smells like home. Heading to the garage first. I need to clear my head. JK: Don't stay out too late, baby. Drink some water between the Soju. ;)

He really is the perfect boyfriend. Even after a grueling flight from Japan, his first instinct isn't just to rest, it’s to check in on you.

You’re at a small, lively Korean BBQ place, the air thick with the delicious scent of grilled meat and the loud laughter of your best friends. You’ve had a few drinks, and the world feels warm and slightly blurry around the edges. You’re telling a story, gesturing with your chopsticks, when suddenly, three phones on the table light up at once.

A collective gasp goes up from your friends.

"Oh my god, Y/N," one of them squeals, shoving her screen in your face. "He actually did it. He posted it."

You look down, and your heart skips a beat. Jungkook just dropped his own version of the "hooligan" challenge.

You may or may have not told your friends about your wish for him to do this challenge.

The video is edited to perfection. It starts with him in the garage, casual in a white fitted longsleeve, walking toward his favorite Harley. Then, with a seamless, aggressive transition timed to a heavy bass drop, he’s suddenly on the move at night.

The city lights of Seoul are a neon blur behind him. He’s wearing fitted gear, his muscular frame leaning low over the bike, looking dangerous and ethereal all at once.

How effortless he moves through the night is a weakness of yours.

How he bites his lip under the helmet to focus is branded in your brain.

The heat hits you instantly. It’s not just the Soju anymore. You know exactly how those leather-clad thighs feel, and you know the strength in the hands gripping those handlebars.

"You seriously won the jackpot," your friend whispers, staring at the screen in awe. "He’s polite, he’s kind, and then he goes and looks like that?"

You feel a surge of pride and something much more primal. With a mischievous glint in your eyes and the liquid courage of the alcohol bubbling in your veins, you pull out your phone. You aren't just going to 'like' it.

You open your chat with him, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard as you decide exactly how much you want to tease him.

Truth be told, you know much better things he could be doing on that bike and you’re about to let him know.

The roar of the engine in the video is still echoing in your head as you pull up your private chat. Your vision swims just a little, the neon lights of the BBQ joint blurring into streaks of pink and orange, but your fingers find the keys with a bold, drunken intent.

Y/N: That video... kook. You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now. Y/N: All my friends are staring at your editing skills. But they don't know how you feel under my hands. Y/N: I can think of a few other things you could be doing on that bike that don't involve driving. Better things. Harder things. ;)

You take a long sip of your drink, your face flushed as you watch the typing bubbles appear almost instantly.

Will he like your teasing?

JK: Is that so? Are you having a little too much fun without me, baby? JK: Be careful. I’m already on a high from the ride. You shouldn't say things like that when I’m this restless.

You giggle, leaning back as your friends continue to gossip. You feel daring, the heat from the grill and the alcohol making your skin sensitive.

Y/N: I’m serious. That seat looks big enough for two. I want to see if you can keep your hands on the bars while I’m moving on top of you. Y/N: I want to feel the vibration of the engine and you at the same time. Come get me?

There’s a long pause. Your heart hammers against your ribs.

JK: How drunk are you right now?

Y/N: Just enough to be honest. Pick me up? On the bike? Please?

JK: Absolutely not. You know the rules, Y/N. No bikes when you’ve been drinking. I'm not risking a single hair on your head. JK: Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you. Don't move.

You pout at your phone, but you can’t help the thrill that shoots through you. Ten minutes pass, ten minutes of your friends teasing you about your boyfriend, until the bell above the door chimed.

The atmosphere in the crowded restaurant shifts instantly.

Jungkook walks in, looking like he stepped straight out of the edit he just posted. He’s wearing baggy, dark wash jeans and a white long-sleeve that clings to his chest and shoulders. His hair is tucked messy and low under a baseball cap, and he has his heavy leather biker jacket thrown over his arm. He looks rugged, exhausted from the flight, but intensely focused.

When his eyes find yours, the intensity is enough to make you sober up for a split second.

He ignores the muffled gasps from the other tables, walking straight to your booth. He greets your friends with a polite, effortless bow and a charming smile that belies the dark look he just gave you over text.

"Hey everyone," he says, his voice deep and smooth. "I hope she hasn't been too much trouble tonight." he kisses your head softly and protective.

"She’s been perfect! We're just jealous," one of your friends jokes.

Jungkook chuckles, but his hand finds yours under the table, squeezing firmly. He calls the waiter over, settling the entire bill for the table before anyone can protest. "Get home safe, okay? I'm taking her now."

He pulls you up gently, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady your swaying steps. Outside, the cool night air hits you, but you’re wrapped in his scent expensive cologne, leather, and a hint of woodsmoke.

Instead of his bike, his black Maserati is idling at the curb, its headlights cutting through the Seoul mist. He opens the passenger door, carefully tucking you into the leather seat.

He leans in, clicking your seatbelt into place, his face inches from yours. He pauses, his eyes dropping to the hem of your tight black dress, then plants a lingering, firm kiss on your forehead.

"We'll talk about those 'better things' when we get home," he whispers against your skin, his voice dropping an octave.

He shuts your door and climbs into the driver's side. As he pulls away from the curb, the engine purring, he glances at you. "Did you have fun with your friends, baby?"

You nod, leaning your head back against the headrest, watching his tattooed hand shift gears. "Yeah."

Jungkook keeps one hand on the steering wheel, his eyes scanning the road with that focused, protective gaze he always has when you’ve had a few drinks. He hates the idea of you being vulnerable, and even though he’s exhausted from the tour, he looks relieved to have you tucked safely in the passenger seat of the Maserati.

He reaches over, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "So," he starts, a playful but tired smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Did you actually like the video, baby? Or was that just the Soju talking?"

You nod eagerly, your head feeling a little heavy as you lean it against the cool glass of the window. "I loved it," you mumble, your voice thick with honeyed honesty. "You looked... dangerous. I meant what I said, Kook. About the bike."

Jungkook lets out a low, breathy chuckle, shaking his head. He shifts gears, the car accelerating smoothly through the quiet streets of Gangnam. To him, your bold claims about "better things to do on a Harley" are just the adorable ramblings of his girlfriend who’s had one too many drinks. He’s used to you being sweet and a little shy when he’s home; he thinks you’re just trying to act tough because you missed him.

"Yeah, yeah," he teases, his voice dropping into that deep, soothing tone that always makes your heart melt. "You're very brave behind a phone screen, Y/N. You want to ride the bike like a rebel? We’ll get you a helmet and I’ll take you for a slow drive to get some ice cream tomorrow."

He squeezes your hand, completely dismissing the heat behind your words. "You’re just sleepy. You wouldn’t even be able to stand up straight on a bike right now, let alone... whatever 'better things' you were imagining."

He pulls into the private garage of his apartment complex, the engine dying down into a heavy silence. He turns to you, his eyes softening as he unbuckles his own seatbelt. He thinks it’s a joke. He thinks you’re just being a "tease" to get a reaction out of him.

"Come on, Hooligan," he says, leaning over to unclip your seatbelt for you. His face is so close you can smell the mint on his breath. "Let's get you upstairs. You need water and bed, not a motorcycle."

You watch him, a small, defiant smile playing on your lips. He has no idea that once you get through that front door, you aren't planning on sleeping at all and you're going to prove that you weren't joking.

You don't follow him toward the elevator. Instead, as the garage door hums shut behind the car, you slip away, your heels clicking softly on the polished concrete. Jungkook is busy grabbing his bag from the trunk, calling out your name with a confused, protective edge to his voice, but you’re already moving toward the back of the dimly lit space.

There she is.

His favorite. The matte black Harley-Davidson, a beast of metal and chrome, sits perfectly positioned under a spotlight. It looks even more intimidating in person than it did in the video raw, powerful, and cold.

You hear his heavy footsteps following you, his leather jacket creaking as he rounds the corner.

"Baby? What are you doing? The lift is this way," he says, his brow furrowed. He stops short when he sees you standing right next to the bike, your small frame a sharp contrast against the heavy machine.

You run a hand over the cool, matte fuel tank, looking back at him over your shoulder. The alcohol is still buzzing in your system, giving you a reckless confidence that makes your eyes dark and daring.

"You didn't believe me," you whisper, the sound echoing in the silent garage. "You thought I was just being a 'brave' drunk girl behind a screen."

Jungkook sighs, a small, tired smile on his face as he walks closer, intending to pick you up and carry you inside. "Baby, it's late. You're tired. Let's just go up—"

"I told you I knew better things to do with this bike," you interrupt, stepping closer to the leather seat, your fingers tracing the edge of your tight black dress.

Jungkook freezes. The playful, dismissive look in his eyes vanishes, replaced by something much sharper as he realizes you aren't joking anymore. The air in the garage suddenly feels heavy, thick with the scent of leather and the sudden, electric tension between you.

"Y/N," he warns, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register. "Don't play games you aren't ready to finish."

You didn't move toward the elevator, instead, you arched your back, pressing your hips back against the cold, matte metal of the Harley’s fuel tank. The contrast of the freezing metal against your warm skin, sensitized by the alcohol, made a shiver race up your spine.

"I’m not playing, Kook," you whispered, your voice dropping into a low, sultry challenge. You reached down, slowly bunching up the hem of your tight black dress, pulling it up inch by inch until the lace of your underwear was visible. "I missed you. And I want you right here."

Jungkook’s throat bobbed. The protective boyfriend who wanted to tuck you into bed had vanished. In his place was the man from the video, dark, hungry, and dangerously focused. He dropped his bag on the concrete floor with a heavy thud, his eyes darkening until they were almost as black as the bike behind you.

"You have no idea how much trouble you’re in," he whispered, crossing the distance in two predatory strides.

He didn't give you a chance to respond. His large, tattooed hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he effortlessly hoisted you up. He sat you back onto the leather seat of the Harley, your legs falling open naturally around the frame. The position was raw and vulnerable.

Jungkook stepped between your thighs, his heavy boots scraping against the floor, his presence completely overwhelming.

He didn't go for your lips. Instead, he dropped to his knees between your legs.

"Jungkook" you gasped, your fingers flying to his hair, clutching the soft strands as he pushed your dress up to your waist.

"Quiet," he commanded, his voice muffled against your inner thigh. He didn't hesitate. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic of your panties and tugged them down, tossing them somewhere into the shadows of the garage.

When his tongue first made contact, you nearly buckled off the seat. He was methodical and intense, using the same perfectionism he applied to his music to completely dismantle you.

The vibrations of your own shaky breaths seemed to echo off the chrome. He swiped his tongue upward, finding the small, sensitive heat of you and circling it with an agonizingly slow rhythm. You threw your head back, your muffled moans bouncing off the high ceilings of the garage, your heels digging into the metal footpegs of the bike to keep yourself upright.

He drank you in, his hands sliding up to grip your ass, pulling you even closer to the edge of the seat until there was no space left between his mouth and your soul. He stayed there until you were a trembling, slick mess, your body arching in a desperate search for release.

But he wasn't done.

Jungkook stood up, his breathing ragged, his face flushed with a mix of exertion and lust. He quickly unbuttoned his pants, the metallic slide of his zipper sounding like a starting pistol in the quiet garage. He didn't wait for you to recover. He grabbed your hips, his knuckles white with the force of his grip, and guided himself to your entrance.

"Look at me," he rasped.

When you opened your eyes, blurred with tears of pleasure, he lunged forward, burying himself deep inside you in one heavy, singular thrust. The Harley groaned under the weight and the sudden impact, the suspension bouncing slightly.

The friction was incredible. The cold leather of the seat beneath you and the searing heat of him filling you created a sensory overload. Each time he slammed into you, your back hit the handlebars, the cold metal biting into your skin, but you didn't care. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back to pull him deeper.

"Is this... what you wanted?" he grunted against your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point as he increased the speed. His hands moved from your hips to the handlebars, bracing himself as he drove into you with a rhythmic, punishing force that made your vision white out.

The garage was no longer a place of silence it was filled with the sound of skin hitting skin, the creak of the bike’s frame, and the shattered, breathless sounds of your names being whispered in the dark.

As the climax built, Jungkook didn't slow down. He pushed you harder against the machine, his movements becoming desperate and raw. When the crash finally came, it was explosive. You cried out his name, your body clenching around him as waves of heat rolled through you.

Jungkook followed a second later, his head dropping onto your shoulder, his entire frame shuddering as he surrendered everything to you right there on the matte black steel.

For a long time, the only sound was the heavy, synchronized thud of two hearts and the cooling hum of the Maserati in the background. Jungkook finally pulled back, his eyes soft but glowing with a triumphant light. He kissed your forehead, his thumb wiping a stray tear from your cheek.

"Next time," he whispered, a smirk returning to his lips, "we'll see what you can do while the engine is actually running."

[savememin]

author: i’m not normal about jeon jungkook, whatsoever. and i’ve been spiraling since the tannies have started touring again. so bare with me.. i beg. 👂🏻(also, can’t wait to see them ahh)

JEON JUNGKOOK 18+ “he’s the type to..”

jungkook’s the type to be in between your legs, kissing, licking and sucking, especially after experiencing a long day and say “i’d live here if you let me.” — “right between your thighs.”

jungkook’s the type to genuinely enjoy dry humping. it drives him crazy. he loves to just be sitting on his couch, letting you grind down against his boner until it starts to hurt the both of you, and you have no other choice but to tear each other’s clothes off.

jungkook’s the type to love doggy style. he’d pull your hair, as he’s pounding into you from behind. occasionally slapping your ass, or gripping onto your cheeks tightly. leaving his fingerprints behind. he’d do this until he’s satisfied. watching your back arch further for him, like instinct.

jungkook’s the type to love a little risk. he’d pull you somewhere secluded backstage, before or after a show just to get a quickie in. he’ll push you against a wall, cover your mouth, and drill into you until your legs almost give out, and he has no other choice but to hold you up.

jungkook’s the type to enjoy switching. so when he’s feeling submissive, he’s loud and relentless even when getting a handjob/blowjob. “fuck, ugh fuck.. m’gonna cum, gonna cum!”

jungkook’s the type to be a face slapper, of course with consent. if he knows you’re okay with it, he’d do it. in missionary, when he’s fucking you, and you’re not meeting his eyes. “look at me while i fuck you!” slap. “just dirty, taking me like you were made for me.” slap.

jungkook’s the type to initiate morning sex. when he wakes up earlier then you. hard, and pressing up against your ass. “please.. i’ll be gentle.” and of course, he’ll get carried away when it feels too good. “m’sorry, it just feels so good” — “was dreaming of this, of you.”

author: something small, also thank you for the support on my first post! :,) i didn’t think anyone would read that, but turns out many of you did, it’s making me shy. anyway. requests & prompts are always open. i’m open to writing anything! anime, k-pop, drama, and even yaoi. i’m a fantasy feeder wink wink 🫰🏻

[seokbite]

can you do jungkook smut headcanons plzplzplzplzplzplzpzlzpzlzpzlzpzlzplz

─── jungkook with different positions! ﹒✿ contains ﹒⪩ smut obviously mdni!

He’s a switch with a filthy imagination and insane stamina, so his preferences change depending on his mood…

Missionary (but make it intense) : Jungkook loves classic missionary because he can watch your face the entire time. He’ll pin your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your thigh to fold you in half. Eye contact is non-negotiable. He wants to see every moan, every tear of pleasure, and he’ll lean down to growl against your lips, “Look at me while I fuck you.”

Doggy Style / Prone Bone : When he’s feeling possessive or just wants to go hard, he puts you on all fours (or flat on your stomach). He loves gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks, slapping your ass, and pulling your hair so your back arches perfectly. Prone bone is his go-to when he wants to feel completely on top of you, chest pressed to your back, whispering dirty praises in your ear while he fucks you deep and slow… until it turns brutal of course.

Cowgirl / Reverse Cowgirl : He’s obsessed with you riding him. Jungkook will lean back against the headboard, hands behind his head at first, biting his lip while he watches you bounce. But he can’t stay passive for long— he ends up gripping your waist, guiding you, then thrusting up to meet you so hard the bed creaks. Reverse cowgirl lets him watch your ass and spank it while you ride him.

Standing / Against the wall : Post-concert adrenaline? Shower sex? He loves picking you up like you weigh nothing, pressing your back against the wall or mirror, your legs wrapped around his waist. The way his muscles flex while he holds you up and fucks you senseless is one of his favorite sights. Bonus points if there’s a mirror so he can watch both of you.

Spooning / Lazy sex position : For those soft, late-night or early-morning sessions when he’s tired but still needy. He’ll pull you back against his chest, one arm wrapped around you, the other between your legs, slowly grinding into you while kissing your neck and shoulder. It feels intimate and filthy at the same time.

69 : He loves mutual pleasure. Jungkook gets cocky when he’s eating you out while you’re trying (and failing) to focus on sucking him off. He’ll tease you relentlessly, humming against you just to feel you moan around him. The competition to make the other cum first is very real.

Lotus / Face-to-face sitting : When he’s in his soft dom / boyfriend mood and wants deep connection. You in his lap, both of you sitting up, arms wrapped around each other, slow deep rolls of his hips while he kisses you like he’s starving. Lots of eye contact, foreheads pressed together, and breathy “I love you”s mixed with curses.

Seated / Chair Sex : He pulls you into his lap on a chair, facing him or away. Facing him means he can suck on your tits and watch your expressions up close while you grind on him. Facing away lets him wrap one arm around your waist and use the other to rub your clit. Bonus if it’s his gaming chair after a long streaming session— he’ll still be wearing his headset half the time.

Mating Press : The ultimate “I’m not letting you go anywhere” position. He folds you in half, knees pushed up to your chest, and fucks you so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach. Jungkook’s eyes get dark and possessive in this one, he’ll kiss you messily, bite your lip, and groan things like “Take it all, baby… gonna breed you so good.”

Over the Edge : Jungkook loves bending you over the bed, couch, or kitchen counter so your upper body is pressed down while your feet stay on the floor. The angle is perfect for hitting that deep spot that makes your legs shake. He’ll grip your waist with both hands and pound into you relentlessly, or slow it down to tease, watching how your back arches for him.

perm taglist ﹐ → @merakoo @rpwprpwprpwprw @littlejeanskirt @mikrokookiex

[seokbite]

WATERBOY ﹒⟢ j.jk

─── COME HERE WATERBOY! ﹐✶ watching her from across the field, he couldn't help but notice every little thing about her. the way she moved, gracefully─ her flexibility was hypnotizing, her laugh like a sonnet. her wanted her, but what business does the head cheerleader have with the nobody nerdy waterboy, anyway?

🏈 *◞ jeon jungkook x f ! reader ﹐☆ waterboy jungkook & cheerleader reader jungkook's kinda creepy (he watches her) jungkook wears glasses sex on a football field masturbation oral (m. rec)  it's sloppy as fuck cum swallowing makeouts dry humping doing the splits on it doggystyle rough sex missionary squirting ➜﹒minors do not interact 

▹ word count ✶﹐8k

The afternoon sun blazed across the football field, turning the air thick and sticky with heat. Jungkook crouched beside the large orange cooler on the sidelines, his black-rimmed glasses constantly slipping down the bridge of his nose from the sweat gathering there. He pushed them back up with his index finger for what felt like the tenth time in five minutes, then returned to filling water bottles one by one. The players were grunting and slamming into each other during drills, but Jungkook’s attention had already wandered, like it always did; straight to you.

A burst of light, flirty giggles floated through the humid air, and his head lifted immediately. There you were, sitting on the metal bench in your tiny red-and-gold cheer uniform, legs crossed so the short skirt rode enticingly high on your thighs. Kim Namjoon, the star quarterback, leaned in close beside you, his broad frame nearly crowding yours as he whispered something directly into your ear. Whatever he said made your lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk. You bit your lower lip, tilting your head slightly to give him better access, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Jungkook’s grip tightened around the water bottle in his hand, plastic creaking under his fingers. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. He never could when it came to you. The way Namjoon made you blush and giggle like that… it twisted something sharp and hot in his chest. He wished it was him sitting there instead, him making your cheeks flush that pretty shade of pink, him earning those soft, breathy laughs. He imagined what it would feel like to have your full attention, to be the one you leaned into so willingly.

He screwed the cap onto another bottle, movements slowing as he kept watching. Namjoon’s hand rested casually behind you on the bench, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. The quarterback was murmuring again, low and intimate, and the way your smirk deepened told Jungkook everything. It wasn’t innocent. Nothing about the two of you looked innocent.

Unable to resist, Jungkook grabbed a few filled bottles and walked closer under the excuse of handing them out. His heart pounded harder with every step. He just needed a glimpse. Just a few seconds of their conversation.

“…bet you’re so fucking flexible,” Namjoon was growling quietly, voice thick with lust. “All those flips and splits you do? I’d have you in my bed with your legs over my shoulders, fucking you deep until you’re screaming my name. You’d take every inch so well, wouldn’t you, baby? So wet and bendy just for me.”

Jungkook’s stomach clenched. Heat flooded his face and neck as the vulgar words sank in. His cock twitched traitorously in his shorts despite the sharp sting of jealousy. He had imagined those same filthy things about you, late at night, hand wrapped around himself, biting back your name while picturing you in that uniform, underneath him, moaning because of him.

You let out a sultry little laugh, voice low and teasing. “Mmm, big talk, Joon. You think you could really handle all this flexibility? I don’t make promises… but maybe if you play really well today, I’ll think about it.” Your tone dripped with heat, playful yet noncommittal, leaving him wanting more, just like you always did. Then you rose gracefully from the bench, stretching your arms overhead so the crop top lifted and exposed even more of your smooth waist. Jungkook’s gaze traced every inch of you helplessly. As you turned to leave, your eyes swept across the sideline and locked directly onto his.

Time seemed to stop. You knew. You knew he had been standing there listening. A slow, wicked wink fluttered from you, your lashes lowering playfully before you turned away like nothing had happened. Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat. His glasses slid down his nose again, but he didn’t push them up. He was too stunned, face burning, pulse roaring in his ears.

Namjoon noticed him then. The quarterback stood up with a scoff and roughly yanked the water bottle from Jungkook’s hand. “Move it, waterboy. Stop staring and do your job,” he muttered dismissively before jogging back toward the field.

Jungkook barely felt the bottle leave his grip. His eyes stayed glued to you as you walked away toward the rest of your squad, hips swaying with that confident, hypnotic cheerleader strut. The short skirt flirted with the curve of your ass with every step, your ponytail bouncing lightly, sunlight catching on your skin. He watched the gentle flex of your thighs, the confident swing of your arms, completely mesmerized.

He pushed his glasses up one last time with a shaky finger, trying to force himself to look away before anyone else noticed how obviously affected he was. But he already knew he’d be replaying that wink and every filthy word he’d overheard, for the rest of practice. For the rest of the night.

You knew he was watching. And something in that wink told him you liked it.

Practice had finally ended. The sharp blasts of the coach’s whistle faded into the distance as the football players trudged off the field, helmets tucked under their arms and pads clanking. The golden evening light stretched long shadows across the grass while the cheerleaders began wrapping up their own routines nearby. Jungkook moved through his usual cleanup ritual, collecting stray water bottles, dragging the heavy cooler toward the sideline cart, and gathering scattered equipment. Every few moments, though, his eyes drifted back to you.

You were near the 50-yard line, surrounded by your teammates and friends, finishing your cool-down stretches. Your body bent and arched with effortless grace, one leg extended high in a standing split, the short cheer skirt riding up dangerously and revealing the smooth curve of your ass and the toned muscle of your thigh. Jungkook swallowed hard, glasses slipping down his nose again as he stared. The way your crop top clung to your chest from the sweat of practice made his mouth go dry. He watched the gentle bounce of your breasts as you switched sides, the way your ponytail swayed, the soft sheen of sweat glowing on your skin in the fading sunlight.

You caught him looking.

For a brief second your eyes met his across the field. Instead of glaring or ignoring him like most people did, you smiled, slow, knowing, and a little playful. The same kind of smile you’d given Namjoon earlier, except this one was aimed directly at him. Jungkook’s face burned instantly. He whipped his head away so fast he nearly dropped the stack of cones in his arms, heart hammering against his ribs. Shit. She saw me. Again. Embarrassment flooded through him, but underneath it was a sharp thrill that made his stomach tighten.

He busied himself with the cart, pushing it toward the locker room entrance with more force than necessary. The cheerleaders were finishing up now too, gathering their pom-poms and bags, their chatter and laughter filling the air. Jungkook kept his head down as he made another trip back onto the field to grab the last few water bottles, cheeks still warm. By the time he returned, the girls were slowly heading toward the parking lot or the gymnasium. Their voices grew fainter with every passing minute.

Ten minutes later, the field was blissfully empty.

Jungkook let out a long, shaky sigh of relief as he stood alone near the sidelines. The only sounds left were the distant hum of traffic and the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. No more grunting players. No more giggling cheerleaders. Just quiet. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his black t-shirt, revealing a sliver of his toned stomach, and leaned against the cool metal railing for a moment.

But the peace didn’t last long. His mind, traitorous as always, wandered straight back to you. He kept replaying what he’d overheard earlier, Namjoon’s low, filthy voice describing exactly how he wanted to bend you, fuck you, make you scream. The images flooded Jungkook’s brain like molten lava. He imagined himself in Namjoon’s place… you underneath him, that same flirty smile replaced with something desperate and needy. He pictured you begging for him, pretty voice breaking as you moaned his name, legs wrapped tight around his waist, hips rolling up to meet every thrust.

His breathing grew heavier. He thought about how your perky tits would look bouncing with every hard snap of his hips, nipples hard and begging for his mouth. The way your tight cheer skirt would stay pushed up around your waist while he fucked you right here on the field, or in the locker room, or anywhere he could get his hands on you. He imagined the wet sounds your pussy would make around his cock, how flexible you really were, legs over his shoulders, folded in half beneath him while he pounded deep and whispered how long he’d been dreaming about this.

“Fuck…” Jungkook whispered under his breath, voice hoarse.

The ache between his legs had become impossible to ignore. His cock strained hard against the front of his athletic shorts, throbbing with every dirty thought. Glancing around quickly to make sure the field was truly empty, he pressed the heel of his palm against the thick bulge, rubbing slowly over the thin fabric. A low, shaky groan slipped from his throat at the small bit of relief. He palmed himself firmer, eyes fluttering half-closed as he leaned harder against the railing, mind still flooded with visions of you.

You moaning his name. You creaming around his cock. You looking up at him with those same playful eyes while you begged him to cum inside you. His hand moved a little faster, breath coming in short pants behind his glasses as the empty field stretched out silently before him.

The empty field felt dangerously quiet now, the distant sounds of the campus fading into nothing more than a low hum. Jungkook’s breathing had grown ragged, his palm no longer enough to satisfy the aching need burning through him. After another nervous glance around, scanning the bleachers, the far end of the track, and the locker room entrance, he convinced himself he was truly alone. His heart hammered wildly as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his black athletic shorts and underwear, tugging them down just enough to free his throbbing cock.

It sprang out heavy and flushed, already leaking at the tip. Jungkook wrapped his hand around the thick length with a shaky exhale, eyes fluttering as he gave the first slow stroke from base to head. “Fuck…” he whispered, voice barely audible. His mind immediately filled with you again, this time far more vivid. He imagined how warm and tight you would feel wrapped around him, how your slick walls would squeeze his cock as he pushed inside you. He pictured your flexible body taking every inch, legs spread wide for him, that tiny cheer skirt bunched up around your waist while he fucked you deep and slow.

His strokes grew steadier, slick sounds barely masked by the breeze. He leaned back against the metal railing, one hand gripping it tightly for balance while the other worked his cock faster. In his fantasy, you were moaning his name— breathy and desperate— your perky tits bouncing with every thrust, nipples begging for his tongue. He imagined gripping your hips, watching the way your pussy would stretch around him, creaming down his length as you begged him not to stop. “Jungkook… please…” he could almost hear you whimpering in his head.

His glasses fogged slightly from his heavy panting. Sweat beaded on his forehead and slid down his temples as he pumped his fist quicker, thumb swiping over the sensitive head on every upstroke, spreading the precum that kept dripping out. He was getting so close already, thighs tensing, balls tightening, the coil in his stomach winding tighter and tighter—

A sharp squeak of surprise suddenly cut through the silence.

Jungkook’s eyes flew open in panic. His hand froze mid-stroke as his head snapped toward the sound. There you stood, only a few yards away, wide-eyed and frozen in place. Your gym bag was clutched tightly in one hand, your cute pink water bottle in the other. You were still wearing your full cheerleading uniform, the red and gold fabric hugging your body, but your hair was now down— long, slightly messy waves cascading over your shoulders after you’d taken out your ponytail. The surprise on your face was unmistakable, lips parted, cheeks flushing as your gaze dropped involuntarily to his exposed cock still held tightly in his fist.

“Shit—!” Jungkook choked out, face burning crimson. He fumbled desperately to cover himself, yanking his shorts back up but only managing to make the situation more awkward as his hard, throbbing length strained obscenely against the thin fabric. “I-I’m so sorry— I thought— I didn’t know anyone was still here— fuck, I’m really sorry—”

He kept stammering, words tumbling out in a panicked rush, one hand still half-covering the massive bulge in his shorts while the other pushed his glasses up his nose. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Of all people to catch him like this… it had to be you.

But you didn’t scream. You didn’t run away or call him a perv.

Instead, you slowly shook your head, eyes still wide but now sparkling with something entirely different, curiosity, amusement, heat. You took a slow step toward him, then another, your hips swaying gently in that cheer skirt as you closed the distance. The evening light caught in your loose hair, making it glow softly.

You stopped just a couple feet away, tilting your head slightly. “Jungkook…” your voice was soft, almost teasing. “Was that my name you were whispering just now?”

He froze, mouth opening and closing uselessly for a moment. His cock gave a helpless twitch in his shorts at the sound of your voice saying his name. The embarrassment was overwhelming, but the way you were looking at him, not disgusted, but intrigued, made it impossible to lie. His cheeks burned hotter as he swallowed hard and gave a small, reluctant nod.

“…Yeah,” he admitted hoarsely, voice barely above a whisper. “It was.”

A slow, beautiful smirk spread across your lips. You took another step closer, then one more, until you were standing right in front of him. Jungkook’s breath hitched sharply in his throat, his back pressing harder against the metal railing as if he needed something solid to keep him upright. You were so close now that he could smell the faint sweetness of your perfume mixed with the light scent of your sweat from practice. His eyes widened behind his glasses, darting across your face, your loose hair, and the way your cheer uniform still clung to your body.

The smirk on your lips never faded. It only deepened as you looked up at him through your lashes. “What were you thinking about in particular, Jungkook?” you asked softly, voice laced with curiosity and something far more dangerous.

His brain short-circuited. “W-What…?” he stammered, barely able to get the word out. His cheeks were burning, and his cock was still painfully hard, straining against the front of his shorts like it had a mind of its own.

You didn’t let him hide. Tilting your head slightly, you looked him dead in the eyes and asked with shameless clarity, “Were you thinking about fucking me, Jungkook?”

The directness of your question hit him like a tackle. Jungkook’s mouth opened, but no words came out. All he could do was nod, a small, helpless, eager bob of his head, because he didn’t trust his voice not to crack or moan. His breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling quickly as he stared down at you in pure disbelief and overwhelming want.

Your smile turned sweeter, almost affectionate, as you tilted your head the other way. Without another word, you gracefully sank to your knees right there in front of him on the grassy sideline. The sight alone nearly made Jungkook’s knees buckle. Your cheer skirt fanned out around your thighs as you settled between his legs, looking up at him with those bright, mischievous eyes. You placed your hands on his thighs, slowly running them up and down the tense muscles, feeling the way they trembled under your touch.

“Is this what you were thinking about?” you asked innocently, batting your lashes while your palms stroked higher, teasing the hem of his shorts. Jungkook could only nod again, lips parted, mouth half open in awe. His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose, but he didn’t dare move to fix them. He was completely frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you on your knees for him.

You let out a soft, delighted giggle at his stunned expression, the sound light and sweet, but it sent another throb straight to his cock. Without breaking eye contact, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his shorts and underwear again, tugging them down just enough to free his aching length. It sprang out heavily right in front of your face, flushed dark and glistening at the tip.

Your hand wrapped around him a moment later, warm, soft, and confident. Jungkook let out a choked groan as you started stroking him slowly from base to tip, twisting your wrist gently at the head just right. Your grip was perfect, slick from how much he had already leaked while thinking about you. You pumped him with long, deliberate strokes, watching every reaction on his face with that same smirk playing on your lips.

Your hand kept moving around him in smooth, steady strokes, thumb gliding over the sensitive head every time you reached the top, spreading the constant leak of precum down his thick shaft. Jungkook’s hips twitched forward involuntarily into your fist, his breathing ragged and shaky as he stared down at you like you were some kind of dream he was terrified of waking up from. “How long have you been wanting to fuck me, Jungkook?” you asked sweetly, eyes locked on his face while your hand twisted expertly around him.

“A while…” he whined, the words coming out breathy and broken. His voice cracked slightly, sounding embarrassingly needy. “F-fuck… a long while…”

You let out a soft, delighted laugh that sent vibrations straight through him. The sound was so pretty, so teasing, and it only made his cock throb harder in your grip. “Really?” he breathed out, genuinely surprised, eyes wide behind his fogged-up glasses, as you told him you'd been thinking about it just as much “You… you’ve been thinking about it too?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, nodding as you looked up at him with that wicked little smirk. Your hand suddenly quickened its pace, stroking him faster, tighter, wet sounds filling the quiet evening air. “I’ve thought about it a lot, actually. About you fucking my tight little pussy… stretching me open with this big cock.” Your voice dropped lower, filthy and sweet at the same time. “I always figured the quiet ones like you knew how to fuck so good. All that pent-up energy… I bet you’d ruin me and still be so sweet about it.”

Jungkook moaned loudly at your words, knees nearly buckling. His hand shot out to grip the railing tighter for balance as pleasure shot through his body like electricity. You leaned in closer, warm breath ghosting over his aching cock. You guided the swollen head to your lips, smearing the shiny precum across them like gloss before tapping the sensitive tip against your tongue a few times, light, lewd little taps that made wet sounds. Jungkook shuddered hard, a broken moan ripping from his throat as his hips jerked forward.

Then you took him into your mouth. The blowjob was immediately sloppy and nasty. You sank down on him with wet, greedy sounds, taking him as deep as you could while your tongue swirled messily around the underside. Spit dripped from the corners of your mouth, running down his shaft as you bobbed your head faster, hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard. You didn’t hold back, gagging softly when he hit the back of your throat, pulling off just enough to gasp for air before diving back down, jerking the base of his cock with your hand while your lips and tongue worked the rest.

Thick strings of saliva connected your mouth to his cock every time you pulled back, only for you to spit on him and take him even deeper. The sounds were filthy— wet gurgles, sloppy slurps, and your soft, eager hums vibrating around his length. Jungkook’s knees were actually shaking now, thighs trembling as he fought not to thrust too hard into your warm, perfect mouth.

“F-fuck… oh my god…” he whimpered, one hand hovering like he wanted to touch your hair but was too nervous to do it. His glasses were completely fogged up, chest heaving, abs clenching tight under his shirt as you sucked him like you’d been starving for him.

You didn’t slow down. If anything, you took him even deeper, sucking him with messy, eager enthusiasm. Wet, obscene sounds echoed softly in the open air as you bobbed your head faster, spit dripping down your chin and onto your cheer top. Your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his cock, tracing every vein while you hollowed your cheeks and sucked hard.

Jungkook’s hand trembled as it finally moved from the railing to your face. His palm cupped your cheek gently, thumb brushing over your skin as he felt the way his thick cock bulged inside your mouth. The intimate touch made you hum around him, the vibration pulling another broken moan from deep in his chest. “You’re so… fuck— you’re so pretty like this,” he panted, voice whiny and wrecked. “Your mouth feels so good… so warm and wet— ahh, I’ve dreamed about this…” His praise spilled out between shaky breaths, eyes half-lidded behind his fogged glasses as he watched you worship his cock.

You fluttered your lashes up at him sweetly, locking eyes while you took him even deeper, gagging softly when he bumped the back of your throat. The look you gave him, innocent yet so fucking filthy, made his knees buckle again.

After a few more deep, sloppy strokes, you pulled off his cock with a wet pop, strings of saliva still connecting your swollen lips to the glistening head. You tapped his heavy length against your tongue a few times again, loving the way his eyes fluttered closed and his breath hitched every single time the wet slap sounded. “Are you close, Jungkook?” you asked teasingly, voice slightly hoarse as you stroked him fast with your hand.

He whimpered pathetically, nodding frantically. “Y-yes… I’m so close— please— I can’t hold it…” You smiled and dove back down immediately, sucking him harder and faster than before. One hand pumped the base while your mouth worked the rest, sloppy, nasty, and relentless. Jungkook’s hand stayed on your cheek, thumb stroking your skin as his hips started twitching uncontrollably.

With a choked, broken moan of your name, he came hard.

Thick ropes of cum spilled deep into your mouth, pulse after pulse as his cock throbbed against your tongue. You kept sucking him through it, milking every last drop while he shuddered and gasped above you.

When he finally finished, you slowly pulled off, keeping your lips sealed around him until the very end. You tilted your head back slightly, opening your mouth to show him the mess he’d made, your tongue coated in his cum, some of it dripping down toward your throat. Jungkook stared down at you with wide, dazed eyes, completely stunned and still breathing heavily. Then, while keeping eye contact, you closed your mouth and swallowed visibly, the motion smooth and deliberate. A soft, satisfied hum left your throat as you licked your lips clean.

Jungkook was still panting, eyes glassy and wide with disbelief as he watched you swallow. Something inside him finally snapped. He reached down, hands trembling but determined, and gently pulled you up from your knees. The moment you were standing, he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you, deep, urgent, and surprisingly bold for how shy he usually was.

You gasped softly against his mouth, surprised by the sudden intensity, but you melted into it almost instantly. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pushed back against him, kissing him harder. What started as a passionate, grateful kiss quickly turned sloppy and messy. Tongues slid against each other, wet and eager. Soft moans spilled into each other’s mouths as you tilted your head, deepening the kiss. Spit slicked your lips and chins while you devoured each other, breathing heavily through your noses, bodies pressed tight together on the empty sideline.

Your hands moved frantically, tugging at the hem of his black t-shirt. Jungkook helped you pull it over his head, revealing his surprisingly toned chest and abs, skin glistening with a light layer of sweat. He returned the favor immediately, his hands sliding under your cheer top and peeling it off your body. The cool evening air hit your skin as he tossed the top aside. His hands were greedy but reverent as they cupped your bare tits, squeezing the soft, perky flesh with a low groan.

“God… they’re even better than I imagined,” he whispered hotly against your lips before breaking the kiss to duck his head down. His mouth latched onto one of your nipples, sucking hungrily while his hand kneaded the other breast. His tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, teeth grazing lightly before he sucked harder, moaning against your skin. You let out a shaky moan, your hand flying to the back of his head, fingers threading through his soft dark hair and gripping tight as pleasure shot through you.

“Mmm— Jungkook…” you moaned, back arching to push your chest further into his eager mouth. He switched to the other nipple, giving it the same wet, sloppy attention, sucking and licking like he couldn’t get enough of you. His free hand roamed down your back, squeezing your ass through your short cheer skirt while he continued worshipping your tits.

The air between you was thick with heat and desperation. After a few more moments of his mouth on your chest, you pulled his head back gently by his hair, forcing him to look up at you. Your voice came out breathy and needy. “Do you want to fuck me, Jungkook?”

His eyes widened, pupils blown with lust. He nodded so eagerly it was almost pathetic, fast, desperate little nods while his hands squeezed your waist. “Yes… fuck yes, please,” he breathed, voice hoarse and wrecked.

You smiled at his eagerness and gently pushed him down onto the soft grass. Jungkook lay back, chest heaving as he watched you with pure hunger. You stood over him for a moment, then slowly straddled his lap, knees sinking into the grass on either side of his hips. Your short cheer skirt fanned out around you as you reached down, pushing his shorts further down his thighs. His cock, still hard and slick from your mouth, rested heavy against his stomach.

You hovered above him, grinding your soaked panties against his length teasingly as you looked down at his flushed face and fogged-up glasses. Jungkook’s hands gripped your thighs tightly, fingers digging into your soft skin while he waited for you, completely at your mercy and loving every second of it.

You settled fully on top of him, your soaked panties pressing against his hard cock as you began to grind down slowly. The thick length slid between your folds through the thin fabric, the friction making you both moan. Jungkook’s hands tightened on your thighs, fingers digging into your soft skin as he looked up at you with pure desperation, glasses slightly crooked on his flushed face.

“Mmm, look at you,” you purred, running your hands slowly up and down his toned chest, feeling every ridge of muscle tremble under your touch. “So hard for me already… even after I just swallowed all your cum. You really have been wanting this, haven’t you?” You rolled your hips in slow, teasing circles, pressing your clit against his cock with every movement. Soft, breathy moans fell from your lips as the pleasure built, your wetness soaking through your panties and coating his shaft.

Jungkook panted heavily beneath you, hips twitching up instinctively to meet your grinding. “Yes… fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long,” he groaned, voice strained. His eyes were glued to your body, watching the way your tits bounced lightly with every roll of your hips.

You moaned louder, arching your back as you dragged your hands up to your own chest. You cupped your tits, squeezing them together and playing with your nipples right above his face while you kept grinding on him. The sight made Jungkook’s cock throb hard between your thighs. Your moans mixed with his desperate pants, the wet sounds of your grinding filling the quiet evening air around you.

“Please…” he finally begged, voice cracking. “Please put it in… I need to feel you. I can’t take it anymore— I need to be inside your tight pussy. Please, baby…” You let out a soft, amused giggle at how wrecked he sounded, still grinding teasingly over him. But you took mercy on him. You reached down between your bodies, pulled your panties to the side, and lined up his thick cock with your dripping entrance. Without any more warning, you sank down onto him in one smooth, eager motion.

The stretch was intense. A loud moan tore from your throat as he filled you completely, thick and deep in one go. You didn’t ease into it, you started riding him hard and fast right away, hips slamming down roughly with every bounce. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, bordering on too much, but you loved it. Every brutal thrust sent sparks shooting up your spine as his cock dragged perfectly against your walls.

“Fuck— yes!” you cried out, bracing your hands on his chest for leverage as you rode him with wild abandon. Jungkook’s head fell back against the grass, a loud, guttural moan leaving him.

“Oh my god— you feel so fucking good,” he groaned filthily. You grabbed his big hands and yanked them up to your bouncing tits, pressing them firmly against your chest.

He immediately groped at them greedily, squeezing the soft flesh while his thumbs rubbed over your hard nipples. “Thank you… fuck, thank you,” he panted desperately between moans, voice breaking. “Your tits are so perfect— so soft. You’re riding me so good, baby. Your pussy is so tight and wet— shit, I’m losing my mind…”

You kept riding him with relentless energy, slamming your hips down over and over again. The wet, filthy sound of your pussy taking his thick cock filled the empty field as you moaned his name like a chant. “Jungkook… fuck, Jungkook—” Each bounce made your tits jiggle in his hands, your cheer skirt bunched uselessly around your waist. The stretch was perfect, his cock hitting so deep inside you that stars burst behind your eyes with every rough descent.

Feeling bold and wanting to completely ruin him, you decided to show off just how flexible you really were. You slowly extended one leg straight out to the side, then the other, sinking down into a full split on his cock. Your thighs pressed flat against the grass on either side of his body while his entire length stayed buried deep inside you.

“F-fuck—!” Jungkook whimpered loudly, the sound breaking into a desperate moan. His eyes rolled back, mouth falling open as uncontrollable whimpers and moans spilled from his lips. “Oh my god… it's so deep— I can feel everything. You’re so fucking flexible— shit, it’s too much—”

His reaction made you grin through your own moans. Your thighs started trembling from the intense stretch and the overwhelming pleasure as you began rolling your hips again in this new position, grinding and bouncing on him with short, powerful movements. “You like that, baby?” you panted, voice dripping with lust. “You like feeling how deep you can get inside my tight pussy? I bet no one’s ever taken you this deep before, have they?”

Jungkook’s hands slid down from your tits to grip your asscheeks hard. He pulled them apart roughly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he started thrusting up to meet your movements. The new angle made you both cry out. His cock drove even deeper, the head rubbing against that perfect spot inside you with every snap of his hips. Your moans grew louder and more desperate, thighs shaking violently around him as the coil in your stomach tightened unbearably. “I’m gonna cum— Jungkook, I’m so close—!” you cried out, head falling back in ecstasy.

“I’m close too,” he groaned, voice strained and breathy. His thrusts became erratic, hips snapping up harder as he chased his release. “Where… where do you want it?”

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest as you rode him through the building pleasure. “Inside,” you begged, voice breaking. “Please cum inside me, Jungkook. I want to feel you filling me up— please, please cum deep in my pussy.”

That was all it took. With a loud, broken moan of your name, Jungkook thrust up hard one final time and came deep inside you. Thick, hot spurts of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after pulse as his cock throbbed violently. The feeling of him filling you up pushed you over the edge right after him. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as your orgasm crashed through you, walls clenching and fluttering around his cock, milking every last drop while you moaned loudly, body trembling on top of him.

For a long, hazy minute, you both simply breathed together, bodies slick with sweat and still buzzing from your shared orgasm. The evening air felt cooler now against your heated skin. You eventually rolled off Jungkook with a soft, satisfied sigh, collapsing onto the grass beside him. When you turned your head to the side, you found him already staring at you. His chest was still heaving, lips parted, fogged-up glasses sitting crooked on his nose, and his dark eyes held an intensity that made your stomach flutter.

A lazy smile tugged at your lips. Your gaze slowly traveled down his body— past his toned chest, down his abs, until it landed on his cock. He was still rock hard, flushed dark red, and glistening with your combined release. A breathy giggle escaped you. “Jungkook…” you teased, voice playful but laced with surprise, “you’re still so hard.”

He let out a shaky, embarrassed laugh, one hand coming up to push his glasses back into place. His cheeks were burning, but the hunger in his eyes didn’t fade even a little. “I know,” he panted, voice hoarse and raw. “I… I want to go again. Please.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, mildly impressed by his stamina. Most guys would’ve been tapped out after that, but here he was, still throbbing, still desperate for more. You bit your lip, heat pooling low in your belly again at the thought. “Alright,” you said with a smirk, “then you’re doing the work this time, waterboy.”

Jungkook let out a low, breathless chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine. The sound was surprisingly confident. Without warning, he moved. In one fluid motion, he rolled over and flipped you onto your stomach. Strong hands gripped your hips and yanked your ass up high into the air, forcing you onto your knees with your chest and face pressed against the cool grass. You gasped at the sudden shift in position, instinctively arching your back and gripping the soft blades of grass tightly in both fists.

For a moment, he just admired the view. His large palms smoothed reverently over the curves of your ass, squeezing and kneading the plush flesh. He spread your cheeks apart slowly, groaning deeply at the sight of your puffy, cum-dripping pussy. His cock, still slick and heavy, slid up and down your slit in teasing strokes— dragging from your clit all the way back to your entrance, coating himself in your wetness but never pushing inside.

You whined loudly, growing impatient. Your hips wiggled back against him desperately, trying to tempt him, trying to force him in. “Jungkook… stop teasing me,” you begged, voice already shaking. “Put it in already—”

He didn’t make you wait any longer. In one sharp, powerful thrust, Jungkook buried every thick inch of his cock inside you. The sudden stretch made you squeak, but the sound quickly melted into a loud, broken scream of pleasure as he immediately set a brutal pace. There was nothing gentle about it. His hips slammed against your ass with wet, punishing slaps, driving his cock so deep you felt it in your stomach. Each thrust forced the air out of your lungs.

You collapsed forward even more, face turning to the side and pressed into the grass as he fucked you senseless. “Oh my god— Jungkook!” you sobbed, voice cracking with every brutal snap of his hips. The pleasure was overwhelming, almost too intense, but you craved every second of it. “It feels so good… your cock is so fucking big— you’re so deep—”

“Uh huh,” he groaned behind you, voice low and rough, completely different from the shy, stammering waterboy you knew from the sidelines. “Fuck, take it. Take all of it like a good girl.” You were shocked by the filthy dominance pouring out of him, but it only turned you on more. His hands gripped your ass tighter, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks as he pulled you back onto his cock with every thrust. The wet, obscene sounds of skin slapping skin and your dripping pussy taking him filled the empty field. Your thighs trembled violently, moans turning into broken sobs as he completely rearranged your insides.

Jungkook leaned over you, one hand sliding up your back to grip your shoulder for better leverage while the other stayed on your ass, spreading you open so he could watch his thick cock disappear inside you over and over again. His pace never faltered, sharp, deep, and relentless. Your mind was melting. Every brutal thrust punched the air out of your lungs and turned your thoughts into complete nonsense. You were babbling incoherently into the grass, broken moans, whimpers, and half-formed words spilling from your lips as Jungkook fucked you mercilessly from behind.

“Jungkook— ahh— fuck, fuck, it’s so deep— oh my god—” you cried, voice hoarse and shaky. His hands slid from your shoulder down to the hem of your tiny cheer skirt. He fisted the red and gold fabric tightly in both hands, using it like a handle to yank your body back onto his cock with every powerful thrust. The force of his hips made your entire body jolt forward. Your tits swayed heavily back and forth beneath you, nipples brushing against the cool grass with every punishing slam. The wet, filthy sound of skin slapping against skin echoed loudly across the empty field.

Jungkook was panting hard behind you, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your back. His voice came out rough and breathless between thrusts. “Tell me, baby… how good does it feel?” he groaned, yanking your skirt harder to pull you deeper onto his cock.

“So fucking good!” you sobbed loudly, tears of overwhelming pleasure pricking at the corners of your eyes. “It’s so deep— you’re hitting everything”

He let out a low, satisfied growl and leaned over you, hips never slowing. “Is this the best you’ve ever had?” he panted, voice dark and hungry. “Am I fucking you better than anyone else ever has?”

You nodded frantically against the grass, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. “Uh huh— uh huh— uh huh—” you cried out repeatedly, the words falling from your lips like a desperate chant with every thrust. “It’s the best— fuck, Jungkook, it’s the best I’ve ever had— no one’s ever fucked me like this—”

Your thighs were shaking violently. You were so close again, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with every deep stroke. Your walls fluttered wildly around his thick cock, gripping him desperately as your second orgasm hovered right on the edge— But suddenly, Jungkook pulled out.

You let out a loud, pitiful whine at the devastating loss, your pussy clenching around nothing. “Nooo— Jungkook, please—” you begged, voice breaking.

He didn’t leave you empty for long. In one swift movement, he flipped you onto your back. Before you could even finish your whine, he hooked one of your legs up and pressed it against your chest, folding you in half. He lined himself up and plunged back inside you in one hard, smooth thrust. You screamed in pleasure as he filled you again, the new angle letting him sink impossibly deeper.

Jungkook braced himself over you, one hand holding your leg firmly against your chest while the other gripped your hip. He immediately started driving into you again, hard, fast, and relentless. His hips snapped forward with powerful strokes, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. Your tits bounced wildly between your bodies from the force, and your face twisted in overwhelming pleasure as he fucked you straight into the grass. “Look at me,” he panted, eyes dark and wild behind his glasses. “Want to see your face while I fuck you.”

Jungkook didn’t slow down even for a second. He kept you folded beneath him, your leg pressed tightly against your chest as he drove his cock into you with deep, punishing strokes. The new position let him hit even deeper, rubbing against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. Your head fell back against the grass, mouth open in a constant stream of broken sobs and babbles.

“I love your cock— fuck, I love it so much” you cried, voice hoarse and shaking. “It’s so big… stretching me so good, Jungkook, I love how deep you are— don’t stop, please don’t stop—” Tears of overwhelming pleasure slipped down the sides of your face as you kept babbling, completely lost in the feeling of him.

Jungkook’s face hovered above yours, sweat dripping from his brow, glasses fogged and slightly crooked. His breathing was ragged and desperate as he panted, “You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?” His voice was rough, almost commanding. “Tell me. Are you gonna cum on my cock?”

“Yes!” you sobbed loudly, nodding frantically. “I’m gonna cum so fucking hard Jungkook, I’m so close— please, please—”

He groaned at your words and doubled down, fucking you even harder. His hips slammed against you with sharp, relentless force, driving his thick cock as deep as physically possible with every thrust. Your thighs began to shake violently around him. The pleasure became almost too much, overwhelming every nerve in your body as the pressure built higher and higher. Suddenly, it snapped.

Your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave. A loud, broken scream tore from your throat as your entire body convulsed. Your pussy clenched hard around his cock before you started squirting all over him, hot, clear fluid gushing out around his thrusting length, soaking his abs, his thighs, and the grass beneath you. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, eyes rolling back as wave after wave of intense pleasure ripped through you.

The feeling of you squirting around him pushed Jungkook over the edge right after you. “Fuck— I’m cumming—!” he moaned loudly, voice breaking. He buried himself as deep as he could and came hard, thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside your pulsing pussy. His cock throbbed violently with every spurt, filling you up until you felt impossibly full. He kept shallowly thrusting through both of your orgasms, panting and moaning your name like a prayer as his body shook on top of you.

Eventually, his movements slowed, then stopped. He collapsed forward, carefully letting your leg down as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Both of you were panting hard, bodies trembling and slick with sweat and other fluids, hearts racing wildly against each other. You both stayed tangled together for a long moment, breathing hard and trying to remember how to exist as normal human beings again. Jungkook’s face was still buried in your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin while his cock gave one last lazy twitch inside you. Your fingers lazily played with the damp hair at the nape of his neck as the aftershocks slowly faded.

Eventually, he lifted his head just enough to look at you. His glasses were completely fogged up and crooked, hair a total mess, and his face was flushed bright red. He looked thoroughly ruined in the best possible way. “…So,” you breathed out with a lazy, satisfied grin, still gently clenching around him. “Does the waterboy always hydrate the cheerleaders this well, or am I just special?”

Jungkook let out a breathless, embarrassed laugh and dropped his forehead against your collarbone, hiding his face as his ears turned even redder. “I— I can’t believe I just fucked you on the practice field,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “I’ve literally brought you water like fifty times and now I just… filled you up like a hydration station.”

You burst out laughing, the sound bright and airy as you gently shoved his shoulder. “Oh my god, you did not just make a hydration joke while you’re still inside me.”

He groaned, half-laughing, half-cringing as he finally pulled out of you with a wet sound that made you both wince. “I’m sorry, that was terrible. Post-nut clarity is hitting me like a linebacker and I’m apparently still an awkward nerd.”

You grinned up at him, reaching up to fix his glasses for him. “A very well-endowed awkward nerd, apparently. I think I’m gonna need a lot more water from you during games from now on.”

Jungkook shook his head, smiling shyly as he collapsed beside you on the grass, pulling you into his side. “If you keep wearing that uniform, I’m gonna need to start bringing the whole cooler.”

You snuggled closer, resting your head on his chest while the cool night air brushed over your sweaty bodies. Both of you lay there quietly for a moment, hearts still racing, before you muttered playfully: “…We should probably leave before someone finds us. Or before you get hard again and we end up christening the entire fifty-yard line.”

Jungkook let out a soft whine. “Don’t say that. I’m trying to recover here.”

You just laughed and kissed his jaw. “Too late, waterboy. Practice is definitely over.”

perm taglist ﹐ → @merakoo @rpwprpwprpwprw @littlejeanskirt @mikrokookiex @chwrryppie @sugak00kie134340 @alondra6011 @stars4kooo @namgimini @b-tangkitten

[hollowhuntress]

shit i could see daryl dixon sayin’ with no context:

“c’mere n’ let me look at ya.”

“don’t start whinin’ now. this was your idea.”

“i ain’t askin’. i’m tellin’”

“i ain’t no damn dog, ain’t gon sit at your feet all damn day.”

“you got no business smilin’ after sayin’ somethin’ like that.”

“i can hear your heart thumpin’ like a damn rabbit.”

“if merle could see me now i’d never hear the end’a it.”

“swear t’god, you’d pet a damn walker if i didn’t stop ya.”

“that mouth’s gon be the death’a you.”

[y2klvr]

bts reaction: asking them to give you a massage

best friends to lovers series!

summary: in which you ask your best friend to give you a massage after a long day at work.

warnings: fluff, suggestive

a/n: this is my first of many bts reactions!

☆ my requests are open! lowercase intended.

seokjin

"i'll do anything," you pleaded.

you had just arrived at jin's apartment with your high heels in one hand and your bag in the other. it had been a long day of standing on your feet and you wanted nothing more than your feet massaged. jin, however, wasn't going to do it without something in return.

"anything you say?" jin raises his eyebrow with a smirk, opening a can of soda with a loud 'pop'.

you nod your head at him and take a seat on his couch, throwing your feet up on the pillow next to you. he follows your movements with his eyes, before he makes his way over to the couch and takes a seat. he places his soda down on one of the decorative coasters in front of him and turns his attention towards your feet laying on the pillow next to him.

"i'll think of something," jin whispers more to himself than you.

"as much as i want to know what vile task you will have me doing, my massage has yet to begin," you wiggle your feet teasingly in front of him.

"alright, alright," he sighs playfully before beginning to work his magic.

his soft hands against the rough soles of your feet cause you to let out a soft sound of pure contentment. you notice how the face of the man in front of you begins to turn a delicate shade of pink. perhaps the soft sound was a little louder than you thought.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

yoongi

"can you massage my back?" you ask with a loud sigh.

you lay down on his bed and look over at where yoongi sits at his desk typing away. you wonder what he could possibly be working on at 11pm on a tuesday.

"you want me to what?" he stops typing for a moment and turns around in his chair to look at you.

"massage my back," you mumble into the soft pillow your head rests on.

yoongi seems to pause for a moment before standing up from his chair and making his way over to his bed. he takes a seat on the side of the bed and places his hands on your shoulders. you can feel the coldness of his hands through your thin top.

"like this?" he questions as his hands make their way down your back with gentle pressure, almost like he's scared you're going to break.

"perfect," you moan out.

his movements stop suddenly from the sound you made, but he continues once you turn your head back to look at him. you notice the way his eyes are wide and a soft blush is spread nicely across his cheeks. he seems to be enjoying this just as much as you.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

hoseok

"hobi, can you massage my shoulders? i feel so stiff," you question, tossing another piece of popcorn in your mouth.

you were sat on your best friend's couch, watching a movie that you picked out. you had a long day of staring at a computer screen and wanted some sort of relief.

"of course i can," hoseok jumps up off the couch eagerly and makes his way behind you.

"i'll repay you somehow," you sigh as his palms begin to work at your shoulders.

"you don't have to," he smiles to himself and focuses on the way your head tilts back and your mouth opens at his movements.

he has to stop his imagination from running wild at the scene of you underneath him like this. his attention falls back onto the movie playing in front of him, but he can't help but bite his lip at the thought of something else happening instead.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

namjoon

"do you need me to massage your feet?" namjoon questions when he sees you hobble your way into his apartment.

"that would be great actually," you sigh as you plop down onto his couch.

you had just got off of an 8 hour shift on your feet and you could not help but to take your best friend up on his offer. you swing your feet up into his lap and he begins to put pressure on your heels.

"you're doing so good," you sigh out.

namjoon's eyes widen at your words as his head begins to spin with the thoughts of you saying that in a different context. he makes his way up to the arches of your feet before going back down to your heels, hoping to get another reaction out of you.

"oh my god," you moan at the feeling of each of his fingers massaging their way into your soles.

he covers up his own moan with a small chuckle. hoping that you don't notice the way his face heats up or his hands begin to sweat. he should have asked to do this a long time ago.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

jimin

"can you massage my back?" you ask your best friend with a smile.

you knew he had a weak spot for your smile and you used it to your advantage after a long day at work. you were laying next to jimin in his room, both watching a random movie that neither of you remember putting on.

"yeah, turn around for me," he sits up in his bed and turns his body towards you, waiting on you to turn around.

something about the words that innocently rolled off his tongue made your face flush. you quickly turned onto your stomach before he could see the way he had you in the palm of his hands. you felt his weight shift beside you before you felt him straddle your waist.

jimin began to move his hands up and down your back, applying pressure where you needed it the most. it took him a minute to realize the position you both were in and his movements halted.

"what's wrong?" you ask when you notice his hands stopped moving.

"n-nothing," he mumbled before continuing his movements.

he was suddenly hyperaware of his hips on top of you and tried his best to focus on anything else; however, it was hard to when your soft moans echoed off of his bedroom walls.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

taehyung

"please," you beg to the man sat beside you.

you had just got to taehyung's apartment after a long shift at work and you wanted nothing more than to have his hands on your shoulders. you had been pleading for what seemed like hours but was really only 5 minutes.

"if i say yes, will you be quiet?" he sighs dramatically.

"yes, i promise," you can't help but smile as he moves to sit behind you.

"you owe me," he says under his breath.

he begins to dig his fingers into your shoulder blades as you let out a sigh. his hands work their way up to your neck then back down to your arms.

"thank you, tae," you moan out his name without meaning to, a harsh blush coating your cheeks.

his cheeks match your shade of red at the sound. suddenly, you don't owe him anything. he wants to do everything he can to hear that sound again.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

jungkook

"i can massage them for you," jungkook taps your legs that drape over his lap.

"that would be amazing actually," you smile at him.

it had been a long day of walking from place to place and your legs needed a break. after spending the last 5 minutes complaining about how much they hurt, jungkook offered to massage them for you. his hands rough but gentle as he works his way up your calves.

you tilt your head back and focus on the way his big hands felt on your skin. the shorts you have on riding up ever so slightly as his hands make their way to your thighs.

"jungkook," you moan out his name.

his breath hitches in his throat at your moan. he can't help but bite his lip and continue his movements up your thighs. he has to stop himself when he reaches the him of your shorts before going back down to your calves. his breathing is uneven and labored but you don't seem to notice.

"is this okay?" he questions as he makes his way back up your legs.

"it's more than okay," you breathe out.

[n9mgi]

i luv your girl park jimin x reader

brothers best friend! park jimin x fem reader

summary: jimin was never supposed to want you. he was never supposed to have you. not when you were his best friend's little sister. not when he knew better. but the night you chose him changed everything. now, it's more than just a secret, and it isn't a mistake either. and he's not letting anyone take you back.

themes: jimin is madly obsessed in love with reader..., brother's best friend, small age gap (reader is 22 jimin is 25), smut, angst, childhood friends, jealousy, reader has a stupid/toxic bf, mentions of clubbing, partying, drinking, underage drinking, slight sexualization of reader, forbidden relationship, reader (briefly) cheats on her dumb bf (emotionally, kissing), possessive/obsessive themes, swearing, yearning, arguing, tension, sneaking around, fluff, eventual love confession, porn with lots of plot...

warnings: sexual themes, descriptive & explicit smut MINORS DNI 18+ (dom!jimin, sub reader, oral f, fingering, breast play, praise/dirty talk, edging, missionary, unprotected sex, ass slapping, cream pie)

word count: 16.8k

‧₊ ♪˚⊹ i luv your girl - the dream

jimin used to think of you as background noise.

a small voice echoing through the house when he came over, trailing behind your older brother, jaehyun like a shadow that talked too much and asked too many questions. you were always there—sitting cross-legged on the floor while they played video games, peeking into the kitchen when they ordered food, lingering just close enough to be included without ever actually being invited.

“why do you always lose, chim?” you asked him once, somewhere around the age of ten, tilting your head with that blunt curiosity only kids could get away with and the nickname you had been calling him since before you could pronounce words correctly.

he flicked your forehead, not even looking up from the screen. “why do you always talk?”

you gasped like he wounded you, dramatically throwing yourself back onto the carpet. he and your brother laughed.

back then, you were just… there.

a kid with scraped knees and messy hair, who stole fries off his plate and never said thank you. who insisted on sitting too close, who followed them around even when they told you to go away, who somehow always ended up exactly where they were.

and for reasons he never questioned, he always let you.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

by the time you were teenagers, things shifted—but not in the way people usually noticed.

you stopped following them as much.

you only went to high school at the same time for one year—he was a senior and you were a freshman. you had brief encounters in the hallways, brief hellos and shared snacks, but nothing more. you were just settling in while he was gathering his final credits for graduation and making his way into adulthood.

he noticed it in passing, the way you notice the seasons changing without really thinking about it.

in your later years of high school, you started staying in your room when he came over. you would come down to say hi briefly before returning upstairs; music playing faintly through the walls instead of your voice filling the space. when you did appear, it was quieter now—less interrupting, more observing. less chaos, more… awareness.

you grew up. that was all.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

except it wasn't all. he just didn't realize it yet.

the first time something felt off, it was stupid. small. the kind of moment that shouldn’t matter.

you had just turned nineteen; fresh out of high school and falling into your first semester of college.

there was a party—your brother insisted on throwing something at the house while your parents were out, because of course he did. people everywhere, music too loud, drinks passed around like it was nothing.

jimin almost didn't come. but he did, like he always did. because why would he miss his best friend's little sister's birthday party?

he hadn't seen you since your high school graduation a few months ago—summers packed with busy schedules that just happened to be the exact opposite.

and during that summer, you had grown into your features—skin glowing, boobs plump, and ass round. the summer consisted of mastering the perfect blowout and makeup routine, skin kissed by the sun and your wardrobe upgrading after picking up a job for the summer.

for a while, the party was normal. jimin stuck near jaehyun, talking to the same people, ignoring the same chaos. until—

"jimin!"

he turned at the sound of your voice, already halfway into a response before he stopped. really stopped.

it took a second for his brain to catch up to what he was looking at.

you were a few feet away before you engulfed him into a warm hug, his arms instinctively wrapping around you. the scent of your perfume and shampoo filled his head, but that wasn't all. once you pulled away, that's when he saw it all.

the soft glow of the party lights caught on you, tracing every line of the little short dress you wore like it had been made for you, hugging your figure and riding up your carved legs that were on display.

your hair bounced with every move, falling perfectly into place and around your boobs, cleavage being highlighted in the colorful lights of the party. your makeup was flawless without trying too hard—everything about you effortless and impossible to ignore in a room full of people.

but it was more than that. it was the way you looked at him. not like a kid trying to be included. not like his best friend’s little sister.

just… like a girl. no—like a woman. and somehow, that changed everything.

“you okay?” you asked, brows pulling together slightly when he didn’t respond.

he blinked, a little too slow. “yeah,” he said, voice rougher than he meant it to be. “yeah, i’m good..."

"oh- happy birthday!" he sputtered, hands scrambling to hand you his gift. a box wrapped delicately in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in the other.

you smiled widely before pulling him into another, tight hug, boobs pressing against his chest. "aw thank you, chimmy! you're too sweet." the same, big smile you always had.

but it didn’t feel the same. not even close. something settled in his chest then. quiet. heavy. unwelcome.

the kind of realization that doesn’t announce itself loudly—but once it’s there, it doesn’t leave.

before he could respond, someone had called your name.

"i’ll be back!" you giggled, giving his shoulder a squeeze before turning around.

that little dress of yours had squeezed around your newly grown ass like it was made around it. your hips swayed effortlessly as you skipped over to your friends. he looked away in embarrassment after staring too long to be deemed appropriate.

he’d like to say that was the moment he shut it down. that he drew a line, put distance between you, remembered exactly who you were and why none of this could ever happen.

he didn’t. instead, he stayed.

watched you laugh with someone else across the room. noticed the way people looked at you now. how guys looked at you. the way you moved through the space like you belonged there, like you weren't the kid trailing behind them anymore.

and for the first time—something sharp, unfamiliar, and dangerously close to jealousy twisted in jimin's chest.

he didn’t like it. didn’t understand it.

but he felt it. and worse... he didn’t want it to go away.

but later that night, with the music loud, the drinks hitting just right, and jaehyun off somewhere with a girl, you and jimin were on the dance floor, moving and laughing together like you forgot anyone else existed.

it wasn't long before you were pressed up against him, jimin’s gifted bottle of patrón taking over your mind as you shamelessly grinded against him.

the liquor was also taking over him as he let himself enjoy it, his hand steady at your hips, breath catching while your ass grazed his cock that was strained so tightly against his pants.

just as it started to blur into something more, he leaned in, murmured something low in your ear, and smoothly pulled you away, twirling you around guiding you back into something safer before either of you crossed a line you wouldn’t be able to back from.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

jimin learned how to live with it. at least, that’s what he told himself.

three years later, it didn’t feel like a problem anymore—it felt like something permanent. something carved into him so deeply he stopped trying to dig it out.

he adjusted, that’s all.

you were twenty-two now, and he couldn't ignore the way you'd fully grown into yourself—how your features had sharpened, softened in all the right places. how your body carried a confidence it never used to. even your laugh was louder, brighter, your personality more alive than ever, filling every room you stepped into.

he kept his distance where it mattered. never touched you longer than he should. never said anything that couldn’t be brushed off. never gave your brother a reason to look twice.

but that didn’t mean he wasn’t always there—watching you when you laughed loudly at someone else's joke, eyes lingering just a second too long when you weren't looking.

at parties, he’d find his way closer without thinking, standing just behind you, like gravity kept pulling him in. and when it got too crowded, too loud, he’d casually pat his thigh and offer you a seat like it meant nothing—like it was just easier that way. you always accepted.

on the outside, nothing changed. on the inside—everything did.

he knew things he shouldn’t. not because you told him, not always. but because he paid attention.

he knew you hated mornings but still set three alarms you never woke up to. knew you only drank coffee if it was drowned in cream and sugar. knew the exact tone your voice took when you were pretending to be okay—and the quieter one when you weren't.

he knew when you had a bad day before you even said a word. and he always noticed when someone else didn’t.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

the music was too loud in the club.

bass heavy, vibrating through the floor and up his spine, drowning out most conversation and turning everything into flashes—lights, bodies, movement. the kind of place where people lost track of time, of drinks, of each other.

but jimin didn’t. he knew exactly where you were.

across the dance floor, half-surrounded by your friends, laughing at something someone said. your head tipped back slightly, hair falling away from your shoulders, completely unaware of the way people looked at you.

or maybe you were aware. and maybe you just didn’t care.

a few minutes later, you drifted closer to the bar, separating from your friends just enough. that was all it took for him to move without thinking.

“water please,” he said to the bartender before you even noticed him, sliding the glass across to you as you turned.

you blinked in surprise. “oh-! thanks, chim.”

“you’ve been dancing for like an hour,” he said, like it was obvious. “drink it.”

there was something about the way he said it—not quite a command, not quite a suggestion—that made you smile. “yes, sir,” you teased, taking a sip.

his eyes flickered slightly at that. “don’t start,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

you laughed softly, leaning your elbow against the bar. “you’ve been watching me all night, haven’t you?”

the question was light, your tone playful, tipsy, and teasing. but it landed heavier than you meant it to.

he didn’t answer right away. just looked at you—really looked at you—in a way that made something shift in your expression.

“someone has to,” he said finally.

“i can take care of myself chim~”

“i know,” he said. but his tone didn’t change. "doesn’t mean i’m not going to make sure you’re okay.”

for a second, neither of you spoke, the noise of the club filled the space between you, but it felt distant. muted.

you held his gaze a little longer than usual, something unreadable flickering behind your eyes.

“come outside with me,” you said suddenly.

it wasn’t really a question. your fingers wrapped around his hand, tugging him through the crowd as he obliged, following like your own personal bodyguard.

the air outside was cooler. quieter. the music dulled to a low thrum behind the walls, replaced by the hum of distant traffic and muffled laughter from people filtering in and out.

you leaned back against the brick wall, exhaling. "needed this,” you murmured.

he stepped out a second later, the door swinging shut behind him as his eyes immediately found you. of course they did.

“you okay?” he asked, like it was automatic.

you glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “you ask me that a lot.”

“yeah,” he said simply. no apology. no hesitation. just the truth.

you studied him for a moment, like you were trying to figure something out through effect of your drinks. “you don’t ask anyone else that,” you said.

his hands slipped into his pockets, shoulders relaxing just slightly—but his gaze didn’t leave you. “you’re not anyone else.”

the words came out low, steady, and too honest. something shifted again—stronger this time.

you looked away first, shaking your head lightly like you were brushing it off. “you’re intense tonight.”

a quiet huff of amusement left him. “tonight?”

you smiled at that, but it faded quicker than it should’ve. there was a pause. it stretched long enough to feel different.

he took a step closer. not all the way, but just enough. close enough that if either of you moved a bit more, it would mean something.

“you should slow down on the drinks,” he said, voice softer now. “you don’t need it.”

your breath hitched—barely there, but he caught it. “maybe i just want to have fun,” you said.

“you are having fun,” he replied. “don’t need to overdo it to prove it.”

you looked up at him then, something almost challenging in your eyes. “and you get to decide that?”

his jaw flexed. there it was; that edge. “i get to look out for you,” he said. “yeah.”

the air between you tightened. it wasn't an argument, but it wasn't quite something else either. it was closer to both.

your gaze dropped briefly—to his mouth, then back up again so fast it almost didn’t happen. almost.

but he saw it, and for a split second—he forgot himself. his hand lifted, like he was going to reach for you. like he’d done a thousand times before without thinking.

but this time, it felt different. this time, it would mean something. he stopped. just short enough that the restraint was visible. tense and heavy.

your eyes flickered to his hand, then back to his face, something unspoken passing between you.

a question. a warning, but it was coated with possibility. the door behind you swung open suddenly, voices spilling out into the night—and just like that, it broke.

he dropped his hand, stepping back. the moment snapped like it had never been there at all.

“come on,” he said, voice back to normal, controlled again. “your friends are probably looking for you.”

you nodded, but you didn’t move right away. just looked at him for one second longer than necessary. like you felt it too. then you turned, heading back inside.

jimin stayed where he was for a moment, running a hand over the back of his neck, exhaling slowly as he stared at the ground.

because that—that wasn’t nothing. and he knew it.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

jimin sat in you and jaehyun’s shared living room as you both awaited his arrival for a night out with friends. it shouldn't have meant anything. it usually didn't.

“you want anything?” you called from the kitchen, voice carrying easily through the apartment.

he leaned back against the couch, one arm draped along the back, eyes flicking toward the sound of you moving around. “water’s fine.”

“wow,” you said, appearing a second later with a glass in hand. “you’re so high maintenance.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, taking it from you. “i try.”

you didn’t move away right after. just hovered there for a second, like you hadn’t decided what you were doing next. then you dropped down onto the couch beside him—close, but not unusual. never unusual.

that was the problem. everything with you felt normal; even when it wasn’t.

“you’ve been busy, huh?” he asked after a moment, tone casual, eyes fixed on the tv even though he wasn’t really watching it.

“mm,” you hummed, tucking one leg under yourself. “a little.”

he nodded slowly, taking a sip of his water. “haven’t seen you much.”

“yeah, sorry,” you said easily. “i’ve just been… doing stuff.”

something about the way you said it—vague, almost distracted—made his gaze shift to you. “doing... stuff?” he repeated.

you smiled a little at that, like you knew how it sounded. “okay, fine,” you said, exhaling softly. “i was going to tell you anyway.”

there was no buildup. no hesitation. you said it like it didn't matter. "i've been seeing someone."

it shouldn’t have hit like that. because it wasn’t even unexpected. it was always going to happen eventually.

but still—something in jimin's chest tightened, sharp and immediate, like his body reacted before his mind could catch up.

he didn’t move. didn’t let it show. just nodded once, slow, controlled. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you said, leaning back into the couch like it was nothing. “it’s not, like, serious or anything.”

not serious.

that made it worse. “no?” he asked, voice even.

“not really,” you shrugged. “i mean, i don’t know. he’s… nice, i guess.”

nice.

his jaw flexed slightly. "that sounds convincing.”

you laughed softly, nudging his arm with yours. “shut up. i’m just saying—i don’t know if he’s, like, the one or anything. i just…” you trailed off, thinking for a second. “i just want to see, you know?”

see.

like it was an experiment. like it didn’t matter. like you didn’t matter.

something dark flickered in his chest. he set the glass down a little harder than he meant to, the quiet clink against the table sharper than the conversation deserved. “and he’s good to you?” he asked.

there was a beat. a small one. you hesitated—just barely. “yeah,” you said. “i mean… he’s fine.”

he let out a slow breath through his nose, gaze dropping for a second before lifting back to you. “fine?” he repeated.

you shrugged again, a little sheepish this time. “i don’t know. he’s just not really… i don’t know.”

he waited. you glanced at him, like you were deciding how much to say. “he doesn’t really do much,” you admitted. “like, we hang out, but he’s not super… i don’t know, thoughtful? i guess.”

something in him snapped tighter. “you guess,” he echoed, quieter now.

you didn’t notice. or maybe you did, and chose not to look too closely. "i mean, it’s whatever,” you said quickly. “it’s not a big deal.”

his fingers curled slightly against his knee. “right,” he said.

because what else was he supposed to say?

don’t see him. you deserve better.

you deserve—me.

the word sat there, heavy and dangerous, pressing against the back of his teeth. he swallowed it down hard.

“you don’t seem very excited,” he said instead, tone carefully neutral.

you glanced at him, tilting your head. “should i be?”

“if you like him.”

you made a face—small, almost unintentional. “i do. i just… i don’t know. it’s not like that.”

not like that.

his gaze locked onto you. “and you’re okay with that?”

you frowned slightly. “what do you mean?”

“you’re just going to settle for ‘not like that’?” he asked, voice lower now, something sharper slipping through despite himself.

you blinked, caught off guard by the edge in his tone. “i’m not settling,” you said. “i’m just… seeing where it goes.”

he let out a quiet, humorless breath, leaning back into the couch. “yeah,” he muttered. “that sounds great.”

you nudged him again, lighter this time. “why are you being weird about it, chim~?”

weird.

he almost laughed. instead, he dragged a hand over his face, forcing himself to relax, to soften, to be normal. "i’m not,” he said. “i just—”care. too much.

he exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “i just don’t want you wasting your time on someone who’s not worth it.”

your expression softened a little at that. “i’m not wasting my time,” you said gently.

his eyes flicked back to yours. “you don’t even sound like you like him that much.”

you hesitated again. and there it was; that tiny crack. “it’s not that i don’t like him,” you said. “it’s just… different.”

different.

he held your gaze for a long second. then, quieter—“yeah,” he said. “i bet it is.”

the room fell into a strange kind of silence after that. not uncomfortable, not quite. just… heavy. like something had shifted, even if you didn’t fully understand how or why.

you leaned your head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “you’re being intense again, chimmy,” you murmured.

he huffed softly like a humorless laugh, looking away. “only with you.”

the words slipped out before he could stop them. they were too honest. too close.

your head turned slightly, eyes finding his face. and for a second—it felt like you were seeing something you weren't supposed to. something he’d kept buried for years.

his jaw tightened, gaze dropping before you could look too closely. “don’t overthink it,” he added, quieter now. “just… be careful, okay?”

your expression softened again, something warm flickering there as an innocent smile creeped onto your face. “i always am.”

that wasn’t what he was worried about. not even close. but he nodded anyway. because at the end of the day—it wasn’t his place. no matter how much it felt like it should be.

and that was the problem.

because as you sat there beside him, talking about someone else like it didn’t matter—he could already feel it.

the slow, steady unraveling. the way this was going to get worse. the way he was going to hate every second of it. and still, he wasn’t going anywhere.

not when it came to you.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

the restaurant was nice.

not too fancy, not too casual—somewhere in the middle, with dim lighting and quiet music playing in the background. the kind of place that was supposed to feel thoughtful.

but it didn’t.

“so yeah,” your boyfriend, seojun said, barely looking up from his phone, “i might go out with the guys later tonight.”

you blinked. “after this?”

“yeah, just for a bit.” he shrugged. “depends.”

depends.

you nodded slowly, fingers tracing the edge of your glass. “oh. okay.” but he didn’t notice the shift in your tone. didn’t notice much, really.

“have you decided what you’re getting?” you asked, trying again.

“not really.” another scroll. another tap. “you can pick for me if you want.”

you let out a small laugh, like it was funny. like it didn’t bother you. “okay,” you said. “i’ll just—yeah.”

your phone buzzed softly against the table, your eyes dropping to it without thinking. it was jimin. your chest eased instantly.

jimin: you alive?

you: barely this is soooo boringg

across from you, seojun finally looked up. “what?”

you shook your head quickly. “nothing.” your phone buzzed again.

jimin: bad date? want me to come get you

you: nooo it’s fine i said yes i have to commit

jimin: you don't have to do anything

your fingers hovered over the screen. that… felt different. your boyfriend reached for his drink, not even glancing at you.

you: it’s not that bad he’s just not you

you stared at the message the second it sent. your breath caught. shit. across the table, seojun laughed at something on his phone, completely unaware.

your screen lit up almost instantly, your stomach flipping.

jimin: what does that mean

you: omg ignore me i didn’t mean it like that

jimin: yeah i know you didn’t

but something about it felt… off. you frowned slightly, glancing up. your boyfriend was already halfway out of the conversation again.

and for the first time that night—you felt it.

“are you even listening?” you asked, slightly harsher now.

“mm?” he said, looking up again. “yeah, what?”

you hesitated. then shook your head. “nothing.” because suddenly, it didn't feel worth repeating.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

it started out normal. that was the problem.

everyone was there at the lounge—your friends, your brother, his friends—the usual mix of loud voices and overlapping conversations, drinks passed around, music playing just low enough that no one had to shout.

jimin stayed where he always did. close enough to you to keep track, far enough that no one questioned it.

you showed up twenty minutes late. with him. of course.

jimin's eyes caught it instantly—the way your boyfriend’s hand rested low on your back, casual, like it belonged there. the way you smiled as you walked in, greeting everyone like nothing had changed.

like everything was normal. his jaw tightened slightly.

“wow, she made it,” jaehyun said beside him, lifting his drink in acknowledgment.

“yeah,” he said. but his eyes didn’t leave you. not even for a second.

throughout the night, he watched. he didn’t mean to—but he always did.

the way you laughed at something your friend said, leaning into the table slightly. the way your boyfriend sat beside you, half-turned away, scrolling through his phone between conversations.

not engaged. not present at all. jimin’s fingers tightened around his glass.

at one point, you got up to grab another drink. he moved before he could think about it, timing it just right so it didn’t look intentional. it always came naturally with you.

“hey,” he said as he stepped up beside you at the bar.

you glanced over, your expression softening instantly. “hi chimmy.”

there it was. that look. the one that always hit a little too hard. the nickname that always pulled at his heart. “you having fun?” he asked.

you hesitated, just for a second. “yeah,” you said.

a lie. it was a quiet one, but he heard it anyway. his gaze flicked past you, landing briefly on your boyfriend across the room—laughing now, finally engaged, but not with you. of course not.

“doesn’t look like it,” he murmured.

your shoulders tensed slightly. “you always say that.”

“because it’s usually true.”

you huffed softly, looking away as you reached for a napkin. “you’re so annoying.”

"and you’re avoiding the question.”

you glanced back at him, something flickering in your eyes—defensive, but not quite. “i’m fine,” you said.

fine. again.

his jaw flexed. “yeah,” he said quietly. “i know.”

“babe, you coming?” the words cut through the space between you. sharp. immediate.

your entire body went still. seojun was looking at you now, finally. one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair. waiting. expecting. like you would just fall back into place.

you glanced between you and jimin. then back at your boyfriend. something unspoken passed through your expression—something almost apologetic. "i'll be back," you said quietly.

he didn't respond. didn't trust himself. just nodded once, stepping aside to let you pass.

but his eyes followed you the entire way back. watched as you sat down. watched as your boyfriend barely looked at you before going back to whatever he was saying.

watched as you smiled anyway. like it was enough.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

it wasn’t one big fight. that would’ve been easier. it was smaller than that. worse, somehow.

“you’re overreacting.”

“i’m not—”

“you always do this.”

the words blurred together after a while. same argument, different night. same tone, same outcome. seojun pulling away, you trying to explain something you couldn’t quite put into words anymore.

“i just wanted you to show up,” you said, quieter now. “that’s it.”

“i told you something came up," he snapped.

“you always have something come up.”

he sighed like you were exhausting him. “why are you making this such a big deal?”

that was the moment something in you went still. because it was a big deal. at least, it felt like one. but the way he said it made you question it. made her question yourself.

“i’m not,” you said finally. but your voice didn’t sound convincing. not even to you.

you left his place ten minutes later. no real resolution. no apology. no anything. just a quiet, “i’ll text you,” and the door closing behind you.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

your phone buzzed halfway down the street.

jimin: you home?

your chest tightened. of course. of course it was him. you stared at the message for a second longer than you should’ve.

you: no can i come over?

his response was immediate.

jimin: yeah door’s open

no questions. no hesitation.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

jimin was sitting on the couch when you walked in. like he’d been waiting.

your eyes flicked to him, and for a second—just a second—you felt something shift in your chest. something familiar. something steady. something easy. “hey,” you said softly, closing the door behind you.

his gaze moved over yours quickly, taking everything in—the tension in your shoulders, the way your expression didn’t quite settle, the exhaustion you didn’t try to hide this time.

“what happened?” he asked. no small talk or pretending. just that, direct and straightforward.

your throat tightened slightly. “nothing,” you said automatically.

his jaw flexed. “don’t do that.” the words were quiet. but firm.

you exhaled, dropping your bag by the door before walking further into the apartment. “it’s just… the same stuff,” you admitted. “we argued. again.”

he leaned back slightly, eyes still on you. “about?”

you let out a small, humorless laugh. “everything. nothing. i don’t even know anymore.”

silence stretched for a second. “he didn’t show up again, did he?”

your gaze snapped to his. “how do you—”

“you always come here when he doesn’t,” he said simply.

that hit harder than it should’ve. because it was true.

you swallowed, looking away. “it’s not like that.”

“then what’s it like?”

your chest tightened. “i don’t know,” you said, quieter now. “i just… needed to get out.”

his eyes didn’t leave you. “yeah,” he murmured. “i know.”

you moved to sit on the couch beside him. closer than usual. closer than you should’ve. but neither of you said anything about it. you never did.

for a while, it was quiet. comfortable. nothing but the low hum of his tv in the background, the colorful glow hitting you in all the right places. the kind of silence that didn’t ask anything from you.

didn’t make you feel like you had to explain yourself. and that—that was the problem. because you didn’t have that anywhere else.

“he says i expect too much,” you said suddenly.

his head turned slightly. “you don’t.”

“you didn’t even let me finish.”

“don’t need to.”

your lips pressed together, something emotional flickering behind your eyes. “you’re biased, chim.”

“yeah,” he said without hesitation. "because i know you.”

your breath caught, the words settling somewhere deep. too deep.

“he’s not… bad,” you said, like you were trying to convince both of you. “he just—he doesn’t think about things the way i do.”

“he doesn’t think about you,” he corrected.

your chest tightened again. “that’s not fair.”

“no,” he said quietly. “what’s not fair is you acting like that’s enough.”

the air shifted. heavy. your gaze dropped to your hands. “i’m not saying it is.”

“then why are you still with him?”

the question hung there. simple, yet impossible. you didn't answer. because you didn't have one.

his hand moved before he could stop it, resting lightly against your wrist. not pulling or forcing. just… there. like it grounded both of you.

your breath caught softly at the contact. neither of you moved.

“you don’t have to stay somewhere you’re not getting what you need,” he said, voice lower now. “you know that, right?”

your eyes lifted slowly to his. and for the first time—you didn’t pull away. didn't brush it off or make you joke like you normally would.

“what if i don’t know what i need?” you whispered.

that almost broke him. because he did. he knew exactly what you needed. but he couldn’t say that.

his thumb shifted slightly against your wrist. barely there. but enough. “you do,” he said quietly. “you’re just ignoring it.”

your heart started beating a little faster. “am i?” you asked.

his gaze dropped—just for a second. to your lips. then back up. you noticed. “you come here every time something goes wrong,” he said, softer now. “you tell me everything. you let me—”

he stopped himself. but it was too late.

“let you what?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

his jaw tightened. because the answer wasn’t safe. wasn’t something he could take back once it was out.

but you were looking at him like that. too close. too open. too vulnerable.

“take care of you,” he said finally. the words landed heavy between you, making your breath hitch. “and you think he does that?” he added lowly.

you didn’t answer. because you didn’t need to. silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty. it was full of everything you both hadn’t said, everything you weren’t supposed to feel.

"i... i shouldn't be here," you whispered. it wasn't about his place. he knew that.

his gaze didn't waver. "then why are you?"

your lips parted. but once again, no answer left them.

his hand tightened slightly around your wrist—not enough to hurt, just but enough to stop you from pulling away if you tried. something sick and twisted knotted in your stomach, heat shamefully pooling in between your legs.

you didn't pull away.

"this isn't fair," you said softly.

"no," he agreed. "it's not." but he didn't let go of you, low eyes boring into yours.

“you deserve better,” he said finally. "you let him treat you like you're optional—and you're not. you never will be."

but this time—it didn’t sound like advice. it sounded like a promise. the way he said it, the way he looked at you made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with guilt.

your eyes were locked onto each others, everything else fading. the room, the noise, even the weight of what you were doing.

for a split second, you imagined it. what it would be like if this wasn’t wrong. if you didn’t have to pull away. if you could just stay here, with him, without guilt or hesitation. it was a glimpse of something softer, steadier… something that felt dangerously close to real.

suddenly, your phone began to vibrate against your pocket. you flinched this time, like it snapped you out of something you hadn’t meant to fall into.

he didn’t move. didn’t step back. but his hand stilled against your wrist as you glanced down at the screen, close to fully letting go.

your brother. of course.

you swallowed, pulling back just enough to answer it as the warmth of his hand quickly left you. "hey—"

"where are you?" jaehyun’s voice came through rough, impatient.

"i'm just—out," you said quickly, already knowing how weak it sounded.

"with seojun again?"

your eyes flicked to jimin. he was watching you. too closely. "yeah," you lied, swallowing too hard.

"don't stay there tonight," your brother said. "i can't feed your cat all the fuckin' time." the line ended.

“i should go,” you said, though you didn’t move right away.

he nodded once. but his eyes didn’t leave you. they didn’t soften or let you off easy. then finally, you got up, stepping back. slow and reluctant, like you were pulling yourself from something you hadn't quite processed yet.

"i'll see you..." you said.

his jaw tightened ever so slightly. "yeah," he said.

you turned toward the door, pausing for a second. like you everything in you wanted to look back him. but you didn't.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

you tried. that was the worst part. you actually tried.

“are you even listening to me?” seojun's voice pulled you back, sharp with irritation.

you blinked, realizing you'd been staring at nothing for the past few seconds. “yeah—sorry. what did you say?”

he exhaled, annoyed, leaning back in his chair. “i said i might not be free this weekend.” of course.

you nodded slowly. “okay.”

no argument this time or pushing. no asking him to try. that should’ve made things better, but it didn’t.

you were sitting too far apart. that was the first thing you noticed. not physically—you were on the same couch—but it felt like there was space between you. too much of it.

like something had already pulled away.

“you’ve been quiet,” he said after a moment, glancing at her.

“just tired,” you replied.

that part wasn’t a lie. just not the whole truth. because every time the room went quiet—your mind didn’t stay there.

it drifted. back to jimin.

the way he looked at you three nights ago. the way he said you let me take care of you. the way his hand felt against you. the way he almost—

your breath caught slightly, shifting where you sat.

“come here,” your boyfriend said suddenly, reaching for you.

you hesitated. just for a second. then you moved closer, letting him pull you in. it felt wrong. uncomfortable and just...empty. like you were there physically—but nothing else followed.

seojun's hand rested on your waist casually. you used to like it, but now, it didn't feel like anything. “you good?” he asked.

you nodded quickly. “yeah.” but your voice didn’t match.

because all you could think about was how different it felt. how when he touched you, even barely—it wasn’t like this.

your boyfriend said something else, but you didn’t hear it. didn’t even try to. "you're doing it again," he muttered.

“doing what?”

“checking out.”

your chest tightened slightly. “i’m not—”

“you are,” he cut in. “you’ve been weird all night.”

weird. you almost laughed. because for the first time—you felt like you were exactly where you weren't supposed to be.

"i think i'm just tired," you said, softer now.

he pulled away slightly, clearly annoyed now. “then why’d you even come over?” that question landed harder than it should’ve. because you didn’t have a good answer. not anymore.

you stood up before you could overthink it. “i should go.”

he frowned. “seriously?”

“yeah,” you said, grabbing your bag. “i just—yeah.”

he didn’t stop you. didn’t ask you to stay. he didn’t even try. and for some reason, that hurt less than it should’ve. because as you walked out—there was only one thing on your mind.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

you didn't text first. you just showed up, two knocks at jimin's door before it opened immediately. like he knew it was you. like he'd been waiting.

for a second, neither of you spoke. just stood there, looking at each other. with everything from the last time—the tension, the way it ended—came rushing back all at once.

“you went back to him.” it wasn’t a question.

your chest tightened slightly. “yeah.”

his jaw flexed. “and?"

you shook your head slowly. “it felt wrong.” the words came out quieter than you expected. but they landed exactly where they needed to.

something in his expression shifted. not surprise. something darker. something that had been waiting.

“yeah,” he said. like he already knew. silence stretched, but it wasn't empty. it was full to the brim with weight and tension.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about—” you started, then cut yourself off.

his eyes locked onto yours. “say it.”

your breath caught. “i couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

there it was. the truth. out loud and no taking it back. he moved first, faster this time. like all the hesitation in him was hanging onto a thread.

there was barely any space left between you. his hand found your waist, pulling you closer like he'd been holding back from that from doing that exactly for too long.

your breath caught sharply, hands instinctively finding his shirt, gripping lightly. "jimin..." you protested ever so weakly.

“tell me to stop,” he said again—but this time it didn’t sound like he would. not really.

and you didn't. you didn't even try. and that was all jimin needed.

before you could think, he leaned in—closing all the space left and kissed you.

it wasn't soft or careful like most first kisses. it was everything he hadn’t let himself do for years—frustration, restraint, want—all crashing into one moment, capturing your lips roughly between his.

your breath hitched against him, but you didn’t pull away. you leaned into it more than you would admit. and you kissed him back, lips moving against his in unison like you'd been waiting too.

his grip tightened slightly, holding you there like he wasn’t about to let you disappear again, like he wasn’t about to let you walk out and go back to something that wasn’t him. his other hand found your jaw, tilting it upward to deepen the kiss like he'd done that a hundred times.

and for the first time—you didn’t feel unsure. didn’t feel distant or felt like something was missing.

because whatever this was, felt like everything. and neither of you stopped, lips molding together in sync.

after what felt like an eternity, the kiss finally broke, but the space between you didn't.

your breath was uneven, chest rising and falling like you'd forgotten how to steady it. his hand was still on your waist, fingers curled slightly like he hadn’t decided whether to let go of you yet.

he didn’t.

your lips parted slightly, like you were about to say something—but nothing came out. because what were you supposed to say?

this shouldn’t have happened? i didn’t mean to? this was a mistake? because none of that felt true.

his forehead hovered just barely near yours, close enough that you could still feel him—still feel the weight of what just happened lingering between you.

“you should go.” the words came out low. rough. but his hand didn’t move, not matching the words at all.

your chest tightened. "do you want me to?" but you didn't mean to ask that. it just slipped out.

his jaw flexed. because the answer wasn’t safe. it wasn’t something he should say. but he’d already crossed the line. you both had.

"no," he said quietly, and you didn't miss the way his hand twitched against you, like his restraint was faltering.

your breath caught again. and for a second, it looked like you might close the distance again.

like you might forget everything else and just—

but instead, you stepped back. barely. but enough that his warmth left you. enough to feel it and remind the both of you what was happening.

"this is wrong," you whispered. but there was no conviction behind it. no urgency. just… acknowledgment.

"yeah," he said. but he didn't look the least bit concerned.

silence stretched, longer this time. he finally let his hand drop from your waist. slow, reluctant, like it cost him something. and you felt it immediately. the absence. it shouldn't have, but it hit you like a truck.

“i shouldn’t have come here,” you murmured. but even even as you said it—you didn’t sound like you meant it.

“you were going to,” he said. not a question, just undeniable truth.

your eyes flicked back to his, because he was right. "you didn't stop me," you said.

his gaze didn’t waver. “you didn’t want me to.”

your breath caught, because that was true too. "this is going to get messy." you meant it as a warning, but realization was just catching up to you.

'it already is."

you let out a quiet breath, shaking your head slightly like you were trying to clear it—but it didn’t work. nothing about this felt clear.

it felt heavy. complicated. wrong. but still— completely, disgustingly right. because when you looked at him, there was nothing distant about it. nothing empty or uncertain like you were used to.

“i’m not going to pretend it didn’t mean anything," he said. his voice was low and controlled, but there was something else in it now. something more raw.

your chest tightened. because neither were you. "it shouldn't have meant anything," you said. but even you didn't believe your own words.

his eyes dropped to your lips again, slower this time. more deliberate. "but it did."

your heart was racing even faster now as thick silence filled the room. because this wasn't tension anymore. it wasn't another almost moment with him like you always had. this was something real. something you both couldn't undo.

"i need to go," you said finally. and this time, you meant it.

jimin nodded once. he didn't stop you or try to pull you back in. but his eyes stayed on you the entire time, watching. holding. not letting you off easy. and just as you reached the door—

“don’t go back to him like this didn’t happen.”

the words stopped you cold. your hand froze on the handle, chest tightening. because you knew exactly what he meant.

slowly, you turned around, meeting his intense gaze. "i don't think i can," you squeaked, quietly honest. but too, terrifyingly real.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

you didn’t sleep. every time you closed your eyes—you felt it again.

his hand on your waist. his voice, low, tell me to stop. the way he didn’t. the way you didn’t. his plush lips moving against yours like he starved for that moment.

your phone buzzed. you reached for it immediately.

jimin: you awake

your heart skipped. it was 3 am, hours after you left his place.

you: yeah

a second or two passed.

jimin: you left too fast

you: i had to

jimin: didn't feel like you wanted to

your chest tightened, heart beat quickening too fast for the early morning. because he was absolutely right.

you: i didn't

another pause as you stared intensely at your glowing screen in the darkness of your room.

jimin: don't go back to him

your stomach flipped.

you: i have to talk to him

jimin: that’s not what i said

your breath caught. his tone, even through a screen—felt the same. certain and possessive in a way that made your pulse pick up.

jimin: you're not his anymore

your heart practically jumped out of your chest.

you: you can’t say that

jimin: i just did. come over after

you: i don’t know if i should

the response came instantly this time.

jimin: you will

your breath caught once more, chills tingling your body. because you already knew he was right.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

seojun knew something was off the moment you walked into his place. "you okay?" he asked, glancing up from his phone.

you nodded too fast. "yeah," you lied. but this time you hardly tried to make it sound convincing.

you stayed standing, hovering instead of sitting and getting comfortable. you didn't pretend like you normally would. "i think we should talk.”

that got his attention. he frowned slightly, setting his phone down. “about what?”

your chest tightened. but you didn’t hesitate this time. because you couldn’t. not anymore. "this isn't working."

the word landed between you two, flat and final.

he blinked. "what?"

you swallowed. “us. this—whatever this is. it’s not working.”

a pause. then a scoff. “are you serious right now?”

“yes.”

he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “this is because of last night, isn’t it? you’re still mad?”

“no,” your voice was quieter now, but stronger. “it’s not just last night.”

“then what?” he pressed. "because this feels like it came out of nowhere.” and god, that infuriated you. because it didn’t. not at all.

"you don't show up for me," you started, every last bit of hesitation in you crumbling.

“you cancel. you don’t listen. you barely even—” you stopped, shaking your head. “i feel like i’m not even there half the time.”

his eyebrows pulled together. "that's not true."

"it is."

"you're exaggerating." there it was again. that same tone, the same dismissal as always.

and finally, you felt it clearly. the difference. "no, i'm not."

he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “so what, you’re just going to end it? just like that?”

suddenly, your phone buzzed in your hand. you didn’t mean to look, but you did anyways.

jimin: you there yet

your breath caught without you even realizing.

"you're not even listening to me," seojun snapped.

your gaze lifted slowly. "i am." but your voice didn't match—weak like he had just pulled you out of some magical trance.

"then why does it feel like you're already checked out?" he asked.

"because i think i am," you admitted quietly. the words hurt him in a way that you noticed.

"wow," he muttered, leaning back. "so that's it? you're just done?"

another buzz from your phone, your fingers tightening around it as you read the message.

jimin: don't let him talk you out of it

your heart started racing as you looked back at your boyfriend. really looked. and it finally felt clear. it finally wasn't confusing or complicated, it was just completely over.

"i'm so done," you said. it was soft, but final.

seojun let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “you’re seriously throwing this away?”

throwing it away. like it was something worth keeping.

you shook your head. "no," you said. "i've been holding onto something that wasn't really there."

he stared at you for a second longer, like he was trying to figure out when he lost you. he didn’t realize he already had.

“fine,” he said finally. “if that’s what you want.” it wasn’t anger. not fully, at least. just a bruised ego.

and just like that, it was over. you turned toward the door, and this time, he didn't stop you. your phone buzzed again as soon as you stepped outside. you didn't even have to look, you already knew.

jimin: it's done isn't it

you: yeah

your breath hitched as soon as the typing bubble appeared.

jimin: come here

and without hesitation or second guessing, you were already on your way.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

the door barely closed behind you before jimin was already there. too close, the heat of his body warming you up from the cold night air. like he’d been waiting for this exact moment for an anticipated amount of time.

"you came," he said. it wasn't a question.

your breath was still uneven from the walk and from everything that had just happened, to him.

“yeah,” you said softly.

“i told you that you would."

your heart was still racing as you set your bag down, but you didn’t move any further into the apartment. didn't create space between you and him.

"it's done," you said, like you needed to say it out loud. like it would make all of this real.

his gaze didn't leave yours. "i know," he said. a small pause. "because you're here."

your breath caught as silence settled between you. but it wasn't at all quiet. instead it was incredibly thick, charged with something that was already building—faster this time. stronger.

"this is… a lot,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “everything just—happened.”

“and you still came here."

that made your gaze avert over to him immediately, taking in his features and the way he looked at you. something in your chest tightened. because you knew what that meant.

"i don't think i was going anywhere else," you said.

that did something to him. you saw it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his shoulders squared slightly like something in him had locked into place. "good," he said quietly.

you let out a small breath in an attempt to steady yourself. "we should probably... slow down."

the words sounded right, responsible, and safe. but jimin didn't agree. didn't argue either. instead, he just watched you for a few seconds too long.

"you don't actually want that," he said.

your brows pulled together slightly. "you don't know that."

"i do," he replied casually. “you don’t actually want that.”

“you say that,” you started, “but this is all really fast and i just—”

your words cut off sharply, because suddenly he moved, closing the space between you in one step. his hand found your wrist once again—it wasn't rough or forceful, but it was enough to stop your pacing and put an end to your thinking.

“stop talking yourself out of it,” he said, voice lower now.

your breath caught, heart pounding so hard it echoed in your head. “i’m not—”

“you are," he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against your wrist. grounding, yet claiming.

“you felt it,” he continued. “you know what this is.”

your chest rose and fell faster now. "i don’t know what it is,” you whispered.

“that’s not true," he said lowly in your ear.

he guided you back a step. then another. and another, until the back of your knees hit the couch and you sat without even realizing it.

and he followed, sitting closely next to you. too close. your heart was racing now. it wasn't from fear. it was entirely him. and the threateningly perfect idea of being his that made your heart ache.

"this isn't wrong," he said, quieter now.

you shook your head slightly. “it feels like it should be.”

“it doesn’t.”

“it does.”

“but you’re still here.”

that again. that truth you couldn’t argue with. before you could respond, both his hands snaked their way around your waist, firm and certain. and then suddenly, you were being pulled into his lap.

your breath caught sharply, hands instinctively landing on his broad shoulders to steady yourself. “jimin—”

his name came out softer than you meant it to. less like a warning and much more like something else.

“you keep acting like you don’t want this,” he murmured, his voice right there, close enough to feel. “but you do.”

your pulse was racing. “i didn’t say i don’t—”

“exactly.”

your fingers tightened slightly against his shirt. because being this close—his cologne and warmth making your head spin—feeling him like this, hearing the words he uttered with such confidence and possession,

made it impossible for you to think straight.

“this is going to get complicated,” you muttered, but it sounded weaker now. less certain.

"it already is," he said. he didn't care.

“i really don’t want to mess this up, chim” you admitted, a sad pout forming at your lips, eyes suddenly glossy. but it was something honest. something incredibly real and directly from your heart.

and god, did that make jimin's stomach flip. he couldn't stand to see anything that wasn't a smile on your face. he absolutely hated it. and tears? he couldn't bare to let it happen.

his gaze softened. “you won’t," he said firmly.

“how do you know?” you sniffed.

“because i’m not letting you.” the words landed heavy.

your breath caught again. “but, you can’t just decide that—"

“i already did.”

his hand shifted slightly at your waist, grounding you there, keeping you close to him and nothing but him.

“i’ve wanted you for too long to pretend this isn’t happening,” he said, quieter now. “i’m not going to step back and watch you go to someone else again.”

your heart skipped, your brain going quiet for a second. "jimin..."

"tell me you don't want this," he said. he gave you the chance again. he gave you the chance to run away back to your apartment with your brother, to his best friend, and forget this ever happened.

but you didn't take it.

and for him, that was it. his burning gaze dropped to your lips, slow and intentional. like he needed to take his time, soaking up your presence and every last one of your features in front of him.

your breath hitched as your grip tightened on him slightly. "we said we would slow down," you whispered. but you didn't move.

and then, his lips met yours once again. but this time, you didn't pause. this time, the shock and hesitation didn't exist. just the same intensity, but stronger now, deeper, like everything you two held back before was completely gone for good.

your hands didn't hesitate either. they clung onto him like you had already chosen your present and future with him, snaking up his chest and around his neck, fingers curled lightly into his hair.

he kissed you like no one else had ever kissed you before, with the utmost passion and devotion—like he had spent years dreaming about doing it every day. because he had.

you responded, lips moving against his with desire. no pause to think, no space to breathe—just the same pull as before, stronger now, like something that had been building for years finally had somewhere to go.

his hands stayed firm at your waist, keeping you close against him, like he didn’t trust you to stay if he let go. like he didn’t trust himself enough to just let you.

“you feel that?” he murmured against you, voice low, rough in a way you haven't heard before. “that's not nothing.”

your fingers tightened in his shirt, making him weak in the head. “i know,” you whispered. because you felt it all.

“i tried to stay away from you,” he admitted, quieter now, his forehead pressing lightly against yours for half a second before he pulled you back in. “you make that impossible.”

your heart was racing too fast now. so loudly that it felt as if it was echoing throughout your entire body.

“you keep coming back to me,” he said. “don’t act like you don’t know why.”

you swore you could feel your throat swell up at that. but you didn't answer.

one hand slid slightly down your side, grounding and steady; like he needed to make sure that you were really there. the other found it's way along your jaw, tilting it upwards to match his eye level.

"you're not his anymore."

the words sent something sharp through your chest. and this time it wasn't guilt.

your hands found his face for a second, pulling him back toward you, like you didn’t want the space, didn’t want the thinking, didn’t want anything to interrupt this again.

“i’ve wanted this for too long,” he said against you quietly. but his tone was coated with nothing but pain and desire.

and that did it. whatever restraint left was entirely gone as you kissed him this time. he all but melted against you, his grip tightening on you as he captured your lips hungrily in between his.

you barely pulled apart, the room filled with nothing but light breaths, small, muffled moans, and the sound of your lips moving together.

when you finally separated for the quickest breath, jimin's eyes swirled with pure darkness. "you have no idea what you do to me," he muttered against your lips before engulfing them into his once more.

it wasn't long before he swiped his tongue greedily against your lips, cheekily asking for entrance. you obliged, humming into him as he shamelessly explored your mouth with a smile.

his hands traveled father down your body, past your hips and slowly up and down your your ass, grasping it like he already owned it. you moaned desperately, tilting your head back with a string of saliva pulling from both of your lips, an unbearable heat pooling between your legs.

he saw it as an opportunity to litter your neck with kisses; starting gently at your jaw before going further down your neck—becoming more sloppy, open-mouthed, and claiming. his hands made it further past your ass, fingers tracing needily against your thighs.

“do you know how hard it’s been to stay away from you?” he murmured against your collarbone, now sucking and biting at the skin as you melted beneath him.

you could only moan in response, but that didn't stop him. "he never deserved you," he grumbled, voice low and rough with something close to anger. "i knew that the moment i met him."

before you could respond, his captured you into another kiss, growling against your lips as your fingernails dug into his neck. soon, his slender fingers slid underneath your ass before he stood up, gripping you tightly as you quickly wrapped your legs around him.

your tongues moved together while your hands tangled themselves into his hair. his grip on you was tight, firm, like holding you was his entire life's purpose.

the kiss broke apart as he placed you down on his bed gently, your body quickly being cushioned by plush comforters and pillows. before he joined you on the bed, his eyes burned into your figure—like he had to make sure that this moment was real. that the girl that never left his mind once for years, was really on his bed, in front of him.

he blinked in disbelief before desire rapidly took over his eyes, climbing on top of you and capturing your lips between his hungrily. "are you sure you want this?" jimin asked gently, voice low and quiet against your lips.

"yes," you nodded breathlessly. "i want this, chim."

his heart clenched at the nickname, almost making his head dizzy and his restraint falter. god, he just wanted to ruin you. he wanted to show you how you really deserve to be treated. he wanted to show you that he was the only right man for you. the only man that could spoil you rotten with gifts and attention—the only man that could ever treat you right and fuck you right.

he sucked in a sharp breath, his rough hands finding your chin and tilting it up to meet his consuming gaze. "you have no idea what it did to me... watching you be with someone else." he seethed, making his way to your neck and sucking the skin gently between his lips.

you shivered under his touch but you didn't ignore the way the words made your heart ache. "chim..." you whispered.

"you're mine now," he growled against your skin, littering it with wet, open-mouthed kisses. "no turning back from this. no running back to that fucker who didn't know your worth."

"no," you shook your head, unable to ignore the unbearable heat pooling between your legs. "i only want you, jimin.”

his breath became shaky against you, like the words that had just left your mouth struck something deep in him. he captured your lips between his, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.

you tugged at his shirt with greed and he complied immediately, tugging it off with rough hands and throwing it somewhere to be forgotten.

you quickly traced your manicured nails along his curated abs like you'd done it plenty of times before, and jimin shivered under your touch like you had grazed his soul.

it didn't take long before his hands snaked their way around your top, slender fingers dipping into the hem. your hand met his, guiding it upwards until he eventually ripped your top off.

jimin shuddered at the sight of you half-naked beneath him, your doe-eyes peering up at him with desire, waiting for him, yearning for his next move. it almost made him dizzy. “so perfect, baby.”

he littered your cleavage with kisses before circling a tongue around one nipple as you cried out in pleasure. his free hand trailed down your body, finding its way between your thighs and lightly trailing against your clothed clit.

he sucked your nipple between his lips slowly before gently biting at the skin on your boob, leaving small kisses and licks after you whimpered against him.

his lips quickly found their way to your other tit, engulfing it softly into his mouth before you realized his hand was slowly pulling down your shorts and making his way through your panties.

you reacted quickly, his mouth still attached to your breasts as you shoved your shorts further down your legs. jimin pulled back, a pop! sound filling the air as your nipple hardened from the immediate cold.

he assisted you in fully taking your shorts off, discarding them somewhere in the room before fully taking in your figure.

his thick cock only strained harder against his jeans as he took in the sight of you. the sight of you that he had been dreaming of for years, fisting his dick every night to the thought of you and only you. when he hooked up with girls, which was rare—he would only do it to imagine it was you. and now, the moment was finally hitting him.

"fuck," he grunted before enveloping his plush lips with yours slowly, taking them in and swiping his tongue inside your mouth.

his fingers traced your core, still barely protected by your lace thong that you carefully chose before going out tonight. "wore these for me baby?" he murmured against your lips.

you nodded eagerly and he smirked against your lips before hooking your panties to the side and teasingly tracing his fingers down your wet folds. "they're pretty baby," he said. "almost as pretty as you."

you practically keened beneath him, legs quivering with need. he teased you a for half a second longer before inserting one, long finger inside of you. you felt your wetness gush out of you and around his finger as you moaned in pure bliss.

he plunged inside of you, his thumb slowly rubbing your clit as he added another finger.

"taking me so good baby," he murmured against your ear before placing a light kiss at your neck. "need to get you ready for my cock, hm?"

suddenly, the warmth of his body left you as he lowered himself down your thighs, adjusting your leg to sit on top of his shoulder with one hand, the other one still thrusting into you. you quickly responded, lifting your other leg on his shoulder as you whimpered in a mix of need and pleasure.

it wasn't long before his head was dipped between your legs, his lips kissing your folds while his fingers worked inside of you slow, but deep. your thighs were practically twitching against him, core dripping against his lips with anticipation.

you could feel him smile against your pussy in satisfaction as he begins to finally intrude his tongue between your folds. he licked a rudely long stripe up your pussy before he started to fully lap against you, taking in every last bit of your arousal.

"jimin-!" you moaned out, your fingers intertwining with his hair needily.

his lips wrapped around your folds as he plunged his tongue into your hole, exploring your velvety insides greedily as he growled against you. your back arched off of his bed in absolute pleasure, bliss filling your entire body—heat coiling in your stomach as he worked at you like a man starved.

soon enough, your orgasm tore through you, covering jimin in your slick. he lapped at it hungrily, his fingers slowing inside of you and guiding you to release. once you finished, he pulled away, licking your slick off of his fingers.

"such a good girl for me," he grunted before engulfing you into a kiss filled with desire, tasting yourself on his lips. you pulled back, a string of saliva caught between your lips as you looked down at his strained member.

his eyes followed your vision but before he could process it, your hands were fumbling with his belt. when he realized it, it only made him harder. a smile tugged at his lips he helped you take it off, his fingers pulling apart the button and swiftly coming off of the bed.

his member was clung tight against his boxers as his jeans pooled around his ankles, fully revealing his sculpted body to you.

you eyes trailed down him, making your way to the end of the bed on your knees. he stopped completely—his dark, low eyes following your every move as you approached him.

you pushed yourself up on your knees to meet his height, hands sneaking behind his neck, nails lightly digging in his skin as they made their way slightly down his back.

he nearly shivered as you trailed your hands down his built shoulders, shifting down his abs until your fingers found their way around the hem of his boxers. you peered up at him, his burning gaze immediately making you shudder.

you pulled down his boxers and his cock immediately sprung out in front of you—long, thick, and leaking with precum. your mouth nearly watered at the sight, but your mouth became agape.

because seojun was nowhere near as big as this.

"yeah, like what you see, baby?" he said with a smirk, lightly stroking his cock in front of your face. "it's all yours, pretty girl."

"wanna feel it all," you whispered weakly, eyes not leaving his.

"fuck," he groaned, his voice low. "yeah, wanna take me raw baby? wanna feel all of me, hm?"

you nodded desperately and jimin's hands found your shoulders and gently pushed you back onto his bed. you landed between his plush pillows before his figure blocked your view, his eyes scanning you with hunger.

he lowered himself above you, one hand planted beside your head while the other guided his cock to your sopping wet entrance, sliding it up and down your folds teasingly.

"chim-!" you whined out, pout tugging at your lips.

he kissed that pout away all before entering you slowly, your folds engulfing his hot, angry, cock and painfully adjusting around his length. you cried out in a mix of pleasure and ache. it was a kind of stretch you had never experienced before.

"shh, baby," he cooed gently. "it's okay. you're taking me so good."

after a few minutes of stillness, he pushed further inside of you slowly. your walls expanded around him as his tip soon hit the back, bulge deep in your stomach. he began to pick up his pace, almost fully pulling out before plunging back inside of you, thrusting at a steady pace.

you moaned out in pleasure, nothing but you and him and the sound of your pussy squelching from his cock existing in your brain.

"fuck," he moaned loudly. "this pussy was fuckin' made for me."

you moaned in response, clenching tighter around him as his tip started to hit your g-spot relentlessly, his thumb circling your clit. your eyes rolled to the back of you head as you took his every thrust, brain feeling absolutely fucked numb.

jimin felt like his entire body was lit on fire from being inside of you, legs wrapped around his shoulders and in the air as he explored every inch of your insides greedily with his thick, curved member. his pace was nearly impossible, hitting your pussy at an obliterating angle you didn't even know existed.

"chimmy..." you whined. "it's too much."

"no baby," he protested breathlessly against you. "look at you, taking me so fuckin' good 'cause you were made for me. weren't you baby? gonna take my cum tonight."

you simply nodded, whining in response but he wasn't having it. he needed to hear you. his free hand found your ass cheek, gently caressing it before placing a light smack!

"use your words, baby," he growled.

"yes-!" you moaned almost miserably as hot pleasure coiled tightly in your core. "i was made for you, chim- all yours-!"

"fuck," he growled darkly, his thrusts becoming sloppier but harder, fingers focused on your clit. "yeah, you're mine baby. been watching you walking away from me for years. 'm not letting that happen again."

you felt your back arching off the mattress once again, moaning loudly at his words and the way he bruised your walls.

"my pretty girl," he cooed as he felt your insides clench tighter around him. "i don't share you. you understand me?"

"yes- god, jimin- i'm all yours-!" you cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders as his pace quickened, taking you both to your orgasms.

suddenly, the heat that built up in your stomach tore right through you like a riptide, jimin fucking you through both of your releases while spilling his hot seed inside of you, plastering your walls with white. you shivered beneath him as he rode through the high, his thrusts becoming slower.

your pussy throbbed shamelessly around his thick cock as he came to a stop, burying it deeper so he could milk every last drop of his cum inside of you before pulling out.

you were simply too stunned to speak, still struggling to catch your breath as jimin placed soft kisses along your face. "you okay, baby?" he whispered gently before placing a peck in your hair.

"yes," you replied, eyes big and wide as you took in every last inch of him in front of you. "more than okay, chim."

his gaze softened immediately, moving beside you and immediately wrapping his arms around you—closing the distance between you as you melted against his chest. he breathed in your scent, the shampoo and perfume filling his nostrils and your warmth against him making his heart pump faster than he could ever admit.

and despite the butterflies that sent flying through your body, it felt completely natural in a way you both couldn't ignore. like you both had done this, cuddled up in bed together a million times.

jimin was completely enamored by you, and you could finally see it in the way he looked at you. the dark that had clouded his eyes moments ago while he was inside of you had disappeared entirely—and was replaced by something curated purely from love and devotion.

but he couldn't ignore the way dark circles tugged at the bottom of your eyes as you looked at him so deeply, his heart pulling at the thought of your day today. he pulled you in closer, one hand resting behind your head while the other slowly caressed your cheek.

"you don't have to think right now," he said softly. "just stay with me."

you nodded, a familiar warmth spreading throughout your body and finally to your heart. "i want to stay with you, chim."

he captured your lips in between his slowly, like he had to etch this moment into his brain. when you finally pulled apart, the eye contact was nearly unbreakable. and with a few more kisses and sweet nothings from him, your eyelids became more heavy.

"i've got you baby," he cooed quietly. "i'm not going anywhere. ever."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

you woke up slowly. your eyes opened to soft morning light spilling through the curtains, the room quiet except for the steady rhythm of jimin's breathing behind you.

jimin's. not seojun. not some shitty bum who didn't care about you. it was jimin. his arms were still wrapped around you, firm enough to keep you in place against him all night.

you didn't get up or pull away. instead, you let yourself feel it. everything from last night—clear, vivid, impossible to ignore. the way you chose him. the way it only felt right to keep choosing him.

your chest rose slowly with a breath you didn't realize you were holding. this was real. and it wasn't a mistake. it wasn't something you could pretend didn't happen.

you shifted slightly, just enough to turn in his arms. his grip tightened instantly.

“don’t go,” he murmured, voice rough, barely awake.

your heart softened immediately. “i’m not,” you whispered.

his eyes opened slowly after that, adjusting to the light, but they found you immediately, like they always did.for a second, neither of you spoke. you just looked at each other, eye contact burning while taking the moment all in.

“you’re still here,” he said quietly, like he couldn't believe it.

you almost smiled. “yeah.” like there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

his gaze searched yours for a moment longer, like he was looking for something underneath the surface. something you hadn’t said yet. “do you regret it?” he asked carefully.

you didn’t answer right away. not because you didn’t know—but because you wanted to be honest. your fingers traced lightly along his arm where it rested around you, grounding yourself in the feeling of him. in the reality of this.

“no,” you said finally. but there wasn't any hesitation or fear.

his expression shifted, relief settling over his expression. “not even a little?” he asked, quieter now.

you shook your head gently. “no,” you repeated. "i don’t.”

his hand slid slightly along your side, slower now, less urgent than before but still intentional—like he just needed to feel you there. still his. and still against him.

“i was scared i would,” you admitted softly.

his brows pulled together slightly. “and?”

you met his gaze. "i don't.”

silence settled again, but it wasn’t heavy. instead it was full of uncovered truths and the familiarity of each other.

“i think i'm just... trying to catch up,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “everything feels different.”

“it is,” he said.

your breath caught slightly. “does that scare you?”

"no," he shook his head without hesitation. “only thing that would've scared me is you walking away.”

your chest tightened, because you knew he meant that with everything in him. “i’m not going anywhere,” you said.

and when you said it—it didn’t feel like a maybe or a possibility. and he felt it. his hand stilled for a second at your waist, like he was registering the words and holding onto them.

"good," he murmured softly against you.

you shifted closer without thinking, your hand resting lightly against his chest now, feeling his heartbeat. it felt steady, steadying you into a wave of calmness you haven't experienced in a while.

“this is a lot,” you said again, but softer this time. less overwhelmed, but aware of the future situation awaiting.

“i know,” he said quietly. “but you don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

your eyes lifted back to his. “yeah?”

his thumb brushed lightly along your arm. “just stay."

you nodded. “okay.”

and for awhile, neither of you moved. you didn't rush or overthink anything—you just stayed there. wrapped up in each other, tangled in something that had been building for years, finally existing.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

it should’ve been easy. you'd done this a hundred times before—group settings, loud rooms, easy laughter, nothing to hide.

but now—everything felt different.

you walked in the bar first. jimin came ten minutes later, all on purpose.

jaehyun barely looked up from his phone. “you made it.”

“yeah,” you said, forcing a small smile as you slipped into your seat.

and then—jimin walked in, your breath catching before you could stop it. it was small, quick enough for nobody to notice. but jimin did, like always. your eyes met for half a second. that was it. but it was enough to thicken the tension between you.

he didn’t smile or acknowledge it. just walked past like nothing had changed—like last night simply didn’t exist.

but when he sat down across from you, too close—you felt it immediately. the shift in the energy between you, the awareness in the energy that sparked.

the way you couldn’t look at him for too long without remembering exactly how it felt to be right with him, not even a few hours ago. the way your brother was sitting right next to with the chance of smelling jimin's cologne on you.

“so what’s everyone doing this weekend?” someone asked.

quickly enough, voices overlapped, plans were thrown around. and you tried to focus. tried your best to stay present. but you failed.

because every time you laughed or moved—you could feel his eyes on you. not obvious or constant. but there. always there.

jaehyun nudged you. "you good?" you blinked. "yeah- yeah, i'm fine."

"then why are you zoning out?" he whispered a little too loudly, loud enough for jimin to hear—or maybe he was just eavesdropping too hard.

your stomach dropped. "i'm not."

across the table, jimin leaned back slightly, watching.

at some point, his fingers brushed against your knee under the table. it was accidental and barely there, but your breath caught sharply.

you pulled back immediately, but he didn't. his fingers lingered for a second longer before pulling away, like a reminder. like a warning.

your pulse spiked and you suddenly couldn't bare to look at him, even if you tried with everything in you.

"you okay?" jaehyun asked again. now you couldn’t seem look at your brother either.

"yeah," you said, a little too fast. "just need some air." and you stood before anyone could question you any further, walking out before you could even think.

and not even thirty seconds later, you heard the door open behind you. of course.

"running away again?"

your breath was slightly uneven as you turned to face jimin. "i just- i needed a second."

"you always do that," he said gently.

"you always follow."

he didn't deny it. silence settled for a second, but it didn't stay quiet for long.

"this isn't going to work, chim," you said without thinking, breath uneven and a sad pout forming at your lips. "not like this. not around them."

"then don't act like nothing happened," he said, voice lower now and suddenly much closer.

"i'm just trying to keep this from blowing up," you said.

"and i'm not?" he shot back.

you shook your head slightly. "you're making it harder, chim."

"good."

your brows pulled together. "why would you-"

"because i don't want you pretending we didn't just spend the night together. don't want you pretending like you didn't say you were mine."

and there the words were, out loud, too real, and sitting heavy in the air between you. your breath caught. "you can't just say that out loud."

"i just did," he replied simply, stepping closer to you. it wasn't close enough to draw attention if any of your friends—or your brother—peaked their head out the door to check on you two. but it was enough to for the smell of his cologne and the warmth of his body to wrap around you.

“you think i’m going to go back to acting like you’re just—what?” he continued, quieter now. “my best friend’s little sister?”

your heart skipped. because just minutes ago, that had been exactly what you had tried so desperately to do. sitting there, next to your brother and across from jimin, it all hit you like a truck.

"you're not" he said firmly.

you couldn't ignore the way your chest tightened and your throat swelled at his words. "this is complicated."

"i don't care," he said simply. and he meant it.

his hand found your wrist lightly, but it was enough to ground you. it was enough to look up at him, to hold his intense gaze that almost made your knees buckle.

“i meant what i said,” he added, voice lower now. “i’m not letting you go back to something that wasn’t even right for you.”

your pulse picked up again, looking away from him in pain. “but this isn’t that simple.”

“it is to me.”

and you when looked back up at him, something in your chest ached again. because for not once second did he hesitate. not even a little. he never did when it came to you.

"i only want you," he said quietly, but it was firm and final.

your breath caught, throat swelling as your heart thumped against your chest. because there was no doubt in the way he said it. he said it and left no space for uncertainty in your mind.

"i want you too, jimin," you admitted quietly, tears threatening to form at your water line.

if he hadn't noticed the water pooling at your bottom eyelashes, those words would've knocked him off his balance. he swallowed thickly, like he needed to fully process what you had just admitted.

"hey," he said, his gaze softening quickly. his grip on your arm loosened as he rubbed his thumb against your arm to comfort you. "we're going to figure this out, okay?"

"okay," you sniffled, holding his gaze.

"i can't loose you, y/n," he said, a hint of pain leaking through his tone.

"you won't," you replied almost firmly, tears quickly evaporating.

his hands found yours, intertwining them with his. "good," he muttered quietly, eyes mixed with hope and pain.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

your brother wasn't stupid.

he didn't say anything at first. instead, he just watched.

he watched the way you left the table quickly. and the way his best friend didn't hesitate to follow right after. the way neither of you came back for more than a few minutes.

and when you both finally came back inside, you didn't sit near each other. for the rest of the night, you didn't talk or even look at each other.

it was too careful. you and jimin had never spent the night, out with all of your friends, and not talk to each other once.

later that night, when everyone started heading out—when you had just slipped out the door with one of your girlfriends—your brother caught jimin by the shoulder. “yo.”

he turned, expression neutral. “what's up, man?”

jaehyun paused before asking, “you good, bro?”

it was a normal question. the way he said it was casual. but jimin knew by the randomness of the question, it wasn't at all that.

"yeah," jimin replied, but it came out of his mouth too quick.

jaehyun watched him for a second longer, his brows pulling together slightly. "you and...y/n okay?"

those words landed heavier, the sound of your name thickening the air in a way neither of them had felt before.

but jimin didn't react. "what do you mean?"

"i mean-" jaehyun shrugged slightly "you've been acting weird all night." a beat of silence waved through them. "and so has she."

the air and everything else around them seemed to still for a moment.

"we're good," he said simply, but with a bit too much control.

jaehyun almost didn't look convinced in the slightest bit. but he nodded anyway. "alright," he said, his hand leaving jimin's shoulder.

"just don't make things complicated," jaehyun continued, voice quieter now.

and that almost made jimin laugh,

because it was way too late for that.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

you started texting jimin first. it wouldn't be about anything important.

you: hiii what are you doinggg i miss you

those texts pulled at his heartstrings, making him dizzy in the head and pulling his phone out at work just to text you back. he didn't even look at the time.

jimin: i miss you too pretty girl i'm at work wish i was with you

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

you showed up to his apartment a few days later without hesitation. and he noticed. of course he did.

“you didn’t even think about it this time,” jimin said, watching you step inside while holding the door open for you.

you shrugged slightly, slipping off your shoes. “i knew where i wanted to be.”

and the moment those words left your mouth, it did something to him. and even you could see it. it was in the way his posture shifted, in the way his eyes stayed on you a second longer.

like he was still getting used to the fact that you weren't fighting it anymore. “say that again,” he murmured, stepping closer to you.

your breath caught slightly. “i said i knew where i wanted to be.”

“no,” he said, stepping closer. “the part you didn’t say out loud.”

your heart started racing, because you knew exactly what he meant. you hesitated, but only for a small second. "i wanted you."

silence filled the air, heavy—but charged with some kind of electricity that was enough to make your knees weaken underneath his gaze.

jimin closed the distance instantly, his hand finding your waist, pulling you into him like it was second nature now.

“yeah,” he said quietly, ignoring the way his stomach twisted at those words. “i know.” but his voice wasn't causal or light. it was full of something entirely deeper, something so deep you couldn't ignore it. something that had been waiting.

“you keep choosing me,” he added, his forehead brushing lightly against yours.

your breath caught. "i am."

his grip tightened slightly on you, his other hand finding its way up your neck and against your jaw. "good," he muttered before pulling your lips in with his.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

for two weeks, you and jimin barely went out together.

you'd spent time together his place, seeming to never getting bored of each other's presence. you'd spend those days playing games together, cooking, watching shows—and of course, getting tangled up in his sheets together.

you didn't sit next to each other in front of everyone when going out with friends. didn't make it obvious. but it was definitely there.

it was there in the way his hand would brush yours under the table and linger just a second too long. the way you'd glance across the room and he would already be looking.

the way you'd get a text from him while you were standing ten feet away from him in the club.

jimin: come outside

your heart jumped. and you'd go, every single time.

“anyone could see us,” you whispered, stepping out into the cool night air.

“then stop coming when i ask," he shrugged. because he knew you wouldn’t.

“i hate you, chimmy,” you murmured, but there was no weight behind it.

“no, you don’t," he said, stepping closer. too close, like always. “i can’t get enough of you like this,” he admitted lowly, eyes scanning you and licking his lips so briefly you almost didn't notice it.

it hit you harder than it should’ve. “how?” you asked softly. “we’re barely even—”

“exactly.” his hand found your wrist, pulling you just slightly closer. “but you’re still choosing me.”

your breath caught, heart practically hammering against your chest.

“you don’t even realize what that does to me,” he added, voice so low like it was to himself.

you looked up at him, ignoring the heat pooling between your thighs. “then tell me.”

his eyes dropped to your lips. then, slowly, back up. "it makes me want more," he grunted.

“and what happens when someone finds out?” you whispered.

but he didn’t hesitate. "then they find out.”

“you don’t care?”

his gaze locked onto yours. not even a second of doubt across his face. “not when it comes to you.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

you were in jimin's kitchen, leaning against the counter like you'd been there a hundred times before. because at this point, you basically had.

you were wearing one of his hoodies—like you always did now, when you felt his eyes on you.

“you’re here a lot,” he said, watching you.

you glanced up, smiling. “you complaining?”

“no," he replied quickly.

your smile softened. “then what?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he looked at you. taking in every inch of you—wearing his hoodie, in his apartment.

he looked at you like he was trying to figure out how to say something he’d been holding in for too long.

he stepped closer. "i've been wanting this for so long," he admitted quietly, gesturing between you and him. your breath caught.

"you keep choosing me," he continued, his voice lower now. "so i'm asking you-" he paused every so slightly.

"will you be mine?"

your chest tightened, heart beating too quickly for you to fully process his words. it wasn’t dramatic or overly romantic, it was jimin. direct, certain, and too real.

you stepped closer, close enough to be engulfed by his warmth, trying to ignore the way the words made your brain feel like mush. "i am yours," you said quietly, but it was certain.

his hand found your waist instantly, pulling you in like he didn’t need to hold back anymore. “yeah,” he murmured. “you are.”

and this time—it didn’t feel dangerous. it felt so right.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

you kept your things at your apartment, but you stayed at jimin's. more nights than not.

but you started to leave your clothes behind without realizing, and a pink toothbrush eventually showed up. and sometimes—when jaehyun wasn't home for the night, you'd even bring your cat over.

“you’re basically living here,” he muttered one night with a smile, watching you curl up into his couch like it was yours.

you pouted. “you don’t like it?”

he walked over, pulling you up into him without hesitation and placing a kiss on your forehead. “i didn’t say that, baby.”

because he liked it too much. he got so used to you being there. to your voice in his space. to the way you'd fall asleep next to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

jimin didn't want it to go back to how it was before. not even a little.“you’re not going anywhere, right?” he asked once, quieter than usual.

you looked up at him, surprised. “where would i go?”

he didn’t answer. because didn’t need to. your hand found his. “i’m not going anywhere, chim.”

and that was all he needed.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

one week into you and jimin being official, the apartment door opened too early. too suddenly.

"yo, man-"

it was your brother. and he stopped mid-sentence at the sight of you. you, his sister, on his best friend's couch—no, better yet—on his lap. with his best friend's arms wrapped around your waist so comfortably.

there was no space between you two, and certainly no excuse that either of you could possibly dare to utter. silence filled the room instantly, heavy and sharp.

"what the fuck is this?" jaehyun exclaimed, brows pulling together sharply. but his voice wasn't loud, it didn't need to be.

you froze, heart dropping in your stomach as you got off jimin's lap. "wait-"

"no," he cut you off, stepping further inside as the door shut a little too hard behind him. "no, i want to hear him explain this."

but jimin didn't move. he didn't step away or take his hands off you. "we're together," he said simply.

your brother laughed humorlessly, a hand dragging across his face. "you're joking."

"no."

“that’s my sister.”

“i know.”

“you've known her since she was a kid.”

“i know," jimin replied again, each answer calmer than the last. which only made it worse for jaeyhun.

“and you thought this was okay?” jaehyun snapped.

“i didn’t think it was anything,” he said. “i know what it is.”

“yeah?” jaehyun shot back. “then say it.”

“i care about her," he said. it didn't come out defensive or rushed. he had said it with his whole chest.

jaehyun looked at you. "is this serious to you?"

your chest tightened. because it absolutely was. "yes," you said, no hesitation found in your tone.

the anger didn't disappear from jaehyun's face, but it shifted—like he was processing instead of exploding. “this is messed up,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “you went behind my back.”

“it wasn’t like that," you protested.

“it's exactly like that.”

silence stretched across the room again, longer this time.

"is he good to you?" jaehyun asked suddenly.

the question caught you off guard, but your heart ached at it. "yes," you replied softly. but it was certain in a way your brother had never heard you say about anybody before.

so, jaehyun looked between you two—really looked. at the way you stood next to each other, the way neither of you pulled away. the way it didn't feel awkward or forced like the way it felt with seojun.

it just felt completely natural.

"i don't like it," your brother said finally. neither of you had expected him to. "but if you hurt her-" jaehyun started, looking directly at jimin now.

"I won't," he interrupted immediately, lacking any hesitation.

another pause between the three of you before your brother sighed, frustrated and still processing. "this is weird," he muttered.

you let out a small breath. "i know."

"but... if you're serious-" jaehyun shook his head. "i'll deal with it."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

the first time you showed up together, it was quiet. at least, both of you had tried to be.

you walked in the club together. not ahead of each other or separate—next to each other. and that was already enough to turn the heads of all of your friends.

"wait-" one your girlfriends, chaewon blinked, looking between you two. "are you guys-?"

jimin didn't even hesitate. "yeah," he said simply. like it wasn't a big deal. like he hadn't been wanting this for years. like it hadn't been something you both were hiding a week ago.

jaehyun was watching from across the room, still adjusting. still not fully used to it.

the only difference in the night was that jimin didn't try to hide anything. at one point, his hand found yours naturally, fingers lacing together like it was all he knew.

like he had been waiting to do it in front of everyone.

you glanced up at him, a little surprised. “you’re bold today, chimmy.”

he barely looked down at you. “i’ve been holding back for years.” and your heart absolutely melted at that.

"okay..." chaewon said at one point, still processing as you met her again on the dance floor, after jimin had let go of your hand and returned to your brother and their friends. "this is—wow."

"unexpected?" you offered.

"very," she said. "but... it really makes sense!"

and for the rest of the night, no one said anything else. because the way he looked at you and the way you leaned into him—it didn't feel casual or temporary. it felt undeniably real.

later, someone made a joke across the table. you laughed, leaning forward slightly—jimin's hand sliding instinctively to your lower back.

it sent butterflies through your stomach in the way that felt grounding. like he always needed to be touching you somehow.

the night started winding down, your friends grabbing their belongings and closing off their bar tabs, but conversation and laughter still lingering.

"come on," jimin said, standing up and reaching for you.

"where are we going, chim?” you hummed, still ever so slightly tipsy.

“out," he shrugged.

“that’s not an answer.”

“it is tonight.”

jaehyun rolled his eyes. “you’re not bringing her back late.”

he didn’t even look back, his hand finding the small of your back again. “i will.”

you laughed as he pulled you along. “you’re unbelievable.”

“yeah,” he murmured, glancing down at you. “but you’re still coming with me.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

you were curled up beside jimin on his couch after he had just took you out to a nice dinner, stomach full from the food and sore from the laughter he got out of you and feet aching from the heels you wore.

your legs tucked were under his and your head rested against his shoulder while something played softly on the TV.

jimin's arm was around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns along your arm. it was something he did without thinking now. something you leaned into without question.

“you’re quiet,” you murmured.

“mm.”

it wasn't really an answer. so you tilted your head slightly, looking up at him. "what?"

he didn't respond right away. instead, he just looked at you—longer than usual. your brows pulled together slightly. "what is it, chim?"

still nothing but his same, intense gaze. you felt your heart rate suddenly pick up.

“i’ve been trying not to say something,” he admitted finally, voice low.

your chest tightened. “...why?”

“because i didn’t want to rush you.”

that caught you off guard. “rush me into what?” you asked softly.

and for the first time in a long time—jimin hesitated. and that''s how you knew that whatever it was, it definitely mattered.

his hand stilled against your arm, but his gaze never left yours. "i've loved you for a very long time, y/n," he said gently.

but the words echoed in your head, landing deep in your brain. your breath was completely taken out of you.

"i always have," he added, quieter now. "i just didn't let myself call it that."

your eyes began to fill with water almost instantly. and it wasn't because you were surprised. because somewhere, deep, deep down—you had always known.

“and i didn’t say it before,” he continued, voice steady but softer than you ever heard it, “because i didn’t want you to feel like you had to say it back. or like this—” his hand shifted slightly against you, grounding you there. “—was something you needed to catch up to.”

your chest tightened in a way you had never felt before. "jimin..."

“but i can’t keep pretending it’s not there,” he said. “not when it’s been there longer than anything else.”

a brief silence settled between you, but it wasn't heavy. it was full of everything—your childhood memories, everything you hadn't said to each other, the past month you spent with him.

your vision blurred slightly as the tears finally slipped over. you felt his warm hand gently embrace your face, softly wiping them away.

“you don’t have to say anything,” he added softly. “i just needed you to know.”

you shook your head immediately. "no," you said your voice breaking slightly. "no, i do."

his expression shifted slightly, but it was enough for your blurry vision to pick up. he was watching you, holding you, waiting ever so patiently.

you took a small breath, steadying yourself, your hands finding his shirt, holding onto him like you always did now. “i love you too.”

the words came out through tears, but they were clear. "i think i have for a while too," you admitted. "i just didn't realize it until it was already... you."

jimin's chest tightened in a way that pulled at his heartstrings. because that meant everything to him. the words that he dreamed of you saying to him had left your mouth at once.

both of his hands moved to your face, brushing gently along your cheek, catching the tears there like they mattered.

like you mattered.

“you don’t have to cry,” he murmured softly.

you let out a small, shaky laugh. “i’m not sad.”

“i know, baby.”

he leaned in slowly this time. and it wasn't rushed or desperate, it was certain. and when he kissed you, it wasn't like before.

not like the first time, full of tension and restraint breaking. or like the nights that followed, intense and consuming. this was different—softer, deeper, like everything you hadn't said to each other had finally fallen into place.

when you pulled back, you both didn't move far, foreheads pressed against each others. "i mean it," he murmured.

"i know, chimmy," you sniffled with a smile.

his hand slid back to your waist, pulling you closer again without even thinking. “say it again,” he said quietly.

you smiled through the last bit of your tears. "i love you."

and with that, his finally chest eased in a way he hadn't felt in years. "yeah," he murmured, a big smile forming at his lips as he took in the sight of you. "i love you too."

and for a while, you didn't say anything else. because everything that mattered had already been said.

for the first time, there was nothing left between you and him that wasn't real. no secrets or hesitation. just pure love and devotion. the kind that had always been there, but you both had just finally caught up to it.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

guys i literally love themmm sm😭!! i hope u guys like my first jimin fic!! im personally OBSESSED with his obsession... like god what i would GIVE for him to feel that way about me.. ahem- anyway.. was not planning on making it so long but i just had to give ending full of fluff! love u guys sm!! let me know what y'all think <3

read my other fics here!